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The Sith Empire stands triumphant, intoxicated on the victory they had achieved against the Mandalorians; one of their most ancient servants and foes. Stunned by Mandalore's collapse, systems from every corner capitulate to the advancing Sith Empire in fear of suffering the same fate.
Though the Anzati were proud and capricious warriors and assassins, they found that their own internal struggles surmounted any reservation in opposing the Sith as they advanced into their space. A terrible disease had afflicted thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, turning the infected against their own kind.
Without any cure in sight, the Anzati have no other recourse than to seek the aid of the Sith and their alchemical expertise.
Eager to capitalize on this opportunity, the Emperor has dispatched his most capable followers to Anzat to bring the system into the Empire's domain.
Objective I: Tainted Soup
A crippling disease has spread amongst the Anzati, infecting them with a ravenous hunger for soup that transcends cultural norms and societal taboos. Governance and trade have been paralyzed by the outbreak, and the Anzati have beseeched the Sith for help in combating this pandemic.
Relief Aid
The Anzati are in desperate need of supplies and medical attention, and the Imperial Mission has arrived to ensure that they receive what they need.
Burn the Sick
Though some can be saved from this affliction, there are many who cannot. Destroy those infected who are beyond salvation, and ensure that nothing of them remains to carry on the contagion.
Stop the Smuggling
Miscreants and reprobates are taking advantage of the Anzati’s plight, using the collapse of customs to smuggle illegal substances in and off of the planet. Track down these deplorable cretins and show them the power of the Dark Side.
Objective II: Assassins and Ass-ass-ins
Long have the Anzati fostered a tradition of being among the greatest assassins in the galaxy, their talents are known far and wide. But in the wake of the planet’s crippling infection, the assassin’s numbers have dwindled and their grandmaster has even come under the sway of the disease. There has been no better time than to bend the Anzati Assassins to the will of the Sith.
The Anzati were legendary within the field of subterfuge and assassination, so much so that their mere mention was infuriating or even nauseating to some who had taken a different approach to the subtler arts. Even Darth Ophidia could not deny that the anzati had skills she would dearly like to possess within her organisation.
So she had come in person to persuade the anzati assassins to defect to her.
That would not be easy.
She would have to prove that she was as great as them, if not greater. Of course, now, in their disarray, she might actually succeed. But she would not be the only one vying for their attention and the pick of the litter. Jedi Shadows, inquisitors, would-be imperials and general ne'er-do-wells of the galaxy would all die to get their hands on the right assassin.
Her ship arrived under cover of night before the Sith-Imperial delegation, while the Eidilon waited by the edge of the system. And before the break of dawn, she was to meet her first anzati contact.
Anzat...To many, it was a place of great danger and a sure place to go if one wished to die as the planet produced some of the Galaxy's deadliest assassins. To the Sith General though it was...Home.
It had been over seven hundred years since the Anzat had set foot on his home planet, not ever having returned to it since the day he had been freed. Armored boots set foot on the dirt as Vexen stepped off the transport, accompanied by a detachment of men and women from The Perdition Corps. He was in a familiar place, despite landing in such a remote settlement high up in the misty mountains, the place he grew up in...and was subsequently imprisoned when his own people feared the creature he had become. He'd glance around, seeing that no one was present in the village, but he knew better. The Sith General would gesture forward with his hand
Without a word the detachment of flametroopers would level their EWR-52 'Purge' Flamethrowers as they prepared to let loose with a stream of corrosive acid and set the village on fire. The order was abruptly interrupted as a spear shot out from the mist, finding its way into the stomach of one of the flametroopers as their suit was pierced and they fell backwards from the impact, dead as he hit the ground. Vexen glanced up as his troops paused, scanning the area. A shadowy figure would leap at Vexen from behind, a vibrosword poised to pierce the Sith. The Anzat general seemed to have seen the surprise attack coming though despite the assassin having suppressed his own presence. He raised his hand up, his fingers seeming to grip something as the Anzati assassin suddenly stopped mid-thrust, dropping their sword as he clutched at his chest. Vexen turned slowly as he looked down on one of his own people, an elderly Anzati male; assumed to be the village elder as they would never leave the assassination of the enemy's leader to one of the younger members. The older Anzati grew, the deadlier they became after all - The assassin was not infected, but it was a laughable display to the Sith; something he saw as...Primitive.
His fingers would curl a bit further as the assassin coughed, feeling an invisible hand grasping his heart in an iron-clad grip. Several spears would shoot out from the mist, all aimed at the Sith General as his free hand flicked up, his lightsaber flying from his belt as he activated it and deftly swung the crimson blade, cutting all the spears down in a single stroke, subsequently throwing his blade as it flew into the mist, severing limbs and heads of concealed Anzati assassins in the mist before returning to his hand. The members of the Perdition Corps would proceed as they began to spray acidic jets of corrosive fluids, igniting them as toxic vapor filled the air and began to burn down the village. He'd turn to look down at the elder Anzati on the ground, still clutching at his chest as he muttered in a vocoded voice, " Pathetic... To think even my own people could not pose a challenge to me... " Vexen's fingers would curl into a fist as the invisible hand grasping the elder assassin's heart crushed it and caused it to explode, a spray of blood flying from the dead Anzat's lips as he fell face-first into the dirt. He'd turn to his troops as he continued to hold his ignited saber in hand, " Burn it all to the ground... I will hunt the rest of them down... " Vexen would turn as he vanished into the mist. The mission was to provide aid and relief to those that were not infected but Vexen would have no survivors live to speak of the horrors he committed against the uninfected. This mission and all those involved with it would be kept off the books.
This was not a relief mission...It was a personal mission of vengeance...It would be a slaughter.
Objective 1 | Playing With Smugglers | Double Agent Allies | The Sith Empire
Theme | This Ship's Going Down --- --- --- --- --- ---
Anzat, not a planet that Valmorra intended to make a commonality for him to visit. Filled to the brim with nothing but would-be blasters for hire, most of which seemed to be just as petulant as one would expect as their station would make them believe. They were trained, yes, and that meant one should never underestimate them as an opponent, but there was this overwhelming narcissism and self-serving mindset that they seemed to expose with every last statement made. Hells, the Umbaran could almost swear that some of them looked at him as if he was a lesser for even having set foot on the planet to begin with. Well, at least, the more official ones, the actual example of governance that this planet had, gave him such stares. That would be moments before blaster rounds would have caught them and sent them tumbling to the ground, as the rag-tag group of Anzati that he traveled with now. Lugging a cobbled together collection of blasters and blades as they forced themselves into one of the few hangers that Sith scanners had issues getting a proper read and track on. Something that was thought to be best left to planetary defense forces.
Thoughts were well placed to imagine that they would be able to handle it, but now the Umbaran was pressed up against the durasteel wall of the last door leading to the hanger proper, three Anzati smugglers stacked on the other side, sending bolts occasionally from blind fire into the depths of the hanger, every bolt simply guesswork, if they stopped receiving rounds in return, that meant that they were doing as they had intended. One of the smugglers had never looked up from a datapad, even now, as they threw rounds with the defense force, Valmorra assumed that they were jamming any outgoing signal from the hanger, he never asked too many questions when he didn't intend to care about the mission itself very well.
Valmorra dared to glance out into the hanger bay, catching the scattering of cargo containers and derelict vessels, among them were figures with chestplates of plasteel and blaster carbines that had never been set to stun. He leaned, daring another inch, maybe two, raising his right arm with an upmost intention as he sighted down the Bryar handblaster, two quick pulls of the trigger sent red bolting down, slamming into the upper chest of one of the advancing guards, sending him to a drop. One of the smugglers ducked out, taking a knee next to the Umbaran, a stripped down rifle in his hands. Echoing off a tri-burst that lit the narrow space with light as it traveled the length of the hanger, carrying the final guard from the shoulder and onto the ground.
Rushing out, the group began to make their way past the bodies, cargo, and other bits of debris and nearly pointless machinery that made up the hanger bay. The taller of the Anzati among him barking into a comlink, very few words able to be claimed from the hurried tone and nearly slurred speech, how he had become the lead of this band of smugglers was plenty beyond Valmorra. On his back was a rather larger rustsack, which, Valmorra was assured, was the last shipment of spice that the vessel that would be coming to get them would be collecting from the planet before they left. They were prepping before the plight of their home, now, it simply was easier to finish this long set plan. They never specified how much spice would be on the vessel itself, but apparently enough to make up for the cost of the venture.
They waited. Seconds passed, minutes, there would be something off when the hanger security force failed to report back, they only had a limited time to get out before their vessel would be tagged, before the staff watching the holocams realized there was a simple loop going for the past second on their end. That moment was approaching fast. There was a tension in the air, you could cut it if you wanted to. There was a wonder in the Umbaran's head if he should just pull the trigger now and sav-
And with that, came the freighter, storming through the hanger, out of the void, at a rather breakneck pace, the engines still roaring as it turned around, the landing platform dropping and another Anzati offering for the group to hurry, to rush to the platform. Something they were more than willing to comply with as they rushed to the ship, the Techjocky still tapping at the datapad the entire run. The quick jolt up nearly sent Valmorra tumbling, the entire crew not even inside, not even up the landing platform as the vehicle began to shudder and move. The platform, at the last second, just reaching shut, offering them salvation from the force of acceleration as the ship began to build up speed, as the sack was brought to the ground and the goods were confirmed in condition. Valmorra, just managing a glance of the red-substance among the duller shades of the sack used to carry it. Taking a step back, smiling to himself as one of the Anzati passed by him, giving a pat of comradely on his shoulder, the entire lot piling through the hall and into what amounted to as the common area for the ship, the Umbaran stayed back just a few feet. Leaning into a transmitter stored just under his cuff, his volume going to a low whisper as his cider-smooth voice spoke in the long archaic language of the Sith.
"Broadcasting to military and governmental frequencies, confirmed spice on a yellow L19 Freighter. Leaving the Anzat Spaceport. Heading to the Perlemian Trade Route. I'm on the ship, so if you could please not just blow the blasted thing out of the air, that would be grand."
He let a moment pass, taking breaths, long and drawn out, before the smile returned to his face, his hair pushed out from hanging in his visage, and a hand settling on the now holstered blaster at his hip. He reverted back to Basic, taking exaggerated, swaggering steps into the common room as he shouted and reveled with the rest of the crew about a job well done.
He was an unknown voice, not officially aligned with the Sith Empire, but a friend none the less.
From halls of hyperspace came the Chimaera II, command ship of Lord Admiral Zahori Denko, followed by several Vyitkas serving as escorts. On each of the ships, companies of the Perdition Corps lied in wait as they would be deployed in the field for the quarantine operation Denko had set out to enact. Hundreds of purifiers were armed and ready as the task force moved towards the planet and began to descend on Anzat. The ships found an area in the sky from which they would hover above the planet and release the dropships.
On the bridge of Chimaera II, Lord Admiral Denko stood at the head of the war table with her advisors at the sides. Lieutenant Malkithis, the commander of Zahori's ground forces known as Athora's Fist; Commander Karina Hylz, Commander of the Shadow Fist; and Mimi Vaal, current leader of the Infernals, all awaited orders from Zahori. She looked down at the table which currently displayed an holographic rendition of the op area: encampments just outside the capital city where the sick are being corralled into for quarantine.
"Do we know how many there are being moved to quarantine?" The Lord Admiral questioned.
"Several thousand, Lord Admiral. By my estimation, before nightfall, the encampment will be overrun by these mongrels." the Ssi-ruu officer responded.
"Lord Admiral, my forces have moved into the encampment and begun securing it should anything transpire. The cells prepared for the sick have proven to be rather effective, however we have lost some lives to the outbreak. They seem to be stronger, much stronger, than a normal Anzat." added Commander Hylz.
"Then, we're going to have to move fast. My apprentice will accompany the Lieutenant and Commander on the ground to oversee the transfer the plagued to the extermination camps. Vaal, you will ensure that preparations at the extermination camps goes on without a hitch." Zahori commanded.
The advisors then departed from the wartable and Lord Admiral Denko returned to her command chair at the center of the command bridge.
She wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to be on the other side of the galaxy looking at paintings and searching for some worthless relic. But when the request came for her to get onto Anzat because of the rumors the Sith were making a move to spread their influence there. She like a fool said ok and got here just the day before.
Disease was rampant and she would be lying if she didn't admit to a fear of catching it. I'm insane I shouldn't be here. I could be selling antiques to tourists on Zeltros but NO..here I am sitting here watching and trying to learn something that might not even be true.
She could get a ship and head back along the Perleman Route. Her shoulders dropped as she resigned herself to I'm here let's do it.
What she did see was a people in trouble why wasn't someone here to help them? Maybe the information was wrong. She needed to find out what they needed, get what relief she could in here. Leilani headed into the direction where the sick were being treated.
The Unholy Spirit had certainly given The Amalgam a test. One that terrified her beyond words, for she knew well the price of failure.
It had visited her in her sleep recently. It was most displeased with her apparent lack of tribute. The Amalgam herself was ashamed at this: she had been so preoccupied with trying to corrupt her daughters that she had slipped in her more sensitive duties to The Brain Demon. It had accepted her penitence but imposed a test.
There was a reason it had never spoken to her master, The Congregation. Powerful as she was, she had simply been too much of a sadistic, psychotic killer to truely understand the benefit of doing evil for a purpose. The Amalgam knew when to rein in her sadism. Knew how to control it. She had savored her master's pain as she had devoured her mind...and realizing she was devouring a swarm of minds that devoured each other. When the process was complete, She essentially was as blood thirsty and evil as her master but had the new benefit of self control as opposed to just raw brute power in the Dark Side.
The Amalgam usually maintained supreme control over that knowledge, along with the echoes of all those other personas that had devoured each other over centuries. Each varied in their levels of blood thirst. The Synthesis, addicted to poisoning whole families, but in the end little more than a bully when confronted with a more savage mind. The Grouping, who never met an innocent she didn't like to torture, but derived too little enjoyment from actual murder to be an effective paragon of The Bogan. The Parliament, who never met an innocent she didn't like to slaughter, but lacked too much subtlety in other areas. The Phalanx, as savage a melee fighter as could be found but lacking true control. The Union, a sick and depraved, viciously powerful sorceress, but broken too easily up close. All of them had their faults. Their echoes were easily, almost thoughtlessly dominated and suppressed.
But only the echo of her own Master was powerful enough to worry her. As much as she herself delighted in slaughter and torture, she always had to be mindful of when to rein it in lest she make that echo of her more powerful than need be.
And what the Brain Demon had commanded her to do was something the Amalgam would have considered an act of insanity.
She was to go to Anzat, find the purest souls she could and sacrifice them. Simple enough. The Amalgam had happily agreed to it.
Then the Brain Demon had informed her she was to do it using her master's equipment.
She had used her master's lightsaber, and while that stirred the echo of her Master's persona within to an uncomfortable degree, it had been a long, long time since she had dared to wear her Master's armor.
She was positive it was alive. That it had a true fragment of her Master's life within, for she had felt it seep into her mind the one time she had worn it to overcome a Sith Inquisitor, calling to that echo. She had barely taken it off in time. And she had not been stupid enough to also wield her Master's weapon at the same time. Now she had to do both.
It was why she stood there, staring at the silvery white armor and ringed double bladed lightsaber, placed on the bed. She had taken precautions of course. She just hoped they would not become necessary.
She was trying to psyche herself up. But The Congregation had been powerful. She had savored killing her mind, then devouring the life force out of her body and making her rot. But she had still nearly lost that fight. This all white luxury quarters she was in had been in fact where she had killed the beast.
Slowly, the naked Shi'ido reached out, slipped the slightly heavier than she was used to on, sealing it shut and picked up the blade. She flashed it on. Purple beams of fire lanced out.
Her body felt the surge of the Dark Side before her mind did, because its alchemized flesh reacted to the power surge of the armor by wriggling like their were maggots underneath her skin. She called on her self discipline to control the reaction. But it was so much more than she had been prepared for. It was a perfect storm. Her own doubt, the echo of her master. The possible fragment in the suit slowly seeping into her and driving her practically over the edge with the urge to torture and kill simply because, the saber carrying her thrill at slaughter.
All the Amalgam's control was suddenly on holding back the echo of The Congregation in her own mind. A vicious, shark like cruelty that rivaled hers but was completely unhindered.
Usually this would haven been the part where she started frantically pulling the wretched thing off but defying The Brain Demon's command would be to invite punishments far worse than the complete and permanent subsumation of her own personality.
Her flesh was still visibly squirming as she she forced herself to maintain her focus, even as her urge to kill became almost overwhelming.
She had visited Anzat before, its silent, lonely valleys filled with feral brain drinkers. One of her predecessors had gained their knowledge of poison here. The Anzat were deadly. She was deadlier.
She had landed her stealth yacht into an old hangar she still occasionally used while going through this place. She was most displeased when she felt the presence of vermin in light combat suits already on the property, along with speeder bikes.
Instead of landing in the small hangar as she desired she was forced to land on the black top around it.
She wasn't even about to ask who they were. Whoever they were they had just become dinner for a body begging to dish out some form, any form, of sadism.
Then she saw the insignia. Sith Intelligence Scouts. Their faces were covered in black masks with goggles, armed with stealthed carbines.
They had gathered around the hatch, apparently waiting for her specifically. All of them struggled not to be sick or back away in terror as she stepped down the hatch.
"Is there something I can help you with, Scout?" The Amalgam asked, the flesh on her face and body rippling and bubbling and bunching in places under the suit, like the skin and muscles had a mind of their own independent of where the skeleton walked. Normally she was nearly impossibly beautiful with a curvy, petite frame. But with the way the Darkness was reacting to the power of her old master there was no hiding the disgusting monster underneath a pretty face this time.
Her reintegration had gone off without a hitch in the Sith, having convinced their intelligence agencies she had been captured and had spent months getting experimented on by The Mandalorians. She had certainly slaughtered enough clans to make it seem like they had done such a thing.
"Imperial intelligence has asked me to inform you a Jedi Knight is in hiding in a remote monestary not a few kilometers from here. You have been tasked with eliminating him and any of the smugglers who have been supplying him. You are also to determine how and why he came here.
The Amalgam took the encrypted datapad offered, face bulging on one side like there were rats for a few seconds before it settled down. None of the scouts, already on a hostile, too quiet world with one of the worst enemies you could possibly have, had any interest in antagonizing the horrific creature their masters saw fit to employ by asking why it seemed her flesh wanted to rip itself apart.
"Thank you. I will take care of this immediately..." The Amalgam hissed.
The scouts started to back away from the thing whose flesh would not cease writhing on the bone.
The Amalgam merely stared at them, fighting the urge to devour their life force. She had just gotten back into the empire. It would not do to feed on them, no matter how much her greatly amplified sadism wanted to.
She could sense their fear. Their delicious fear and almost lunged but she remained still. Suddenly her self control failed. She had to find some way to instigate it.
Her diseased mind reached out to that of the mentally weakest amongst them. Made him think he saw her reach for a pistol.
She let him fire his carbine let it hit her in the arm. Even as much as her face wriggled, they could see the horrific smile creep up on her face.
There was a moment before the fight started. A moment before the scouts realized one man's fear had just doomed them. It was a quickly spreading icy terror at the knowledge that this monster they had been tasked with messaging was going to make sure they never reported back.
Her blades went active, spinning on their track as she deflected their bolts, calling on her Force Rage. But the suit had been made for her master, not her, thus, much of the potency of most of her dark powers were halved. Nonetheless, her muscles bulged even as they wriggled violently as she lurched forward at high speed, swatting aside their blasters.
Some shots grazed her, but she didn't feel it. She was so lost in her empowered blood lust she could not feel anything except the joy of murder as she cut one's legs off, savagely but efficiently going through the limbs of the others without actually killing them. She fed off their pain, letting their terror soak in more before she pounced on the first victim. She reached into his weak soul, placing ahand on his screaming face and without effort began ripping his life force into herself, howling in delight as she felt his death shrieks as he rotted in his combat armor. Others desperately tried to crawl but she soon caught up to another victim, going slower this time, taking time to feel his terror more as he rotted even slower, but the pain even greater because it was so slow. The flesh on her bones was wriggling badly everywhere as she fed, completely deforming her. It took this one ten minutes to die. It took another thirty, which was made worse by ripping parts of his mind out inbetween draining him. Each victim inevitably died slower than the last.
The Amalgam, so sated with cruelty, the echo of her master feeding off it, rose, her body ceased wriggling. She could not resist--
The Amalgam's mind blanked out, was suppressed. Not destroyed, but suppressed. The self control all but vanished. The slaughter and torment, and the joy derived from both, animated by dark knowledge, was the only thing actually controlling The Amalgam's body as the recreated persona took hold, the flesh on her face rearranging from its original owner's near perfect features and black hair to that of a colder, more statuesque face with paler skin and platinum blond hair tied into a bun. Her eyes were nothing but black orbs.
"Hmm...it seems my apprentice has at last slipped..." The Congregation remarked, muscles on one cheek twisting unnaturally before resetting in place. She glanced at her orders, decided to carry them out. She had become powerful again because of The Amalgam's lack of discipline but she was not powerful enough to have full control yet. That would require a seperate ritual. One that would take hours to prepare. But it would leave her in charge forever.
However she decided to carry out this mission first. The Amalgam's personality was not dead. It was fighting her, trying to reassert. But her master knew exactly what was necessary to keep herself in control. And that was to engage in maximal cruelty.
She was going to enjoy this. So long nothing more than an echo in her apprentice. And all it took was a moment's slip in self control and her memory had overwhelmed her. As far as The Congregation was concerned, this made her apprentice a failure. For being a failure, she was to be spiritually ripped to pieces, to ironically become an echo in her own body. Her knowledge nothing more than a mantlepiece to The Congregation's reborn glory.
"So proud I was, when you consumed me..." The Congregation hissed, her voice a seductive yet deep husk.
"But it is clear you have become weak..." she continued, knowing her apprentice's panicking weakening mind could hear her gloating as she began a walk into the snowy canyon ahead to the monestary's location.
"Your obsession with your daughters has made you more vulnerable than wielding any of my old trinkets ever could have..." she whispered, feeding on The Amalgam's fear. She began to stick to the shadows, feeling this alchemized body saturated with corruption saturate even further as the mind powering it had changed. She had never gotten the alchemization fully stabilized even after all this time. The cells were so saturated they were threatening to lose cohesion without semi regular feedings. Not that the Congregation minded, as she herself was so addicted to Force Drain she had regularly worn down the Shi'ido bodies she herself had used from over feeding rather than not feeding enough. She wanted to do it again as soon as possible in fact.
Thirty minutes later.
The Congregation's face was slick with sweat, parts of her face wrinkling and yellowing as she approached the route to the ancient monestary had been used once by some Order of Anzat Assassins had claimed as their sanctuary before some fugitive Jedi had wiped it out in the past few weeks for his own purposes. This would not be easy. For whatever reason, he had convinced the smugglers to aid him. They were alert, setting up barricades on their steps leading to the ziggurat like structure of black brick kissed by snow as it peaked into the mountaintops.
She decided not to hide. That would not be fun. She approached the beginning of the ascent. Her flesh wrinkled like small worms, decaying a little further. The Amalgam's bodies were weaker than hers. No wonder she was a failure. She needed stronger prey.
Two of the smugglers at a set up barricade with blasters, both Rodians, warned her to slow down.
She could feel these ones. Strong life force. Stronger than the squad she had eaten.
"I know you have a Jedi here..." The Congregation hissed, a single purple blade activating in a dusky twilight.
"The one who talks is the one I spare." The Witch snarled.
The younger Rodian, whether it was bravado or instinct he would never be able to tell later on, spoke.
"He's at the very top. Where you can't reach him, Sith! Turn back now!" The younger one yelled.
"The Jedi lets mere smugglers fight his battles. How unseemingly..." she hissed, the left eye ball shriveling and slipping out of the socket a little. The decay wawas accelerating. She had waited long enough.
They didn't fire, of course. They were much too horrified for that to happen. She stretched out her hand to the older Rodian and clenched her hand.
The older Rodian coughed, then screamed in agony as she drained his life at a distance, his body shriveling in seconds as she casually walked ever closer. He was dust by the time his armor hit the ground.
The younger Rodian backed away in terror as the damaged to her face reversed itself. He was soon up against a wall.
"How many?" She asked, resisting the already seductive urge to feed again.
"Thirty..." the Rodian answered, shriveling at her black, dead stare.
"What tricks does my Jedi friend have waiting?"
"I dunno. I swear. They hardly tell me anything."
The Congregation was satisfied.
"Run little one." She encouraged, stepping aside.
The Rodian stared. "You fethin' serious?"
"Like a blaster bolt." She assured him. "The Congregation is many things, but a deal breaker is not one of them."
The Rodian did not need to be told a third time. He bolted.
"Smugglers these days..." she joked heading upwards, feeling the prey prepping their weapons. She had hers as well.
The flesh on her body wriggled as red electricity arced off of it. As she ascended further turning at a natural curve in the mountain structure, she saw a mass of them pointing repeaters at her and smiled.
"Very well. A banquet first..."
Heavy red lightning erupted from her hands, causing and explosion as it hit the ground sending some flying. She summoned it from the sky, heavy red bolts smashing and insta-gibbing more of them.
One man, however, in the attempt to defend themselves, for some reason found his aim...
The Congregation sensed it almost too late and could only force her hatred through this weak body so much to survive it.
It was a 303. Caliber round that smashed through the middle of her chest, leaking all white blood out and leaving an exit wound big enough to put her fist through. She was flung backward, eyes open.
The snugglers could not believe their luck. That was a chest hit. She was down. She had to be.
Four began to approach her weapons trained on her skull...
Fists clenched, and The four screamed as their worst fears overwhelmed them as The Congregation rose, her hate saving her from the fatal wound. Hands clasped a victim and he shriveled, the hole in her chest closing rapidly as she flung out another stream of heavy lightning, killing the remaining present.
The flesh on her face moved, bubbling for a second before settling down as her body finished repairing itself. She continued her calm ascent.
EFFECT: The Congregation
With the Amalgam's mind currently dominated by that of her master, her powers at drain and lightning are massively increased, at the cost of less manuverability and weaker powers in other areas.
(New Dark Power Learned!)
Power: DARK SUSTAINANCE
Allows the character to temporarily survive wounds that would otherwise kill them, surviving until a victim can be drained to fix the fatal damage. Cannot be used to survive fatal brain injuries due to complications with the suit the character is currently wearing.
The First Order had arrived to repay their debt to the Sith Empire.
A full platoon of distinctive white-armored stormtroopers were disgorged from the bellies of a pair of atmospheric assault landers, each of which were wisely landed on a thick part of the ice shelf. While relief and extermination operations were underway on the less desolate parts of the planet, the First Order had arrived on behalf of the Sith Empire to investigate an aberrant conglomeration and sick and feral Anazti which had gathered in disturbingly large numbers within the ice caves of the planet’s northern continental glacier. Although the savage creatures were too sick or feral to be worth saving, the presence of so many of them in such a small area was disconcerting. The feral Anzati only possessed a primitive form of intelligence which allowed them to form small tribes. They were generally incapable of rallying various small tribes together to form larger social groupings, especially ones with any form of social stratification.
If the feral Anzati were on the cusp of evolving a higher form of intelligence, there were many powerful figures within the Sith Empire and the First Order who would need to be made aware of the development.
Fortunately, upon landing outside the ice caves, the stormtroopers only witnessed a tangled mass of sick and feral Anzati. Although, the more animal-like Anzati were mostly unarmed, the sick ones still retained the intelligence to use weapons. However, their tactics were not more advanced than a human wave attack, which did virtually nothing to demoralize the stoutly resolute stormtroopers of the First Order.
With disciplined and efficient movements, AX-0021 braced her rail rifle against a nearby formation of ice and took aim at a particularly imposing Anzati that was bringing a massive rotary blaster cannon to bear. Before the strong, yet sickly creature could fire a single shot, a ferric tungsten projectile punched through its chest in an explosion of viscera. Upon processing the bloody results of her first shot, AX-0021 scanned her sights across the advancing wave of Anzati until she found another target. Her weapon produced a sharp crack as she fired a shot at a blaster-wielding Anzat which vaporized the poor creature’s entire head in a spray of red mist. She fired two more shots at a pair of unarmed feral Anzati, each of which connected with their targets with brutal results. By the time she finished sliding another magazine into the rail rifle, the platoon had eliminated the initial wave of savage Anzati.
With only a silent gesture, her sergeant brought the squad into formation before leading them into the mouth of the icy cavern...
Acrid smoke burned in his eyes, opaque tears welling in the periphery of his sight as the wind shifted. These were not tears of sadness, nor were they of joy, but a mere biological reaction to the irritation stinging his vision. He felt no love or hate for those that now burned by his hand, there was not even pity or empathy. He had been sent here by his Lord, the Immortal Emperor of the Sith, to perform a singular task.
A grim task, but simple nonetheless.
Contagion gripped Anzat in its vile throes, and such sickness needed to be excised with extreme prejudice; like a cancerous tumor. "Let the cleansing fire of our Lord Emperor's just mercy cleanse the weak from this world." Darth Wyyrlok's words were intoned like a sacred hymn, his words hypnotic to the hooded followers who swung brass thuribles filled with scented incense in rhythm with the Sith Lord's words. Their heads bowed, they answered him in the ancient language of the Holy Sith, their words rising like a swarm of locusts to hum and chitter in the ash-laden air.
"We are the heralds of His flame, scouring the worthless and the subhumanoid from creation." From the thick forest of bamboo emerged one of the feral Anzati, a creature of impulse and hunger than loped on all fours towards the Chagrian Sith Lord. With effortless motion he sidestepped the feral's attack, and ended its life with a precise slash to its midsection with his lightsaber, ending the conflict in less than a couple seconds. The corpse was then levitated up off the ground, and thrown haphazardly onto the nearby pyre already stacked high with similar bodies.
Anzat Spaceport Burn the Sick
A once thriving port for business now lay abandoned, hardly a soul to be seen on the gigantic floating platforms that had been a safe haven for the non-Anzat visitors. A lone shuttle descended from the sky and flew down below the platforms to the larger spaceport below, a complex that was now in total disarray with the plagued Anzati world now in complete chaos and hysteria with the outbreak of madness among the populace. Reaching an open area of pavement, the shuttle refused to land. Instead a ramp extended from beneath the sealed door on its side as the transport hovered several meters above the ground, the door hissing open only long enough to allow its sole cargo to offload - a woman clothed in golden scales running down the ramp and leaping to the ground below as the shuttle began its ascent and departure.
As the woman rose up from her crouching position the transport was already gone, her piercing gaze of violet and blue visible from beneath the locks of golden-brown and purple hair that hung over her forehead. Down on the planet's surface, the spaceport was overcast by the clouds and floating platforms that hung empty, ominously, above. In the distance a single feral shriek sounded, joined by a chorus of screams and then ever more sounds of madness. Though her saber hung loosely at her hip, the Firrerreo did not reach for it as she strode towards the sounds of the infected, her expression grim, unimpeded by the lack of lighting.
She was not here to defend the healthy, she was here to annihilate the infected.
"Aurek Actual to Aruek 1-1 Romeo; how copy? Over."
"Aurek Actual this is Aurek 1-1 Romeo; solid copy, send traffic, over."
"Aurek 1-1 Romeo; report status on perimeter sweep, over."
"Aurek 1-1 Romeo copies, standby for visual uplink, over."
"Aurek Actual copies, visual uplink recieved. Continue patrol route then RTB to staging point to be relieved by Aurek 2-1, how copy? Over."
"Aurek 1-1 Romeo copies all. Out."
It had been some time since the 7th had been put back on pacification duty.
The reindoctrination and refit of the men and women of the Field Army under the command of the shadowy hellspawn had been unending for some time now, some would even go to say months. Ever since Vestille's return from being reportedly killed in action, the replacement commanding authority had slacked and allowed the achievements and veterency of the unit as a whole be sullied by incompetence and slothfulness by parasitic entities that lay both within the circles of the command structure but also the replacements that built up the ranks of the enlisted. It had been a serious blow without a doubt, something that had left the unit it shambled and its cohesion sunk to a abysmal degree-- Something that ignited a spark deep within that seething figure of abyssal matter that radiated a fury beyond words. For those that witnessed the swift execution of the man who attempted to replace their former General and allowed the effectiveness of the men under his command fall to rot; they knew that things were to be brought to order. No longer were they sitting around training day in and day out, expecting to get better in combat by practicing against static dummies that didn't shoot back.
Instead, they were shown a first return to form; deploying to the battlefield and testing old and new alike by a trial of fire. Those who lived became stronger and those who died? Well, their sacrifices were made for the Empire and made an example of for the rest of the 7th; learning from the mistakes of the dead to ensure that they lived, even if it was just for another day. Brutal as it may have been and ensured that the casualty rates of new recruits sent in as replacements for those lost in the 7th were higher than most other units, it was how it had always been and how it had always worked. Especially now, what with their General an entirely changed man, if he could even be called a man at all, anything less or different would have been seen as weak, ineffective; even if these brutal methods no doubt had significant mental damage upon the men and women that made up the ranks of General Thumahra's Field Army.
So perhaps the assignment to Anzat was a change of pace, a brief respite amid the meat grinders of the Galaxy that the Legionaries were all too familiar with. An infection and a dire need of a population that required quarantine; a large facility to house them obviously needed a large security detail with a strong backbone to ensure that everything that went on inside went smoothly. The task was passed to the 7th and who were they to refuse? Even if it wasn't to be a warzone, it still carried its own lists of dangers and hazards that ensured that the men needed to remain on high alert and second guess nothing-- The briefing had stated that even the slightest lapse of concentration could result in a quarntine breach and the requirement of 'deep cleanse' protocols to secure the site. For a facility that was meant to be researching the infection that had spread across the native population? That would be a setback for both the Empire and the planet that they no doubt sought to bring under their banner.
And so the patrols went about their routes, guard details watched from their towers and security checkpoints whilst medical and research teams flowed in and out of prefab labratories and quarantine buildings with the intent of hopefully giving the cure that the Anzati so sorely needed.
Alas, all it would take is a pin drop for all hell to break loose.
Darth Ophidia arrived at the meeting place; it was a sheer cliffside with water cascading down in a series of interconnecting waterfalls, gathering to run at its base. Crooked trees jutted from the sheer wall, where the water did not gnaw the stone and earth away; their flowers had just started to release their petals, causing the water to run red like water.
Ophidia followed a path along the run, then crossed by stepping gracefully from one rock to the next. Her eyes were fixed ahead while her feet found purchase after purchase.
As she came to the other side, she turned and stepped into a hidden stair marked by a tall stone lantern. As Ophidia passed the lantern, she stretched out a hand and touched the oil inside. A spark flashed between her fingers, igniting the oil and making a bright, yellow light. While the light flickered steadily, she walked into one of the waterfalls. As she approached, the water split like a curtain, then closed like a door behind her. Ahead, there were more lanterns carved into the walls, and a small bench seated on the far side.
She could not see nor sense anyone in the hollow, but was not convinced that she was alone.
Especially considering why she was there.
Yet, she took her place on the stone bench. From inside her robes, she produced two little cups of metal and a small flask. She poured a milky white liquid from the flask. Vapour rose from the top of the tea as it crashed into the metal, then settled to still pools. Capping the flask, she put it down again and closed her eyes as silence encapsulated her.
Objective:Relief Aid &Burn the sick
Allies: Sith Empire
Location: Local village located at the foot of one of the mountains
------
This planet would have been a wonderful place to live... if it wasn't under the condition it was right now. The Anzat once-proud assassins, warriors now weak and sick. What they were doing to try and stop their many problems had failed so they had no choice but to ask the Sith Empire, and so the Emperor sent it. Here one of the Empire dropship circle the sky as it did a final sweep of the landing zone, onboard several troopers, supplies, and one Shistavaned Sith.
A few minutes pass when the ship made a bumpy landing the door open slowly reveling the planet. The stench of death and rot filled the air once the ship open up. Zair walk down the ramp as he took in the area, mountains to the left homes of the villagers some look broke while others look completely fine, It was a decent size for the area it was in. The sith brought his right arm up and made what look like a pushing motion toward two broken homes in the middle of the village, within a few seconds the two huts collapse in a pile two troopers pass the Sith lighting the pile on fire. Zair scan the village he wasn't expecting anyone to be scared from that display and frankly he didn't care.
Zair wasn't in charge of the troopers they were here to give the none infected aid.. supplies that they need so desperately but yet the locals were too proud to admit. Movement caught the Sith attention a sickly elderly woman walk slowly up to them she glared angerly at the troopers on board the ship then at the Sith "GO! You and you're... friends are not welcome here!" she try to keep the anger in her voice but falter a bit when she cough. Zair held back a smile it was.. interesting that she out of the whole village would come up to them, were they trying to distract them or were they all as frail as she was? "We brought supplies that..." he was cut off by the elderly woman before he could continue "WE DIDN'T ASK FOR YOUR HELP!... OR FOR YOUR SUPPLIES!!" she begin to breath heavily as she continued her deathly glare. Slightly tilting his head to the right Zair let out a low growl "I didn't say the supplies were for you." he smiled when the elderly woman look a bit confused by his statement he grab his lightsaber a snap-hiss could be heard before a red energy beam could be seen and in one swift motion he slice off the elderly lady head, her body hit the ground first followed by the head. Lightly laughing to himself he glance up from the motionless body at the village before him "It's for the non-infected..."
Had her sensitive nostrils not been protected by her helmet’s advanced oxygen filtration system, the stench of the sick, the dying, and the dead within the cave would have made her either barf or faint. Dead Anzati, both civilized and feral, were everywhere along the walls of the cave. As such, it did not take her long to notice a pattern. Almost all of them had their hands clutched around their necks and their mouths hung wide open. However, there were many corpses that appeared to be little more than gray husks, the life sucked from them like air in the vacuum of space.
“Sergeant, these bodies are all dead of choking and...something else.” The squad’s stormsurgeon, TK-8642, spoke up, after the squad leader stopped to examine one of the more gruesome Anzati corpses. The medic pulled a handheld medisensor from her utility belt and swept it over the body. “This one is...it’s registering the cause of death as indeterminate. The body is showing signs of head trauma, but it wouldn’t have left the corpse...looking like this.” TK-8642 gestured, silently alluding to the corpse’s husk-like appearance.
“They’re feeding on each other.” The sergeant replied. “It’s called the ‘soup’. They typically get it from other species, but this sickness has made them desperate. Unfortunately, that doesn’t tell us why so many of them are gathered here. If they wanted to eat each other they could do that anywhere.”
As she scanned the rotting Anzati corpses that were situated against the walls of the cavern, AX-0021 listened silently to the ongoing conversation. After a few moments, her gaze came upon a deathly skinny and gnarled-looking corpse that appeared to have a jagged object in its throat which bulged through the creature’s pale and taut skin. Sensing an opportunity, the diminutive Elzeri approached the corpse and lowered herself into a crouch. Then, she cautiously placed a hand on the dead creature’s neck, feeling at the object that was lodged within its throat.
With a deep breath, AX-0021 extended her armor’s knuckle-plate vibroblade and cut the ostrine edge across the dead Anzati’s throat, just below the position of the jagged bulge.
When she finished drawing the incision, an intact Force crystal fell into the palm of her hand amidst a small spurt of blood.
"Sir, we are having communications from one of our local operatives. Updating transmission data."
The Imperial Light Corvette known as the "One Tooth" would float through sector space, being regulated to inspections against freighters entering and exiting the atmosphere of Anzat. It was relatively quiet as most of the scans went through as expected, none of them were appearing to be masking any spices and random inspections have yielded no results. The one result they can depend on was done by this strange local operative, only known as Valmorra Kothi whom apparently had stowed away on top of one. Lieutenant Naki would understand to let that ship pass unless otherwise noted for retrieval and safety purposes.
Gaining his rank rather quickly in the academy in less than three months, he had shown promise for being a rather intelligent individual, even if rather sickly at times. However his age seemed to have been a rather large contributing factor to being handed down what is considered a "junk" patrol craft from times before he was able to think of existence. The Imperial Light Corvette was designed for boarding operations with four squadrons of troopers under his command. Six twin turbolasers made it efficient to fight off possibly the worst of armed freighters and some older corvettes. As the crew began to be restless, the sensor operations officer would speak up, putting on the projection table in the middle of the command room.
"Sir, we have detected an incoming corvette on sensors. It has a light escort of starfighters, sensors are having trouble picking up readings inside the old Patrol Boat. Model destination Nine Five Zero, P B Patrol Boat with Uglies around it. Patch a hail through?"
"Yes, relay this message. Start Hail. This is Lieutenant Naki of the Sith Empire, we are having you randomly selected for a search. Power down your engine and lower your shields, prepare for boarding. End Hail"
The moment after sending it was rather tense, everyone bated their breath as gunnery stations were on high alert in case the old patrol boat attempted to get away. The four uglies would slowly converge towards the Imperial Light Corvette, sensors officer would respond towards the incoming starfighters were putting power to front deflector shields. At that moment, Naki would merely nod towards his second in command as he issued the order to open fire prematurely. It was a near massacre of turbolaser fire, smashing into each starfighter before them as their shields were not powered up enough to withstand even one blast, tearing apart in mere seconds as the PB-950 Patrol Boat would attempt to slip under them. The attempt would give a small smirk from the corner of Lt. Nakis mouth.
"Ram them."
Even though they were technically the same size, there was a reason to start ramming now. It was almost a space T-Bone maneuver, wanting to get them right in the middle. Since the "pincers" as Naki would call them on the Imperial Light Corvette was wide enough, it could technically "catch" the PB-950 Patrol Craft with ease. It worked as expected, grinding the metal against the other as turbolaser fire would focus on the engine source as well as the hyperspace generator as it was a half minute of firing before the sensor officer reported in.
"Engines are down, hyperspace generator has been destroyed, reading multiple compartments breached, they are a sitting nerf."
"Prepare docking operations. Sword, be prepared for any hostilities. I want the command crew alive, all others are to be executed on site."
With the Patrol Craft now limbering in space, the "One Tooth" would slowly pull back from its pincer like grab and proceed to get into the proper docking arrangement. A tube would extend from the bottom as it would latch onto the PB-950 Patrol Craft, locking directly into place. Four squads of Imperial Soldiers would extend down the shaft, starting their boarding operation as Lt. Naki would await patiently for results.
The Anzat general slowly strode through the winding paths of the settlement high in the misty mountains, a nostalgic and familiar feel as he recounted some of his earliest days. A ghostly figure ran past the Anzat, a small child no older than eight, that caused the Anzat to pause. A manifestation of himself when he was young and being raised to become an assassin. The ghostly figure would leap up and vanish without a trace into the trees above as Vexen continued to walk, ignited saber still in hand at his side. He remembered his days of training; how he was drilled to traverse the rugged and treacherous mountains and valleys of his home planet, trained to push himself beyond what his body was supposedly capable of; as silent as a nightseer in the darkness.
A flurry of vibrodaggers would fly out from the shadows and mist, poised to perforate the Anzat as he raised his lightsaber and deftly swatted them out of the air as they approached him, using his free hand to reach out as he made a 'come hither' gesture, using the Force to pull his assailant out of the trees. A robed figure would fly out, cleaved in two as they came into the path of Vexen's lightsaber, the smoldering halves falling to the ground as a pair of hooded Anzati assassins leaped from either side of him, wielding intricate blades, swinging both high and low from opposite sides. Vexen seemed slightly intrigued as he raised his lightsaber to block the slash aimed for his neck while raising his hand to use the Force to push the other away. His saber would feel resistance as the blade it blocked held without melting; a songsteel blade.
An old tradition of his own clan in particular among the Anzati was to give the most gifted amongst their clan a songsteel blade, entrusted to hunt dangerous prey. A tradition Vexen thought he exterminated the day he turned on his own... Intriguing.
As both his assailants lept to create distance from Vexen, their hoods would fall back, revealing masks covering their faces; both were of the same shape, but one bore two circular holes where the eyes were while the other's eyes were replaced by three curved slits over each eye. They moved with fluid precision and in perfect sync, a duo who had likely trained together for a long time. They darted at Vexen once more, keeping up a continuous barrage of attacks that had him on the defensive. Saber would clash with blade as Vexen analyzed their movements and attack patterns; there was something oddly familiar about them that made him sick. They were certainly a cut above the rest and lively, perhaps a worthy meal to indulge in - toying with his food certainly was a bad habit of his.
Vexen would switch off his saber as he reached out with both hands, grasping the air as the two assassins were gripped by invisible iron fists, being lifted off the ground as their legs kicked and they struggled. Their blades would fall as their masks fell off; a pair of Anzati twins, in their mid-twenties, roughly several hundred years by his estimate. They'd float closer to Vexen until their necks were firmly gripped in his hands, brought up to him as the plates covering his cheeks shifted, a pair of tendrils slithering out as they came closer and closer...
" Become one with me in my sea of memories... "
Vexen would toss the two corpses off to the side after he had finished his 'meal', having taken the memories of his assailants. They were protecting someone; a survivor of Vexen's blood-filled rampage hundreds of years ago who had resurrected the teachings and traditions of his former clan. The Anzat would raise his hand to his head, using the back of his hand to make a mouth wiping gesture as his proboscis retracted and he turned to continue on. He had something special in mind for the survivor of his slaughter so many centuries ago. He'd reach down and scoop up the two masks that belonged to the assassins, tucking them away as he moved into the mist.
Forever into darkness, the reach of the Sith extended, as it always had and would continue to do. There was a hunger to the animal of the Empire, one that demanded ever more additions to the grand feast that was Sith Governance. This time, unlike others, the latest potential addition to the body of the beast not only welcomed the presence of the Empire but demanded it, pleadingly, desperately. The Sith and its empire, of course, would answer the plea and would absorb it as it absorbed all others. Though the most pressing question became among the Imperials, what had caused this dire need in a people of such highly valued violence?
They mistook it for a disease, but the source of desperation was not pathogenic in nature, no more pathogenic then simple hunger, greed, or starvation. The Anzati, of course, was familiar with all of these, as most species are, but the pandemic they were facing was not a natural one nor was it entirely artificial. The method of which caused them such discordance was of course artificially produced, but the chaos created by it was all too familiar and natural to them and all who suffer from extreme hunger. The only one who knew this with precision was Voracitos, the Dark Lord of Gluttony himself, who watched with his singular greedy eye from the grove of his own realm, relishing in the panic of Anzat.
Many months ago, the Sith Lord had conducted a little experiment for his own personal amusement on Bimmisari. He had created an alter ego with a Flesh Golem and conducted a mission of philanthropy throughout the peaceful planet as a means to distribute a great many Cannibal Emitters throughout the entire planet amongst the poor. It had created its own pandemic very similar to the scene on Anzat. Widespread Chaos, men eating men, and none of them ever satiated. The reason for the Anzat's plea of help from the Sith, was because of a Voracitos and his Coven of Gluttony, tainting whole populations with a terrible hunger with inconspicuously hidden objects turning the desperately poor into savage mindless cannibals.
All so his Emperor's nation may grow, and so that Voracitos could feed on the suffering in the wake of its victories.
What better way to feed on that suffering than to watch it in person?
To do just that, the Flesh of Voracitos arrived on Anzat...
"Fascinating," she mumbled through her hazmat suit, peering at the dissected Anzati on the examination table. "But perplexing."
The call for assistance from the Anzati to the Sith Empire, and the potential riddle of a mysterious illness reducing the Anzati into crazed feral facsimiles, had brought the Lady of Secrets and the entire medical team from Valrar and Amaltanna to the planet. They had brought along a large cross-section of different medications and diagnostic equipment, setting up their position on the edge of the quarantine zone commanded by Vestille Thumahra
.
Subjects had not been lacking that was for sure, and it seemed whatever it was that was causing the feral behavior was spreading. Many of her fellow Sith were committed to burning out the more stricken communities, not caring about the medical explanation and defaulting to the sword and flame. Today, for the Triumvir of Power, she was embracing that side of herself that had made her such an effective Jedi.
Not that it meant her methods would conform to those of the Order... the autopsied Anzati being clear.
"Just like the last three, no reaction to medication."
"No, my Lady," the tall Ralltiiri doctor next to her said. Doctor Vellgar Tristov was an expert in pathogens that Taeli had poached to work for Spaarti Creations and Aurora Industries. "Blood work and tissue samples are being examined on the four subjects and we should have results soon."
"My Lady, Adept Ahern is contacting you from Stormvale," a voice from her comlink chirped. Taeli gave the doctor an apologetic look and left the examination room to see what one of her secret apprentices and her daughters' minders while she or Fiolette were away on business of the Empire needed.
Colton had been tasked to lead so new Legions on and incineration sweep of several small settlements this was his first command and made to the "new boot section of the camp. "Ten of you worthless piles of bantha poodoo, grab your gear and form up on me now!" he bellowed his gravelly voice adding to respect and fear he inspired several of them scrambled to get the kit together tripping over themselves. After a few profanities and some kicks in the rear, he had his 10 men "Alright you ten were going on a flaming sweep, to stop the festering disease on this rock what 4 villages to clear before we come back here for chow, do exactly what I tell you and ya might survive." what that he gave hand signal and the group collective turned and stated a jog for entrance to the Camp after several hours the made to the first village on Colton list the village was 43% infect the healers had a good handle on from their perspective anyway. “By order of the Imperial legion this village is to be destroyed to prevent the spread of disease all those not infect have 20 minutes to gather what person effects you can and made your to the Imperial medical field camp to the east.”
One of the village elders ran up to Colton “You can’t do that our healers are making progress, we haven’t had new in a week.” without a word Colton Grabbed his Vibro hammer without imbuing it with flames through his Kovar dire shaping abilities deveivered a thunderous blow crushing the elder’s skull and seeding pieces of bone bloody flesh, and flying in 4-meter radius “You now have 5 minutes anyone else care to question me!” he yelled before turning to the 10 legionaries behind him "douse it all we burn the village and anyone left it in exactly 4 and a half minutes" One Legionnaire said, “But Sargent you told them 5 minutes.” Colton grabber the man behind the helmed and delivered several various and powerful knee strikes releasing the man’s helmet on the last strike sending the man stumbling backward “question me again boy and you get the same as the oldman!”
As the rest of the legionaries doused the village and everyone in their way with a flammable substance as order Colton removed his helmet short dark brown always in a flattop style cut, clean-shaven square-jawed face with preice fierce dark brown looked out over the village and to chronometer on his gauntlet “Set perimeter no one else leaves!” the troops quickly moved to formed a circle around village those who hadn’t made sat huddled with friends and family as Colton Imbued his vibro hammer with flames and began touching off the buildings and bodies before joining the perimeter “nothing gets past us if tries kill it!” A smile came to his face as he stared into flames and listening to the screams of terror and agony a the villageries infected and healthy alike burned men women children, animal to him it a beautiful music he listened and stared deeply to flames watching the fire dance and his victims writhe and run about some were shot down but the troops other killed the flame he doused the flames on his Vibro hammer and watched smiling till the screams faded and all the stood before were the legionaries and smolder heap of ash.
Time dilated in her mind, then came crashing together with reality as the silence was cracked under the sound of footsteps. Darth Ophidia's eyes opened, but she saw no figure ahead, yet, could feel a presence in the room. She could smell the steel he carried.
"Impressive, as always."
She took a sip from her cup, it was still warm. The liquid was sweet and fragrant.
"Please, sit down, have some tea." she gestured to the second cup, still letting off it's sweet vapour.
The footsteps, barely audible even to her tuned ears, moved up to the back of the bench, then around it. The figure came into sight: A tall, male anzanti with long, silver hair, a short trimmed beard, and intense, blue eyes. He stared down at her as if she was a puzzle with a missing piece.
"Time is of the essence. We do not have time for tea." "Then speak your case."
He reared, not expecting the imperative. While the Anzanti was good, his microexpressions were not beyond what Ophidia could fathom. To an onlooker, they both might have seemed unnaturally straight-faced, like droids. But to her, they spoke volumes.
"My case? You called me to this meeting." Ophidia nodded, taking another sip from her cup. "So speak. Time is of the essence, after all." "And you, you are worried." She looked at him from under the rim of her hood, latching on to the thought that had betrayed him. "What is it that concerns you?"
