Outer Rim Territories // Esstran Sector // Ziost.
New Adasta - “The Gateway to the Empire.”
7th Mechanized Regiment, Attached to the Prosecutor.
+01:15 After Mission Commencement.
New Adasta - City Streets.
7th Mechanized Regiment; Command Section.
Survive...
Tycho hit the street with an audible crunch. His metallic plate obliterated the detritus that broke his fall, bathing the entirety of his figure in dust and grime. Thankfully, his armour was outfitted with impact gel, which stole the lethality from the strike and the subsequent fall. However, though he didn’t die, that didn’t mean he was safe from harm. The false fire-light of his visor flared, signalling that two ribs were on the verge of breaking with the structural integrity of his breastplate compromised. If he stood, the Major wouldn’t be able to take another strike to the chest - lest the damage becomes fatal. The meaty fist had thrown him far away from where he stood, denoting the power behind that mighty punch. Whatever it was that hit him held enough strength to knock the Alliance Marine off balance and throw him back several feet.
As his focus returned, Tycho’s gaze drifted towards his would-be assailant. It was a Graug Warrior, bigger than those he had mowed down with impunity when ensconced within the ‘Iron Duke.’ Perhaps a Chieftain, or some Leader archetype? Tycho didn’t know, and at that moment - he didn’t really care. Such answers could wait, as his life was in peril. As the beast started to approach, Tycho began looking for his rifle in the seconds that followed. It was the only thing that would be powerful enough to take down his opponent. But, after being struck and thrown from his feet - the rifle was nowhere to be found. He cursed between laboured breaths before reaching down to the pistol magnetically-clamped to his armoured thigh.
The Major thumbed the activator and waited a moment as the weapon thrummed with vitality. Tycho could’ve fired then and there, but the particle bolts would’ve done nothing against his assailant. The hides of the Graug were reportedly thick and capable of turning aside conventional blasters and blades. Thus, his blaster, in its current state, would be useless. It was then that the beast, having strode over with all the swagger of a victorious gladiator, bent over and began lifting the wounded Marine from his resting place. “You reek of fear,” the creature snarled through a maw of fanged teeth. Although he was in a terrible position, Tycho was glad that his helmet stayed on. Who knew how foul that creature’s breath was.
“Your mighty steed is dead,” the towering beast continued. The tongue was familiar enough, but the pronunciation was butchered beyond all belief. It was like the creature was speaking Basic to mock the Soldier within his grasp. “You are weakling, struggling against our victory. The master shall slay all and feast on remains.”
Tycho’s armoured digits slapped around the meaty fist that held him in place. He needed to get free. The scale of power was too far out of his favour, and there was little he could do against such a beast. But, it was then that his pistol chimed. The sound would’ve drawn attention from the towering creature, but through some small measure of luck, the beast elected to laugh - revelling in its victory against the weak Alliance marine. The Major’s eyes narrowed as the creature moved a taloned hand towards his helmet. With a smooth twist and a sudden yank, Tycho’s patrician features were exposed to the evils that despoiled Ziost’s surface.
“Such pretty features,” the beast mocked with more laughter chasing his broken speech. “No wonder you lose against us.”
With the tendrils of darkness slowly creeping into the once-impregnable bastion of his mind, Tycho felt his lips crease into a maddened smile. This was it; there was no turning back, do or die. The beast was momentarily stunned as it watched the prey within its grasp shed all notions of fear and start to smile. Weaklings weren’t supposed to smile as they greeted death. The towering creature lifted his arm to smash the pretty features of the Alliance marine, only to feel the cold-kiss of steel plant itself in the cavity beneath his shoulder.
“Let’s make you pretty, too,” Tycho snarled through smiling teeth as he pulled the trigger.
The pistol barked twice within seconds. Superheated plasma bathed supple reptilian flesh as the particle bolts slammed home, turning hardened scales into soft putty that sloughed from the beast’s mighty frame. Charred meat and a blackened stump were all that remained where the creature’s arm should’ve been. It howled then, an agonizing cry that pierced Tycho’s eardrums and made the man feel like his ears were starting to bleed. But, as the creature thrashed about in pain, the Major was thrown free from its taloned grasp. Again, the Marine struck the ground hard and fell the air rush from his lungs.
The howling continued as the beast sought to fight against the sudden emptiness and pain that flooded its system. It had never been wounded like this before, not by a weakling such as this Marine. With the conflicting sensations of agony and wounded pride, the Graug Warrior stumbled after its discarded opponent. The Soldier would pay for this grievous injury, and they would die - slowly.
Tycho slowly shifted as the beast stumbled closer. While the impact gel had saved his life, the fact that it didn’t unharden complicated matters. Now a portion of his mobility was stolen by the crystallized substance, leaving him in a precarious position. To make matters worse, the darkness that afflicted the entirety of New Adasta was starting to seep into his thoughts, leeching him of the will to fight. A part of him began to say it was futile to resist against such a creature. That he should take his pistol and press it against his temple, ending his struggle once and for all.
No, Tycho whispered to himself. He wouldn’t die here, not when the Sith Empire still draws breath. They needed to pay for what they did to the Core Worlds. To Alderaan. Through sheer determination and the power of his will, the Major fought back against the darkness creeping into his thoughts. He would survive, but first - he needed to move. As the towering creature stumbled towards his splayed form, Tycho shifted once more. Now freed from the debris and the awkwardness of the movement, the Major raised his weapon and fired once more. The pistol barked twice more, bathing the mighty Sithspawn in plasma.
Sadly, this time, Tycho was too far away for it to do any significant damage. Reptilian flesh was blackened and blistered, but the beast was undaunted. Tycho fired again and again as the creature stumbled closer. This time, the consecutive bolts started to inflict more telling damage. The beast’s blackened flesh was beginning to bubble and slough off, leaving the meat and sinew beneath exposed to the evils of Ziost. The smell was atrocious, worse than the foul breath spilling from the beast’s tortured maw. Tycho continued to fire until his weapon chimed and failed to fire anymore. The power cell was empty and would need a moment to recharge, but that was time that the Marine didn’t have.
The creature was near-death but refused to give in to their wounds. Given time and viral cultures, it would heal from its wounds, but first - that damned weakling needed to die. As the towering creature stood over the prone Soldier, the Warrior expected to feel the cold embrace of death. Instead, the Marine’s weapon was empty. Their chance to end this encounter was spent. The beast began to laugh through what remained of its tortured maw, knowing that their victory was inevitable. The strong always won the day against the weak, and this would be little different. The Graug dropped, pressing a meaty knee into the Soldier’s breastplate and revelled in the subtle chorus of cracking armour and ribs.
Tycho cried out in agony as pain rippled through his entire body. A portion of his weakened ribs was pulverized under the beast’s weight. He was pinned and was unable to move away. This was it, the Major thought, as he stared into the tortured face of his enemy. His pistol was empty, and because of the Graug’s weight and positioning, the Marine couldn’t reach the blade sheathed atop his pauldron. Tycho couldn’t activate the suit’s subsystems with his helmet discarded. Which deprived him of the augmented strength he needed to shove the blasted creature off his ribs or the vibroblade affixed to his knuckle-plate.
The only thing that he could reach was a rock that would’ve done nothing against the venomous fury of his opponent and a grenade that would’ve killed them both. The latter wasn’t an option, as he resolved not to die here.
Barking with agonized laughter, the creature began pawing at the Marine’s pretty features, dragging its talons across the unscarred flesh. This being would suffer, the beast thought, as it drew its thumb alongside one of the Soldier’s brown orbs. The resolve that once filled their eyes faded as the realization struck home, replaced by a sudden and primal fear. This weakling was going to lose something precious to them, the Graug thought. Something that they would miss terribly in the moments before their death. A rictus grin splayed across the kneeling Warrior’s features as a taloned thumb drifted towards the Soldier’s raised cheek-bones. “My face,” the beast spat through ragged teeth. “Will be the... last you see.”
With a sudden tension of alchemically-enhanced muscles, the taloned thumb drove itself into the Major’s socket with a sickening pop.
+1:16 After Mission Commencement.
New Andasta - City Streets.
7th Mechanized Regiment; 2nd Company; 4th Platoon; 1st Squad.
Through Fire and Flame…
Pushing off a ruined wall, Trooper Harnan advanced alongside the rest of his squad. They had covered a considerable distance since they touched down near the outskirts of the City. Their primary objective was a success, as they blasted down the anti-aerial emplacement with a selection of well-timed grenades. But, despite accomplishing their assigned task, the Sergeant made it clear that their mission was far from over. The orbital defence grid was still targeting the City and indiscriminately shooting everything in sight. According to the Alliance BattleNet, dozens of mechanized armour from the First Wave was caught up in the initial blasts. Countless Alliance Marines were atomized or struck down from the fury spilling from the heavens, and that was before the numbers from the Graug attacks were factored in.
So, after the emplacement fell, the Sergeant ordered his squad into the City. They needed to support the advance of the First Wave and find any survivors if possible. It was a bloody mess, Milo thought to himself. Shifting from one piece of cover to another, the Alliance Marine was able to see the devastation the orbital grid had wrought. Civilians, who hadn’t evacuated, were mercilessly gunned down and vaporized - leaving only their ashen shadows behind. A similar fate awaited the Sith-Imperial garrison, as they too were butchered by their own defences. In truth, it was starting to become a common enough sight as they moved towards the central portion of the City.
Such callous disrespect caused something to twist and writhe within Milo’s gut. He hated seeing this, and a part of him wanted to go home. There, at least, such horrid sights were mere figments of his worst nightmares. But, as his mind began to drift, one of his fellow Marines slapped his helmet - bringing him back to the terrible reality of the present. :: Harnan, focus buddy. We need your head on a swivel here, as we can’t be caught with our pants down. ::
Milo nodded. :: Right, sorry. ::
With his cheeks flushed by the momentary embarrassment, the Marine returned to his assigned position and swept his rifle across his surroundings. This deep within hostile territory, who knew what lurked in the shadows. Thus, it was his job - and the duty of everyone within the squad - to check their corners and clear their surroundings. No stone would go unturned as they advanced through the sundered streets. They moved as quickly as their sweeps could allow. The sounds of their armoured boots kissing tortured ground were drowned out by the distant sounds of bombardment. As the squad moved into another sector of the City, they came into contact with one of the surviving Fighter Tanks from the first wave.
The vehicle was pinned down and under heavy fire from an entrenched enemy position. It seemed that what remained of the Sith-imperial garrison had elected not to abandon their post and fight until their last breath. It was admirable, in a way, but ultimately foolish. The Sith Empire didn’t care about their lives. Yet, through years of enforced programming and propaganda, they believed that their deaths would usher in the final victory. Their blood would purchase them an eternity of glory in the afterlife, so long as they didn’t shy away from the relentless advance of their enemy.
As the Fighter Tank continued to blast their entrenched position with a near-ceaseless barrage of plasmatic cannonade, the Sergeant ordered his squad to flank the enemy position. It was a risky plan, but charging their entrenched position, being caught in the crossfire between both the Sith-imperial forces and the Fighter Tank would’ve been suicide. Thus, they would skirt around a nearby ruined structure and engage the enemy from behind - where their ailing cover would count for nothing. With as much alacrity as they could muster, the squad broke away from the Fighter Tank and began to circle the ruined structure.
But, Milo’s attention was elsewhere. As his squad advanced, the Trooper fell behind. His eyes drifted towards a side street nearby and widened as he heard a bestial roar fill his aural amplifiers. The Graug, the young Marine whispered to himself. That was when he felt that writhing feeling coil ever tighter around his guts. His squad was going to walk right into a trap! He needed to warn them, but the fear that was slowly gripping his stomach stole his voice. He couldn’t say anything, let alone engage the encrypted channel. They were too far away for him to call out to them, and it seemed that they didn’t notice the sound - what with the entire City being blasted to bits from the orbital satellites.
The Trooper needed to move, but his limbs resisted. The sensation of fear was too much for his will to conquer, and it froze him in place. His fingers tightened around his rifle as his body tensed. He needed to fight it. Fear was the mind-killer, and Milo seemingly submitted to its venomous embrace. Resist, Milo pulsed within the confines of his own mind. FIGHT IT! My brothers and sisters are in trouble, he whispered to himself. He needed to move - to warn them of what was coming. It was then that the seeping darkness - pervading over the entirety of New Adasta slowly began to fade. The tightness within his gut began to weaken, freeing Milo from a prison of his own making.
:: BEHIND YOU!::
As one, the squad turned about and saw the danger lurking in the shadows. Several Graug Warriors, a small Warband by all accounts, stormed forth from the darkness with blades and blasters high. Had Milo’s warning gone unheeded, the squad would’ve been butchered. Instead, thanks in parts to some noble warrior’s efforts elsewhere on Ziost’s surface, the Alliance Marines turned to meet their assailants head-on. One of the marines twisted on the spot, bringing their massive rotary cannon to bear. With a second devoted to activation, the tri-barrelled weapon thrummed with vitality - belching forth an endless volley of superheated plasma. The particle bolts exploded on impact, mowing down the first of the charging warriors with relative ease.
The remaining Graug carried on their advance, shouting in their tortured tongues and throwing themselves at the Marines in the hopes of claiming victory. Yet, the amount of fire that the Marines brought to bear was too much. Their empowered weapons and the sheer lethality of an entire Squad cut down the charging Sithspawn without mercy - stitching their would-be corpses with dozens of smouldering holes. In a matter of seconds, the advance faltered. The Graug didn’t retreat but were gunned down with impunity. It was a credit to their Creator as they died without fear. Still, there simply wasn’t enough of them to overtake the Alliance Marines’ massed firepower within that small Warband.
When the last of the Graug Warriors fell, the Sergeant turned towards Milo and nodded. He was too focused on protecting that damned tank and the battle around them that he missed the roar from the shadows. Milo returned the gesture, but again - something drew his attention away from the reforming squad. Unlike before, it wasn’t a roar that heralded their potential doom but rather the agonized shriek of a fallen comrade. :: Sir, :: Milo began. :: I heard something over there. :: The Trooper gestured to a nearby building and what seemed to be the dust-shrouded remnants of an Alliance Fighter Tank.
The Sergeant’s helmet turned towards where the Trooper gestured and saw the wreckage. As his visor filtered through the dust and debris, a single name appeared on the crystalline surface. The Iron Duke. That was their commander’s tank. His throat suddenly dried as the realization struck. Their commanding officer was dead - or was critically wounded and needed help. His IFF transponder wasn’t working, but there was a faint signal being emitted from what the Sergeant recognized was a discarded helmet. Could the major still draw breath? Was he captured or killed by that small Warband’s leader, who was apparently missing from the charge? The Sergeant couldn’t say.
However, his squad needed to support that Fighter Tank - lest the vehicle’s shields collapsed and fell prey to the Sith-Imperial soldiers.
That was when the Sergeant tasked one of his Troopers to assist Milo in retrieving the Major. He couldn’t send the entire squad after Tycho, but two Marines would be more than enough. Not only would they have each other’s back, but should the Major still breathe - they could easily recover him and not put the squad at risk. With a twist of his wrist and a solid chop, the Sergeant and his squad continued their flanking advance. What remained of the team left Milo and a fellow Soldier behind to recover Tycho… that was if the Major still drew breath.
He screamed. The pain was worse than the man could ever imagine. It was even worse than his ribs taking the weight of the creature pinning him down. The last thing he saw from that eye was the taloned thumb digging into the aqueous goo. The membrane vanished under the Sithspawn’s caress, and everything turned red. As the talon drove itself deeper, the red began to fade - followed by small blue sparks that erupted from the sundered cybernetic implants. From there, the red and flecks of coruscating sapphire disappeared into the darkness. His eye was gone, yet the pain from its loss still remained. He screamed and cursed. He flailed against the monster pinning him down. Ultimately, his struggle was fruitless.
Tycho didn’t have the strength to shove the creature off his sundered armour. Nor did he have the power needed to kill the beast where it knelt. Not unless he wanted to kill them both and end it. NO - Tycho screamed internally. He would not die this day. The man desperately wanted to survive, to see the Alliance Starbird raised over the smouldering corpse of the Sith and their Empire. Only then would he allow himself to submit himself to Death’s loving embrace. As the screams died in his throat, having filled with dust and leeched itself of intensity - Tycho’s flailing fist smacked against the nearby rock.
While the creature laughed as its thumb was coated in the weakling’s eye, there was something that drew his attention. A subtle spring-loaded sound echoed after the Marine’s fist smacked a nearby rock. Did this weakling intend to beat him with a stone? The Sithspawn laughed even harder then, as the thought flittered through its mind. “Yes,” the creature spoke. “Struggle against... the end.”
However, as the beast began revelling in its victory - what happened next stole the laughter from their carbon-scored breast. The impact of the fist striking the rock was enough to eject the Vibro-blade from its knuckle-plate housing. With a hoarse and unearthly cry of fury, Tycho slammed his fist into the creature’s wounded neck. The newly-activated ultrasonic vibrations parted the scorched flesh with ease, driving the tip of the blade deeper into the meat. Flesh, sinew, and even an artery were severed - bathing both figures in raining guts of steaming liquid.
The Sithspawn croaked as it tried to roar, but Tycho didn’t care. He drove the blade deeper into the carbon-scored flesh and felt the tip of his blade strike bone. Weakened by the plasmatic barrage and sundered by the plasmatic impacts - the Graug’s renowned resistance to bladed weapons was utterly spent. Through sheer luck, the Major struck a telling blow against the towering Warrior. With the sole hand that remained, the beast sought to pull the Major’s fist from its wounded neck. But, the power that once dominated their limbs was siphoned outwards as their fluids drained from the pulsing wound.
“I-I told you,” Tycho spat, as he managed to follow through on his momentum and knock the towering Sithspawn aside. “I would… make you pretty.”
It was then that something filled the Sithspawn’s eyes, scant seconds before they glossed over. Was it fear? Tycho couldn’t tell, not with his vision stained by the creature’s fluids as it was. But, in the end, that didn’t matter. The Major withdrew the blade with a satisfying pop and slammed it home once again. This time, the Marine aimed for the wounded flesh above its partially exposed heart. Again, with the meat carbon-scored and sundered, the blade slipped in quickly - parting everything it touched. Tycho dragged the edge about, carving a cavity into the chest with all the might he could muster.
He would make this damned creature pay for taking his eye.
:: Major! :: an unfamiliar voice called out from behind. Whoever it was that called to him knew his rank and didn’t sound like a Sithspawn. Was it an Alliance Marine? He couldn’t tell, not with his ears filled with blood and ringing. Nor could he see the approaching figure correctly. They seemed vaguely humanoid, and there were flashes of white armour beneath the grime coating his remaining eye. He tensed at that moment and withdrew his blade from the Graug’s chest. Without his helmet, Tycho was more susceptible to the evils that despoiled the surface of Ziost. For all he knew, these approaching soldiers were the enemy, and his mind was playing tricks on him.
“Identify!” the Major called out, croaking hoarsely.
:: Trooper’s Harnan and Mkvenner. 7th Regiment, Sir. :: the voices said, calmly as they advanced. They announced themselves as friendly, and Tycho had heard their names before. But, there was still a lingering seed of doubt. He couldn’t see, let alone think clearly. If these were enemy combatants, they would’ve struck him down as soon as they saw him pounding the fallen Graug into minced-meat. Or, perhaps they wanted an easy kill, thus felt like approaching him under the guise of friendly faces was their best chance. The Major snarled, then. He wouldn’t be so easy to kill, let alone executed in the battle-torn streets.
“Seventh, eh?” Tycho croaked, leaning backwards and away from the fouling smelling corpse beneath him. “What’s our motto, then?”
It was an unrecorded saying that didn’t appear on any officialized records. If they spoke those words, those three simple words, then Tycho would know the truth. But, if the words were wrong, the Major would see the truth. He waited for a moment as the Trooper’s stopped in their tracks, their momentum halted by their commanding officer’s question. As they looked to one another, seemingly in confusion, Tycho began to ready himself to spring into action. There wasn’t much strength left in his body, but the Marine would be damned if he was to go down without a fight.
As his fist tightened, the slightly taller of the two figures took a step forward. With his fingers tightening around the barrel of his weapon, Milo spoke once more - giving his wounded commander the answer that he sought.
:: Our motto, Sir, is “Until the End.”::
Leon Gallo
|
Gala Geert
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Master Zoryu
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Auteme
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Kisaku Oroken
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Lucien Dooku
