The Fall (CIS)

[EmKay]

2200 Local Time
Roon

The sun had fully set, and the night took hold. The city around the Sanctum had gone still and quiet. Some of the people had evacuated to avoid the waves of destruction coming from the battle of the Force users, while others went about their lives unaware, while others sat in their homes for shelter, and yet others took up arms and prepared to war for whomever their allegiance lie. The opposing factions of the Knights Obsidian and Templar Order were still battling hard, even Rhoujen and Sigma finding themselves overwhelmed in the sheer number. They were originally of equal force, but as more Templars poured in from off-world the battle turned against the Obsidians by sheer number. Norongachi's words and Atretes' ferocity were the two shoulders that bore the weight of the morale of the Obsidians. The battle went on, and in the dark of night, with all lighting in the immediate area destroyed, the lightsabers and Force powers were the only vicious illumination sources. Tools of violence, men and women killing other men and women for differences in opinion. For loyalty. For what they believed in. Atretes landed another killing blow, Vor to one side of him and the manifestation of Sigma to the other, and the three continued to head the spear against the Templars.

Then the night air illuminated in reds and yellows. Distant explosions temporarily caught the attention of the battle. The thunderous boom washed over them from the bomb, and in the lull of battle, the powerful and experienced Force users wrought together yet another storm. The sky flashed in white, violet, and blue as bolts of lightning streaked through the sky. Wind howled and icy cold rain beat down on them, and then distant blasterfire could be heard. Atretes didn't have time to dwell on what may have been happening, as a lightning bolt struck down before him and the mixed energies threw him back with veins of electricity scattering across his skin and armour. He grunted and stood, looking for his comrades. He felt the phantom of Sigma dissipate and the consciousness return to his own mind. He saw Tanon stand and loft his saber, and with a yell and a charge the two rekindled the struggle between Obsidian and Templar.

- ~ -​

​

"Strike successful. Enemy stronghold C-7 destroyed." reported a covert operative from the city. His commander nodded, and she touched the comlink in her ear.

"Initiate Talon Strike." she ordered, and an affirmative came through the earpiece. The looked to those around her and hefted up her blaster rifle.

"Let's go." she ordered, before heading the way to the next base of confirmed military operations loyal to the current legislation. They swept across the roads, and then a flash. They turned around quickly, and saw the clouds materialising out of nothing, the thick voluminous abyss in the sky quickly fanning out to cover the city, the immediate rain and quickly following wind making their lives both easier and more difficult. She turned back to carry on, and saw the thing she least wanted to. An enemy platoon already en route to investigate the destruction... and they were already spotted. Two of her unit were killed before she could give the order to run, and by the time anyone had thought to do so, more of their own were decimated by as blaster repeater mounted on a medium-sized armoured vehicle. They collectively dove for cover as a rocket blew the wall to a building weakened by earlier quakes, and with just that seemingly insignificant damage to its base structure, the building shifted its weight and slid to the ground, then tipped to the side. The structure topped into one adjacent and crumbled into it and the ground, the vibrations rattling the structure of other similarly affected buildings nearby and crumbling them as well. Dust blew up around them, creating a short-lived dust storm that was quelled by the wind and rain. That was all the cover needed for the operatives to escape, but now the enemy knew they were there. Hopefully Talon would do its job.

- ~ -​

​

"That's the order," he muttered to the woman's words, then he turned to his troop, "Ready to go, boys!?" yelled this commander to his soldiers over a crack of thunder. The resounding shout of affirmative brought a grin to the commander's face and he unslung his blaster repeater from his shoulder.

"That's what I like to hear!" he yelled over them this time, and he led the charge of men to yet another confirmed target. They immediately opened fire with various weapons of war, explosions lighting up the air around them from both sides. This one was a fortified stronghold, with mounted turrets and anti-vehicular grenade launchers. That presented its own problems, but these men weren't operatives. They were hard soldiers, and they would be damned before they let these Verd whelps give them what-for before they got it themselves.

"Set the charges! Get in there before they call reinforcements!" barked the commander, while spraying down a gun emplacement to keep the enemy off it as long as he could. A demolitions expert was hard at work planting explosives at weak points at the base of the walls. He ran clear of the area, and so too did the soldiers clear the blast radius, and as soon as a safe distance was reached a small blast led to a mass explosion that shook the glass of buildings nearby. The shards fell upon the armoured soldiers, and when their gazes returned to the stronghold, a smouldering hole was blown into the defencive structure. They all cheered, then charged in guns blazing to take one for the team. The war of armies was beginning, and its scale was going to make the fierce Force user battle seem like a miniscule thing.

 

[Barkt Melan]

Several Months before the assassination:
"He's dead."
The bothan sighed, looking up at the last Minister of his father's network. "You're sure?"
"Yes. An old enemy caught up with him."
"And what did dear old dad have left?"
"You've enough money to start that business of yours. And all his plans, his blueprints. His labs will probably serve you." The Twi'lek handed him a datapad. "It's encrypted to your fingerprint. Only you can access it. Hacking will delete the software."
Nodding, Barkt opened the datapad, and pulled up the schematic for the X-57. Studying it absentmindedly, he asked, "What will you do?"
"I owed a debt to your father. Until you deem it repayed, I serve you."
Barkt sighed. "Then go. I've got some reading to do." Nodding, the Twi'lek walked off. After about a minute, he whispered into the empty room "He's gone." A door deeper in the house, a door opened. The quiet, invisible figure slipped into the room. He smiled. "Hiding from even me?"
As if in response, the figure materialized. "I'm trying to practice." the girl said. "Still can't seem to fool you."
"I just know when you're there" She smiled at that. "I always know."
She swatted at him playfully. "Only because I let you." Looking at the display, she smiled. "So, you're finally starting?"
"Yep." he replied, her joy echoed on his face. "We're starting." adding emphasis to the first word. She smiled and hugged him tighter.

The Assassination:
"You know what this means?"
Barkt nodded. "Salem becomes a martyr. The old regime has to fight a civil war. If they win, I survive. If they loose, I have to find out how to buy my life."
The girl at his elbow seemed shocked. "Why?"
"Strask." He replied. "My father was a proud member of the old regime. As his son, I am a threat to this new order, as I may share his sympathies."
"So we need to hide you." the girl said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Barkt nodded. "I'm sorry."
"Why? You're my shipbuilder. What difference does it make?"
"The force has blessed me with you."

Two days before the Rise:

"Hide"
The word shot through his mind as the young bothan scrambled to find his datapad. He knew what was going to happen if this rebellion carried through. And whatever his allegiance was, his name meant that he wasn't welcome in this new order. Even if he favored it. His father had doomed them both to death. But perhaps, he could cheat it after all....
"How long could you hide us?" he asked the Twi'lek, standing next to him. The weary old man sighed. The creaces on his face told Barkt everything he needed to know. "Ok. Will you do one last thing for me?"
"Depends on what it is."
"In the files, everywhere I'm listed, anywhere I exist on paper, change my surname." The young man looked out onto the street, where the protests were growing. He sighed. "Until such a time as I reclaim the honor my father lost, I will be a Melan"
The old Twi'lek nodded. "Aye. I can do that. Good luck to you. I hope to see you again."
"And I you, friend." The young man said as he looked out the window. "And I you."

As the Twi'lek left, slipping off to do one last task, the bothan began his work, copying the files from the datapad his father had left onto a simple spike, along with one more thing Strask had left him: The Umbra's administrative password. All they needed to access the full extent of the Spynet's files. Every name, every mission, all recorded. Nothing the Net had known was hidden once you had it. Pausing for a moment, he spoke. "I'm sorry, Nallai. You can't come. Stay safe."
"Why?" the Bothan girl materialized behind him, sorrow and confusion mixed on her face.
"Because if you come, I cannot guarantee you will be safe." He spoke in an attempted deadpan he had heard his father use, but it didn't work. His voice broke down. He had too much of a heart.
"You can't either way." She replied, walking up to him and resting her hand on his shoulder. She sighed, her ears drooping.
"But if they know you matter to me, you are in danger. Please, for both our sakes, hide. I will call you when it is safe." Tears began to form in his eyes.
"And if it's not?" She said. She knew his answer. But she needed to hear it.
"Then this is goodbye." She sighed, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face into his neck.
"I don't want to loose you."
"I know." he wept with her, holding her there for a minute. He wasn't afraid of his death. He knew it would come eventually. But he didn't want it to happen now.

Not while it still would hurt her.

 

[Corey's OOC]

See? Marek wasn't that much of a fighter. He was a Starchaser, however, and that meant you get him behind the controls of something that flies and he is good to go. That was half the reason he had so many options to fly, the Dark Tide, the Vagrant Wind, an Exalt -- which he wasn't that good in, but it was reminiscent of the TIE Avenger, a Starchaser staple -- and more recently a Santhe Challenger. He had the Dark Tide ready for his day to day travels and not really a combat ship. She was perfect for getting him from point A to B safely and able to fend off other ships by scrambling their systems. The Vagrant Wind was his workhorse, like any good CEC ship should be. What he needed was a combat shuttle, and the Challenger was being constructed to fill that role.

For now, though, he was making sure the interests were protected. Flying circles above the factories on Hypori, he nodded. Right, this ground fight wasn't going to be won by him in the air, he had other concerns. And that meant the shipyard. If the Verd-loyalists were anything like the the team that fought at Druckenwell, they were going to be in for a surprise. Turning the Dark Tide on its tail, he pushed the throttle for exit velocity.

And that was when his astromech perked up. Shaking his head, Marek looked at the screen as his R7 started laying out the display for what was in the orbit. Verd ships, and some of the older models from the new Hypori line. Marek couldn't help but grin. Seemed it was time now, didn't it? "SeaDee, contact Santhe and BlasTech, inform them on the situation at hand, but ensure that they're not under any threat." Verd's crew would be insane to touch those factories, and the droids, Vulture and battle alike, were on direct orders to defend the factories and manufacturing stations with the utmost prejudice.

What he really wished for, was that he had started working on an in-ship Virtual Intelligence, one that could verbally update him on everything he couldn't grasp in the Force. Turning on the frequency to the shipyards, he couldn't help but grin. Verd was looking to fight the old ships? How about a little something new to bring to the party? Santhe had been kind enough to begin providing them with test ships, and they were working on getting their line up ready, the new fighters. TIE Raptors, TIE Exalts, and the other ships, moving the Confederacy to something much more deadly.

"Hypori shipyards, this is the Dark Tide, Starchaser captaining. I believe with the Rise its time to show the old guard a little something new from the shipyards, don't you?" Marek keyed the comlink.

Hearing a moment of static, he fired a few shots from the laser cannons on his Slipstream, taking out one, then two fighters. Really regretting not turreting the ion cannon, he dove the shuttle, performed a quick aileron roll, and pulled back into a standard path, a bit of an ugly Split-S but he never claimed to be a crack fighter pilot. Another shot and one of hte ion missiles launched and sped towards an enemy fighter, the explosion knocked the ship out. He really wasn't here to kill, as people could be useful as slaves and experiments they may turn tail and join the new guard.

Then the comlink fired back up again. "Roger that, Starchaser. Initiating protocol New Beginnings." Was all it said.

Looking from the battle at hand, keeping his hand on the trigger and firing when the Force told him, which, sadly, was a bit slower than he wished, Marek watched the shipyards. Doors began to open and he even had about a half dozen contacts enter the area through hyperspace. Contention and Pillar Cruisers, escorted by a variety of aging but retrofitted corvettes and the new Scythe CCruisers and Sev'Rance Carriers entered the area. The Corellian smiled and nodded. Fighters were being released and the tide here was definitely going to be turning.

"Welcome home, boys." He nodded as he opened fire with lasers, waiting to see who was going to bug out, who was going to stand down, and who was going to meet a fiery end.

 

[Salem Norongachi]

"Report." Norongachi demanded as he slipped the hilt of a lightsaber onto his belt from the weapons locker situated in his quarters just off the main bridge of The Hand of Fate.

"All core worlds are in open rebellion," Emah responded as the action reports flooded in from the various battle sites across the CIS territories. "The bulk of the Confederate fleet are spread thin after our game of pin the tail on the bantha but defensive fleets around Hypori, Bothawui and Roon are still in place. Defector ships are in conflict with loyalists over those worlds. Bothawui, unsurprisingly, has more loyalists than defectors. Jonas has a habit of promoting those he finds more loyal it seems..."

"He isn't an issue anymore..." The formerly deceased Lord Commander commented coldly from behind his helm. He slipped a dagger combat pistol from the weapons shelf and strapped it and the holster to his thigh. "Get me to Roon."

Grevious-Class Star Destroyer Gorgon, Bothawui, Orbit.

"All hands," The tanoy blared, red emergency lighting bathing the corridors and walkways of the command ship as offensive fire slammed into its shields. "Evacuate sections seven and eight." People were running, not in a frantic headless panic but with purpose and speed. The decks were evacuated promptly and beyond the closing blast doors infernos raged that threatened the integrity of the entire vessel.

On the bridge Captain Rander focused his brown eyes to the holographic display of the battle. The battle lines had been drawn, their former comrades had pushed them back. Numbers were not on their side, even with the Grievous which had previously been the command ship for the Bothawui Defense Fleet, they were taking a hammering. He had expected more to join the cause when he had relieved Admiral Galla of his command, but the new leader of the CIS had made short work of the command structure, placing allies and confidants in command of the vessels over his head. It was only fate that The Serenity was in dry dock undergoing a massive overhaul...

In terms of combat vessels they had come out with a single Gunray Star Destroyer, two Tambor Light Star Destroyers, a Pillar-Class Cruiser, a Turtle-Class Frigate and two Ventress Class Corvettes. The enemy had a Lucrehulk, sitting at the back of the fray unleashing fighters and harassing their own, two Gunrays that were currently pounding the hell out of the Gorgon, two Tambors backing up the Gunrays, two Pillars with their massive ion cannons lighting up the shields of the Gunray, three more Turtles which made the lifespan of their fighters very short indeed and four Ventress Corvettes nipping at their heels.

The Gorgon and the Gunray were front and center of their formation, the Tambors flanking the pair. The Pillar lagged behind, doing what it did best and fired ion blast after ion blast at the enemy capital ships. The Turtle Frigate was tucked in behind the four, moving to intercept enemy bombers and fighters that made a run toward the larger capital ships and the faster, more nimble, Ventress Corvettes dipped in among enemy formation, striking where they could with speed.

Hold the line, thats all they had to do. Hold and wait for reinforcements.

Looking at the ships arrayed against them, the dog fighting fighters dancing just beyond the transparasteel, it seemed like a tall order.

Roon, Orbit.

Compared to Bothawui, the space battle above Roon was sedate. The power Norongachi wielded here was substantial, just as Jonas had rearranged the fleets to suit his need for loyalty above the capital, the Lord Commander had done the same before his time in office was cut short. The fleet here was substantially smaller as well, only two capital ships and a few cruisers with escort frigates and corvettes. Roon lay in the heart of CIS space and held little that might warrant attack from their enemies, aside from being the spiritual home of the Knights Obsidian and their Templar predecessors. It was judged, with a gentle push from Salem, that it wouldn't warrant a full defense fleet.

Kal Strife may have resigned his position and resumed his travels to parts unknown but they had both hand picked the crews of Roons Defensive Fleet. Loyal men who saw that change was the only way for the CIS to survive the doom that faced them. So when the call came, when Norongachi's face appeared on every world in the CIS they had made their move. Those that did not declare were executed or detained, by the discretion of the officer in charge of the defectors on each ship. In some cases the vessels fell completely into their hands, in others brief but brutal firefights raged inside the bellies of the metal beasts. In the end no ships were damaged, no shots fired between them, such were the numbers of those involved in operation: Fall.

The Hand of Fate dropped out of hyperspace with three Contention Class Cruisers in her wake, immediately Emah accounted for two Gunrays, two Scythe Cruisers, a pair of Sev'Rance Frigates and three Ventress corvettes. The moment the newer vessels were ready for deployment, Norongachi had used his influence to assign them here. Now they were his.

"Roon Defense Fleet." Emah began, commanding, as always. "This is The Hand of Fate, form up on me. We are needed elsewhere."

"Be careful," Norongachi said to the holographic Avatar of the ships A.I. "I've spent too much money on you for you to die in a botched coup."

"Thats sweet sir but I'm leaving in sixty seconds so if you don't get out of my ship, you'll be late for the party." A smile lingered on her lips as she looked beyond the dark visor that shielded Salem's face from her. A moment of silence passed between them, things left unsaid, things that didn't need to be said between them.

"Yes, Admiral." He responded with a lazy mock salute and made for the ships single hangar bay. The ship that awaited him was unassuming, a transport that had little in the way of guns. Used for diplomatic missions it was a faceless number among thousands that the CIS used on a daily basis. He climbed inside and fired up the engines. The ship was like an insect next to bulk of the Star Destroyer and the ships forming up around her. He gave her one last look as he sped toward the atmosphere of Roon and then she was gone, empty space like she had never been.

"Don't die..." He said quietly and then burst into the planets cloud line. It wasn't scanners, or sensors that guided the ship. It was otherworldly senses, senses capable of feeling a presence over lightyears. He'd found him, locked onto the blazing aura of Sigma in the midst of the battle. The likes of which hadn't been seen since the Schism. He let his mind take the controls and stepped out into the small seating compartment. The Force here was like nothing he had ever felt before, it was at once being atomized and reborn ever second, in every heartbeat as his Knights and their Templar enemies shaped it and unleashed it upon one another. The door that allowed entry to the transport opened and the wind rushed in, a gale that tore at his black armour, that tried and failed to find a seam with which it could enter.

Omega stood at the edge, looking down at the clash of saber, the brilliance of devastation wrought by the Force, the destruction of blaster and metal. Explosions burst from the city, tanks and walkers clashed in the streets, droid met sentient in a clash of flesh and steel. Norongachi reached out, his mind finding the threads of every force capable individual and then he stepped from the transport.

Betrayal is Death.

The transport impacted into the fray, gouging a line as it flattened Templars under its weight before finally colliding with a repulsor tank and exploding. The ebon Lord Commander made landfall a second later. The beast roared to the world its fury, its want for blood and gore. It raged against the chains he imposed upon it and engorged its appetite upon the font of its masters power, like a parasite it feasted upon his energy and grew. It flared like a sun gone nova, a world ending inferno that burned the very skies. The first contact of boots with the ground was all it took for the prison to shatter around it and the destroyer unmade creation.

The Telekinetic expansion ripped from Norongachi's body, a wave that atomized those around him, a power that threatened to cleave the very fabric of reality with its ferocity. All around him Templars were devastated as he landed among their ranks, some could only think about a cry of pain before the brutal telekinetics that Omega applied with the grace and skill of a butcher broke the bonds that kept their physical shell together and they became nothing. Others, far enough back from ground zero, were thrown with such force that bones snapped and skin was eviscerated. Forty meters, the initial assault traveled that far before finally it petered out.

Norongachi cast his gaze around him, to the blasted rock beneath his feet and then finally to the front lines where ebony met ivory in mortal battle. He began the walk toward them, the line of Knights holding back the tide of Templars, who were so engaged and so removed from the blast-zone that they didn't seem to notice his entrance into the carnage.

The Templars who had survived were beginning to stir and those that could got back up onto their feet. Those brave few, so resolute in their cause, attacked him head on. Bloody and weary they came at him with sabers raised, one at first who brought an overhead stroke down at his side. The saber on his belt reacted without the need of his hands, its green blade parried with a flourish that knocked the offenders aside and then plunged itself into his chest. A score more were now ready to face him, to face the titan that assaulted their Force enhanced senses with his very presence. A rush, a desperate hope that numbers would prevail.

The inferno came to them, unnatural fire that swirled up around them like a coiling leviathan wreathed in fire, its jaws blackening bone and boiling flesh with its heat. Their screams were lost among the sounds of war, of his war, against the very people he had sworn to serve.

More Templars had seen the power of their Lord Commander but whatever morale they had faded with their comrades. They threw down their blades, fear coloring their faces and fell to their knees, they were broken, the fight had left them but as he had stated, as Sigma had stated with defiance and passion...betrayal was death.

He focused his mind, the power he had to kill, and transmuted that will onto each he passed in his path toward the back of the Templar lines. The Force bombarded them at the cellular level and in the space between seconds their very bodies turned against them, smoking and burning as the energy irradiated their atoms to the point where they simply combusted.

Sigma was beyond, just ahead of the press of bodies and clashing energy blades. He could feel him, the power he brought down upon his enemies. It was brilliance, the brilliance Norongachi had envisioned when they had began their journey as Master and Apprentice. A dark gauntlet slashed up across his chest and Templars found themselves hurled aside. The Knights they had been battling were confused for a moment and then they saw him, they saw the destruction in his wake.

"The Lord Commander is here!" The cry went up, a single voice at first and then it spread like wild fire.

 

[Irys Arist'lar]

Irys ran her hands through the fur on the back of her arms, as she always did when she was nervous. This wasn't how today was supposed to be. For getting the new ship programme back on track she was finally back on her own ship, the Majesty. It was supposed to be a happy day, reunited with the old girl. Instead the sky was on fire.

They'd barely released the docking clamps and Salem's message had reached them. Not long after and they'd been contracted by Admiral Galla of the Gorgon to expedite their checks and join with the fleet to protect the world from revolutionaries.

Not ten minutes later had Captain Randar of the Gorgon contacted them to request they join the fleet to join the revolution.

"We're ready to fly, orders Captain?"

Irys looked around. The ship was familiar, but not the crew. Many had received new postings whilst the Majesty had been undergoing a refit. So many new faces she didn't know.

"Another high priority message Captain!"

"Navy command?"

"No, odd, unknown yet on the most secure command channel," replied the comm officer whose name escaped her.

"Put it through," Irys replied. She slid her visor into place so the message would be visible to her alone.

"No... " she muttered to herself as the image appeared.

"It is good to see you in your chair again, Captain, I'm afraid this is a recorded message as I am otherwise indisposed. We had high hopes for you and so far you've come through, but now we must ask one more thing of you..."

 

[EmKay]

He knew.

The moment the black dagger slid from the void of space, Rhoujen knew. He could feel it. That familiar twinge in the back of his mind, that unmistakable presence of his counterpart, master, and friend. It was something within him that triggered, something that wasn't Sigma, something more innate than that. He felt a surge of determination, it locked into his psyche, forced him into the concentrated state, only instead of an emotional conduit, the emotion converted immediately into willpower. His eyes locked onto the foes before him. He could sense Norongachi above, felt him drawing rapidly nearer. He smirked as he took a guess at the incoming theatrics, and set back to work. He locked blades with a Templar, and rather than let the power duel prolong, he deactivated his saber as he took a sidestep, and used a blast of energy to throw the poor soul's head into the permacrete below. The Templar's skull burst open like a melon, and Atretes flicked his wrist to take hold of the shoto saber the dead enemy had possessed. Flicking it backward in his hand, he blocked another lightsaber blow and spun in a crouch, slicing the mostly unprotected legs of his new adversary and causing this Templar to fall. He kneed his opponent in the face, sending the nasal bone and cartilage into their brain, causing immediate death. From this body, he took one of the Czerka phrik combat knives. His lightsaber flipped from his hand and clipped to his belt.

Now armed with a knife and a shoto saber, Atretes got in close to the Templar line and never let up. Even as the ship Salem rode in on howled overhead and crashed into the ground, plowing the ground and grinding Templars to paste, he slit the threat of the enemies with his shoto. When the shuttle impacted with the tanks and the explosion lit up the area, Atretes sunk his knife into the collarbone of another Templar. Lightning struck in unison with another of his kills, and as his master collided into the ground with telekinetic force enough to rend molecules, Atretes' visage was chiseled into a nearly placid state. His features were hard with concentration and effort, but he betrayed no hate, no great deal of anger. He was driven by the Force to fulfill his task, and so he did. With the same level of precision and art that was poured into his making. He lashed out with that Force, gripping Templars as though they were on inescapable, intangible vines and he used that grip to swing them through the Templar ranks. Through a gritting of forces and manipulation of power, that telekinetic grip turned to combustible energy, and with Salem's fire drawing so near, it ignited his unstable tendrils and sent azure explosions through the Templar ranks along the paths set by his previous telekinetics. The flames were like napalm, and try as they might to remove the fire, every attempt to snuff it made it worse until they merely thought to quell the fire with their own Force. By that point, the young Obsidian was already upon them. He ducked and wove through their ranks and weapons, his Tarentatek hide bodyglove glancing their telekinetic attacks away, while his lithe frame and quick movement made it difficult to lock in any other powers without harming their allies.

Tanon was close behind, drawing attention by being bigger, louder, and more menacing. The Templars could recognise that their numbers were diminishing, but they couldn't tell who was responsible. The powerful-looking Knight or the small one that seemed to flow through them like a whisper of death. Such was the confusion of war.

 

[Anesia Jy'Vun]

THE RISE
The Confederacy of Independent Systems
Government Building
Office of Jonas Wilheim Salem Nornongachi



"It's beautiful," the valor of her tongue burned, dripped with the burden of holding words in for too long. Her long fingers had ensnared the collar of Jonas Wilheim, held him so close as she dared a perch from the sill of the window. Lush dreamscape clouds covered Bothawui's velvet sky as streaks of white, azure and violet surrendered a blinding riot to the constant rolls of thunder. "Is it not?" jovial, dark laughter erupted from her then and the man could only stare up in terror. She was mad. Utterly and completely.

The building trembled, the earth quaked. It wasn't enough, she thought... sought and found the Force within the very inhabitants of the planet and drew from those free-willing souls. Anesia implored them, opening the lines to the Darkside, so that it could latch and consume.

"Just kill me. Get it over with," the voice of the old Lord Commander shook.

"No."

"Why not?!"

"Because it is too easy," Anesia answered dryly and relaxed her hold on him.

"What's too easy?"

"Death."

The door slid open, albeit with sound that went unheard next to the chaotic symphony of the storms laying siege to Bothawui. A room that had recently housed two souls had now climbed to twelve. It was unclear if she felt the Templars before they entered as Anesia gave no hint to it. The woman did not even turn to acknowledge them. Not for what seemed like a few minutes. "I never requested an audience," even though she was every bit of an exhibitionist.

A well plucked, ebon brow rose and her head turned almost mechanically, alchemical green eyes peering over her cloaked shoulder. One hand still staying Wilheim during the altercation. The Sith Master gave no other move.

"Traitor!" Corrupt voices lept at once with accusatory tones.

Madness beseeched the Dark Master, rued her, and the summons of such irrevocable raw emotion tore from the core of her being, "Traitor?" Drawing from the same power that created the elemental tempest waging war upon the world, Anesia's arm lashed out, and it was first her finger that pointed. A slender milk-white finger. The hints of electricity began to form, lighting up her sardonic features in bright flickers. As her fingers spread, the thin flares grew- they too expanded, soon to pool and erupt from her palm.

They moved to advance, the blades of their sabers zinging with life with sudden fury, washing the walls with a faint green glow that rivaled her eyes.

Violet, white hot heat sprang from the Sith's mangled appearing hand posture in streaks, singing with viscous contempt at each loyalist life. Tendrils of kinetic energy spread with infinite reach, dancing from one to the other, burning with a fervor only the loss of love could equal. "Traitor?" she stepped closer, punctuating her question with a swirl of robes and deeper discrimination. This causing the element of choice to become more direct, the lines of lightning thicker as the energy was forced to compress. Screams echoed the building, their now unchecked emotion -as they cooked from within their armor- adding to the chaos that only seemed to fuel her. They fell, not having the strength to stand upright. CRASH.

The attack abated slowly and only when the very metal meant to protect them melted into the flesh of the Verd forces so entirely that it appeared natural. Disfigured, but nonetheless seeming to have been made that way. They were still alive, but barely. Constant shudders, often a scream, and the distinct stench of burnt tissue and meat hung in the air, clinging to the walls. Anesia lowered, not quite kneeling, looming over the sound of lung failure, then spoke in their native tongue, "*Darasuum hettyc. Ni te naast."

Wilheim had curled up in to a quivering ball, plastered in the corner against the expanse of bookshelves. "Jonas," came her voice. "Time to go."

Where, the addled man thought.


*Eternally burning. I am the destroyer.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel’s strength started to wilt under the force of his opponent. This was a clear strategy from Artemis, to test his quicker opponents endurance in the saber lock and at the least slow him down. It was a sound move, and Raziel needed to break the lock quickly.

Quickly, the wily assassin decided to show part of his hand much sooner than he had planned. As Artemis pressed down, Raziel allowed himself to drop just an inch. It wasn’t much, but he allowed the tension to build in the muscles in his legs. Like a spring he exploded back upwards, overcoming his strength deficit by utilising his much larger muscles.

He kept his right blade locked in the block, but slid his left free. With a click of a switch the lilac blade more than doubled in length and shifted to a turquoise hue. He slashed at Artmeis’ midrift with the freed saber, using the right to stop his opponent from parrying.

Artemis emitted a grunt of surprise, the blade cut deep into his thick Templar armour. He pushed off, using the Force to enhance a leap backwards. His great saber came around in a wide arc that ensured some space was put between the pair.

Raziel wasted no time, he’d used one of the tricks up his sleeve and couldn’t allow his opponent to dictate the flow of the battle. Keeping his footwork tight he closed the space, swinging his left blade around to a normal grip. He went on the offensive, using both long blades to test his opponent’s guard.

Artemis tried to hold the middle ground, using his longer saber to try and keep the distance. However, Raziel worked his blade high and then low, stretching his opponent’s reactions. Soon he found an opening, then another. Once he was certain it wasn’t a deliberate plot he took one, the tip of his saber clipping Artemis’ left pauldron. There were three gouges in his white armour in the space of a second.

Raziel felt the panic escape from the cracks of Artemis’ well controlled mind, then the Force warned him of the impending danger. It came both as a ripple from the future, and the power he felt his opponent gathering.

The telekinetic wave hit him hard, breaking through his hastily gathered defensive barrier and shoving him backwards. Taking confidence in the outcome, Artemis hit him hard again before he could recover.

The wave sent Raziel tumbling, he deactivated his sabers as he rolled and regained his footing but the next attack knocked him from his feet. He felt the crack of his head hitting the marble floor and everything went dark.

 

[Corey's OOC]

The Commodore of the Resurrection, one of the brand new Contention-Cruisers looked at the holographic display. There was a whole lot of red on that map. Techno Union interests represented in a yellow, non-combatants, and only a few green, the older ships that would get recycled, crews promoted to the newer ships, new equipment and better standing in the new order that would be following.

“Dark Tide, this is Resurrection, we have entered the fray and are starting to mark loyalists. Is there anything in particular we need to be aware of?” He looked around the bridge, getting battle reports from across the Confederacy. Hypori was a place they needed to claim, but in order to prevent crossfire taking out the important facilities, and the ships that were lead by the new wave were going to be bearing a lot of firing, but they were easily going to outmatch the aging vessels.

“Begin launch sequence of our fighters as well, keep our interceptors close to the shipyards, watch for incoming bombers and missiles. Supes are going to take the fight to the enemy. Bombers get one run on capital ships, then half will go down to support the freedom fighters on the surface. The rest are going to annihilate the capital ships while we provide support. Get out frigates and corvettes in close.” The captain, well, commodore of the battle group barked.

That was when the radio crackled in. “This is Dark Tide. Protect the shipyards and planetary bases, otherwise, give ‘em hell, boys.” Was Foreman Starchaser’s order. The Commodore marked the Dark Tide. He ordered a flight of four Raptors to escort the shuttle, high priority.

“You heard the man, all ships, all wings, you are clear and hot. Launch the Air Group Order all ships to fire on their nearest target, and open a battlefield wide channel.”

When the channel was open, the Commodore gave a brief call to the Loyalists to surrender their positions and submit to judgment from the Hand of Fate. While he felt he was able to motivate some, very few ships gave any evidence that their weapons were powering down.

“Continue with the destruction of the old guard.” The commodore stated as he sat in his chair, sipping his caf.

The Dark Tide

Marek was so excited to see this fleet come in. He could only do so much here. He knew of several Starchasers being able to control a battle field, to meld with other pilots and captains, but he wasn’t one of those. Marek’s powers were all of tossing material at people. Flying his shuttle directly to the fleet, and seeing the incoming Raptors, he nodded.

“Seadee, mark those Raptors as escort.” Marke stated calming as he opened up fire with the forward facing lasers, blasting two, then three fighters before diving his shuttle down beneath an incoming missle. Great, now there was that.

Closing his eyes and reaching out to the battle in the Force, he nodded. The fuel from the rocket could be felt, and he gave a lazy left roll of his ship, feeling the missile catching up. A quick shove with the Force and he knocked it off course just enough as he dove farther. Crossing into the Raptor’s line of sight, they blasted the rocket just as a Verd fighter crossed the area, roasting the pilot in his seat.

That was one hell of a way to go.

Reaching for the controls again, Marek turned his ship into the wake of the superiority fighters. It’d be nice to fly formation for a moment.

The new fleet had only been here for a few moments, but already the odds were better than even. Marek thought he was looking at the future leader of the Techno Union Security Fleet.

 

[Brooke Waters]

Really, life had been relatively boring for Token Waters. Sindy and her were doing fine, and that was great, say thank ya. But really? She’d been spending a lot of time in the Levantine region of space. It was just… quieter out there. Sure, she had a job here in the Confederacy, but it was really simple. Sling drinks, listen to music, talk to patrons, dance and sing a bit?

That was fine.

And tonight? She was doing a bit of a spot on Rothana. The blonde had her hair in a braid down her back. She wore cut off shorts, a tanktop, boots, her typical. Working the bar was fun, and well, if she made herself look cute enough, she got some pretty good tips. In credits, please.

The music was playing and it really wasn’t that bad of a night. Patrons were coming in, and Token was doing her best to get to each and every one. Sure, there was a bit of dancing, and some humming, a few softly sung lyrics to the songs that were playing, but really, the night was pristine. The weather was nice, until the Holo started.

What was going on? The Hand of… Fate? That didn’t sound right… She bit her lip, watching, her back turned to the door, but it didn’t matter, all eyes were on the screen, even the music was turned off. What was going on out there?

 

[Raziel]

The boy pulled the broom across the wooden decking slowly. He liked the noise the stiff bristles made as they ran across the wooden slats. It was a cool, yet humid night on Nal Hutta. He liked clear evenings like this. His father would be busy serving at the bar, and the clear air afforded a rare glimpse of the heavens. High above, the moon twinkled from a thousand artificial lights, the distant gas cloud a beautiful red splodge on the horizon.

“Boy!” came the shout. He flinched instinctively. His father sounded angry. “Boy?” came the call again, he never referred to him by his name. The door to the bar swung open and his father staggered out. The boy’s eyes went to the deck, yet still the man raised his fist.

The blow was sharp, to the back of the head. There was a hot white flash that blocked his vision, and then he found himself on the floor. He hoped that with so many patrons around his father would be lenient and just give him a mild kicking. His father saved the worst abuse for when they were alone.

He looked across the decking at his father’s boots. He knew he needed to get up. It would be so much easier to stay on the floor and accept his fate, but he should get up.

As he opened his eyes the image of the wooden decking was replaced by marble tiles. His father’s dirty leather boots replaced by…Feth.

Raziel drew deeply on his remaining reserves to sharpen all his senses, and strengthening his body with the Force. He pushed himself from the floor, pulling his sabers towards him in a fraction of a second. Artemis bore down on him, going for another overhead slice. Raziel turned the blade away and leaped to the side, curling into a roll and finding some space.

It had felt like he had been unconscious for minutes, but it couldn’t have been more than a second. Why did his mind always turn to such dark places when he was forced into a deep sleep. It had been so many years since he had allowed himself to completely fall into a deep sleep.

As Artmeis charged he flicked a throwing knife in his path. The Templar deflected it with the Force and charged on. Raziel threw another pair in quick succession, causing the Templar to halt his step and deflect one with his blade.

Raziel carried on back pedalling and throwing, forcing his knives on with the Force. Artemis deflected with his mind and saber in equal measure. Suddenly a black knife did not respond to his telekinetic push, and then it passed straight through his green blade untouched. The knife lodged into a gap between his chest piece and helm, pain erupting from the point.

He reached for the blade with one hand, but his fingers found nothing. He understood the illusion just a moment before Raziel was upon him, with a new rhythm of attacks that pushed his defensive blade work to the limit. In letting emotions show through cracks in his mental control, he had given his opponent a route to shove illusions into his consciousness.

Raziel gritted his teeth and pressed on, he flicked his right blade to a short phase, altering his style and pattern once more. He could feel his strength waning, knew he had to end this battle soon.

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Rothana
73rd Infantry Battalion
Cresh Company

Two-Hundred Thirty Dead.

Betrayed. Alone. Surrounded.

Twenty men, loyal men, were all that stood between the traitor legions of Norongachi and the freedom, the values, the ideals that the Confederacy was founded on. Melodramatic, perhaps, this was one battle among hundreds going on among the stars but It felt that way to them, it felt like everything rode on this one moment, on this battlefield. It fell to them, to the men and woman bleeding and dying and fighting with everything they had among the blasted buildings, the craters and the debris.

Bombers screamed over head, death came with them. A line of explosions ripped across the street. A building succumbed, its walls shattering and falling down to the pavement below. The cover that had shielded them from enemy fire turned on them in that instant, bodies crushed as the great weight of stone crashed down atop them.

Two Hundred Thirty-Three Dead.

They fought from cover to cover, the smoking shells of civilian hover cars, the doorway of a home, a wound left by the impact of a bomb. Run, take cover, fire, run, take cover, fire. It was all they could do, vastly outgunned, the space to maneuver being cruelly denied as Norongachi's forces corralled them. No reinforcements, they had lost the space above Rothana an hour ago, forty minutes later they had lost contact with command.

Desperation drove them, the will to live, to see another sunrise, kept them moving and fighting. All hope was lost, this wasn't a fight they could win. They watched as some of their comrades threw down their weapons and begged to be taken prisoner. The gunfire didn't even stop to acknowledge their request.

Two-Hundred Thirty-Eight Dead.

Twelve men, twelve desperate men. An alleyway was their route of escape from the slaughterhouse that the main promenade had become. Artillery fire rained down from the heavens. The explosion rips the building to their left apart. Bodies as thrown, some whole, some not.

Two-Hundred Forty-Three Dead.

The path to salvation fills with rubble and debris. Rats in a barrel. Men fall left and right as the alleyway becomes a wall of laser fire. The last man gasps, his chest charred and burned. Hands shaking, darkness closing. A spluttering breath and a wheeze are all he manages before the reaper takes him.

Two-Hundred Fifty Dead.

Hand of Fate Task Force
Enroute to Bothawui

Battle reports streamed in from across the territories as the combined task force of Roon's defense fleet, the rebel Contention Class Cruisers and the Hand of Fate surged toward the CIS capital. Emah assessed, correlated and relayed the information to their forces as it came, suggested battle plans, tactics and strategy derived from these reports went to the appropriate commanders in the field as well.

It would have been easier, she thought as the black dagger of the Star Destroyer punched through hyperspace, if she were allowed to simply take over tactical ops on the ground and space but alas, Norongachi's orders stood. All she could do was focus on the battle before her and use her skills to disseminate the information as it came.

"The last of Verd's forces on Rothana have been destroyed," She spoke to the fleet around her. "The planet is under our control." It had become a ritual, since they had absconded from Hypori with the Contentions. It boosted their morale but the biggest news had come not from battle reports from their troops but from a news feed, streaming live from Roon that she patched each ship into. It showed the battle for the planets Capital. The meeting of Templar and Obsidian. The latter part of the report focused on the arrival of the Lord Commander.

Invincible. That was the only word she could conjure for what they saw. The swathe of destruction that followed gave that impression to the camera, Templars died in their droves before Norongachi but she knew it was a lie. He wasn't invincible, he was flesh and blood, he was as fragile as any organic. She had seen him, in the days after his revival, broken, a shell after the horrors they'd left behind in 26ABY. It was hard for her to correlate the two images, the man from those dark weeks to the living weapon striding across the surface of Roon.

That didn't matter, the people fighting for him had to see, they had to know that the man who lead them was beyond the scope of powerful to their dull minds. If anything gave that impression and instilled in them the belief that they could win, it was that image: The invincible ebon war machine, wielding death and carnage in the name of justice and freedom.

If only they knew...

Roon
Capital City

Viridian saber flashing, body in motion, feet never still as he cut his way through instinctive movements. His men were at his side, fighting hard against the tide of white. Sigma was near as well, holding his own, more than capable of driving back any foe that crossed swords with him. The flames now held sway upon the battlefield, vast walls of it cut off friend from friend, foe from foe. The fight was no longer a pitched battle, they had become separated in pockets of combatants by the bisecting inferno that seemed to have a mind all of its own.

Some, the pyrokinetically gifted on both sides, used this to their immediate advantage. Jets of dragons breath erupted randomly and with great effect, scorching enemies and comrades alike with impunity. The Lord Commander found himself back to back with a single Obsidian Knight, he didn't know the woman's name, nor did he recognize her face but he could feel her fear as they faced half a dozen Templars.

"Whats your rank, soldier.." They hadn't spoken, not when they'd cut the numbers down by half, or when two of their own had been slain six feet from them.

"Cadet.." Her voice was small, as if somehow that were a shame to admit to Norongachi.

"The pistol on my thigh," Norongachi replied, never letting his gaze leave their adversaries, using the hesitation that his very presence instilled in the Templars to speak. The Obsidian Cadet saw it, the slug throwers metal catching the firelight in its holster. She drew it out and waved it in front of her at arms length, her saber held in one hand. "Do you trust me?" She nodded, resolve burning in her pale grey eyes.

The Force immediately became a sonnet, a symphony to his senses, a great ocean that rose and fell with the notes he played. He wove luminous strands of silk, entwining them together and ensnared the cadet. They snaked around her, from fingers to wrists, wrists to elbows and elbows to shoulder, toes to knees, knees to hip, hip to neck, neck to crown. Her body was his marionette, his puppet, and he held the strings. "Stay close and you'll see another sunrise, Soldier." After that Norongachi slipped into a combat stance, brilliant green saber twirling in his hand with anticipation.

"Whenever you're ready..." Was all he said to the Templars. They took the invitation greedily. Two came at him immediately, a frontal charge, a coordinated strike. One blade cut high, the other low. They wanted to split his defenses, but more than that he saw the other four moving to either side; they hoped to strike at their weakest link. The Lord Commander sidestepped the overhand stroke and with a flick of his blade turned the other aside. The weak link they hoped to exploit moved with him, under her own power, keeping her back against his, watching the others.

Salem capitalized on the parry, moving in on the bellow-the-belt attacker with a quick one two of his blade, the green arc sweeping in from left and then right like a viper strike that forced his adversary back until he had effectively blocked his partners ability to attack without first changing position. His senses detected the approach of their cohorts, they didn't bother with any form of tactics for their advance on the clearly terrified cadet. She fired wildly with the slug thrower but the shots were easily picked from the air by the battle hardened fist of Verd.

His hands brought his blade from right hip across his chest to force a chop from cleaving his chest in two, took a half step forward, brought his right foot out in a powerful kick that swept the leg of his attacker out from under him. As he fell to the ground the point of Norongachi's blade pierced his chest, quicker than the eye could follow and then was ready to defend him in the time it took for the man to hit the ground, dead.

"Be calm..." He spoke as he felt the Cadets fear reaching fever pitch. Her saber shook in her hand and she'd all but giving up trying to hit the Templars with slugs, they moved too quickly, zig zagging toward her with the aid of force imbued muscle. The first blade was a death stroke, one meant to make her demise quick and painless, a slash designed to sever head from shoulders. It was this over confidence that was their undoing, for the Cadet was now gone. She had ducked down onto her haunches and in the same motion fired three shoots into the exposed torso of her assailant. He flew back from the blasts and flopped to the ground, his comrades leaping over his body as they took up the fight.

The Knights blade flashed and sizzled against theirs, her lithe form pushed to breaking by Norongachi, who made his will manifest through her. She fought like a woman possessed, battling back against the second, saber clashing and sparking, turning her body with fluidity that put her on the right side of her foe where the pistol took out the side of his head in one squeeze of the trigger. Then Norongachi was beside her, having forced the last Templar he faced back toward the remaining two behind him. The Cadet did not resist his telekietic commands, the only sign that she were even still in her own body was the occasional yell as Salem brought her weapon in for a strike, while he slipped seamlessly into her motion and added his own attack. The Templar fell, blades piercing him in the chest.

They were a tandem death machine.

"Rest." The Lord Commander said quietly to her, stepping to the fore. When he released his control she sagged, falling to her knees as the fatigue of such exertion were finally able to voice themselves to her body. He moved toward the two, who hastily backed away until they felt the heat of the inferno behind them. A thought made it snap out and devour them where they stood, screaming as the flames licked away skin and muscle.

He waved his hand and the wall broke, the fire parting like curtains before he turned back to see the young Knight on her feet. "Why didn't you do that before!" She snarled as she came level with him.

"People are watching." He responded without explanation and stepped through into the sea of black that put him on the right side of the battle lines.

 

[Barkt Melan]

The Rise:
The cellar of the office building was cold and damp. Not a place he wanted to be in, but he had no choice. A capitol building, soon to be stormed by the Rebellion troops. But, to be fair, he wanted to be captured. He had known that it was inevitable, and had come to accept his fate. He stood in the center of the room, his hands up, the dataspike tucked into the seam of his coat. He offered no resistance when they came in, nor when they searched him. Finding nothing, he was shoved along into an equally damp prison cell with nothing but a flimsi notepad to keep him company.

So he began to write. Anyhting to keep occupied.

 

[Raziel]

The three sabers crackled and fizzed as they clashed. The flurry of blows was in such quick succession that the noise was almost constant. Raziel wove his sabers through a complex pattern to try and find a gap in Artmemis’ defences, but the man was a technically brilliant swordsman.

As soon as Raziel missed a beat, his opponent went on the offensive. Artemis used the leverage of his long blade to push Raziel’s long saber out wide, and followed up by a forward thrust. There was a hiss as the blade was marginally deflected, but cut straight through Raziel’s clothes under the armpit. Raziel backed off, keeping his footwork tight, but trying not to allow Artemis to pin him down. He had never been as competent in defence.

Artemis came at him with a long, powerful stroke. Raziel kept his short right blade, now in a reverse grip, close to his chest and blocked. His own blade burnt the clothing along his forearm. He made a mental note to try and do something about that. The power of the blow almost lifted him off his feet, it was enough to unbalance him and stop him from countering effectively.

Raziel carried on, backpedalling as his opponent gathered moment and kept the upper hand.

 

[EmKay]

Atretes was one of those who wielded Norongachi's pyre. With the flame already created, the manipulation was easy for the growing Obsidian. He gave the flames what seemed to be minds of their own, guided by his hand. They danced and leapt, switching from brilliant oranges and reds to vibrant blues, whites, and violets as they changed control. The flames whirlwinded around Atretes, and he knelt as he poured concentration into them. He clenched the ground, and Tanon guarded his form, as he generated small protective bubbles around his fellow Knights. The flames licked dangerously around them, but the inferno only truly harmed the Templars. His abilities wavered, and a few burns were suffered, but control was easier for him than generating, and control the flames he did. Finally they vanished when his concentration wavered and he let the flames die rather than cause unnecessary harm. He rose, and as he did the Force laced itself into his muscles in the typical way of one of his favourite abilities, and he dashed through the crowd like a spear. His lightsaber met other sabers, the dagger pierced and met armour, flesh, and bone. The simple laws of physics adding to the force behind his strikes as speed engineered force. He wrenched through the Templars within his grid section of the fires, and even used that to his advantage. He drew upon them and, using trickery of multiple powers, he formed a barrier around himself to guard against the burns of the flames. He felt the heat, felt he should singe, and would likely bake after too long, but his skin was at least intact and he didn't sear and singe. He deactivated his lightsaber and tucked his weapons to his sides, then utilised his ability to simply move to afflict the remaining Templars with pain. The ducked, weaved, rolled, and jumped like a dancing ball of azure flame that brought inferno to its enemies.

After a minute or two, he let the flames evaporate around him, and his fellow Obsidians merely stared as the last Templar burned down and his flames died off completely. They had helped, certainly, but the last they knew of the young man he was teetering on wit's end, not flying through ranks of enemies in a display that put other Cadets to shame. He looked to them all, and stepped to the side, his hand sliding to the side as if drawing back a curtain, and a wall of his own blue flames pulled back Norongachi's red.

"After you, I can't have all the traitor-murdering, can I?" he mused with a grin, and the Knights obliged the invitation and charged into the next block of battle, their morale spurred on by his and Salem's leadership.

"Betrayal is death after all, isn't it?" he mused as he moved in behind those who charged in before him. He didn't bother to fight this time, but rather watch. He saw as the Obsidians rose with such a force that they seemed to make the Templars before them shrink, save the most dedicated and powerful. Then he frowned. There was something about that one...

"YOU'RE THE DAMN TRAITORS!" came the Force howl that shook the ground and knocked everyone down. Atretes hopped to avoid most of the shockwave and corrected himself in the air with a little trickery of air friction. His lightsaber activated and he held his dagger close to his arm. That's when the powerful Templar saw him, and glared with a look that would shoot lasers out of his eyes if such a thing were possible.

"YOU!" he bellowed, and started marching to Atretes, "You're that little pest that started all this!" Atretes took a step back, his confusion overriding his previous confidence. A grasp at him through the Force was all it took to immobilise him. His mind raced with what he'd seen, heard, and learned from Salem. He struggled against the invisible, intangible restraints, as a lightstaff ignited before him. Atretes had his own glare, then, and could feel the telekinetic restraints pressing against his limbs. He wrapped his will around them, but didn't act yet. He waited.

"Pathetic," the Templar said, the attention of those not battling drawn to the scene, "YOU'RE the one leading them? Can't even defend yourself in a square fight. Typical." he finished, and drew his saber back in a spin to decapitate Rhoujen. As the forward motion was enacted Atretes wrenched his will against those restraints, and he dropped to the ground. He ignited his own saber and deflected the downward strike, then deactivated it again and with the supposed opening the Templar tried a spin around to attack Atretes, who was now behind him. The younger one ignited his saber in a split-second block, and the older, more powerful man pressed against the blade. Atretes swiveled and deactivated his saber, and the Templar's arms flailed in the sudden lack of counter-force. Atretes used the lack of grip and balance to wrench the lightstaff out of the man's hands through the Force and toss it to the side. He went in for a stab, but the Templar would not lose his weapon so easily. A click of sense for his life made Rhoujen drop to the ground as the ignited, spinning lightstaff blazed overhead and returned to its owner.

Around the two, the battle raged on and Templars and Obsidians slew each other en masse. Atretes blocked an overhand blow, and then was thrown to the side by a grip of the Force that was followed up with a spike of lightning that made him write on the ground. He gritted his teeth against the pain and struggled to conjure up the strength to block the energy, but he couldn't muster the concentration. Then Tanon stepped in. He used his saber to channel the lightning, but the Templar merely strengthened his lightning to a crackling beam of electricity that overloaded the circuits. Without being fully versed in scattering or blocking energy, Tanon did the only thing he could to keep his Commander safe. He stepped in the path and took the Fall. Atretes sat up and saw Vor's form spread out, held up by the electricity that jetted out from the Templar's hands. Skin fried, the smell of burning flesh permeated the air, and a hole was being torn into the Knight's chest. Something clicked, again, inside Atretes. That rage that existed at Salem's death returned at the destruction of his friend, but only more so. With a better understanding of himself and Sigma, Atretes sought the nearest source of flame and crushed them together. He pulled the atoms apart and mashed them into one another until the electrons and neutrons couldn't take the stress anymore and exploded into bolts of electric discharge. He felt the mental hand of Sigma aid in his efforts, gifting the extra energy to control what was happening, and Atretes rode behind the collapsing form of Tanon. The flames behind him blazed in more ragged form as they were destroyed and brought to heel by Rhoujen. The Templar laughed then, seeing the hate contorting Atretes' visage, and that's when the younger man took the opportunity. His hand reached out like a claw, and from it sprung the collected atoms that were so ready to realign their respective components that they launched forward like true bolts of lightning from the heavens, straight into the mouth of the Templar. The battle around them paused as the electric current didn't crackle and flicker, it was a pure bolt that seared the air and brought the distinct scent of ozone and oxygen molecules burned around it. A deafeningly loud high-pitched whine came from the bolt and drowned out other noise. The Templar began to atomise from the inside, and as the lightning within him corrected itself into its original form, the glow of fire made itself known under the skin of the man. Burning from fire and electricity, the Templar would have screamed in the highest form of anguish if his vocal cords and lungs weren't destroyed. In moments, tall that remained of the Templar was a pile of flesh that was burning away into ashes. Atretes took a step back as the channel of electricity stopped and the flames behind him returned to normal. Sigma recoiled, drained, and Atretes gripped his saber. He didn't spare a glance to his friend through the Fall, but his thoughts dwelled. Those around him were stunned in terrible awe as Rhoujen looked to the ground for some kind of answers. There was only one, and it came through his mind and out of his lips.

"Destroy them all."

 

[Irys Arist'lar]

“Captain, we’re now being hailed by the Curious Vendetta and Grace Scintel-class cruisers. They’re moving alongside us and say you’re expecting them?”

Irys nodded to the comms officer, but did not reply. She should have known the ammunition she needed to get the Scythe class on track would come with a cost. Why had she made a bargain? Who had she made a bargain with?

At least events were more clear now. This uprising had been coming for a time and someone had identified her as a potential ally. But what to do? If she joined the loyalists she would have to explain recent events to those commanding officers who had kept her grounded for so long. Once the connections were made she would likely be stripped of her rank, perhaps even court martialled. The choice was clear, her career depended on it. She didn’t understand the cause of those fighting the rebellion, but it seemed her hasty decision had tied her fate to theirs.

“Signal them, tell them to fall into flanking positions. Signal the Gorgon and tell them we need access to their command and control network.” She called. “Take us out carefully and then…”

She stopped, seeing the sudden motion out of the corner of her eye. “I can’t let you do that Captain,”

Irys turned to see one of the tactical officers with a weapon drawn. She locked eyes with him for a moment. He shouldn’t even have had a blaster within reach.

“I’ll be taking command,” he called across the bridge with a challenging tone. “We’re going to pull out of dock and oooomf…” he was cut off as the bright blue stun bolt slammed him back into his station.

Irys’ eyes followed the trail of light back to the security guard at the door. Brant, he had been a security officer with her on the Majesty back on her first tour. He gave her a subtle nod and half a smile, but kept his weapon shouldered.

“Any more for the brig?” Irys called. There were no responses. “Exceptional. Pull us out as quickly as you dare, damage the dry dock if necessary. I want full burn as soon as possible, make it seem like we’re heading out of action and curve around.”

The Majesty slowly pulled out of the dry dock, before her main engines flared to life, launching the Star Destroyer onwards. The Curious Vendetta and Grace easily caught up and fell into line. Irys studied the tactical display as they moved parallel to the main battle lines. They slowly came about.

“The Captain of the Lucrehulk Exceptional Values is hailing us Captain!”

“Tell him to make room for us to join the line,” Irys.

“He’s asking why we haven’t joined their command system and why they’re seeing signals between us and the Gorgon.”

A shame they didn’t think to ask that five minutes ago, Irys mused. “Ignore them. Order the Curious Vendetta and Grace to engage those pillar classes at point blank range. Move us abeam of the Exceptional Values and engage. Prepare to launch aft torpedo tubes, fire long range weapons, launch fighters!”

 

[Salem Norongachi]

An trail of emerald cut a body in twain. He spun with the motion, dipping under a blade meant for his neck and fired a fist into the abdomen of the offender. He heard the wind driven from the womans lungs and he tiled forward. He struck, back handed, and she became a head shorter. The cadet was with him, more confident, more composed. She let her saber loose and the retort of the borrowed pistol filled the space around him.

Together they fought their way into the throng, cutting and blasting whatever came into their path. The visor of his helm swung to the left as senses flared. Too late, the hammer blow hit him on the side of the hard metal with such force he went to ground. A roll to the side saved him from impalement. He whipped his leg toward the feet of his attacker and found air, the agile combatant flipping backwards only to find himself chest deep in the blade of the Cadet. He looked down, the point humming in his body, shocked by the lack of awareness. She slipped it out and found herself airborne. The whirling pinwheel of violet barely missed her toes as Norongachi pulled her forward. He rose to his feet, caught her with one arm and brought his blade up to knock the thrown energy sword to the ground.

"Corral them!" He yelled to the black clad warriors around him. They barely broke concentration but suddenly, in their small segment of the battle, the ivory robed Templars found their ground being lost. Forced back, and back, and back, by an encircling sea of ebony. Norongachi was among them, hammering hard, pushing with everything he had and then his senses swept over the battle, felt the last footfall complete its backwards step. A boot hit the Templar he faced, hard, in the chest and the sentient went tumbling back into the tight pressed bodies of his comrades.

The sea became a storm, the storm became a tempest, it swirled under his command. A typhoon ripped the waters apart, turned the luminous energy dark and fearsome, forming, congregating with his will. It crackled and sparked unseen, the titan, the monster, disembodied fists of destruction rising in the sky above the Templars. Physical hands swept upwards and then fell. His knee hit the ground and then his fists. The Telekinetic bomb hit with the power of a high explosive artillery round. The Templars found their bodies suddenly crushed from above, bones snapping and limbs shattering while the ground under them became a crater- a grave.

Norongachi found a wave of fatigue hit him then, small as it was it brought home the point that he was exerting himself. He stepped back from the wailing cries of the broken foes who managed to survive, crawling and begging for help that they would never get.

"Finish it!" He roared and his army swept in on the fallen.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel rushed back at his opponent, a small hop giving him an extra ounce of power as he thrusted forwards with his right blade. Artemis parried the powerful strike, and hit back with a telekinetic blow before Raziel could bring the left around. Raziel was sent flying, but he stabilised his landing.

Artemis slowly stalked forward. He didn’t rush anymore, he sensed his opponent’s waning strength, and he knew victory was at hand.

Raziel let him advance. He wasn’t finished until he was down and out. He locked eyes with his white-clad opponent and prepared himself for once last spin of the dice.

Artemis accelerating into the last few metres, feinting one way with his footwork, but then attacking from a different angle. Raziel blocked the first strike with crossed blades, but Artemis expended little effort. He pulled back and took another swipe. Raziel retreated, each attack sending waves of pain through his joints.

Artemis gave a simple, straight thrust. Raziel parried with one blade, but Artemis rolled the attack off it and clattered into his other. With two-handed leverage he prised Raziel’s left blade from his grip and sent it flying. He followed up with a powerful overhead slash.

Raziel desperately rolled to the side, feeling the warm of the blade as it grazed his jacket. He ran forwards, putting some distance between them.

Artemis slowly advanced again. The grim façade of determination was only broken for a few words: “nearly time now.”

Raziel swung his saber low, clipping the ground flicking a burst of sparks towards Artemis. A dirty trick, and it would not be his last. Artemis moved in for the kill as Raziel wove an illusion into his consciousness. He started to split into two images, both moving in different directions. Obvious, but that was the point. As Artemis struck at him, ignoring the doppelganger, Raziel’s second illusion – that he had woven in the undercurrent of the first to hide it – took hold.

It was minor, just a slight change to Artemis’ perception of balance. Minor mistakes were all the difference in a saber duel. He slightly over-extended himself, stumbling forwards. Raziel nimbly stepped backwards and countered. Artemis’ severed arm full to the floor with a dull thud.

He looked at the arm, his expression shifting between confusion to agony. Raziel raised his blade to finish the job, but with one quick movement – that belayed a level of focus not mirrored on his face – Artemis unhooked a grenade and dropped it to the floor.

Both of them immediately hit the grenade with a telekinetic shove, so instead both of them flew away from it at speed. Raziel felt the heat for a fraction of second then his vision vanished in a white sheet.

Groggily, he got back to his feet. There were several perforations in his armour, but no major damage. His opponent was gone. Using the last of his reserves to summon his sabers to him, he headed for the elevators.



There was a ‘ping’ as the elevator doors slid open. Raziel stepped straight out into a wide conference room. All of the chairs were occupied. Every occupant had their hands on their heads. Around the room were the Special Forces operatives he had brought with him.

“Good work sergeant,” Raziel offered.

“We were about to send a few men down to see how things were going.” He replied.

“What were you going to do if it had gone badly?” Raziel queried.

“Start dropping explosives down the elevator shaft, probably.”

Raziel looked around the room, looking for faces that he had already gained power over. A number of them were already under his influence, several would be easily convinced by close aides that Raziel’s cell had gotten to.

Raziel pointed to a number of the group. “Take these ones back to their homes, or to a secure location, safely. The rest I’m going to have a private chat with in the meeting room next door, one by one. Let’s start with the Director of Intelligence shall we?”



Raziel lounged on the chair behind the wide wooden desk. Noticing a stain he reached forward and tried to wipe it away, to no avail. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself. Such a lovely, exquisite desk to be spoiled by just a few drops of blood.

He’d weeded out the loyal from the … stubborn. Hopefully Salem would be pleased.

He waited in one of the centres of the Confederacies’ government. The head had been cut off from the snake, though he had no clue where Wilhelm had been sent. All that was left was for the writing, thrashing body to be finished off.

He idly wondered if Salem would be headed this way soon.

 

[Anesia Jy'Vun]

THE RISE
The Confederacy of Independent Systems
Bothawui, Drev'Starn
Merchant's Square


"They're holed up in the shops." Static.

"We've got a company circling the capital." Static.

"Keysh's platoon has been wiped of-" Pause. Static. "Negative. They're... they're falling from the buildings."

Jonas smiled something evil even while in the grip and at the mercy of a mad woman. "Not going according to plan?" he said suddenly and then laughed. They had moved from the office building, the fabric of his shirt wrinkled and ensnared by pretty hands. "You didn't think you were going to win? Ahh but you thought you would. The Templars have been here for quite some time, dear Anesia. So have I..." the voice of the once terrified man turned in to a tone filled with surety. "So have I," Wilheim repeated.

Over the com, havoc still cracked over. Bits and pieces mostly. Terror and chaos... woe to Bothawui.

"Take him to the shuttle. The Lord Commander will see to him soon enough."

For a moment the man that had lost it all stiffened, his eyes shifting around. There was no one with them. Who was she talking to? He decided it to be another of her scare tactics, but truth be told, Jonas would rather suffer the wrath of [member="Salem Norongachi"] than to even begin to ponder what Anesia would do. Something... something in those eyes of hers told him she would torture him for all eternity so that he would never know peace. In those quiet seconds to himself, in his own mind, he felt a sort of comfort.

"For once in your worthless life you are correct, Wilheim. The Lord Commander will kill you, where as I would not." A small smile was afforded to her prisoner. "But... not before you will be made to witness your family become indoctrinated into the new system." That security blanket he thought was his became a shared hell and she began to name off his kin slowly, with dark intimacy. Jonas came at her then, his teeth bared, hands threatening to choke the life from her.

He grasped nothing but air as the guard in black came from behind -Anesia's personal reaper, also known as Jerimiah Black- tucking his arms just under the traitor's pits and lacing his practiced calloused fingers behind Jonas' head. The reaper tugged, snapping the entirety of the other man's body away from his Master. Cold blue eyes met Ferrius' before dragging the struggling prisoner away. "I suspect Alina is safe," Anesia finally turned, pivoting on the heel of a boot to face an equally pale woman with almost white hair and donning the attire of a Templar.

"She is in-route to the Quelii System as we speak, Master," Macayela bowed her head, taking a knee.

The Master's fingers glided through the apprentice's soft, pale strands of hair, idly stroking the side of her cheek. A sigh of relief washed over her, a mind ever escaping to the war. "Rise."

With reluctance and years of practice, the seemingly young woman stood in fluid motion, "What are my orders, Master Ferrius?"

"Rendezvous at the foothills. Your arrival alone will give Morr the order."

"Yes, Master."

Just like that, Anesia was alone again and the doors to the Capital building shattered before her. The shards hung in the air, chiming against one another, dancing like there was no gravity. Among the created malevolence the noise was swallowed up, devoured by the strikes of lightning and the constant roll of thunder. By the bloody screams and cries of chaos and her cloak withered to the ground, pooling in a dark heap behind her as the General stepped into view. The masquerade had been left behind to slither away in its inky blackness until such a shroud was needed again. Fragments and small bits of glass swam past her face and all the feline grace suited in obsidian armor and fell in a rush to the ground when she passed.

Dual violet blades sang to life in tandem and the ebon headed liaison of The Confederacy dove into the fray head on. "Take the city. Burn the heretics."

Three platoons, what was left of them, were stationed just outside of the Capital building. weathering the symphony of turncoats and the tempest of her very creation. Their armor glistened and even though they were men, they moved like mechanical beasts. Every head turned, drinking in their leader, following with helm-masked eyes until she was front and center with her back to them. "Burn the heretics!" They echoed and like the very drops of water that fell, they moved forward as one to attack the oncoming, seemingly never ending horde of Loyalists at the city's center.

They moved past her like liquid sable silk, the reflection of vibrant purple streaming with their movements until breaking off in a preferred direction.

"YOU!" The voice was loud, booming, even over the madness that coursed the air.

She said nothing, only met with his eyes and smiled.

One after the other, the hilts of her ignited sabers swung at her side. Her pace did not speed, rubber soles crunched methodically over the pavement to close the distance. When the time came, she motioned her body to the left, a single violet blade between them until he rushed at her like a raging rancor. Suddenly without warning, Anesia shifted, bringing her left up and out to intercept his preemptive strike to her shoulder. The clash of opposing colors lighting up the area in which they sparred. "I will mount your head, Sith."

Anesia spared no time with words. Instead she buckled down and through her blackened boot into his protected ribs, enough to back him down. This one had her at brute strength, hardly staggering at the blow she dealt him and by sheer size. "That all you got?" the Templar laughed. Her wild wet hair swarmed around her face like russet serpents, teeth clenched, eyes shone brilliant emerald. Shoving himself forward, his white armored shoulder came up, his blade slicing down to sever her head from her spine. She turned in time, figuratively slapping his blade away, but taking the blow from his elbow to her cheek instead of a blade across her neck.

Pain surged in her jaw and she jerked her head up to glare at him, the dribble of crimson evident on her lips. The Sith Master took a step back, canted her head and spat blood. He only watched with a smile of arrogance spreading across his face. The liquid sound of a lightsaber disengaging emptied between them, nimble fingers tucking it to safety. With her other hand free, she used a single digit to come hither the Verdite. He obliged quickly, swiping his blade across her midsection and she propelled herself towards the sky, violet blade sweeping in and up to catch his. Anesia forced it back with a snarl and slammed her open palm in the space between his upper lip and the nostrils to his nose. With the sheer amount of power behind the blow and the strength to fend each others blades off, it knocked them apart.

The blood didn't spray, it poured like a river unto the sea and the Templar shot her a look of both shock and anger.

 

[Neskar A'toll]

"Skedaddle, punk. You've already got enough problems without me being involved."​

​

"You are under arrest, for conspiring with the arch-fiend Norongachi to depose the lawful Confeda-"​

"I said swivel, queen. I ain't under your jurisdiction."​

​

"Last chance, merc."​

​

Neskar rid the smirk from his face and fired a powerful glare at the Templar and his cronies. They were four, all armoured, and he was on his own, they were on their own; a deserted plaza of which was marred by the jagged scars of revolution, fires burned without restraint and voices roared themselves hoarse from the alleyways and streets nearby, but this place was empty - except for them. But more pressing was the gruesome insult levied onto Neskar by the glow-stick wielder.​

​

"You've broken your contract with Isley Verd. You're coming with us, traitor." The Knight spoke through his helmet, flanked by his four man army, visibly armed.​

​

"You came all the way for me? I'd be impressed if you hadn't made a huge mistake." Neskar retorted, wheeling back from the squad, keeping a wary distance, and a hand on the stock of his shotgun. "Contracts are paper." He spat, then slid his helmet over his head, locking it in with his beskar'gam, an intimidating presence to match that of the Templars.​

​

"What mistake?"​

​

"You only came with four."​

​

Neskar thrust a ready hand into the grip of the shotgun, prising it cleanly out of the holster, flicking it up in an instantaneous, simultaneous movement, as swift as flowing water. The barrel erupted with flame; steel pellets devised specifically to destabilise force sensitives, hurled themselves at a breakneck pace and collided with the helmet of the lead Templar. He crumpled, releasing a groan and fall to the ground, stunned by the sudden barrage. Without breaking step, Neskar flicked the barrel sharply to the right and squeezed the trigger again, releasing a potent salvo to the chest area of the second Templar, lifting him off his feet and down onto his back, unconscious.​

​

Before Neskar could move to the third, the latter two Templars had already ripped out their weapon of choice - lightsabers - and the first made a biting lunge towards Neskar whilst the other strafed around, seeking a flanking opportunity. Neskar threw his body back, the edge of the light-blade searing itself on the chest-plate of his armour. Landing unbalanced on his feet, Neskar turned the instability into forward momentum, sending a crunching blow to the temple of the Templar's helmet. Mind you, this was with a beskar-clad gauntlet. The glass of the visor shattered, the Knight suddenly fell limp and collapsed to the floor. Neskar planted a foot backwards to stop himself from toppling over from excess momentum, and was still just for a moment.​

​

In that moment, a crippling grip forced itself over Neskar; he could barely breathe and could feel his very body constrain and contort as he forced himself to spin around and face his foe. The last Templar, a triumphant figure, stood stoically, his right arm extended. I hate the Force... a coward's weapon.​

​

"Could've surrendered, lowlife. Now what? You're going to die. Like the rest of these insurrectionists."​

​

The Templar held his saber in his left hand, and slowly walked towards Neskar, probably to make some dramatic moment as he plunged the blade into the Mandalorian's throat. A slow walk, it was, and he slowly paced towards him, menace in tow. Neskar's heart thudded deep inside his ear, the constriction tightened with every step taken towards him.​

​

"I.. just got.. one.. thing.."​

​

"What? You're going to plead? Don't tell me such rot!"​

​

"Nah.."​

​

Pushing all of his muscles to the maximum he could summon, for a single moment, he broke free of the constraint and Neskar's right arm jerked upwards, level to the Knight's helmet.​

​

"What? Are you pleading to whatever... God... you mandos have?"​

​

"No gods. No masters." ​

​

Neskar pulled his left arm out of the titanic stasis grip and jabbed a solitary finger on one of the buttons on his right-hand gauntlet, hoping that it was the right one he had mapped onto it. Note to self, don't buy budget. In an instant, a hatch opened on the top of his gauntlet, and up popped a miniature high-explosive missile, which blasted from its holder, streaming across the darkened sky and colliding with the helmet of the Templar!​

​

KERBLOOM!​

​

The crushing grip dropped all of a sudden, and blessed relief coursed through Neskar's body, but the heat of the explosion and accompanying shockwave lifted him off his feet and down into a heap on the ground. Bloody hell, that packs a punch. Leaning up, yet still on the floor, Neskar groaned as he pushed himself to his feet with some struggle - falling back down onto his knees as he swayed unsteadily to his feet - lurching towards his dropped shotgun, swiftly retrieving it. The last Templar laid strewn on the floor, spread-eagled, yet Neskar could still hear groans coming from the blackened facade. He limped towards the body, stopping at the boots of the Templar, and made sure that he could see him. He rose the barrel of the shotgun up so it was directly aimed at the Templar's face; albeit unsteadily, as it was in his left arm - his right was far too fatigued from the struggle of rising it in the grip and was numb.​

​

"You don't mess with the King, sunshine. Heh. How about that little gift? Did it make you wanna.. plead?"​

​

He cocked the shotgun via the hammer at the rear, an uncommon cacophonous blow hit his ears.​

​

"Heh. Ah..." ​

​

He raised his aim again, for it had dropped during his short soliloquy, and had become off-target.​

​

"Ain't that just groovy?" ​

​

BLAM!​

​

Neskar stood for a moment and let the shotgun drop. Clumsily, due to his forced left-handed nature, he shoved the smoking shotgun back into its holster. Limping, he strode off through the manic streets, glaring at anyone who came near him.​

​

He grumbled. "Ugh. Ain't there a god-damned bar around here? I need a stiff ale. These force-types gives decent men a great thirst... of violence mostly, but alcohol'll have to do this time..."​

​

​