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Location: Empress Teta
Objective: Defend the palace
Tags: Onrai
Since his last interaction with the guard squad he had managed to gain some distance. Along the way he had managed to help out a pair of soldiers from a death squad of four, who were soon taken by surprise by the padawan. Sending them on their way, he swiftly made his way into an empty small hall, heading in a direction the guards had pointed out before leaving.
Running through the deserted space a strange voice spoke out to him, stating that he wasn’t going to be doing much else while she was around. Grinding to a halt, he looked around himself and glared fearlessly as the lights went down one by one. Soon enough he was plunged into darkness, leaving him with either entrance as being a light source.
“What are you? Reveal yourself” he shouted into the bleak nothingness, before the ignition of his blue lightsaber brought some comfort within the abyss.
in front of him, he thought he could see the outline of a feminine figure. The presence also brought with a sense of power, but nothing to indicate the figure was dark by any means “How do you know about me and her?” He said with a tilt of his head, losing sight of the figure in the shrouding darkness. Whoever they were, they didn’t seem to be one with the living.
“Either way, you will not gain an answer from me. I sense you have great intent for power, but what for? The brutes known as the Maw? The Jedi? Or something more close to heart, yourself?”
” There is no death, there is only the Force.[”- - Final verse of the Jedi Code
What did he expect Vanagor to do? Take his eyes off of the Dark Sider as the B-Wing went on its strafing run? Split his attention so that Kol could attack? No, he was not that stupid. Vanagor neither was a “brain” to be certain, but his attention was on the Master of the Dark arts in front of him. His reflexes and instincts were busy dodging the weapons fire of the heavy assault fighter, though he could not dodge all of her shots, the B-Wing’s weapons hit him in the left shoulder. Added to the trouble of the structure to which he stood lost integrity and buckled. As the Massive Jedi Master fell, he grabbed an errant girder and held on as two Acolytes trying to take advantage of his disadvantage soon fell to their deaths.
His shoulder burned as he hung another millisecond and soon pulled himself to safety thereafter. The suicide run that the pilot could not control was something else, too. Something that did not surprise, or bother the big man in the slightest. Make no mistake, Caltin felt for the sentient, who no doubt in their last moments of life fought the controls valiantly to try and right the attitude of his ship to no avail. He felt for those who felt the wrath of the proton bomb and then the fighter itself both crashing into the palace, but there was no way that he could have stopped it. What did Kol think that he would do? Some grandiose attempt at a save that would leave him open to attack? Some failure of an attempt to beg for the lives of the pilot and those to whom the B-Wing would kill in its crash? No, Kol fired his first shot across Vanagor’s bow. Caltin indeed knew what the monster in front of him was capable of and the big man’s eyes were locked on target.
Another MAW shuttle was attempting to take advantage of this by ascending and locking weapons on him. This was a mistake in its own right. A hand outstretched and pointed directly at the nose, without even looking at the shuttle, Caltin "grabbed" the ship through the Force, his unique connection extending bolts and tentacles of electrical energy engulfing the troopship, frying those insides. "She" soon slowly yet violently imploded, and crumpled into a ball before falling to the ground. A "one-up"? Maybe, but the big man would not simply sit silently while Kol played his little game.
The monster to his side? The TwiLek assassin bringing a light ax down onto his head, or at least committing to the act of doing so? Suddenly the monster could no longer move anything but his eyes, his heart, and the lungs in his body. Everything else was frozen in place and the would-be Sith could not hide the fear in his eyes if he wanted to. The momentary feeling of relief in the knowledge that he was wearing cortosis weave armor soon well as the hand of Vanagor rose to meet his gaze. This hand was symbolic as the massive Jedi Master did not need to reach out to commit to the task he was preparing anymore, he simply thought of it. He was just having a little fun watching the TwiLek’s reaction to his outstretched hand slowly closing into a fist as his Sith battle armor crumpled and crushed over his body. Another symbolic flick of Vanagor’s wrist sent his would-be killer flying over the side to what would be his death, but in reality landing on the roof of a smaller skyscraper. The TwiLek’s bones would be broken and he would still be trapped in his own armor, but he would survive…
… for now.
The poke about him “droning on” was cute, it brought a smirk to his face as the big man just mimicked what it would look like to “zip his lips shut and throw away the key.” No, there really was nothing left to say here, was there. It was merely time to let the fool commit to his play and to counter each move. Caltin was not so arrogant as to believe that he would be able to stop or counter everything, but if he was already in the man’s head as Kol was trying to get into his, the big man had that going for him.
This would not be a fight for the ages, inwardly Caltin knew that Jax Thio
would be in for that as he no doubt was going to meet his destiny head-on in the visage of @Carnifax-Demiurge, but Vanagor was going to stem the tide of attackers, just like he had through the main doors of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. There was nothing Kol, or anyone could do about that.
The sky above crackled with fury and laid its vengeance upon the world. Threads of life cut short by the pestilent hand of the Sith quivered as ripples throughout the ethereal. The air reeked of plasma and burnt flesh, filling his nostrils with that all too familiar stench of war. It dug into the very skin you wear and no moments of peace nor joy could ever wash it away.
Dagon wrinkled his nose. The New Jedi Order, baptized in the flames of the Stygian War, learned that reprieve was a luxury they could neither have nor could they afford.
Reprieve had filled the gutters of the galaxy with the blood of its sons and daughters. It's the only lesson the New Jedi ever learned from their absent masters.
The Jedi duo's traverse came to an abrupt end, cut off by the appearance of a hollow shadow standing in their way. A grey shadow of a once colorful past and fateful future. Grey like the skin of a dying man, dry as a funeral drum. And that drum banged loud, beating into a crescendo of grief and regret.
"You know I like beating my head against the wall." he dryly responded, the hilt of his saber materializing in his hand. It had come to this, hasn't it? The pinnacle of his failures and mistakes shaped the monster that stood before him. That had taken his apprentice away from him. But the corruption -- as tight as a tourniquet around her -- could be broken. Blood does not dictate fate, only what we do defines us.
He'd prove it to her.
Or die trying.
The Knight's eyes narrowed sideways at Corin, a plan of action on his tongue but never uttered. How could he? After all, the infallible chemistry he'd built was with the one standing against them, "I'll go low, you go high." he whispered. A simple stratagem indicating the fledgling progress they had made. Then hoarsely reminded, "No killing."
The proverbial bell rang with the snap-hiss of his blade and the Force surged through his feet sending him darting at her. His body folded into a crouch as the cerulean saber sought to make contact with her legs.
[ New Order ] "Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>
She still ponders on the situation.
Mongrel's thoughts break her heart again.
Mercy sends a telepathic command to Barran.
Mercy continued the report, after she sensed and heard the scream and the calling.
I sensed his thoughts because of the worried emotions. I don’t know if I ever told him, but I loved so much when he worried about me. When he acted like "Prince Charm." It felt good that he cares about me, even if it wasn’t accepted. I didn’t feel that he was underestimating my abilities, as I was worried about him too, even though I knew how good he was. It was more on my part that none of us are immortal and that we love each other are important to each other. Nothing more. Of course, at least for me. Maybe only because of Ziare and Keilara, who appeared in echo. The only thing I didn’t like, when he was trying to protect me in front of others. I’m not so valuable at risking his life for me that someone might realise I’m important to him, or to realise our relationship.
<< Yes, warlord! >> I replied.
I tried not to think about it, which was hard. I wanted to be there with him to take care of him. But now I had to do this, I had to be here to take better care of him and Kallan. I envied Keilara, who was still at home with Kallan at our house…
MANIAC, meanwhile, pointed to an entrance to a place where there were no cameras at all, or just no part at all. I was disguised and under a cloaking device so there was no problem. This place was like a mental hospital. There are no armed guards just in that place. That is, they are not corporate soldiers. I got to the part of the fence where I could easily get to the top of the fence without any plants shaking. Then I jumped down to the inside with an elegant gesture. Plants and grass; I didn’t want anyone to notice my trace, so I went on the road right away.
My head hurt more and more with each step, I felt more and more of the pressure. Is this how patients and subjects were suppressed? It was possible. I felt the concern of Keilara and even Ziare. They felt it too. Ironically, both Mongrel and I should have been locked up here because of our multiple personalities.
~ MANIAC, I want maps and try to log in to the local network! ~ I ordered my AI.
It was so long ago that I spoke to him when I spoke in thought and to them not to MANIAC. He confirmed my suspicion that this could be an important place because the network was protected, MANIAC could not connect. The public data on the holonet was the only ones I could use for orientation. And that certainly doesn't tell you anything. So I decided to head towards the main building. Careful, avoiding the guards. Patients were not here, not surprisingly. The fighting was heard here as well.
For safety's sake, I was still watching him…
I know his thoughts weren't meant for me, but since I've always been watching him, I could hear his thoughts. I knew he wasn’t afraid of death, what he longed for best beyond my touches, yet I inadvertently halted. I could feel tears running down my face under my helmet. Feth!
Even the thought that I could no longer feel his consciousness, I could not talk to him, almost paralyzed me. He and Kallan were my family, I had nothing but them. I never abused the relationship between us for power, so I wasn’t even his right hand, his deputy, his successor. Only his adviser, who cared for him from the background like a bodyguard. And now I wasn’t there with him because that was important too. But there was someone else… Thomas Barran
.
~ Watch out for him until I get there! If anything goes wrong if he is injured, you won’t live the day to become the new warlord, Shriven One. I'm going to kill you before this happens! ~ I sent the telepathic message to Barran, angrily. ~ And if you tell anyone about this command… in that case you will be dead as well! ~
~ Help! Come, heeelp meeeeee! ~ I heard a scream and a call in my mind.
Okay, there’s definitely something here, a female voice, a scared little girl’s voice. I would have basically ignored it because I didn’t care, but the call was strong. Attractive. Dangerous, exciting. Feth!
<< There’s something here, something that calls, summons me mentally! I'm going to investigate. >> I told him.
I took a deep breath, then obeyed the call and headed where it would take me…
At last, the call had come. When the signal came in, Akûz took the transmission within the privacy of the long range communications room adjacent to the CIC cluster of the bridge. The holographic form of Grand Overseer Sularen appeared before him, which elicited a grimace from the Rattataki. There was no disputing the esteem and authority the Grand Overseer possessed over Akûz in relation to the Dark Voice, but that did little to salve the degree in which it chafed to take orders from him. He seemingly wreaked of the same privilege and decadence of the sort of people Akûz so...
Savored...
The Ravager only knew Sularen by reputation, save for the brief interactions in which they worked together to manifest the Voice’s will. He was given the power he currently possessed, whereas Akûz had taken the power he currently had. His marauders followed him because of the indomitable will he possessed; they knew that challenging him would result in a sudden and vicious death, and that following him meant power, spoils, and glory for themselves. As the Grand Overseer relayed his orders, Akûz could not help but imagine how easily his flesh would slice to a fine thinness before his meticulously sharpened axe-blades.
But alas, he would not experience that sensation. Not yet.
”It shall be done, Overseer.”He said with a monotone inflection. It was clear to him that the Overseer saw him as expendable, with the orders to charge in as his Final Dawn ships prepared to unleash upon the fleet. Nevermind that his own forces would likely be caught in the crossfire.
And if he thought Akûz would leave the flagship to enhance his own glory, Sularen did not know anything about the ways of the Kragamond. Nothing was given to anyone in battle - one took what they wanted. That was the way of the Galaxy, otherwise one found themselves as little more than the sheep waiting in orbit, ready to be consumed by the apex predators surrounding them. That said, Akûz could not obviously disobey the orders given to him. He had ascended to the station he currently held by maintaining the good graces of the Voice, and his representatives. The Ravager would obey the orders, but in his own way.
The transmission ended, and Akûz exited the communications room which led into the bridge. All eyes were fixed upon him with supplicating eagerness to rush forth. The blood of his marauders was up - Kragamond had been unleashed.”The time has come, my brothers”he began, his voice resonating through the bridge upon dozens of pairs of ears (most of which remained affixed to their owner’s heads).
”Send in the Bhorgoths and Crucifix I’s at the following location.”Despite his imposing and brutal figure, Akûz rather deftly indicated the location via a tactical screen near his command throne - the location in question positioned at a 45-degree angle relative to the Final Dawn and Galactic Alliance battle lines, positioned on the GA-side of the asteroid field - but only barely, at an overall engagement range of 50 kilometers. After so indicating, he continued:”All other craft are to rally upon our position. Align the Caragol along an approach vector straight into the enemy fleet.”Again, he keyed in the positional data based on the initial telemetry information transmitted to them via the Final Dawn.
The intent was clear - the Bhorgoths & Crucifix I’s were to warp in and position themselves in such a way to providing flanking fire against the Galactic Alliance, and soften the enemy to harken the arrival of the main fleet. It may seem slightly uncharacteristic of a notoriously savage and brutal warrior, but Akûz was known to possess a level of craftiness that often surprised his peers, and inspired dread in his enemies. Any notion of civility would quickly be dashed however, as he emitted a loud, feral, guttural bark at a handful of crewmen standing nearby.
Without delay, they knew what the sound meant. Frantically, the bridge crew set about maneuvering the massive star destroyer into position, while a smaller set of familiars hauled in a set of baroque plate armor. With practiced quickness, they began placing each piece upon the muscled frame of the warlord, with Akûz staring straight ahead; his gaze fixed upon the void before him. It would be an impossibility for a normal person, or even a sane person to understand the machinations of a creature like Akûz, but it seemed obvious that all of his being was focused on one singular thing:
At first, the Final Dawn and Galactic Alliance fleets unleashed against one another in an exchange of firepower Empress Teta had not experienced in decades. The first sign of the situation changing drastically would be the appearance of six large vessels emerging from lightspeed at the edge of the engagement zone, forming a triangle between both the Final Dawn and Galactic Alliance lines. Batteries of orbital autocannons, heavy turbolasers, megacaliber-six turbolaser turrets, & megamaser emplacements unleashed upon the Alliance fleet. Each salvo streaked across the void with blistering intensity, with a few shots impacting against the asteroids which still floated near the edge of the firing line, causing their massive stoney-bulks to splinter from the power behind it.
After two volleys, the firing stopped - with an eerie calm settling amongst the Kragamond vessels. Just when the prospect of hope may have arisen, it would soon be dashed.
Nearly twenty ships emerged from lightspeed from another approach angle, roughly 270-degrees to starboard to the Alliance formation. While they emerged from lightspeed at roughly the same distance as the initial wave of ships, within moments, they would seemingly accelerate with a speed indicative of lightspeed reentry.
But their ships never faded, nor seemingly disappeared from view. Under the power of their SLAM drives, sixteen Vagabond Frigates surged forth - aiming their hulls at the ships arrayed near the edge of the GA line. But that wasn’t the main threat to present itself. The massive forms of two Crucifix-II class star destroyers thrust forth near the center of the Kragamond formation, with the lead vessel possessing a prow caked in what appeared to be dried blood and engine oil, with a phrik-lined edge. Those who knew the vessel would utter its name in hushed whispers...
Caragol
Both ships plunged into the center of the GA formation, aiming near the center mass of whatever carrier they could easily align themselves near the main flagship. As his ships accelerated through an approach vector into the Alliance fleet, a bestial smile lined Akûz’s features as the hungering coils of his ship’s prow section neared contact. Fighters spilled out from what ships possessed them, primarily the Bhorgoths and the Ra'kazar'agh cruisers which had primarily remained back with the Bhorgoths. All save two; which sped toward the melee unfolding; their warsingers bellowing with a unified force as they empowered their children to fight with vigor and savagery.
In short; There would be blood today.
Both he and his kin would feast upon flesh tonight.
Cannon fire. Blaster shots. Explosions. Artillery. Space vessels crashing. War machines. Beasts. And something beyond reckoning in the sky. A catastrophe of sound and sight that drove many a citizen in the district to fall to their knees in blinded madness, and many a soldier to throw down their weapons and run for cover. Yet, he could still hear the cry for help squeak through his comlink. It came through chitters and chatters and broken static of a dozen frequencies, and any lesser individual would have been dumbfounded in trying to decipher it through the raging war and brokenness of the radio. But Drakaes Kanarius of the Celestial Crux, Second Company of the larger Liberated Vigil Battlegroup, was no lesser individual.
As the Senior Commanding Officer of his squadron and boasting an untarnished service record, Kanarius was equipped with the skills necessary to not only survive but thrive in the rigorous world of the Celestial Crux and the diabolical politics of Empress Teta and the larger Galactic Alliance. This invasion, though far more violent than any other he had seen, was just another day in the office for the man plated in sterling silver armor with light blue segments. A myriad of marauders had charged him seconds following the call, and with precision, he gunned them all down. Their heads were reduced to smoking half-skulls and craters. Elsewhere, his squadron roared in defiance and either cut down or blasted down more and more of these barbarous heathens.
He smiled at the work, but quickly found himself replaying the plea for help and found himself conflicted. Though he was a tried-and-true soldier on the fields with a greater taste for combat than anything else, his skills had given him a particular penchant for maneuvering himself in a way that both supported his successes and those of his men.
So, when he repeated it again twice more and examined his surroundings, this is what ran through the man's mind: though the Empress of the planet was surely protected by now, policies dictated that all soldiers capable of coming to the protection of the Royal Family should always choose this over any other route. However, by way of debris, chaos, and mountains of flesh, Kanarius and his soldiers were both separated from the rest of the company, and he personally was much too far from the palace to get there in any reasonable timeframe. This Padawan, however, judging by the pings darting across the screen of his vambrace's interface, told him that they were far closer and much easier to reach. And though protocols would lambast him for making the decision to choose this lone Jedi over the safety of his liege, sometimes it paid to choose the more controversial route he had learned, and there could always be some amenities to that conclusion.
Thusly, Drakaes turned to his second and signaled for the following commands with the sign language unique to the Liberated Vigil: "Path to the palace too crowded to make it back to the Palace in time. We are answering the plea from the nearby Jedi. Contact Verah Muzanemman of the Shrouded Choir and Piero Hecto of Cleansing Seal, tell them to move their squadrons back to the Royal Palace and rendevous with the rest of the company along the way. We will try to reconvene down the line. Do not wait for us."
The commands were given in seamless uniformity across the commlinks in the local tongue of Empress Teta, and quickly did he see the pinging dots of the other squadrons move away in chaotic synch. He nodded then signaled for his own to round upon his position before turning his gaze to their new destination. A tall, gleaming skyscraper that promised the life of a young scared Padawan.
Laoth hopped down from the shuttle as he watched his foe struggle to slide away through the muck of combat, his landing emphasized by the total collapse of a nearby building and howls from the beast above. He did not move as the smoke of the collapse rose and covered the rooftop, though his vision was hampered very little, if at all. Colors still popped with a duller clarity and the boy's form was now outlined with shades of white while shifting rainbow colors filled him in like a painting. He rested now at the turbolift's closed hatch, frantically pressing the button to summon and retrieving his weapon with a heaving pull of the Force.
Laoth was amused. With blood pouring from his lips and face - vibrant reds in the black-grey blanket coating them now - and darkness rising to the surface of his body, this child was invariably still of the Light. The candlewick flame still burning in his chest. But the darkness was inside him. Undoubtedly. Unabashedly. Corruptively. Truly, such a change in his demeanor and soul was only proof of the Devaronian's earlier comments. They were on the same field, each bloodied and gored to the very core of the earth it was built upon. The same field. The same evil. The same hatred. The same goals, just different teams. Extermination of those on the opposite side.
His mind inevitably raced back to recall the rage of Ishida Ashina
, the horror in her heart both on Jedha and Selvaris. The former, she was alone and recovered by herself, reclaiming control of her soul through sheer willpower. But on Selvaris, she required the assistance of her master. Michael Sardun
, a man who knew only a singular burning loathing for the Darkside and all its servants. They had nearly killed him that day with their hatred for him, as had the subsequent clash with Valery Noble
. Of course, those encounters were against a Devaronian who had been weakened by entombment and refusal to retrain himself. Now, that same creature had been reborn into...something worse. Something monstrous.
Laoth chuckled as he stepped forward finally through the smoke, his body wreathed in fumes. And he spoke again, this time dragging the tip of his vibroblade against the rooftop to produce trackable sparks of metal cutting metal. "It pains me to see you so distraught, young one," he mocked in a low slithering drawl that ended on a crackling wheezing hiss of static. "But...these are things you must hear before your end. It is only right that you die knowing the truth of the universe and accept what you really are as life fades. Only then will you be saved."
The Devaronian hissed something between a laugh and a growl and ceased his forward movements not ten yards from the boy. His eyes glowed deeply purple in the smog and bore down on the Jedi into his own. "You can feel it now festering inside you like rot," he said while kneeling and using his weapon as support. "Begging to be released with showers of gore. You and I...we are as kin. Violence breeds violence, and your people are far more violent than they would ever admit. How many wars have they waged in the name of "peace?" How many lives have been snuffed out for your Jedi politics? How many atrocities were ignored because intervening did not fit their image? Slavery. Starvation. Pandemics. Genocide. I could name all four in one instance alone. How many other worlds were bled dry by their machines of industry and then left to decay? How many species were left to go extinct because of ignorance and council decisions? How many families have you ended because the soldiers that you fought...were on the opposite side of the field? Yes...we Sith have done those things, supported those things. Look at the world we are on. Thousands are dying. Millions. But we know who we are. We do not try to hide our sins. We embrace them...as I have now embraced mine. As you should embrace yours before the end. Now...tell me your name, child."
“What am I? Such a tantalizing question.” She pondered. “I am referred to as many things by many people. The Scorekeeper, the Goddess, the Lady with the Locust Heart… among others. But I prefer a particular name that always has stuck with me - Onrai.” The entity concluded its introduction with a flourish.
“I know more than you would ever be able to glean if you lived the full lives of the Four Sages of Dwartii, Silas.” She spoke up, stepping towards him. “You ask what my intentions are - I only seek to offer myself to you as a source of blessing in exchange for your supplication.” A hand raised as the small tufts of light that were from the entryways began to shrink into small tunnels, becoming the brightness of lamps, then a single bulb, then the pinprick of a star billions of miles away, until there was naught left but the infinite void of blacknsss and emptiness.
His daughter had accepted the dreaded task given to her and asserted herself ready. She was not, no one could ever truly ready themselves to make ‘the Sacrifice’. It was spiritual collapse, a rebirth of identity as the last vestige of compassion was killed off along with those dearest to you. To complete her transition into a Sith, she had to cut the last link holding her to her former life as a Jedi.
The Dark Lord had intended to follow and see the job done before his very eyes, to watch the life leave the Jedi as he fell at the hands of his very own apprentice. The one he fought so passionately to save, to redeem and bring home. He never understood the truth, she was home, where Jem belonged. Her destiny was intertwined with that of her Father’s, she was the heir to his legacy and the key to the future he designed.
Alas, his attention drifted elsewhere. Caught unawares as the silent speech of the Sword saturated his thoughts from the empyrean wind. His eyes widened, orbs of incalculable wrath glistening in the shadow of Cinnagar.
“…The Sword of the Jedi.”
The Sith’ari cooed.
“You should of remained in exile.”
The Dark Lord of the Sith stretched forth, hand reaching out across the expanse, his mind probing the depths of battlefield. He uttered a savage hiss before muttering in the ‘Old Tongue’ an unrecognizable command.
The earth shook, the skies thundered, and throughout the city streets a monstrosity glided overhead. The Summa-Verminoth groaned violently as it made haste in the direction of the valiant Sword. Earth and Heaven moved before the apex predator as it turned towers into turmoil.
The Beast lumbered on, carried by it’s master’s command to seek fresh meat.
Objective 1: The Invasion of Empress Teta Section: Walker Equipment:Lightsaber, Voidsaber Allies: BOTM Enemies: GA Engaging:Kyell Laysel
Death and Rebirth, are the words the Maw lived by, and so did he. At first, he was sceptical but as time progressed and the Maw were victorious again and again. Superious began to find merit in it, the devastation, madness and bloodshed. Not having an apprentice to watch for frees up his battle readiness and he can do a lot more with his energy, particularly to the cause.
Not a single thing caught his interest, there seemed to be several signatures. Each was showing the same thing, Jedi. He enjoyed fighting them. Mandalorians were also a great battle opportunity but then again, they were hard targets to defeat, that is why he remembered the Mando more than all the others as he was a challenge, a challenge he vanquished.
As the walker trampled all underfoot, the unstoppable force cut a path through the defenders, Empress Teta was as good as theirs. At least that was the full objective, and everyone had been following it to the letter. Everyone had their part to play, the Force Users, Mawdalorians, the Hordes and the Scar Hounds each one assigned an important role.
But still, there was only so things he could do, he directed the person operating the Walker in a predetermined direction. Superious had kept his Force Sense engaged, watching for allies and enemies alike. Then suddenly something caught his interest, a signature stood out, the unmistakable aura of a bright yet dying white dwarf glare of a lone Jedi. Maybe there were others, the Ubese did not care, they were weeded out of the Force Sweep.
Superious made his way out of the Walker, so now he was standing on top, making his presence seen and felt, he wanted to let them know he was there. His malevolent Signature creeping and tangling into Kyell Laysel's aura.
Percival’s blade tore through one of the needles, spewing forth a fountain of sparks. But the other was already reaching around.
The needle embedded in his back, impaling him. Neutralizers felt no pain, but his systems blared warnings of internal damage. His flesh was being ionized, electricity cooking the organic tissues that encased his more vulnerable droid parts: the complex circuitry of nerves and his neuromesh brain.
He was still functioning, but he couldn’t take this continuous stream for long. Percival’s eyes began to glow. A blast of energy shot from his gaze into the Manifold’s gaping mouth.
Prefect Nathan Graves, second in command to Samron and commander of the Ash Hellions, spoke up from point as the group had moved. "How far?" Danika asked as she glided with them. "Three-hundred at most, Mistress. We are picking up individuals now." Graves replied.
Danika glanced at Samron. "Thoughts?"
The Falleen stood silent for a second, observing their way ahead on the tac-map, cocking his head to the side as he did so. "The resistance seems to be less here." he said, pointing to a certain area of the gate area. "So I'd say give that particular area the ol' 1-2, as they say." "I can agree with that."
Danika nodded as she started weaving a hand through the air. "Very well, darlings. Let's do it. You have my protection." she said as an invisible cloak settled around each of her men. She, on the other hand, could feel another presence - an old one. Not dissimilar to the one that used to be Marek Silvanus
' old master.
An ancient Jedi. How delicious that would be.
The dread-force of the Ash Hellions descended upon the group surrounding the Jedi-ancient. "Show them that all mortals can fear, Samron. I have other business." Danika said as she glided forward. "Yes, Mistress." he replied before his hulking frame loomed over the guardians defending the area.
The Herald of Death swept past in a blur of golden metal and black plate, calling upon the Nether to walk with her. Hair whipping around her in a non-existent breeze as eyes burnt a bright teal, there was no mistaking her potency. "I taste a cowardly Jedi in the air." she said, voice echoing with the Dead.
Equipment: Stormtrooper Armour, NIO standard issue Pistol, Blaster Rifle and Rocker Launcher, Party Poppers (4 explosive, 3 gas)
Hex speech to others Hex speech to herself
Hexes inner voices Neutral Doubt Anger
Coloured "....." are also words that Hex can hear , but I decided not to write them to reduce clutter
She looked at the braid in her hand and shrugged, before coiling them up as best she could and sticking them into her helmet, that didn't help the comfort in the slightest.
"Speeders! Yes, they are ready to go." there were two Imperial speeder bikes outside the cave and Hex walked out to them, ahead of her was carnage, star fighters screamed over head, tanks flew past and massive plasma cannons from the Titan obliterated dozens of men. A shiver went down her spine as she saw an entire tank blown apart in an instant and she stepped back.
"You can't do this!" "But Hilal says we can and she is my friend" "But what about us, look, look silly child! How many of them there are!"
She did look, her eyes widened, maybe her inner doubt was right, maybe she had been ignoring her friends for too long and trying to replace them with Hilal, could she trusy Hilal?
"She will get you killed, she doesnt care, she wants glory and you will take the fall!" "no, stop it! It isn' true..."
Hex turned and looked at Hilal, the mandalorian couldn't see the colour in her eyes shifting but her body language was tightening and her fist clenched, "Hilal!" she snapped at her friend, her fear was getting the better of her and she was beginning to lose control "we can't do this... we...will.....DIE!!" yanked her helmet off and threw it on the floor, the fuschia colour of her eyes was a new appearance that Hilal had not seen yet. She looked at Hilal through her fringe and held her pistol in her hand, playing with the firing hammer.
"Kill her before she gets you both killed"
A thin grin curled on her lips as she looked at Hilal and played more with the gun.
"Are you my friend Mandalorian?" Hex had never called Hilal this before, and her tone was deadly serious, she was frightened, a tear rolled down her face as she spoke. "If you are my friend you will leave with me."
Hex knew in her heart that Hilal was about to walk away from her like all the rest, and she wouldn't let that happen, she raised her gun at the girl as tears streamed down her face.
Hilal took one last look at the Iron Walker through her binoculars there was a skirmish taking place near the walkers legs. The young woman looked on in astonishment when Walker's plasma canons started to incinerate many soldiers with ease. Damn..... this was not going to be easy now was it? Fear started to take grip on Hilal again. This had to be the most powerful Walker ever created as an engineer, Hilal was amazed by the sheer scale and power of the machine. As a Bounty Hunter though..... her plans were slowly starting to unravel and she and Hex haven't even started yet! Hilal had to come up with a new plan. DVA managed to sneak inside the Walker, she needed to contact him immediately to find another way in.
Hushed voices shook Hilal from her thoughts, lowering the Binoculars she turned her gaze towards Hex. "Hex?" Hilal whispered worried for her friend but before she could say anything else, Hex threw her helmet onto the rocky ground. "Hex?!" Hilal saw the faceplate of the helmet crack as it bounced off and rolled into the shadows behind. "What are you-"
She couldn't finish her sentence as Hex drew her Blaster Pistol fiddling with it as if she was contemplating...... "No Hex." Hilal whispered tears starting to form in her eyes. "Please don't do this....."
Hex sounded like a deranged wraith ranting that they'll both die if they go through with this contract. Hilal dropped her weapon and helmet watching Hex raise her Pistol just as teary eyed as Hilal was, yet the young woman saw her eyes turning dark red. Was it due to her eyes being flooded with tears? "Hex," Hilal begged. "It's your "friends" they're feasting on your fear, your doubts. I'm scared too but we will find a way, we will!"
What happened next was something Hilal couldn't explain, it was reckless, suicidal, and in spur of the moment. She ran over to Hex wrestled the Pistol from her and wrapped her into a hug. "It's me Hex," Hilal whispered hugging her as tight as possible. "Hilal, your friend."
The young woman started to weep placing her forehead onto Hex's shoulder pad. Hilal couldn't bare to abandon Hex, not after all the good times they've had. They were unusual pair but they fit together. "I know it's tough," Hilal whispered in between sobs. "Sometimes I wonder why I took this contract!"
Tears ran down freely from Hilal's cheek as she cupped Hex's. "You know during the fall of Mandalore, my people were broken, scattered, and defeated. Many of us wondered how could we move on from this when our homeworld was razed to the ground? How could we move on when we don't have a home anymore."
Hilal forced herself to smile her bottom lip quivering. "But we preserved and managed to rebuild," Hilal said. "We've taken what was once thought of an impossible task and came back harder and stronger. Hex..... I know it's hard now but we have each other and we can overcome this."
She bumped her forehead against Hex's. "I believe in you Hex," she whispered. "You're a good friend and I'm glad that I'm fighting with you."
It was more dead, dying, and broken in one place than the assassin had ever seen over the course of her short life, but Chassella was no stranger to it, having inflicted such death herself on more than one occasion, albeit never to this scale. Without a doubt, it was a terrible sight to see so many like her who had prematurely failed in their individual campaigns to become initiated into the Church. So much so that a looming sensation of doubt began to cloud her thoughts, even as her chakrams flew true from her hands, decapitating a pair of Marshals who were making a valiant, yet ultimately futile last stand to hold their position against the tide of marauders and slavishly-fanatical initiates. Although she had physically left the monastery of the Eight Arrows Sect, a part of her lingered there, which wanted nothing more than to revel in the weakness and stagnation of a sect which yet still worshiped a dead Goddess.
If that lingering part of her could not be suppressed, then she might have to kill it.
Feeling a renewed sense of vigor as the Royal Palace grew larger in her sight, Chassella found the strength to press on. The Elzeri was like a blur of motion as she ambushed the squad of Marshals from an alley within the complex, her chakrams whistling through the air at nigh-supersonic velocity to viciously strike down a trio of soldiers, their decapitated bodies spraying blood out from the neck stumps as they collapsed to the ground. Then, pulling her Whipblades from their place on her back, she uncoiled one in a savage slash, the mono-edged blade segments bisecting the body of a Marshal in a fantastic spray of blood, while her other weapon was impaled through the back of the last Marshal’s neck.
Calling her chakrams back after sheathing her blades, Chassella glanced up at the main spire and heaved one of chakrams at the window, destroying it in an explosion of glass. However, she could not ignore the massive, lumbering form of the titan, the walker’s menacing, skull-like visage dominating the horizon as if it were a mechanical God. The titanic machine had shifted its course, moving with slow, pounding steps that shook the earth with the force of a deity, even from so far away.
It didn’t take long for the Elzeri to realize that it was moving directly towards the palace.
And just as she did, a series of pounding explosions suddenly rocked the area as a B-Wing crashed into one of the spires, debris showering in its wake as parts of the palace began to collapse around her…
“Roger that Grand Overseer. I will see to it that the Revenant Squadron is destroyed or crippled at the minimum.” Baron Vonreg said in response to his superior. The Veteran Fighter Ace had already reached his TIE/fdH Hunter having made the necessary preparations for deployment. As soon as he received the orders from Sularen, Vonreg’s TIE/fdH Hunter went live as it soon emerged from the ventral hangars of the FDS Predator, followed by the rest of twenty-three remaining members of the Crimson Linings. For this operation, the Crimson Linings were solely making use of their TIE/fdH Hunters and Chariot-II Missile Boats in addition to the temporary transfer of Electra-12 from Nacheria Squadron.
As the Crimson Linings departed the hangars of the FDS Predator they were greeted with the sight of the Battlecarriers of Task Force Vader unleashing their first volley of special weaponry upon the Vanguard Galactic Alliance Flotilla. Once they reached their rendez-vous point and all pilots were accounted for, the Crimson Linings, now reinforced by 2 Starfighter Squadrons from the Glolmark Corporation set off on the hunt seeking their prey : the elusive Revenant Squadron.
The Elite Starfighter Squadron of the Galactic Alliance were well known by the officers of the Final Dawn, for their greatest feat yet, the destruction of Aldo Garrick’s Flagship above Coruscant which in turn had cost the life of the Final Dawn Admiral. While Garrick was resurrected it reminded those within the Final Dawn, that Revenant Squadron was not to be underestimated lest they face the same fate that befell Admiral Garrick over Coruscant.
Soon enough, the Crimson Linings would come across a large debris field which had the potential of being the site of a possible ambush from the Crimson Linings. As they approached the field, Vonreg tried to scan the field only to realize that his scanners could not penetrate most of the field. This meant that the Crimson Linings would have to move inside the debris field to determine whether Revenant Squadron were hiding there or not.
“Copy that, Crimson Seventeen.” Vonreg said in response to Electra-12’s statement. “Group Cresh, Group Forn. Follow Crimson Seventeen’s lead and begin patrolling the debris field. The rest of the Squadrons form up on me. We’ll circle around the debris field until we receive confirmation on whether Revenant is hiding there or not.” Vonreg ordered. If they could lure Revenant out it would allow the rest of the Squadron to annihilate them, and while Vonreg would have to sacrifice 3 of his Pilots and an entire Squadron from an allied Corporation, such sacrifices would be necessary to annihilate Revenant Squadron once and for all to ensure that the Grand Overseer’s plans could proceed as planned.
Thus, the Crimson Linings split into two groups, the first but smaller one headed into the Debris Field while Baron Voreg led the rest of the Squadron into patrolling the outskirts of the Debris Field. Revenant Squadron was most certainly here and Vonreg would make sure the Crimson Linings would be there to snuff them out.
The Crimson Linings are deployed from the FDS Predator with Baron Wilhelm Vonreg (Callsign : Crimson Leader) at the lead
Upon reaching the Debris Field. Electra-12 informs Vonreg that she can't penetrate the field with her scanners and when she dives into the field, Vonreg sends an additional force of 3 TIE/fdH Hunters and 8 A-64 Starfighters into the Debris field in an effort to lure Revenant Squadron out into the open
The rest of the Crimson Linings under the direction of Vonreg remain outside of the Debris Field and begin circling around it waiting for confirmation on whether Revenant is inside the Field or not.
Rika exhaled deeply, her hand gripping the hammer's handle tightly as they came for her with all the cohesion and manner of a pack of dogs looking for their next meal. And she moved too, the first running at her with his blade raised to bring down crashing on the Atrisians skull. But Rika was much more agile, ducking and spinning under the blade's edge before rising up from behind the mawite and smashing the hammer into the ribs of the next undead. Then, using her own momentum from the push, she turned her gaze and planted her boot in the chest of the Mawite she'd dodged, kicking him on his back to give her breathing space as more came down the hallway. The other undead barreled towards Rika, whose back was exposed, lifting the Atrisian up and wrapping its rotten hands around her throat. She gasped for air, choking as the grip of the monster tightened; Rika pushed back and kicked against the wall to knock the undead off her. Then, using that glimmer of freedom to flip the hammer on its claw side and repeatedly bludgeon the zombie to death as its brain matter and gore decorated the hallway and Atrisian woman. The rest surrounded her on either side of the narrow, cold, claustrophobic hallway. Their dark, hungry eyes seized up the woman who picked up a knife from the undead corpse, hammer and knife in hand, ready to fight more.
Rika counted every second that passed in the brief refrain; someone had to move and make that play. She had one on her right side and five on her left, with more flooding the building in search of a human meal. But she didn't have to wait; they made a move for her. The undead on the right lunged towards her, wildly swinging his weapon and biting like a dog with rabies. Rika yelled, "Fuck YOU too." and charged at them, deflecting the swing of his weapon and burying the claw of her hammer into the nape of the Mawites neck, yanking him forward and burying her knife deep in its skull. Rika weaved aside like clockwork as another enemy strike passed her. She swung wildly at the undeads legs and struck the armour around his knee, delivering a heavy blow. The armour held, but the muscle and bone crumbled beneath the impact. Making the undead go on one knee and give what could've passed as a cry of agony as Rika's hammer met with his temple and sent him face down hard on the floor. Rika cut another down with little hesitation, her hammer finding purchase in the monster's eye as she repeatedly stabbed it in the belly and used its upright body as cover against the other undead attacks before pulling her knife across and disembowelling the beast.
She dispatched the next one with ease; Rika moved to finish the last remaining one-off but stumbled over the corpse of one of the Mawites and fell on the ground as her hammer and knife clattered across the floor out of reach. The last remaining Mawite laughed and closed in on the Atrisian, who panicked, grabbed a piece of debris, and threw it at him, crawling back to look for something to fight back against the enemy. Rika turned around just in time, grabbing the straps of a blaster rifle and swinging the gun at the creature's head. It bought her precious time, which she gladly used to her advantage, lunging forward and tackling the Mawite to the ground before mercilessly bashing its brains in with a chunk of durasteel. Finally, after what felt like forever, the monster stopped twitching, allowing Rika to fall off the now lifeless corpse and catch her breath. She wiped blood and sweat from her brow with her jacket sleeve, pulling up her datapad with her other hand to hammer in an emergency warning signal for all agents in the area.
-Floor three, please exit the elvator-
An automated voice faintly rang out from where the elevator doors at the end of the hallway were, Rika tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in confusion, then swore in realisation as the elevator button pinged and the doors slowly unravelled, revealing several more undead waiting.
"Ahhhhhhhhh, shit."
Frustration took her and overwhelmed whatever exhaustion Rika previously felt; she grabbed the now bloodied claw hammer from the floor and surged to her feet. A sly smile formed across her bloodied lips as the Mawites all stood out of the elevator, weapons in hand to greet the Atrisian. She looked down at her hammer and gave the small, sturdy weapon a spin in her hand before looking back up and spitting a defiant glob of bloodied spit as they slowly converged on her.
A drop ship followed behind the B-Wing as it cleared a path toward the palace. Just spent the entire time talking himself up. He was a fool to think he belonged on the battlefield especially after he lost his arm trying to save @Brianna Sal-Soren. A bit of time had passed since then, and the mechanical arm was something he had gotten used to. It hid a lightsaber for one, and it augmented his strength, at least for that arm anyway.
Justice was an archeologist, not a warrior, and the world which was under attack was one full of historical wonders Justice felt compelled to defend. Yup, the suicide mission was all because this particular version of Lesan was a nerd, not a fighter. He was nothing like his uncles or cousins that had followed down this path. All of them were warriors, duelists in their own right, and then there was Just, the bookworm. Yet, here he was about to leap out of a perfectly good ship.
“YAAAAAHOOOOOO!”
There was still enough childlike innocence with the padawan that he enjoyed what he was doing. Should he have been concerned about the fact he was hurtling toward the ground at the same time a spire was crashing down in the exact spot where he needed to land? Probably. Was he? No. Perhaps he would have been a few months ago, but now, Just simply used the force to push most of the debris out of the way.
Feet landed on a larger piece, and Just held out his arms as though he were surfing. His eyes caught sight of a woman, a sith perhaps. A smirk pulled at his lips as the rock collided with the ground and slid to a stop mere inches from the woman. He leapt off the rock, well over her head and landed behind her.
“Good guy or bad guy?”
It was likely the worst Jedi entrance ever, but Justice was still getting the hang of it.
Throughout my charge toward my chosen meal, many thoughts came flooding into my mind. My birth, as the Sith Engineers referenced it, was a shoddy miscalculation on their part. I heard their whispers from behind the curtains as my body undergone drastic changes and enhancements; as their medical poisons had failed to delegate me to a sleep throughout my surgery. I endured every cut, slash, and removal of a limb. I fought back the tears exchanging them for angry mental curses. I new one day, I would slaughter each and everyone of them. The more they continued with their sadistic operations, the more my heart swelled with murder. And......then I awoke free of their poking and prods; leaving that science facility in tatters and ruins; feasting like the predator upon the flesh of my Fathers, they created a miscalculation, and now I was the galaxy's problem. In hindsight, I should not have murdered them all wholly; I should have feasted on them eternally; one limb at a time in remembrance of my removed limbs.
My body and mind bore the scars of brutal training. I believe I died at one point, only to be resurrected like some Lazarus; and killed again through technological atrocities. However, whatever those monsters did to me; they turned me into a well calculated killing machine. I knew combat, taught many secrets of dispersing my enemies either quickly, or by dark gestures of my choosing. I didn't posses the ability of precognition; I failed that class horribly, rewarded with more scars upon scars. But I did pass reading the field of battle, and body movements of others. The key to killing an opponent wasn't simply possessing the skill that superseded theirs, oh no, it was the ability to pay attention to the tiniest details. Muscle movement and eye shifting was far more important of an understanding than simple skill. Most are unaware of it, but eyes just don't taste spectacular; they betray. As does muscle twitches. Every movement starts with a twitch.
I live a life based off acting, if I was a different individual; I'm quite sure I would be sitting rich and proper in some over expensive mansion overlooking an ocean somewhere, earning numerous accolades for every holo-movie blessed by my presence. Sadly, the life we are giving is sometimes robbed of us, or one we could never achieve by the fates of inferior social standings in our youth. So when the abomination offered up a foot, I gladly allowed myself to stumble over it. But whatever they had hoped for an outcome was not one they would ever fathom. The moment I feigned a stumble, I ignited my other hilt, The Fiend's Grin, and lashed out behind me as my act of tripping manifested a trio of tendrils from my lightwhip. Each strand from my trio of whips danced unholy in several different directions, due to my momentum and not directing them collectively in one specific source; but nonetheless, they sought a target. And as my lovely grin shot out to kill my enemy; with my other free hand, I withdrew my pistol from my waist; rifling off a shot over my shoulder unpredictably. Whatever happened next, there was a clear message sent to my opponent: I can play dirty too.
“C’mon let’s get these meat bags!” A hand soldier said just a moment before bolt had sent him flying from the top rung of a siege ladder. Unfortunately the ladder crashed down onto a group of the barbaric stormtroopers as the valiant defenders of the Royal Guard tried to fend off the attackers. Kyrel watched in both frustration and anticipation as his men armed with blade and blaster kept up the siege. Chaos continued to spread as he watched B-Wings crash into the large spires, some of the debris affecting the battle from below crashing onto several of the guard as well as the Crimson Hands.
The battering fists kept ramming against the ancient walls. Long strokes of the arms sent a loud bang and the clanking of metal against fortress. The cracks only kept growing wider, as the men didn’t stop. Kyrel even moved forward, slowly with his blade in hand started to protect the ramming squads. Instead of the siege crews being overwhelmed, men picked off one by one instead the bloodshine blade of Kyrel Ren reflected bolts back at the men.
The men let out a chant every time the fists met the wall. “Break, Break, Break, Break!” Saying the mantra caused the men to increase the power of the ramming fist. The cracks slowly started to grow. Meanwhile those that had started to go up time hooked one of the guards with chains. The chains wrapped around his neck, the hook dug into the stone and durasteel caused the man to fall, only stopping short as the rusty chain was wrapped around his neck. The mantra and the ramming fist blocked out his gurgling pleas. Soon the man was left dangling above the gate as a gruesome marker.
While the fighting started to turn its attention high above on the Palace walls, fire started to form everywhere. Soon the cracks started to widen, and with one big bash of the spiked fists caused a section of the wall to collapse. As the dust settled the hands were met with a volley of blaster fire sending down several cannibal stormtroopers. The rest wasted no time in jumping into the fray. Among the mixture of blasters being fired and the sharpness of the blades came the screams. The guards started to sound to fall back as the Crimson Hands slowly flooded into the courtyard. Kyrel emerged his blade lowered, his gaze shifting to the mixture of corpses before him. The Crimson Hands in bloodlust started to hack off pieces of the dead guards only to devour them right there. Some even taking trophies to add to they’re armor.
“Kill all in your path… Move in now we storm the Palace!” He said raising his blade forward to be met with cheering. The frenzy only continued to advance, while the Wrath of the Maw started to cleave into any guard brave enough to stand against the encroaching horde.
Onrai
