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Shai Maji
brought a genuine anger to Kahlil's gaze by even mentioning their kid. His silver eyes glared, full of rage. Barely contained. The pain didn't help. Probably made it even worse. But he held his tongue. Valery Noble
was safe. Injured the same. And the cyborg here was going to be in much better shape. Fake hardy bodies. The shot didn't even have him flinch.
If anything, he went to get his lightsaber. But the hand that held it was gone. Worse, so too was the saber itself. At least there was no sign of him doing such without the hand.
"If the Zambrano are your enemies, go fight Carnifex. I can feel he's here. While you're killing innocent people, he's doing the same." Valery was right though. There were people trapped. So he turned from the Mandalorian. Reached out his only hand to start trying to move the rubble. Hurt and disabled as he was, he had no issue starting to pull rubble by rubble away. They were still Jedi, and people still needed help.
Torson and his Commandos continued their pursuit as the Senator's Guards returned fire delaying the group of Commandos as de Couteau and a Pair of Senate Guards fled from the scene presumably trying to find a means to escape. The Guards did their best to delay Torson's force but the Raptors were having none of it, soon enough Torson charged at the Guards followed by the Raptors his Phrik Armor absorbing the shots fired by the Guards as they tried to cut down Torson and the Raptors to no avail, soon enough the Senate Guards Seto had left behind were dealt with as the Raptors cut them down one by one with their blades and blasters. Nothing would stop them from securing their target and Torson would make sure of it. "Quickly, we must find the Senator" Torson said to his men before he headed in the direction where Seto was headed followed by his Raptors.
As they advanced towards the position of the Senator, a speeder soared above them headed towards the area in which the Senator and his entourage along with Torson and his men had come from. A quick thermal scan of the speeder indicated that there were only two guards on board with the Senator nowhere to be seen. "Ignore that, the Senator isn't on that speeder. The rest of the Task Force will deal with them." Torson said as his men pushed forwards headed towards the direction of Senator de Couteau. Despite the imposing look of the Princeps Walker, the young Captain was determined to capture the Senator regardless of the risk or danger knowing that it would ensure the advancement of the Final Dawn's goals and thus the group pushed forwards closing in on their target.
Soon enough, Torson and his Men came across a group of parked speeders, a dead end. However as Torson activated his thermal vision he spotted something, the Senator having taken cover behind one of the speeders with what seemed to be a briefcase in his hand. He was alone, no guards to protect him, no Jedi to save him, it was just Senator de Couteau, Captain Torson and Torson's 6 Raptor Commandos inside the little garage of parked speeders. Behind his helmet, Joseph Torson smirked, he finally caught his prey and after his wild goose chase he now had the Senator of Empress Teta cornered. Soon all the valuable information that laid within the mind of the Senator would belong to the Final Dawn and it's contents would perhaps be enough to alter the course of the Second Great Hyperspace War regardless of the outcome of Empress Teta, Foerost and Tython.
The shrill scream ground on Henna's senses. It was everywhere, echoing throughout time itself. Like the cloying perfume of death itself, it filled the master's airways, smothering her. The mental attack was far more painful than the wounds on her skin which wept scarlet. Anger coursed through her veins as the evil preyed on her, seeming to become excited by her state. Through the haze, instinct warned her once more. Cold calculation forced decision. There were no good choices- only lesser consequences.
The master spun, lacking her earlier deadly grace. Instead, it was only a primal need to survive. The dance took her downward, body arced at an angle. Her wounded arm stretched upward with a cry, reaching for the vibroblade's shaft. Rather than the deadlock she had tried earlier, she attempted to use the Palatini's weight against him, adding the strength of the force to his lunge. The newfound magnetics resisted Henna's attempts.
A growl of frustration escaped her as she weaved, abandoning the position. Her body dodged the upper strike, her blade met that which came for her torso. The lower strike had tracked her movements enough to trade the crippling blow for a swath of skin being torn from muscle. A blood-curdling scream rose from Henna, agony and fear clouding her vision.
There were no good choices.
Her affliction was fuel for the fire that ignited within the master, liberating her soul. The scream died away as the pain became unimportant. She pulled every ounce of focus she could muster to her center of being, then sent the fear and despair she had just overcome outwards through the force. Lashing out from her empty hand as she rose, it was aimed to discourage the Palatini, reducing their effectiveness. The battle had surged around them; Henna's training in tactics clued her into the turning tide. All she could do was live to fight another day- during their fated invasion of her home.
"Will you run when your human shields fail you, monster? Or will you let me have the satisfaction of wiping your stain from this world?"
Laced with venom, the words were aimed at their commander -- but there was a slim hope of the words amplifying the effects the force carried to the Palatinis. Henna surged as she spoke, blade feigning, until she found an opening, surging towards a guard.
-Henna deflects one attack, parries another, and takes a wound to her thigh
-Realizing the change in tactics, she turns the fear back on the Palatini through battle mediation
-Attempts to goad the Tu'teggacha whilst striking another Palatini
The boy was angry and confused, which boiled over into rage. Not only had the Dark Lord carefully manipulated His way under Jax's skin, but He had also provoked Him into action. He watched impassively as the Jedi Master flung himself towards him, rising up into the air with arms outstretched to grapple the Dark Lord and pull Him down to his level. It almost appeared as though the Dark Lord would not act upon this aggression, so immobile He was as the Jedi Master came closer and closer to laying his hands on Him.
Blindingly fast, the Dark Lord's hand shot out, fingers clamped around the Jedi Master's left wrist. He wheeled His arm back, raising Jax's body a few feet above where he had been, and then slammed him down towards the ground beneath their feet. The Dark Lord descended in concert with this motion, intent on slamming Jax into the cold, hard floor with considerable might. In such close quarters, the Dark Lord's superior strength tipped the scales firmly in His benefit. There were few who could match or supersede the Dark Lord's physical prowess, for He had spent decades honing His body into as great of a weapon as any sword or mace.
It was at this moment that the Dark Lord's shadow returned, and with it an unwitting participant to this familial conflict. Whatever grasp the Dark Lord had on Jax's body was released, the Dark Lord stepping aside to regard the newcomer with a cold stare; a stare that carried with it the inexorable crushing weight of glaciers. He had seen this man before, but where He could not precisely place.
"Empty words, Jedi. They will not save you."
The Dark Lord sheathed His lightsaber, the ebony hilt disappearing from view. In its place, the Dark Lord clapped His hands together and as He separated them, a magnificent blade began to materialize into existence. Nearly as long as the Dark Lord was tall, the weapon radiated with the power of the Dark Side. Runes had been etched along its surface, each one of them pulsating with power. The Dark Lord ran the tips of His fingers along the blade's edge, lightning crackling wherever He touched, until the blade was coated with a scintillating web of energy.
He leveled the blade towards Vanagor, the blade seemingly eager to strike.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive facts and knowledge
Tags: Onrai
He hated to say it but Onrai was right. Silas had mentioned he had the power to change the future himself, but right now he couldn't see through that. Right now he was in shock, confused by how the whole perspective of his life had flipped upside down in a matter of moments. What was Valery Noble
let alone Kahlil Noble
going to think? sure, one used to be a Sith himself but doubt greatly crossed his mind if they wanted anything to do with a kid who had such a prevalent twisted bloodline.
The hand that grasped the lightsaber began to get tighter around its handle, almost to the point where his hand began to shake. Right now he couldn't think straight at all, the words Onrai lingering in his mind "Take me back Onrai..." the boy growled in a lowered tone after a short silence. Silas kept his eyes on the floor and dared look at the entity, fearing another smart comment from her mouth would be the final push that made him snap.
"I don't want to hear anything else from you. You've said more than enough." he grunted, his head looking up slightly "Take me back to Teta or I'll..." Silas stopped his venomous voice from saying the last part before it escaped his lips. The anger, the hatred for his very existence, he had never felt so much resentment in his life.
Rika fell to her knees, gasping desperately for air, eyes bulging out and her face red from being viciously and brutally choked. She turned her head around to look for Kyrel, eyes widening in panic as she ducked quickly and missed Kyrels punch that sent asphalt and dust everywhere around her and on top of her head. Rika looked around for an exit, choosing to crawl as slowly as she could while Kyrel was blinded and busy, unleashing rage on everything around him. The sheer panic that had gripped Rika like a vice was overcome by a determination to get out of here and survive the demon that had killed her people so brutally many years ago. Using one of the few pillars still standing as support, she raised herself up and slowly stumbled towards the end of the corridor.
What the hell.
A chance side-eye at Kyrel revealed the monstrous unravelling of a black abyss like snake jaw, sprouting an oily black tongue that flicked out like a whip and cut her cheek open. She cried in pain and moved to get away from him, tripping over rubble and falling with a yelp as the tongue shot out again and missed her by mere moments. Rika rolled over on her side and grabbed a chunk of rock, throwing it at Kyrels direction and pushing herself closer to the doorway from which a window overlooking the courtyard below stood.
OBJECTIVE 1-B, The Palace, Skyscraper Lobby Laoth
Callam Tersinian sighed as Rhys' eyes closed. The boy was not dead yet, but there was only so far bacta would take him. The medic's head turned sharply to see the bloodbath before him. It was unlike anything he'd seen before. The old gentleman had lived through many epochs of Tetan history. He'd lived under the Sith before. But these Sith, this Brotherhood of the Maw, this thing standing before him as though a revenant corpse of vengeance... it was all new, all too strange.
Callam's face was gaunt with exhaustion, his stomach filled with nerves that had forced up his food for a few days straight now. This year would mark his 74th, though more likely this very day would mark his last. Sweat dripped to the ends of his white whiskers and blood coated his hands. He wasn't sure whose. This boy, Padawan, he believed they were called, was not the first to fall into his arms today. Every Tetan called to defend their home on this day had gone through hell, just wondering when it would end. Some got a luckier end than others...
Drakes Kanarius had barely withstood the onslaught. Whatever manner of monster the Maw had unleashed was too fast for a mortal man of flesh and bone, even ones so trained as Kanarius and his men. Finally Laoth relented and the men were given respite, but even in that brief moment they could get no comfort. Around those who'd survived, by the skin of their teeth or otherwise, were the strewn and mangled bodies of their comrades who had, moments before, been standing along side them.
Without a word the commander battlesigned again to his survivors, his rapid yet accurate hand movements tell his soldiers the situation. Administrative Tower Cresh had fallen, one survivor accounted for. Then Kanarius turned to Callam, the old medic still trying his damnedest to work over the young boy that had nearly become a cadaver.
"Does the child yet live?"
"Aye sir, by the strings." the medic called back.
"Signal Medevac. I wont leave this place empty handed."
At the order, Callam pulled a small shield generator from his belt that quickly projected a bubble around him and Rhys. It would hopefully last long enough for the arrival of the med shuttle. If it was even coming. Out in the streets, and in the skies, he could see the end times with his own eyes. The apocalypse was here, consuming the palace, and soon the world itself.
As Kanarius and the remnants of Celestial Crux Company turned to leave, the building shook, huge cracks growing in the floor below them staggering their strides. Before they were any the wiser, innumerable floors from above came crashing through, crushing the entire room in large chunks of debris. Bodies, and their parts, fell from above with the rubble. Callam only caught one final terrible glimpse of his company as the rubble piled up around the shield, holding just enough to keep him and his charge safe.
Callam was unsure how long it took for the evac shuttle to arrive. Every moment was devoted to keeping Rhys alive. The strength of the Jedi was something to behold, even in a child. When allied soldiers finally wrenched the rubble from around them, Callam emerged to see utter ruin. Nothing in his heart could assure him that survivors were among this wreckage. He tried to speak, to warn their saviours about the thing that caused this, though the fear in his voice, almost delirious, could not paint the picture his mind desired.
The soldiers helped the old man and Rhys to the shuttle, which made haste in ascending towards the Alliance ships in orbit. No one in the crew was even certain the fleet was any safer. As the shuttle left the palace district and Rhys was hooked up to a ventilator, Callam saw the end of his world even clearer. The tower they had been in began to buckle, then all together crumbled to the ground in a violent death that befitted those who had struck the killing blow. The debris rocked the surrounding area, spewing forth a wave of dust and ash that consumed all the forces of the Light within it. Even from high above, the medic could make out the ant-like figures swarming into the cloud of ruin, and knew that no sane man would charge into that fray.
But no sane men were left standing. The Brotherhood of the Maw... had won.
Master San Tekka raised one eyebrow and frowned slightly in an emotional outburst. He was not used to dueling with his other arm especially after the Jedi lost it during Coruscant's temple raid. His augmetic replacement was coated in an aurodium alloy from the alchemical forges on Ossus. Durable yet it lacked finesse. Their blades clashed with another in between.
"Empress Keto and the Senator are in danger," he warned Iris.
Thalia's replacement saber caught Zark's interest. Her remaining primary crystal burned crimson yet this one cast an emerald glow. He thought he might have sensed doubt in her earlier before she struck. San Tekka wanted to believe his padawan was still in there somewhere. There was always hope for redemption no matter how dark one's thoughts had been twisted.
"They're using you to help destroy innocent worlds," Zark tried reasoning with her.
He knew reason wouldn't be enough. This new breed of young Jedi was too independent and passionate. It was difficult after so long to access the right feelings for a genuine empathic connection. Fighting wars demanded serenity and focus. Zark understood now training an apprentice required devoting so much more.
Laoth had laughed. He had laughed as heartily as a grandfather joyously reunited with his favorite grandchild. It was a sickening sound of synthesized vocal cords and computed tonal shifts. High and low, guttural and silvery, acidic and dulcet. Over and over again, he had laughed. Chortled. Howled. Snickered. With each second that passed, the sounds came upon their minds like daggers as he hounded through the smoke, crawling on all fours with such speed that he was a mere blur for most who caught a glimpse of his movements. Wild and blind blaster fire was sent into the ruin after him, shouts of rage and fear resonating off what walls remained. In less than a minute of this, three were taken by the throat, their heads twisted around with grotesque crunches of bone and sinew.
The two who found their twitching armored masses were disemboweled in seconds. To their shock and horror, Laoth's hands gutted through the plate metal of their gear with audacious ease and wrenched out their lower organs and intestines. One still lived despite the injury, pleading for life with bubbles of blood as he look to the beast standing over him by the side of his head. Laoth's laughs were cut off with disturbing abruptness as if the vox unit in his throat was simply shut off. Then, the man's face was caved in at the mouth, a single metallic boot crunching down through teeth and jawbone until all life fled from the terrified man's eyes.
Once more, the devil flashed out of sight into the smoke. Each strand of it was hampering, preventing the survivors from truly seeing what was around them beyond the occasional glimpse of clarity through the shattered windows and holes of the walls. But he could see everything. Every ugly thing that came as a result of other people's actions. This all could have been avoided. How many "innocent" Tetans had been slaughtered? How many families were broken apart? He wished that he knew the answer so that he could tell the remaining members of this unit. To let them know that they had failed. That the boy was the reason they had all died. A twisted truth. Had the Jedi not sworn to protect this place with deadly force, or sent the legions of their Alliance to place their "distant" rule over the world despite the existence of their Empress, they would have lived. They would have been able to surrender to the Maw when it came. But instead, they were spurred on to rebel and fight by the Jedi. By the Alliance. They were as guilty of their deaths as the Maw were. They were as soaked in the blood as Laoth alone was.
Six of this retinue remained, he had calculated, not including the boy who was once more being ministered by the medic - an old man past his prime. They had huddled up, formed a perimeter, and prepared to gun him down the second they saw him. He laughed again, letting it echo through the smoke and embers. They would die, and he would engage in his war of words with the boy once more before, finally, putting him down like the cur he was. Thusly, from the east, he leaped into view and reared back mid-air for a catastrophic clawing attack on the encircled soldiers with his bare hands. The soldiers turned in a frenzy of motion as the blaster of the east-facing woman unloaded a barrage of red bolts trailing up to meet the encroaching beast.
It was a sudden thing that happened, quicker than even he could have anticipated or reacted to. Hands clenching a helmeted head was the last thing he had seen before everything had gone dark, suffocatingly airless, and as cramped as a Sarlaac's bowels. It was a roar of sound and rumble of collapse as Laoth felt himself tumbling down and down, his hands still clenching the helmet of his intended target. He crashed into something solid and static warning signs erupted in his vision, alerting him to a series of damaged parts and overloading software. They had fallen. The building had collapsed, or at least a good portion of it. Had he done more damage than he thought? Or had the war finally loosened what bolts and staples were still holding this thing together. Laoth grimaced as he instinctively shut down all but the necessary parts to keep him alive, finally releasing the hold on the helmet still in his hands.
With sharp upward punches, the Devaronian began fighting to free himself, everything in his body except his upper body and necessary life support systems shut down to preserve what energy had been spared in the sudden impact of a thousand tons of concrete and durasteel. He punched and punched and punched, roaring louder with each subsequent strike absent the aid of his vox unit. This was not where he would die. No, absolutely not. Until it seemed that it was.
Upon the fifteenth punch, Laoth fell more, the solid thing under him buckling from increased strain on its supports and he fell with the debris and smoke and fire. Down and down he went, his roars turning into screams of hateful terror at the thought of dying in such a mundane place. This could not be the end. Not now, not when he had survived Valery Noble
, the sandworm, and Spindle
's experimentations upon his ruined organic form. He had come too far to die in the rubble of some nondistinct skyscraper in a city of f-Laoth hit the ground amidst the roars of tumbling foundations and crushing stone. All sensations within and without were muted to a near buzz barely felt in the base of his skull.
He was conscious, for the most part, and remained motionless under the sheer weight of the structure that had toppled on top of him. No thoughts ran through him. No words of wisdom from a dead scholar, no facts presented to him by his vast library implanted in his brain. Nothing. Just...deafening silence and crushing weight.
This was it?
This was the end?
Dying by coincidence?
By accident?
No...no this...this could not be it. He had too much to do. Too much left to accomplish. Too much. Too much. Pain suddenly wracked his body as a low, humming growl boiled at the base of his throat. His fingers clenched and scratched at the stone and metal covering him. His feet and legs shifted and bounced, reawakened despite the warnings screaming at him in his vision, ears, and even his blackened snakish tongue. Everything was telling him to stop. To wait for help. To die alone. But he would not. He could not. Laoth was Devaronian. Laoth was Sith. Laoth was a goddamn warrior. He understood now. He understood the answer to the question that repeated itself every hour of every day. This is what he had to do.
WHAT DO WE DO WHEN FACED WITH PAIN, NAITH'A?
"WE FIGHT!"he roared with the strength of a thousand supernovae, exploding with steam and electric currents from the creases and vents of his body, filled with the perseverance of rage unlike any he had felt before.
The stone and metal burying him shot up into the air as he launched himself up with a fiery burst of power deep within his heart, his hands clenched into fists and the dark energy that had marked him, VILLAIN, wreathed around his biomechanical ligaments, sparks of electricity coursing through the black clouds that hungered with the sentience of pure wrath. With stomps of rumbling earthquakes, the Devaronian beast marched from his would-be-grave as fire and smoke of the ruins surrounding him attempted to hold him back. Cries and screams from those that managed to survive the collapse resonated in his pained ears, and soon they came into view of the monstrous thing. In a gory rush, the beast of Devaron slaughtered them all before they could see what it was that was stealing their life away.
A new hunger had been awakened in him. A new understanding. A new layer of his foundations. Ishida Ashina
and Michael Sardun
...they had taught him the ways of the new world. Allyson Locke
had shown him the need for adaptation from his ruined corpse of self. Spindle
had aided him in preparing for the eternal chaos of war to come. But he...he had given himself the shove of action he needed to truly survive the pain within his heart.
Location: ???
Objective: Hit Silas with a firm dose of reality
Enemies: Silas Westgard
"No."
Onrai's humanoid form was barely visible against the starlit blackness of space and gleaming clouds of nebular gas. Her arms were firmly crossed as she looked at him, milky white eyes staring bullets through him with surprising hostility - not at him, but at his ignorance. He was obtusely ignoring what she had told him: that he and only he was in charge of his destiny, not some sort of bloodline.
"Or you'll do what? You exist here, alive impossibly within the vacuum and emptiness of space, gazing out upon nebulae and pulsars, and you think that you can do something to the one who has told you the truth about your bloodline and the fact that you and only you are the one in charge of your destiny, not anyone else? Please."
She motioned to the void they seemingly stood within. "With just a wave of my hand, my protection is withdrawn. No more do you breathe air or maintain protection from the deathly chill of nothingness. Behave." She would have to remind Valery Noble
to ensure her apprentice's manners were a bit better the next time the two of them confronted one another.
"Think about what I have said. Release your hatred as there is no reason for you to possess it. Sinners against the gods and nature have been spawned from the seed of saints, and vice versa. Do you know who decides whether you live a pure and virtuous life, a lecherous and hedonistic one, or one full of violence and bloodshed? You. Not your masters. Not the Force. Not the Jedi, or the Sith, or the gods. Only you. You are not responsible for Valery's actions, or Kahlil's actions, or your mother and father's actions - only your own."
Her voice had grown rather angry by the end - she hoped his ignorance would end sooner rather than later.
THE DAY OF REVENGE IDENTITY CRISIS vol. III
Issue #7 w/ Dagon Kaze
& Jem Fossk
It was Jem's moment of confidence and Corin felt the burn; if not for the rumbles of war, he was certain to have heard the fizzles of those faint hairs too.
In the face of his own cruel demise, the Jedi maintained his tense hold on her throat. He witnessed those tears well in her sockets, the idea that one more second was all he needed to see her crumble to the shattered roof flooded into his mind, and it continued at each second that came after. Just one more, it was all he ever needed. He could then be the victor, then be the winner, the better. Beneath the obstruction that had been the sweat-filled strands, Corin seemed to lessen all the strain once his Master had risen to his feet and offered his for Corin's own.
Had that been the bar of truth the teen had needed? Had it been all that he wished to be true, to feel that worth? It seemed to have calmed him for no more than a moment before the shift in stakes altered the war within. His then loose hold hardened, his other hand shifted across in order to raise her saber arm from his throat. Corin motioned forwards with his might and an attempt to sweep the leg, with every intention to follow her to floor and continue that choke.
His fire had not been fuelled from all he learned in his lessons, no matter the intentions behind it.
The starliner exploded into a colossal fireball as a small missile impacted into it. The compression wave from the detonation washed over Tithe and his Senate Commando protectors, throwing the group violently across the landing pad. The Chancellor hit the ground hard, groaning and clutching at his ringing ears.
Tithe writhed around in pain for a moment as his vision and hearing returned to normal. He refused to give up, refused to die, not when there was more credits to be made. Greed, and greed alone, sustained him.
He gingerly lifted his head and looked around. The commandeered starliner that had promised escape and safety was a burning pile of twisted durasteel. The landing pad was a scene of chaos as the already panicked civilians trying to flee the conflict scurried to escape the latest attack that threatened them. Alarms rang out throughout the spaceport as enemy and Alliance fighters tangled overhead.
Looking down and expecting the worst, Tithe was surprised to find himself in one piece. His immaculate wardrobe - worth more than the annual income of those around him - was in tatters. But the Chancellor was very much alive. He could not say the same for the Senate Commandos protecting him, who had taken the brunt of the blast. Between their brave sacrifice and the concealed armour plate beneath his clothes, the Aargauun had once again cheated death.
A thick plume of smoke from the destroyed starliner settled over the landing pad, obscuring his view, and hopefully doing the same to his attacker. Rolling over onto all fours, Tithe began crawling back toward the safety of the main spaceport building as far as he could, not wasting time to check whether any Senate Commanders had survived the attack. Wounded civilians splayed on the ground reached out to him as he hurried past, beckoning for his help. He paid them no heed - while all were equal in life and death, some - such as himself - were more equal. Their sacrifice in ensuring his escape would be long remembered in the Core.
But first, he needed another way off this forsaken planet.
[ New Order ] "Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>
Mercy gets back to the ships.
Keilara tries to distract Kallan in a pleasant way.
Ironically, I fought with all my strength to contradict his command, that is, his worried request. Yes, I would definitely have been able to fall asleep in this situation, but I couldn’t afford it, I couldn’t afford that luxury. Not until Mongrel says he's back from the battle. Until then, I definitely had to stay awake, even if it meant at least another day. In the worst case, I pass out. The chances of this were higher.
Getting back to the ship will be an interesting stunt. I will not be able to do this on my own feet. I was absolutely sure of that. Fortunately, however, something came to my mind.
~ MANIAC, send a Bedevil bike to the building. You'll probably need to send… take it back to the ships with me. ~ I told the AI.
~ The bike is on its way here and AI control is easy to solve, if necessary. ~ he replied in his usual mechanic voice.
I don't know how many minutes have passed, but in the end MANIAC indicated that copying was complete. So far I haven’t gasped so much. I was still panting, but it was better. The chances of fainting are also reduced to 60%. It’s still damn high, but I’m less likely to cause a disaster. And then he doesn't have to worry anymore. As soon as the copy really ended, I put the data card away and headed up. Meanwhile, MANIAC said the Bedevil had arrived as well.
~ I set off back to the ships. ~ I told to The Mongrel
.
There is still pain and tiredness in my voice, but now also calm. I wasn’t in danger, there were no people living in this place, but no droids working either. I have no idea how long it took me to get to the top level. I mean to the ground level. I was a coward to ask MANIAC. I walked away again in front of the wards, I saw the dead. Most were already half rotten. I saw them as living, sleeping people. Illusion. I remember falling or slipping at least two more times, and my ribs were damaged more.
Upstairs I mean outside, at the vehicle, I really needed the AI's control, but I soon got back to Mongrel’s dropship, where I slumped wearily down the ramp. The adrenaline wasn’t flowing in my veins anymore, so I felt even more that everything was hurting. Yet I looked in the direction where he fought.
~ I'm on your ship, safe. I'm waiting for you back here. ~ I told him again.
Everything hurt, but I smiled inside, I was happy. We will really be a family, when this is over, we will get married. When he said “of course” those two words meant everything, nothing has ever caused such great happiness in life. And so I would have endured all the pain in the galaxy over and over again...
I knew exactly that he tolerated what had happened to him much worse than I did. That’s why I felt really bad about having to ask him to do so. It was as if my heart was broken. I felt horrible, I knew how made him sick, that he knew what Mongrel was doing, how the Maw's brainwash forced him to do so. That he would most like to die because of these.
I kindly stroked his face again and gave him a kiss. I liked it a lot more when he smiles.
~ But you know what? This is our day, Kallan, ours. Don't let Mercy and Mongrel ruin it. ~ I breathed.
After that, I smiled playfully, embraced him more tightly, then leaned back and pulled him with me. This place only existed in our minds, so when my back in the grass hit the ground, I didn’t feel any pain. It was more like I just fell on a soft bed. Then I looked up at him and smiled at him as he was above me.
~ Only you and I are important today. I can't even tell you how happy you made me, when you said yes. ~ I whispered to him.
I slid one of my hands over his nape, then gently pulled him down to myself and kissed him.
I think Mercy was much better than me in this, in seduction, but I was hoping to distract Kallan's attention from the horrors going on outside. At least a little…
She was starting to warm up -- though, not nearly as hot as the blast that consumed Tithe's would-be transport. Her reaction was quick enough to throw a barrier in front of them, the woven threads soaring to protect Tithe and his cadre, only to be vaporized the instant the missile struck the shuttle's engine. Auteme was knocked down, but it seemed she'd succeeded in some small way; she saw Tithe land not too far away.
No time to catch her breath. She rolled and scrambled to her feet, already channeling the Force as she rose. Three small woven spheres formed in her hand, and with a grunt she threw them. They flew less like stones and more like bullets, aiming for the Chancellor's assailant. On impact they expanded into cocoons to trap whatever they struck; still, in her haste they unlikely to end the fight, only delay it until the Mandalorian could cut through.
Her free hand pressed against her chest, taking hold of the dress she'd been wearing for her more Senatorial duties. Ever since she'd been shot in the Senate Chamber, she'd put a little more effort into her attire -- after only a second, the threads that had formed her clothes tightened and hardened, now clinging to her body in a simple armored jumpsuit. If she'd had a few more seconds, she would've added a little flair, but there was no time to waste.
She ran first to the Senate commandos who'd been closest to the blast. Some had been killed; there were two wounded, two unconscious, one trying to move. The wounded ones were too injured for her to heal quickly, and she had no means to wake up the ones that were knocked out. Instead she did the same as she'd done with the Mandalorian; with a wave of her hand threads wrapped around the four guards, enveloping them in cocoons to keep them safe.
The commando who was still conscious seemed confused at the pale cocoons that'd taken his comrades, but Auteme reassured him when she reached him, helping him to his feet. "They're safe -- throw them to the spaceport, the cocoons are light as feathers. Go," she said, "help them. I've got the Chancellor."
He paused, before nodding. "Yes ma'am. Thank you."
Auteme offered a warm smile, but was soon off again, running back towards the bridge covering the civilians -- and now a crawling Tithe. She didn't do as she said, at least not immediately; she first went to the civilians Tithe had crawled past, her hands quickly mending the worst wounds and helping them to their feet. "Go, go!" she urged them to safety.
She treated Tithe no different, helping him to his feet and healing his bruises. "We need to go, come on."
The single word was chanted over and over again across the dozens of pods that launched forth from the lower decks of the Caragol. Even as they braved the point defense fire which stubbornly filled the void between the two ships, and as the pods lurched and bucked violently to dodge the incoming fire, the Mawites within grew ever more heated and charged. They shoved and pushed and punched, with the blood amongst them rising to near a boiling point. Even as several of the pods launched met an ignoble end as they were reduced to starbursts of light and debris, to the savages within them, the end result was almost certain.
They were not wrong.
Dozens of impacts reverberated along the abused structure of the ANV Lightmaker, followed by equally as many jagged punctures through the hull. Several meters worth of rusted metal shoved violently into several sections of corridor and compartments as the pods dug into the dying ship’s hide. The fore-sections of the pods would open as if reminiscent of some profane flower bud opening up for the onset of spring, only to latch firmly against the ship’s durasteel so as to secure the pods in place. Alliance marines were able to mobilize to most of the breached sections on the same deck as the bridge, with a few other sections deeper in the ship able to marshal a hasty response to meet whatever awaited them inside the pods.
A slight pause would prevail which felt like an eternity. At one pod in particular, several squads of Alliance marines waited with bated breath, their blasters trained at the pod ‘entrance’. Suddenly, a trio of massive Graug charged forth from the pod, their massive feet impacting hard against the durasteel paneling beneath them. A single blaster bolt broke the silence, originating from the blaster of a nervous marine who appeared no older than twenty-one years standard. The bolt impacted against the foremost Graug’s chitinous hide along the shoulder. Aside from causing the brute to keel slightly from the force of the impact, the shot did little else save cause the massive figure to slowly look up and glower at the offending marine.
A loud, guttural roar belched forth from between the Graug’s lips, mirrored by its two other companions, which forced a shudder to escape the marine’s lips. Not a second was lost however, as the officer of the squads was quick to shout over the din:”OPEN FIRE!”
Just as the marines hastily obeyed the order, the three Graug charged forth - brandishing a massive sword big enough for two hands by an average human, along with what appeared to be a slugthrower pistol in both hands. As they charged, they loosed a salvo of slugs from their pistols, which sprayed into the masses of the marines. Dozens of additional marauders plunged down from the pods, including Akûz the Ravager himself. His infamous axes were soon pulled free from their mounts across his back, with the warlord bellowing a piercing warcry that finally caused the mounting frenzy amongst his men to unleash.
The Graug were the first to make contact with the column of marines, even as their hide bore a myriad of scorch marks from the blaster fire that pushed against them. Their blades quickly bit into flesh, causing cries of pain as they bulldozed into the fray. As the marines reacted and set about focusing their efforts to put the massive beasts down, Akûz and his tribesmen soon crashed into them as well. Axe blades, swords, teeth - all forms of puncturing objects found purchase into the courageous defenders who fought on, even in the face of such grotesque barbarism.
Akûz himself lashed out with one of his blades, cleaving through a blaster held up in defense as if carving through smoked meat. The axe blade came crashing down into the clavicle of an armored guardsman, with Akûz further slashing outward with his off-blade to slash through the plasteel armor that was now caked in blood. Several of Akûz’s more base brethren set about feasting upon the fallen, with many still alive as the ordeal began - causing inhuman howls as they fruitlessly attempted to fight off the scavengers. The sortie would end in a matter of minutes, serving as a microcosm of several other such engagements throughout the ship.”My Lord.”The voice of Akûz’s first officer bled through a commlink embedded into his ear.
”What is it, Co’vash?”Akûz responded in a highly bemused tone, clearly perturbed by the intrusion as he eyed one of the fallen soldiers before him.
”My lord, we are detecting an increase in energy buildup within several Alliance ships in the line, primarily focused on the hyperdrive unit. I believe...”
”Spit it out, Co’vash!”
”I believe...”The Theelin stammered, clearly aware of the risk he was facing if he earned his warlord’s ire.”...that the Alliance ships intend to enter lightspeed. Our communications have intercepted a general retreat order from the Alliance flagship.”
Akûz snarled in displeasure, and quickly snapped at those around him:”KEEP MOVING! GET TO THE BRIDGE! NOW!”
Clearly, Akûz had the mental acuity to understand what the ramifications were to the intelligence given to him. With feral ferocity, he led his men down the corridor, charging forth even as the squads from other pods began trickling in behind them. They would push to the pod. They would stop the ship from entering lightspeed.
Of course he went straight for the kill. Justice could still feel phantom pains from when he lost his arm to the sithspawn. It served as a reminder that when facing down something that wants to kill you, the best course of action is to kill it first. Just because this opponent was a person, it did not mean it was any less true.
“I’m not ugly enough to be Sith… have you seen what most Sith dudes look like? Old and pruney… not for me, sorry.”
Yes, he was using humor as a defensive tactic. Just was already incredibly uncomfortable in combat situations, but he knew it needed to be done. Today he was not an archaeologist, he was a defender of peace, a beacon of light in a tumultuous situation.
Her weapon came for his legs again. Justice leaped into the air and this time flipped over her head. His weapon came bearing down upon her head as he landed. Based on her reflexes, Just was certain she would block it, but he had to make the move in case she did not. He was tasked with not letting her past him, at least it was his task now. Justice would do anything to prevent her from moving on.
Even with The Force’s clarity, Ishida’s concentration was scattered. Another voice rose distantly, filled with black terror and dread, and Ishida could only assume it belonged to the menace that had cut through Bernard’s tank. But still, she could sense he was fine — stressed, but fine.
Beyond that tether, volume throbbed all around. Cinnegar was loud, so loud, between the metal-munchers, explosions, caterwauls, and blaster fire Ishida didn’t think her question had been heard. And if it had, would she be able to hear it?
Silver eyes searched through the smoke, and she fought against the cough building in her throat. Iron-scorch filled her cheeks and fell ashen on her tongue. In a foolish moment, she took the time to pull up the rebreather around her neck to secure it over her mouth.
As soon as the menpō secured, the resounding, baritone and grinding sound of an answer came through. It was jarring, and she meant to shift on her heels to face where she thought the voice was coming from, but the super mechanical speed of The Mongrel outpaced her reaction and as she began to twist, she was wrenched to the side with a painful slice.
Just below the plating on her shoulder left, her unarmoured back split with the biting drag of the nascent blade. She gasped and leaped forward, twisting to separate herself from the blade just as it reached the right side of her waist. Her hop created a foot of space just in time for the second arc to meet air instead of skin and blood. Her sabre came up defensively to glance from the follow-up attack.
Through her teeth, she sucked in a deep breath and shuddered it back out. Ash fluttered around, some sticking to the exposed cut between her shoulders and sparks blistered against the fresh crimson.
Her heart beat between rage and intense focus. Black puffs of thought burgeoned behind her eyes. Her body begged for movement, to acknowledge the pain later, to create pain now instead. Retributive balance. Perpetuating the cycle.
The gash down her back stung and throbbed, blood seeped and turned pale cloth to ruby.
It was frustrating that The Mongrel’s answer wasn’t starkly opinionated. He spoke of balance and ceaseless struggle, while he fought for tipping the scales and hordes of chaos. Sworn to a Hippocratic oath of orchestrated terror.
A thousand times this duel, this battle, this war would cycle on and on in the world of unfairness. The cycle remaining unchanged. Even now The Iron Citadel unearthed and rising, the Titan also risen from the ground to meet it. Balance and reuse.
“It doesn’t have to be.” She argued, for the sake of it. A waste of words that felt foolish and hopeful. More for herself, than the machine.
She felt judgement lash against her tongue, angry at the acceptance of the galaxy’s inaction and how unending the motions of life were.
Around them, buildings collapsed.
“Call off your war hounds. These people don’t want to be a part of your cycle.”
No further did she belabour the subject. His last attack had been painful, she would not wait for the next.
Ishida tightened her grip and spiked forward. Her jab came in a quick plunge with a shuffle of her feet forward seeking to draw his blade down from its position to meet hers. If he met it, she’d do her best to trap it down and angle the side of her body toward him to align a force-aided kick for his non-human gut. If he evaded it, a series of quick, successive strikes, parrying left-right-left-right-left-right would keep his blade occupied enough until she had the chance to drive her heel into his torso. Always imbued with The Force.
Fueled by his anger and rage Jax attempted to waylay Carnifex with a flurry of punches. However, he immediately blocked his strike grabbed Jax by the scruff of the neck. Jax felt himself being hurled towards the stone floor at full speed. He nearly lost consciousness when his entire body smashed against the floor. Chunks of rocks hitting his back and head keeping him up. However, with a large Force Repulse Jax willed himself back up a roar escaped his lips. He was covered in blood, his robes were in tatters, his mind in shambles but the Jedi Master remained defiant. "DAMN YOU!" Jax roared reaching into the Force to retrieve Lightsaber. As soon as his weapon returned to Jax's palm the blade shone as bright as the yellow Sun.
The Dark Side continue to envelop Jax's heart poisoning his mind with honeyed words. "Kill him," a voice echoed in his head. "Kill him now." Jax's one eye started to become amber. "It can't be true!" Jax thought as his head was continued to pound painfully against his skull his entire body ready to give in to the Dark Side a dark aura began to surround Jax. "He can't be my father! He's full of fracking chit!"
Jax found himself back inside the cave of Ach-To remembering the Darkness that beckoned him to come closer. Jax remembered how comforting the Darkness was, how it understood him. Right now, Jax was feeling that same Darkness it was as if it was waiting its entire life for Jax to come to it. The Darkness wanted Jax to claim its power, it wanted to finally unlock his true potential. Power, unlimited power was needed to silence Carnifex, silence his lie of being his father. To worm himself inside of Jax's mind to pick apart the memory that Jax thought he buried years ago.
"I am ready," Jax was took a step the Darkness ready to gather itself onto him. However, a voice echoed in the dark a familiar voice.... "Caltin?" Jax looked up and heard Caltin's words how Jax is a Vanagor, how Jax can have a choice not to give in to his anger. The Darkness wailed and roared in defiance of Jax's distant Grandfather's advice. "I....." Jax shook his head the Dark Aura starting to dissipate. He knew who he was, a Jedi Master, a friend to many people but more importantly, he was not going to be Carnifex's puppet.
"I AM A JEDI!" A wave of light came over Jax as his body glowed brighter in attempt to ward Carnifex away. As the light went away, Jax stared at his distant relative and gave him a smile along with a nod. "Sorry my Lord but I'm afraid your lie won't be enough to break me!"
Though a small part of Jax knew that wasn't true, he may have overcome the Dark but his soul was beaten down. Carnifex's words still lingered in his mind. Jax had a sickening feeling that what the Dark Lord said was true.
Senator Seto Du Couteau
Location: Empress Teta, Cinnagar Palace Objective 1: The Invasion of Empress Teta B: The Royal Palace -> A: The Iron Giant Walks Actions: Piloting the Speeder out and towards allies Outfit Armour
Seto breathed calmly as he opened the speeder and stepped inside, closing the hatch he spared a glance at the cockpit. He wasn’t that great of a speeder pilot, in fact he was rather atrocious at flying. It was always a job that the Du Couteau heir gave to droids more so than not, flying himself was never something he thought was needed. Maybe I shouldn’t have passed up on those lessons. He mused wearily as he began to put on the Rakghoul armour.
He stretched out his Force senses, finally allowing himself the luxury of using the Force and with that he sensed the approaching hostiles. The whole planet was erupting into chaos, hatred, despair and hopelessness, and Seto felt himself getting pulled into that dark emotional whirlpool of the Force. Steeling himself he clasped the last bit of the armour and his helmet slid perfectly into place. The HUD gave Seto a full overview of his armour and it brought up several communication frequencies, the Princeps itself was listed and Seto thanked whoever tinkered with the armour before sending it to him.
The hostile Maw forces were getting much closer, and Seto took a moment to think of his next possible actions. He gripped one of his lightsaber hilts, but relaxed and moved into the pilot’s seat and began to power on the speeder to try and escape and head back to the Princeps. Seto couldn’t waste his time fighting and a slog battle, and knew just from the Force that the planet was teetering to the brink of utter devastation. Whatever situation looked from up in orbit, it clearly was not favored for the Alliance. He gripped the controls and started to carefully raise the speeder and move forward, reminding himself that he didn’t need to worry about hitting other speeders or people at the moment. A warzone excused most poor piloting anyways.
Location: Teta, the Iron Citadel Tags: Henna Ashina
Tu'teggacha runs away while pretending to be bored and in-control
One of the Palatini goes down to Henna's blade
The two remaining Palatini work together to hold her back
The trouble with shaming cowards is that "honor" has no meaning for them.
If Tu'teggacha had answered Henna's question honestly, it would have gone something like this: oh, I will absolutely run the feth away if my human shields fail, I'm not about to face a Jedi Master in one-on-one combat, are you crazy?! But that might slightly undermine the menacing image he was working hard to project, so he said no such thing. He watched in grim satisfaction as the Palatini, working in tandem, scored another hit on the lone Jedi. She was good, very good, but his bodyguards were expert duelists, and they had her outnumbered. She couldn't parry them all at once.
But battles of attrition affected both sides of the conflict.
The Taskmaster anchored himself in the Force as Henna reflected the fear he was projecting back at her foes, her well-honed discipline allowing her to focus through the pain and distraction. He would not be affected by his own technique; he knew it well, and would not allow his own knobby fingers to find the chinks in his mental armor. The Palatini were not so fortunate. They had been well-trained by the Dark Voice in the art of the lightsaber, but the mysteries of the Force largely remained mysteries to them, to prevent them from gaining too much power. For that, there were consequences.
They flinched, memories of their brutal training regimen flowing through them.
It was all the opening that Henna needed. She surged forward, made a feint that the guards would have recognized... had they been less distracted. Their minds were full of the ache of withdrawal, the pain of the chemical dependency that enforced their loyalty to the Brotherhood and its shadowy master, and their reactions were momentarily sluggish. Henna slipped through the opening she had created, and her gleaming blade met flesh. A long streak of melted armor and cauterized flesh appeared across the chestplate of the Palatini on Henna's right, and he dropped soundlessly to the floor.
Oh chit, the Ebruchi thought, his facial tendrils writhing in agitation. She's still got a good chance of actually coming through this alive. Oh chit oh chit oh chit. Outwardly, of course, he betrayed no obvious sign of his terror. "I grow bored of your pathetic flailing and self-righteous platitudes," the Taskmaster shot back. "Guards, make her suffer for the inconvenience she has caused me, forcing me to train up two more of your number. I don't need her whole body when you're done. A hand will do. Or a head." He turned around and began to hobble back down the hallway.
Quickly enough to reach the hypergate, but not so quickly that he was obviously running.
"I have more pressing matters to attend to." Like saving his own skin.
The two remaining Palatini, one with a lightsaber and one with a polearm, closed ranks, putting themselves directly between Henna and the Taskmaster's line of retreat. They understood their purpose well: to cover his escape, even if it cost them their lives. If they failed, they were dead anyway, slain by the hand of the Dark Voice himself for their failure. Reduced to a pair now, they still worked in tandem; the one with the saber came in close, trying to press Henna with a frenzy of rapid strikes, while the vibro-voulge wielder used his superior reach to strike around her sides and try to land a blow.
Shai Maji
brought a genuine anger to Kahlil's gaze by even mentioning their kid. His silver eyes glared, full of rage. Barely contained. The pain didn't help. Probably made it even worse. But he held his tongue.
Valery Noble
was safe. Injured the same. And the cyborg here was going to be in much better shape. Fake hardy bodies. The shot didn't even have him flinch.
