Unfinished Business [Mandalorian Crusader T2 Dom of Chiloon Rift]

[Vuhan Chen]

Location: The Vagrant Queen
Objective: Repel pirates and push through asteroids.
Post 3

It felt nice being back in the little red dress, hell it felt down right great. The only thing she was missing now was her high heels and pistols. But the rifle would have to do now, that and her bare feet letting it show just how short she really was coming in a hair short of five feet. But the tiny woman was fierce and would show any pirate what for, and besides she always had James.

"Alright folks! Let's go get some!" She yelled out as they approached the entrance to hanger B.

When the doors opened they were immediately greeted by two drop ships in the hanger of a pirate variety. And how were they able to tell they were such? Simple, usually most sane people didn't strap corpses to the nose of the ship, and it just so happened to be that Patricia didn't intend to to become one of those dead trophies to be paraded around as frozen hood ornament.

"I count thirty at least. Reminds me of Coruscant." she said to James with a chuckle.

"I'll take the ones on the right, try to keep up old man." Blonde smirked then pumped the action on her pulse rifles grenade launcher.

Running forward the woman began to fire grenades into the pirate ship and platoon spraying bullets where she could mowing down and exploding as many as she could.

But back on the bridge, Johnny and Cyrus were busy dealing with the bombers and other apparent problems such as pirates and mystery folks that seemed to have it out for them.

"Good save, yeah! Push auxiliary power to light flak guns! The bloody reactor is pushing it as is!" Johnny yelled to Cyrus from across the bridge.

With the ship shaking to recover from the hits, Johnny looked out into the asteroids and continued to push the Vagrant Queen further to plow asteroids out of her way. At this point they had some very slim odds of making it to the bubble, but revenge was a hell of a motivator.

"We'll be approaching the bubble in thirty minutes! Nagai! You got kids!? Cause I have a special job for you!" Johnny said with a wolf like grin on his face.

They were getting through that damn bubble, and he'd been concocting a way to get there for years.

"I'm coming for you Zambrano, you and all your little primeval bastards."



[member="Aera Varad"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Cyrus Falcor"] [member="The Gray Assassin"] [member="James Justice"] [member="Orkamaat"] [member="Jori Varad"]

 

[Anya Malvern]

She gave a smile as she looked to James as she kinda got a feeling that he was looking at the goods....and not her weapons that she had on her the other other goods....she didn't really care hell she was just bloodlusted and ready to work...those thoughts came after work"pleasure meeting you caplain justice you can call me the scarlet flame hahahag

She gave a smile as they started approaching and loaded her gun and started walking quickly staying behind

Thirty of them? This reminds me of...well couple things I've done" she said as she aimed"I'll hold the middle " she said and started firing at the men as she found cover and started firing the round a beautiful light show as those that Got hit screamed in pain from the magniusme shards
[member="James Justice"] [member="Patricia Susan Zexxel"]

 

[James Justice]

Location: The Vagrant Queen
Post: 3

James smirked back at [member="Patricia Susan Zexxel"].

"They always say the memory is the first thing to go," he bantered back, "Cause ye must be forgetting about the Beskar Mine. That were the time with thirty."

There was only one thing he loved more than being a pirate and that was killing them. He drew one of his blasters and charged at the pirates, giving himself cover fire. The enemy took cover.

Honestly thirty wasn't a lot for three people to fight off. Especially a few who loved to kill. Ten each, he would try to limit himself to that.

Half way to the drop ship, James saw the enemy's fire railing around them. He pressed a button on his gauntlets, his rocket boots roared to life, launching him high in the air, almost skimming the roof of the docking bay. He shut his boots off with a cackle of delight, summersaulting through the air.

He tossed a grenade ahead of him, the blast cleared a hole for him on the other side of the drop ship. James landed on his feet, his knees bending to absorb the shock.

As the pirates climbed out of the ship, a split second of shock passed over the leaders face as he realized he was staring down a heavy blaster pistol. The spacer felt the moment of horror. He drank it in, storing it, savoring it, letting it fuel his fire of rage.

Then he pulled the trigger.

[member="Anya Loma "]

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

There are few things more disturbing than asking the vacant darkness for assistance... and receiving an answer. Even a simple beast can know the fear of the unknown, and that's all anyone alive ever is. An unfamiliar pallar cascaded over the darkened face of the Hutt, and his deadened eyes momentarily widened with an excited (though largely muted) gold.

Before him was a prsence, and it was a presence he knew all too well... without knowing anything at all.

"Priessst..." The sibulent voice malignantly careesed every corner of the ritual cave with hissing echoes. If such an enigmatically vile voice can be laced with fear, this one was just so. This was a sign. A sign he had been looking for... but not he one he wished to receive.

It seemed Balagoth in all of the Dead Ones chaotic whims, decided that the life of Zambrano the Hutt was no longer entertaining... the Prophet's prayer (if he can be called a prophet) had no been denied, but out right ignored. Balagoth does not undo changes he forces to undergo, and the wish of this brilliantly tragic snake was now irritating after clinging to it single mindedly for the past seven decades. The tale was tired, and its final chapters were drawing out much longer than the Primordial God would like. So naturally, as an editor to the authored story of Halrormalenth,

He cuts to the climax.

"The Dead One, he shall grant me... mercy? Then his agent comes freely?" The words were forced, as if a disagreeable script read from a disgruntled actor told to cut an important act to his favorite play. It was clear that despite the centuries of grief... there was one thing his soul continued to cling to, as it always had: love. Without his love... everything he was, became meaningless and without worth.

Power began to radiate from the frozen heart, sending ripples through the liquid-like mist which rose to the sullied bodies which had chanted words to the plea of Zambrano's ritual. There was an anticipation in the air... of what, that was unknown.

Though such things are never hidden for long.

[member="Orkamaat"], [member="The Gray Assassin"], [member="Boethiah"]

 

[Orkamaat]

Those who walk with Balagoth are forever free.

His soothing voice preceded the Priest himself, though only by a few paces. He emerged from the dark mouth of the tunnel just as it finished ringing in his skull. He looked straight ahead and never took a single step further.

The chamber ahead was vast and bright with the sick green fires. Soot danced below the ceiling far above, reeking the fœtor of burning meat. What remained unscorched seeped out of the mangled bodies and into the pool at the bottom of the cave, black and emerald swirling into one. In the middle of this fount of body fluids and decay floated a bloated slug, as if borne from the repugnant liquid itself.

Orkamaat knew his face. Or what was left of it, anyway.

“The Prophet.” Words stripped of emotion, uttered by bones stripped of flesh.

“You are afraid,” he said at length and his failing legs moved again. The anzat waded into the bubbling lake, features devoid of disgust. Though he was guilty of many sins and venialities, hypocrisy was not among them. He might as well have been gazing into a mirror.

“Balagoth knows you, and you know it in turn. From breath to death it walks with you, and then beyond.” He paused, sighed away the envy. “So you need not tremble, Prophet. It is love with which it calls your name. It will always be love.”

The Priest reached out, then, slowly, and made to press a gaunt palm to a rotting forehead.

“Accept its last Gift, Black Prophet, and abandon your fear. It comes.”

And with closed eyes, Orkamaat would etch the sigil of Balagoth into the tainted flesh.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="The Gray Assassin"]

 

[Lord Ajihad]

The ship decloaked as it pulled up to the abandoned space station. The structure had clearly seen better days, that much was certain. He wasn't entirely sure the dock would keep his ship aloft, so he remotely guided it to a nearby asteroid. He would proceed on foot. His quarry was close.​

​

His boots made no sound as the man strode down the station's empty halls. He had walked these corridors before, back in the heyday of the Primeval. He could picture the hundreds of pilots, scientists, engineers, and many others hurrying about. It was depressing to witness the station to fall into disrepair such as this. It was truly a monument to what the cult had once been. The once unstoppable war machine had diminished to something much less so. Even now, one of the last places that held on to the faction's dying memory was about to be seized by the interlopers. The gray-clad figure snorted in amusement. The Mandalorians had failed to halt the Primeval's offensive, and now waited until they were faded and crippled to take their territory. Despicable.​

​

Following the otherworldly feeling through the station, Ajihad finally arrived at a portion of the wall that had been blasted inward. The stainless steel walls were now barren rock as the tunnel reached towards the heart of the Asteroid. He would follow it inwards, walking for a good distance until he stopped at the threshold of a massive cavern. It was rather dim, though ample light was provided by sickly green witch-fires. His eyes teared as a horrible stench hit him, the unmistakeable rancor of raw sewage forcing its way through his nostrils. Desecrated corpses hung from the ceiling, somewhat resembling the crude form of a Jawa. His eyes turned to the center of the room, gazing upon the undead form of @Orkamaat. The assassin knew of the Priest of Balagoth, and he supposed it was fitting he be there.​

​

His eyes then settled on the rotting figure of [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]. He looked worse then when the assassin had last seen him, almost seeming as if though his body was held together by nothing but magics. The Hutt had taken a risk when bonding with the old god, a risk that was now reaping its consequences. Ajihad pulled back his hood, letting the monster see his face. He then slowly began to make his way towards the sewage lake. He wasn't going to enjoy wading through the Hutt's waste any more than he would like putting him to rest.​

 

[Miss Blonde]

.

 

[Vuhan Chen]

Location: The Vagrant Queen
Objective: Repel pirates and push through asteroids.
Post 4

With James having a ball on his rocket boots, Patricia was busy dealing with a few other pirates on her side of the hanger. While she wasn't particularly gifted in the force when it came to raw power, she had her trinkets and gadgets that she crafted to assist her. After all you weren't all that powerful when you were just a hair shy of five feet tall, your mind was your greatest weapon in that situation. And her brain had certainly concocted a few things to help her out of a tight pinch.

As she was crouched behind cover she loaded in a magazine of Burst Rounds into her weapon. A high explosive spread shot round round that was normally designed to take out force users, but today they'd have to go wasted on general scum with their spread and ability to engage multiple targets at once.

With the weapon loaded the woman set her target sensor and quickly after popped up to open fire spraying tungsten carbide penetrators at everything that moved. Blood and pink mist sprayed against the walls and almost as soon as it started the first wave of them were just about gone.

James killed the leader and scarlet had mopped up anyone left.

"Good show, mates. Jolly good show. But while I'd hate to spoil the moment there's a slight problem. They've launched boarding pods and now they are roaming the ship." Johnny said over the comms as the ship continued to rock against the asteroid field.

But while all this was happening somewhere in an abandoned space station something very very wicked was probably going to happen. Which was never good but always entertaining.

"What do you mean they're onboard!?" the woman yelled back on the comms to Johnny.

"Just get them off the bloody ship before they get to the bridge! I'm marking their locations now! We've got twenty five mikes until we hit the bubble! Johnny out!" Johnny then hung up and provided the locations of the various pirates that had entered the ship.

"How do you want to handle this Justice?" seriously, cause she was just about out of ideas.

 

[Anya Malvern]

Anya was being bold and using her insanely flexible body to dodge and move around the fire she was getting all the whole she jumped over things, she was intending to wait for their initial pause to reload and then would rush them

And indeed so as they reloaded and not missing a beat the scarlet flame came out and started towards then as they looked up and started screaming to fall back yet to late, minute she reached them she jumped and released her flames upon them as they were swallowed by the flame and withered screaming falling down and on each other some even running towards the hangar doors and throwing themselves out, while many others succumbed to the heat as she walked away to [member="Miss Blonde"] as she listened over the comms and popped her neck"is uh there a way to reconfigure the fire system on here? I may have a crazy idea with your permission to do

[member="James Justice"]

 

[James Justice]

Post 4:
Location: The Vagrant Queen

"How do you want to handle this Justice?"

He smirked back, amid the dead bodies. For a long time he, as well as many others, had tired to deny that he was a mad man, that he was a man who lost his touch with reality. A man who lost his humanity. But after Graveyard the spacer didn't care anymore. He knew he had lost it all; his mind, his family, his morals, his ethics. He had pushed his children so far from him that it was almost as if he hadn't ever found them in the first place.

But now it was hard to deny that he had lost his mind, even a little bit. But he had been through so much--it was all but impossible for him to keep himself in touch with reality.

"Disgracefully," he said, savoring the word with relish, "Savagely. Brutally," he winked at Anya, "And sexily."

He sobered up slightly, letting his blooddrunkness lower, "We want them to gather in a narrow hall, a choke point to cut down as many as we can as--"

A shot cut him off his thought in mid sentance, knocking him back onto the blood-splattered drop ship. He growled, anger rising in him, "Ye fething think ye can shoot me? Ye be fething bloody wrong ye gerram fething schutta sucking dikut," his language degenerated rapidly into insults that could not be recorded on this board. So, to censor it, he raised his blaster and began returning fire to the quartet of pirates who stumbled in on the warriors. "Gimme that choke point, someone!"

[member="Patricia Susan Zexxel"] @Anya Loma

 

[Cyrus Falcor]

Cyrus moved to the command chair to better counter the incoming pirate ships, this gave him the access to the entire weapons system and shield controls. He plugged in a couple commands and when the next wave began, Cyrus lit up the void with turbolaser fire. Spewing heavy bolts into the vastness between the carrier and the incoming privateers.

Guiding the giant vessel through the asteroid field alone would have been difficult, but now he had to engage ships at the same time. The carrier rocked to and fro as the shields struggled to stand up against the ship sized space rocks. Reports lit up on the console next to him, where Johnny had highlighted the remaining pirates. Cyrus jumped over and hacked the controls, he locked down the corridors they were in and halted their progress. Surgeon sent a ping to [member="Miss Blonde"] alerting her as to what he'd done, giving her and [member="James Justice"] an edge they could use to eliminate the last invaders.

Cyrus hopped back into the command chair and barely dodged an inbound asteroid, the size of another carrier, it would have destroyed the shields and halted their progress instantly. The sound of scraping metal reverberated throughout the whole ship.

OOps.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

The Prophet would close his giant dull eyes, and remain unmoving as his flesh succumbs to the sigil of his god. The Priest was a man of his faith, and a man of like age to his own, he knew the shades and contours of the reaper's face but he did not know the mind. Within the Hutts own mind, he thought,

- Love... hate, these emotions are of one coin, and they are not the kind of coin that is birthed from the primordial mud. Balagoth neither hates nor loves, Balagoth is, and Balagoth is cruel... but also forgiving. I fear only the fact that in rare eons Balagoth's forgiveness may also be cruel in of itself. - A tendril reaches up to touch the sigil once, and the Prophet's dull faded eyes open in pupil-less half slits, his presence beginning to flicker and diminish, and the flames respond to this in a similar kind.

Images of loves throughout the centuries crawl, like wounded animals, through the decrepit warzone of the beasts minds, the thoughs lonely and isolated in juxtaposition with their contents. The truth was, Zambrano the Hutt, and every incarnation living inside of him, had died a long, long time ago. However, everyone sees the light before death, everyone sees the lives they lead laid out before them in judgement... and with a life as long and as bloody as his own, it took him years to see it all played out before him what would take anyone else only moments. The judgement was long, and it would be harsh.

"Good Priest... is not the love of my god not out of amuzement? My life ended so long ago, yet my heart still aches in a new body after so many centuries. Is death not meant to be eternally an end to a chapter? Should not death become new life without regard to what it was before? Why then do we rare few suffer neither for so long, only to die alone and without love? Have we not suffered enough?" As those words left his gargantuan lips, an unsurprised dread washed over the flesh of Zambrano the Hutt. An omen of something which had taken so much from him. It was clear the End had arrived to etch the last punctuation to his Chapter... and he was lurking in the muck.

The God's answer was clear to his prophet... no, he hadn't yet suffered just enough.

[member="The Gray Assassin"], [member="Orkamaat"]

 

[Orkamaat]

“I am not good,” he interrupted, voice gentle, but cracking. His vocal cords were failing by the second, the tar creeping up his deteriorating body. Good thing he couldn’t actually die. “But our God is. Balagoth is offering you that which you refused to take so many times before. Perhaps… perhaps not consciously, Prophet.”

Orkamaat opened his burning eyes to meet the Hutt’s dull stare. “Yes, I believe that is what plagues you. Something tethers you to this world, and you don’t want to leave. You resist.” The Priest canted his head, smiled like a parent would at a troublesome child. “Let go.”

Then he brought up a thumb, muscle halfway peeled. He brushed aside the rooting meat from the Prophet’s forehead along with the sizzling sigil. Like wiping a stain from glass. Unperturbed, the anzat began anew, this time carving the symbol directly into the browning skull.

Stay.

Prayer began to fall from his mouth along with lip-flesh, and the Priest chanted in a tongue long buried in the graves of extinguished stars.

And then it rippled.

Orkamaat growled, a noise from the deep that reverberated off of every rib and vertebra on its way up. He twisted around with feet firmly planted in the tar, and his spine squealed in protest as thorns broke off.

“Stop,” he spat, black venom and teetering anger. “Stop or be damned.” His sunfire eyes bore straight into the muted gold of the trespasser. “You cannot survive this.”

The pool coagulated around the Priest’s legs, as if to emphasize his words. The hungry liquid corroded what little flesh remained, acid and poison and something so much worse. It was meant only for the dead and the dying to walk, and even then in agony.

Because Balagoth could be cruel, too.

[member="The Gray Assassin"] | [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

 

[Vuhan Chen]

Location: The Vagrant Queen
Objective: Repel pirates and push through asteroids.
Post 5

Patricia's first instinct was to call man down and go check to see if James was alive or not, but that whole matter was settled when a rapid string of curses left his mouth and violence ensued afterwards. He was going to be just fine by the sound of it and so she would move on to her next instinct which was killing the pirates in front of her. With a cocking of her rifle the woman took cover behind the nearest crate and started to return fire at the incoming pirates. They'd have to fight it out for a few minutes but they would end up removing the trash from the ship.

Back at the hanger things were a different story. Johnny was stumbling and just about to lose his crap over what was happening. Between diverting power from the shields to the guns and almost dying to a giant asteroid, life was mildly stressful to say the least.

"WOULD YOU BLOODY FLY BETTER! IM WORKING ON A BOMB OVER 'ERE!" The man yelled to Cyrus as he hunched over a large device that almost looked like a nuclear warhead.

"Oh man, mate, me pride and joy is ready! We've got twenty mikes to the bubble! Get those bloody pirates off us and I'll set her off so we can get to the shipyard!" the man yelled once more as he began to push a few buttons on a digital display.

"And don't worry it ain't the type of bomb to go boom! Well... not exactly." He said with a dry little chuckle afterwards.

Now back at the hanger Patricia was bashing the head of a pirate with a nearby tool crate until they stopped being in the land of the living. The pirates in the hanger were slain and the group was pretty much covered in blood. Thank goodness for wearing red clothes.

With a deep breath and exhale the woman looked over to scarlet flame and would ask a question.

"And what daring undertaking might you have planned?"

[member="James Justice"] [member="Anya Loma "][member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Orkamaat"] [member="The Gray Assassin"]

 

[Anya Malvern]

She Watched a blaster bolt hit James justice right as she was about to respond to his wink and her head turned as she looked at the pirates and gave a big frown...more people to kill....amazing

She brought her slug thrower up a date started firing her magnesium rounds at the pirates causing multiple severe burns and some even deatg as the shards impaled into their crappie armor

When it was all done she herself had finished beaf I ngs a man with her hands ans panted as she gave a grin then looked to [member="Patricia Susan Zexxel"] " if they are on certain parts of the ship we can try and trap them there, then we recommend figure the fire system and put gas in them then we ignite the gas and burn them in that room
[member="James Justice"]

 

[Lord Ajihad]

The former Lord Ajihad pressed a button on his forearm, causing him to levitate above the muck at such a distance that it seemed he was quite literally walking across its surface. In reality, a high-pitched frequency emitted from the footwear that allowed him to essentially fly. Most humanoid and alien species couldn't hear on such a frequency, but he wasn't sure if the Hutt (and whatever corrupted thing [member="Orkamaat"] was) could perceive it.​

​

He strode forward towards the decrepit form, drawing a short sword from its sheath at his hip. It was a blade the assassin reserved for slaying only the most worthy of opponents; the ones most deserving of remembrance. The Hutt should be honored, for he would be the first the meet his end at this Rudis of the Dark Lord.​

​

As he neared the two nightmarish beings, it seemed a conflict was escalating. The sludge was rising and falling in irregular tides, while they both exchanged words that were just beyond his range of hearing. It seemed the priest had been angered by some aspect of their exchange, as he snarled and seemed to be causing the sludge waves currently roiling about. Ajihad now drifted forward in semblance to a wraith or phantom, preparing to descend upon his prey in a horrific display of primordial powers clashing for dominance.​

​

He hovered several feet above the muck now, not far from the pathetic form of the once-great prophet. His rich gold eyes shining like a pair of dimmed suns, Ajihad's deep baritone of a voice seemed to come from all angles of the vast cavern they were standing in.​

​

"Any last words, before you confront the master?"​

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

My love...

my love...​

Do you hear me?​

"I do." At that moment, the viridescent flames which flickered about the room rose three times their height with an intense brightness, which in their glory reflecting off of the black tar which seemed to leak from the very flesh of Orkamaat, made the grey flesh of the Black Prophet darken into midnight, and his diluted eyes widened with the bright yellow fury of an unquestionable Sith Lord. Stale air turned into a gust within the cave, as once more the mutilated bodies hanging above the pools of blood chanted for the Prophet one last time. The ties between life and death of all those present in the room... became one. A field of death, and of renewal radiated from the obsidian flesh of the Prophet, and the rotten corpses were filled with the force. Green and violet energies swirled around the tendrilled hands of the Hutt, frost falling from them as they moved with reinvigorated life reaching out to something no one else saw... an unseen shadow which existed thousands of lightyears away.

His voice existed in the mouths of the corpses around them, summoning Mishk in an unknown dialect, issuing the rite of Force Walk. They all pulled on the tether between life, death, and the force. The spirit was willing, and the pools of blood... which were all the blood of the Hutt himself (one would notice the blood from the corpses above the pools had been completely drained of any liquids) rose up and were then consumed into the open maws of the Hutts hands. Bulges of blood filled into the pathetic form of the Prophet and then... they ripped themselves apart.

"I am become Blasphemy," For every bulge that ripped, three black, sludge-like tentacles burst forth until the once pathetic form of what remained of the Black Prophet became unrecognizable to what he had become. "Destroyer of Faiths." One golden eye suddenly filled with blood as he looked to the face of Ajihad who walked upon the tar of the dead, carrying his Rudris of the Dark Lord. Then as the Hutts tongue split into long slick black thirds, his eye burst into a bloody tunnel from which an unending centipede erupted from his skull, crying forth spiders and insects of all varieties, borne of the force and the dark sludge within his soul. The frozen heart which up until now had been frozen solid, suddenly began to beat with the power of his lovers soul absorbed. A tendril from the Hutts stomach would lash out to the Priest beside him, intending to distance himself from him. The whole spectrum of his attention however, was fixated upon the Assassin. There was something special he had in mind for him...

"To you, Slayer of Love, on you I grant my gift from the former graces of the God Balagoth... to you I see, a life where is Love is Death to Your Heart. To you, those who take your Heart... shall forever shatter it in their deaths by your hand... know the Wrath of the Prophet, for his vision sees all that passes on to the Unseen Rift. From hence forth, all that you Love, you shall be their Assassin." With that, green fire swirled together above the Prophet, and exploded forth, consuming the form of Ajihad burning into his soul, as it bound him to the Witches Hex.

"Now send me to Sargon, Assassin... destroy the heresy before you, and become as myself - The Prophet of Balagoth." An evil smile ripped apart the face of the abomination, every tendril of his influence spreading slowly across the room... now he had betrayed everything, gained all that he desired, and wished only for absolution. This day, this final day, was Victory... but also the apex of Failure, to the forgotten fragment of Harma Chael... the man who only wished to heal others, and whose love of life had cursed him to madness.

[member="Orkamaat"], [member="The Gray Assassin"]

 

[Orkamaat]

But the tentacle that burst forth from the Hutt found precious little foothold. The Priest was naught but holes now, parchment skin flying tattered from gnawed bones. The wretched skeleton that peered out from beneath bent at odd angles, spear-like tips jutting out like arthritic claws. The oily appendage pierced empty air, once, twice, thrice, but failed to find purchase on Orkamaat’s rotting frame.

The artifact persevered, however. Stalwart and indomitable in his presence, as permanent as the passage of time.

The Priest turned burning eyes to the hovering form of [member="The Gray Assassin"]. He would have laughed, but what words he could form now were pure exertion of will. Life was draining not only from the pool, but from the temple itself; gushing torrents of tar and putrefaction. The febrile body was purging itself of sickness, its dead muscles convulsing with the basic instinct to expunge the poison seeping into blood.

“͙͖̞̟͉̑̾̾͋͘H͓͙̖̣̣ͯ̓ͥ̉ͧ̐̈ë̛̻͖̲́ͣ͑̒̋͢ ̫̳̹̥͓̘ͥ̆ͅb̮̹̠̝̲͉̞͆̏̐ͅẹ͇̠̥̦̖̼͛̇͂́ľ̡̲͚̽̒͡͞o̸̝̯̹̥̰ͧͪn͗͏̥̣̘͔̣̯ģ̛̦͎̥͕̞ͭ͢s̸̪͈̬̥̩ͣͣͩ̀́ͦ̚͘ ̶̼̲̤̘̪ͦ̉̿̓͟t̮͚̰͇̜̘ͪͤ͆̚o̶̥̺͔͉̺̲͗̋̍̓̏́ ̦̬͕̞ͦ̋̉̒̅͆̋͋B̜͓̯͉̉͆̒̈͗̍ͧ͆͆ă̧͈̦̦̹̬̺̒̀͑ͥ̅͑̚l̡̬̱͇͔̬̊ͫ̉͑͒͑͋ä̵͚̘̳̻̭̺̕g̸̛̞̜̭͒̾̿o͉̠̼͈̩͍̠ͫ͒͝t̼̦̅̔ͦ͑h̴͇̳̰̲̩̗̗̎̓ͧ̅̔ͫ̇̀͝.͊̽͏̶͙̩͘”̻͍͕̜̯͇̥͛͐̃̕​

For this, he had voice still. His timbre echoed with a thousand souls now chanting in unison. Beneath the roiling surface were now screaming faces, warped by anguish and fury. Their peaceful embrace was being delayed, impeded, by this creature who sought the end by the meek cut of a blade.

“Fool.”

He coiled behind the shuddering body of [member="Zambrano the Hutt"], and his face dehisced like an overripe seed. Three hooked tendrils on each side surged forth, ravenous and lightning-quick, seeking but a single opening in the peeling flesh of the Prophet. Just one tunnel; a lone cavern, perhaps nothing more than the gouge of a needle; it would be enough.

The Sith could keep the husk, but the Hutt's exquisite essence of the Force had only one master.

Orkamaat would drink of Blasphemy until Death had its fill.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

The assassin's eyebrows knitted together as the false prophet uttered his last words. It all seemed gibberish to him, the Hutt naming himself the Lord of Blasphemy and such. Only when his greatest nemesis started addressing him directly did he figure out was actually going on. His gold eyes widened in surprise as realization struck; the rotting pile of flesh was giving him a twisted and horrible parting gift.​

​

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"To you, Slayer of Love, on you I grant my gift from the former graces of the God Balagoth... to you I see, a life where is Love is Death to Your Heart. To you, those who take your Heart... shall forever shatter it in their deaths by your hand... know the Wrath of the Prophet, for his vision sees all that passes on to the Unseen Rift. From hence forth, all that you Love, you shall be their Assassin."

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The assassin screamed in a mixture of horror and agony as his back arched backwards with a sickening crack. Once could see his features contorting with unimaginable pain under the dim glow of the sickly green witch-lights. One may have even been able to see a small streak of his hair turn gray from the unnatural workings of the death magic. The pain he felt was not physical, nor was it mental. The pain he felt was that of his soul being torn open, the curse filling the now-empty hole in his being.​

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Still deep in his agonizing stupor, the assassin's eyes quite literally erupted into flame the color of molten gold. Beneath his now-black skin, one could see what looked to be golden magma struggling to break free of his skin, like lava bubbling under the thin crust of a volcano. It was the effect of an entirely different curse entering his body as some of Balagoth's power escaped from the Hutt's body to him.​

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With a roar like a lion that had just seen its family slaughtered, Ajihad drew his rudis. From his other hand erupted a geyser of more of the gold fire encircled by a whirlwind of similarly colored lighting. The volcanic eruption would envelope the short sword in his left hand, the blade eagerly lapping up the power it was presented with. After the short display was over, the sword was left flaming like a gilded comet, while lightning cracked as it reached out to lightly kiss the nearby surfaces of the cavern. With a masterful arc of the blade, Ajihad would send it piercing through the chest of [member="Zambrano the Hutt"].​

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In that moment, the vast cavern they were standing in no longer became a death field. No, it became an irregularity in space-time. While they and the cavern were still physically present in the galaxy, they also also existed elsewhere at the same time. They now stood in the domain of Death himself, the realm of Balagoth.​

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One could suddenly see the spirits of all the corpses the Hutt had slain, all bearing fearful yet confused looks as to where they were. The bodies twitched and thrashed, knowing their rightful hosts were so close and yet so far. A tunnel of witch-fire had appeared in the room, and the form of a small creature coming through it towards them. Perhaps a Jawa?​

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Though not within the realm of Death, The Vagrant Queen had entered what seemed to be a death field radiating outwards from the bubble. The closer they got, the stronger it became. The corpses of the dead aboard the ship began to wake once more, their duty still unfulfilled. The body of a dead Black Tie member would reach up at [member="Patricia Susan Zexxel"], tearing a chunk from her luxurious red dress. If she looked down at the recently slain man, she would see his eyes were as black as night. The man who had faithfully served her for years now a husk of his former self. How rewarding.​

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All of those aboard the traitorous ship would be gifted with visions. Visions of their worst nightmares, something seemingly meant to plague their consciences.​

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Or perhaps, it was the future.​

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[member="James Justice"] would see his two beloved children running beside him, as they ran from a horde of the undead. Suddenly the two would trip over one another, sprawling to the ground. James would keep running, his legs moving independant of his mind. The wraiths and phantoms would swarm over his fallen spawn, devouring their souls and then their bodies before his eyes. They would rise up as phantoms in their own right, shambling after him as he ran for whatever false comfort he seeked.​

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Blonde would see her three children being buried alive in a pool of boiling tar. An unknown force would hold her back as she tried to reach them, only able to move again once their screaming faces submerged beneath the sticky black liquid. As she frantically tried to dig them out, a figure would erupt outwards and lunge for her throat. She would realize it was her beloved husband, body rotted to the bone as plump maggots squirmed from his decaying eye sockets. She would scream and weep all at once as he feasted on her flesh, pulling her with him to Balagoth's infinite domain.​

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[member="Orkamaat"]​

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Attacked on two fronts, the abomination would seem to be outmatched. The Priest of his soul, and the Master of his Hatred before him. This however, was not the first battle it had been through outmatched... even if it should be the last. Both attacks found exquisite purchases, no doubt from the depth of skills and power of both adversaries. The horrifyingly tentacled terror of rotten oily flesh roared, as the shade of Orkamaat evaded his attempts to catch them, puncturing through his flesh with various proboscises. The Body could feel the power of Balagoth ravage his life-force, just as the spear-like accuracy of the Assassin's blade skewered the Body's fat stomach, penetrating deeply into what remained of his rotting internal organs still kept inside of him. Moaning in what sounded like agonal breathing, it appeared as if the Beast had been beaten already, as the writhing abominations which spewed forth from his eye socket, and the various tendrils which escaped his skin in all locations. Although ultimately which Primordial God had won, Sargon, or Balagoth?

That was when the form of a Jawa began to materialize in the suddenly constructed dream-realm of 'Balagoth', and when the Body of Zambrano the Hutt began to smile once more. Even as the agents of Balagoth and Sargon fought to reclaim or obliterate him, Blasphemy continued to destroy the belief that he could fail. Even in death, there was victory for the abominable. Abominations, even as ghastly as they are, were pivotal in creating abominations out of those who slay it. Abominations, were the result of change, and could change whatever they touched. That was the weapon that Anja Aj'rou had unleashed upon the Primeval... introducing an abomination into the faith, that even she could not control. Had she never died, the Hutt would have kept her Warlords in check... yet Balagoth, does not allow for such stable systems, and upon summoning her soul... let loose the hell of his Reign of Terror to correct the Host Lord's meaningless struggle.

"You failed to kill him when he was most exposed, you fools." Mishk spoke, though with the voice of his Master, his spirit now finally bound to him. Such was true, for Orkamaat would find that the Body he fed on held on to only magicks which kept the flesh alive, but contained no spirit, or even the force within it. As for the Assassin, he would find that the Body has long since abandoned the idea of fatal injury, being more wound than flesh. "Soul and Death, lie not in the Body." A bony finger then slowly pointed to a pedestal beyond the combatants, which high above...

... thump

... thump-thump

... thump

"It lies in the Heart."

... rested the Heart of Zambrano the Hutt. The height of the pedestal had been magnified due to the effects of the dream they now all shared, but it was very real and very much connected to the continued existence of the dreadful being they had come to claim. With green hell fire around them, the spirit of Mishk meek in form but powerful in presence, and the foreboding thump of the mad man's heart, the environment of the battleground had become much more interesting.

From the shadows below the Heart, three figures emerged, standing atop a lake of bodies. One was meek, the others, strong. All surrounding Orkamaat and the Assassin, where representations of his soul and what was bound to it. Although Ajihad could summon the molten power of Balagoth... he had not learned just yet how to control it the way that Zambrano did simply by his very nature as an angry spirit, never mind his status as former Prophet. The figures though, however foreboding, did not seem to engage or do anything. It was Mishk, who would push things along. Bugs fell from the cloak of his pointed finger, and they kept falling until his robes fell away into a disintegrated pile of insects crawling along the walls. These bugs would definitely bite, and would definitely hurt, even if this was a dream state.

Meanwhile, the Body of Zambrano reacted, its tendrils attempting to grasp Orkamaat while he was closest, just as his mouth vomited his favorite weapon of choice - the Chom Huun. The urine colored blade erupted to life in his tentacled hands, and boded the Assassin to attack him. The one eyed beasts now seemed to lack any real intelligence, and had become the shallow aggression it had always been. Death was upon it now, and when the body died, the Soul would wander... but it was confined to this place so long as the Heart remained. Once it, and its spiritual guardians were destroyed... Zambrano would move on. Either into a new cycle... or into oblivion.

Let the galaxy hope for once, for oblivion.

[member="The Gray Assassin"], [member="Orkamaat"]