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The Galactic Alliance finally launches its most critical offense of the war thus far. In the direct aftermath of the recent convergence of their borders with TheSith Order — clashing violently on Eiattu 6, Naalol, and in the heated skirmish over Sullust — Alliance fleets strike deeper into Sith Order territory. Between the shipyards of Sluis Van and those on Sullust, the Sith have gained two vital planets that can be used as staging grounds for a campaign into Alliance space. By capturing Sluis Van, the logistical path to Sullust will be severed, allowing the Alliance to use those critical worlds themselves.
But much stands in the way of holding Sluis Van.
Echnos, with its sprawling domed capital, Echnos City, is now an equally important target. The Sith had bled the planet dry, subjugating its people and turning the once-prosperous world into a fortress of despair under their control. For the Alliance, capturing Echnos was not merely about strategy; it was about liberating a world that had once thrived under freedom and commerce.
Dorvalla, known for its rich mines, was no less significant. The Sith have entrenched themselves deep within its mines, transforming them into nearly impenetrable strongholds. The Alliance knows that to win here would require more than brute force — it would demand cunning, resilience, and the will to push through the labyrinthine tunnels that snaked through Dorvalla's crust. The capture of these mines would not only deny the Sith their resources but would also contribute to the Alliance maintaining control over the Sluis Van shipyards.
As the Alliance's fleets jump into Hyperspace, ready to strike, the stakes could not be higher. The plan is clear: capture Echnos City, seize Dorvalla's mines, and take control of the Sluis Van shipyards. Every move from this point forward could help determine the course of this war.
Objective I - Sluis Van Shipyards (Fleeters | Pilots | Duels)
The Primary objective for the Alliance is to capture the Sluis Van Shipyards. Not only do they provide the Sith Order an important staging ground near the borders, but they also play a crucial link in sustaining Sullust, another planet with significant shipyards. For this reason, the Alliance fleet pierces into Sith Order territory to target Sluis Van before the Sith can fully solidify the newly established borders. Once emerged from Hyperspace, the Alliance fleet will engage nearby Sith Forces in an attempt to cut off the shipyards, while an armada of transport ships deploy soldiers and Jedi onto the shipyards and the planet below.
For the Alliance offensive to be successful in this part of the Rim, and to secure a much larger campaign to strike into the heart of Sith territory, the Battle of Sluis Van can not be lost.
Objectives:
Fleet engagement: Sith and Alliance fleets clash around the Sluis Van shipyards. From individual pilots to captains and admirals — all will be drawn into one of the biggest fleet battles of recent history.
Boarding Action: Jedi and GADF soldiers are boarding the shipyards, hoping to capture and secure it while the fleet provides cover. Sith forces are present in great numbers, however, so expect intense duels.
Planetary Control: Alliance transports and dropships rain down upon the surface of Sluis Van, bringing along an army of soldiers and Jedi. Controlling the shipyards is vital to the Alliance's military campaign, but so is holding the planet. The Sith will resist and fight relentlessly to hold it and beware of the locals, who have long been subjugated by the Sith's cruel grip.
BYOO Do you have a different story you wish to tell? Bring your own objective!
You know that light that flashes before your eyes before you die?
That's our targeting reticles.
For anyone that wants to read it, The Angellus family history to this point Is here. Angellus Ewan Isaacs - CAG/SCAR Teams CO LCaptain Halpern "Celestial City CO" Captain Zev Tantor "Silver City" CO Captain Rojuh Pouil "Valhalla" CO Captain Scott Pouil - Flight Director 5th Fleet Chief Gribbs - NCOIC 5th Fleet.
[ANY COMMUNICATIONS INSIDE THESE BRACKETS ARE THE RESULT OF COMMS COMMUNICATION] Fleet Information - Click Signature unless otherwise directed
SECTOR: Sluis
ORDERS: Take down defenses and secure shipyards
WINGMATES: Kahlil Noble
| Amelia von Sorenn
ENGAGING: Darth Caedes
| Darth Assimilus
SOME TIME AGO
He hated meetings…
Walking out of one with the Security Council was a waste of time, maybe this was why he was invited to so few of them. Sure, he was new to the Galactice Alliance in a manner of speaking (and last time he was here, he was in a fighter) but Liram was still in a command position. While he respected the decision that was given, it was lackluster and frankly… not a good one. He would have to talk to his staff over this. That was later on though…
“Later on…” came and went and his command staff were all of similar dispositions. None of them liked this. Sure, what they were about to do was important, but the manner to which they were about to go about it was light handed and that is not what an action like this was needed. After discussion though, he knew that he had a staff on the same page, but what about the fleet itself?
THREE DAYS LATER
Every Ship…
Every deck…
Every department…
He hadn’t slept, and it showed, but this was something he had to do. Liram had to make sure that each and every person that was about to go to war with them had to be more than willing and had to be in it to the end. There would be absolutely no shame and no retaliation should they wish to stay behind. There was a distinct and strong possibility that none of them would be coming back, many of them had families after all, that had to be taken into account. Out of all of the crew he spoke with, about a hundred decided that they needed to stay behind. Arrangements would be made for them to have safe travels and another assignment before returning to work once everything was done. No one would know the truth but them and the Admiral himself.
TWO DAYS LATER
Are we clear on this? Speak freely.
This is insane! We’re sacrificing ourselves needlessly.
The Admiral gave you and your squad the opportunity to stand down if you wish.
Really? Talking to me like I’m a coward? You know I’m in this regardless of the outcome and so are my people, you damn Schutta!
Whoah!
Watch yourself?
Who’s going to do that? You?!
As the tension in the room was starting to amass, Liram was walking towards the center of it all when he was stopped by the one man who could.
That’s enough! All of you! Are you children, or are you command officers?
When the Admiral says “Speak freely”...
He MEANS it, but he ALSO expects you to conduct yourselves like professionals. Now are we all on the same page or not? If the answer is “no” then get your butts out of my conference room.
“Chief” Gribbs was an enlisted Non-Commissioned officer, but he was also the highest rank one could reach if they were enlisted, he has had to the this point a long and storied career worthy of respect by each and every member of the fleet, commissioned or not. The room quickly got quiet as Angellus looked around.
Thank you for hammering it home, Chief. We are in this hard gentlemen, we not only have to drive the Sith Order out of the area, we have to “secure” the shipyards. We have to show the restraint that they will not. We have to show the resolve that they will not. We have to.
I’m with you, all of you. Doing this is the dangerous route and can cause more harm than good on us. That doesn’t change anything. We cannot simply “nation build” after we’re done. The Sith Order may have asked for this, but the people of Sluis Van did not, the every day citizens working on those shipyards did not.
So we are going to do this, and we are going to do it our way. The way we fight. We represent the Galactic Alliance and will not leave any of our compatriots hanging out to dry, but this sort of operation is what we were built for. We are the unknown entity to the Dark Empire, the Empire of the Lost, and the Sith Order. We are going to make ourselves known to their detriment. The Mandalorians quickly learned what we can do…
We’re going to show the rest of them…
Several of the officers in the room nodded aggressively as they all stood up and held out their hands in a gathering. Hand on hand they all stacked up and silently broke. Each officer going to their own domains, their own ships, their own command staff to have similar meetings.
YESTERDAY MORNING
The fighters were being loaded down with full payloads, not “patrol” not “intercept”, full “combat” payloads and that meant that it was getting real. It was also getting dangerous because more ordinance was being brought in to make up for the lost room. This was going to be a heavy trip and a heavy load, but each and every person on board and in the fleet were prepared. They had to be. It was time to go to work. Everyone was focused on the task at hand, determined and committed to completing their mission. There was no room for mistakes. Everyone was aware of the risks and the potential consequences. They worked together as a team, trusting in each other to get the job done. Everyone was determined to complete the task and succeed.
Soon came the jump to the staging grounds. The battlegroup and ship commanders had their orders and their assigned coordinates. The doors opened and they stepped into the unknown. Each commander was prepared for the mission ahead, determined to succeed. Angellus was prepared but still had some work to do. He wanted to take the time to properly put together his own plan. The former “devil pilot” had a concern that while the entire fleet was prepared, were they “ready”? He wanted to make sure they were properly armed and equipped for the mission, they were physically, but he wanted it mentally. He also wanted to ensure that the morale of the team was high and that everyone had a clear understanding of their mission.
Pressing the “All Call” on his table’s comm-link, the blue light filling a secure area. Standing, Liram filled up the light as the words “All hands, stand by for words from the Admiral…” from S.E.R.A.P.H.I.M. the fleet A.I.
With a deep breath, Rear Admiral Angellus stood tall and proud, as he addressed the gathered pilots and crew of the Galactic Alliance 5th Reactionary Fleet. The tension in the air was palpable, the anticipation of the upcoming battle was no doubt weighing heavily on everyone's minds.
Ladies, Gentlemen, Angellus began, his voice booming with authority. I’m not going to bore you with cheesy platitudes or insult your intelligence with silly cliches. What we are about to do is far too important. Today, we stand on the brink of turning the tide of this war. The Sith Order may have the numbers, but we have something they will never possess - the courage and determination to fight for what is right.
He could see much of the fleet in his own viewer, he could see their visceral reactions to his words, soaking them in, feeling more and more at ease with each vow. The crew erupted into cheers and applause, their spirits lifted by Angellus' words. He continued, his voice growing more impassioned with each passing moment.
We are the underdogs, yes. We are the ones who are being pushed to the brink of extinction by a war on not one, not two, but potentially three fronts. But let me tell you something - we are stronger than any of them think we are. We are better than they think we are. And today, we will prove it to them. They look at us and see a corrupt regime living on borrowed time. I say they are wrong. I say that they are only seeing what we want them to see. They are walking into the Rancorr’s den believing no one is home. Well guess what…
Okay, maybe that line was a bit cheesy, but it served a purpose. The crew roared in agreement, their fists raised in defiance. Angellus paced back and forth, his eyes blazing with determination.
We are not just fighting for ourselves today. We are fighting for the people of Sluis Van, for the entire Sluis sector. The SIth Order will fight bitterly to their last man, they will fight because this is what they want. This is not what the people of the Sluis sector want. We are fighting for not just our freedom, but theirs. We are fighting so that a sense of normalcy can return to the galaxy starting here… And WE.WILL.NOT.BE.DENIED!
The crew cheered even louder, their resolve hardened by Angellus' words. He raised his fist in the air, his voice ringing out across the deck.
Our actions today will echo in history. Today, we show the galaxy what we are made of. Today, we fight for everything we hold dear. Today, we fight for the future. Stand it you are with me and be heard!
The crew responded with a resounding "Yes!" as they prepared to embark on their mission to liberate the shipyards and planet Sluis Van from the clutches of the Sith Order. With Angellus leading the charge, they knew that they had a chance, and that was all any of them could want or need. When given their orders, they knew that victory was within their grasp. And they would not rest until they had achieved it.
Each battlegroup jumped to their assigned locations.
Time went by at a standstill, or at least it seemed as such as pilots, commanders, sailors, everyone was going over their orders step by step, over and over until it was instinct…
… and in a snap of light… it had begun.
Angellus at this point was standing on the bridge of “The Celestial City” looking over his command table, watching his view of the ships and various bridges in connection with his command staff.
Move in! Don’t give these yakheads a chance to breathe! A-Wings slash your way into punching a hole for the Sovereignty’s to start hitting the outer defenses. I want the Super Angels engaging any pilots that think about getting the drop on them.
Captains! Get our long guns firing for effect to keep the enemy off our boys and girls.
The concerted firepower of the three carriers and the tactics of the highly trained pilots were drawing the attention of the Sith Order vessels. The moment the enemy forces respond with naturally overwhelming forces, the next phase of the plan begins.
Another snap of light and in jumped an Ethereal Heavy Carrier, a Conservator Heavy Cruiser and a Loki Escort. The capital ships began opening fire on the responding SIth Order vessels trying to catch them in a crossfire. The incoming fighters were led by NC-1000 X-wings…
Each squadron immediately moved into their own directions, but were all on the same page, just as each wing was. Be it Sith starfighter, cruiser, or automated defensive satellite, they were targeted by the NC-1000s. They were not alone in this as the FI-75 “Super Angel” interceptors were doing much the same thing, but they were carrying attack payloads too and used their ordinance to attack capital ships as well.
The Elysian Strike fighters fully utilized their stealth capabilities to weave in and out of situations and focus their fire on the inner automated defenses. This allowed them to get close to the targets and inflict significant damage. The Elysian Strike fighters were highly effective in their mission and proved to be a valuable asset to the Alliance forces, and those that did not know of them to this point were learning about them quickly.
Just like with Battlegroup Alpha, Beta’s capital ships used their firepower in an attempt to push enemy ships into a location that they wanted them to be.
As if on cue, the next battlegroup jumped in, a Liberator Assault carrier, another Coservator Heavy cruiser and another Loki Escort. The Loki joined her compatriot as the duo began their own attack runs to draw fire from enemy ships and defenses. The Warpig Close Support fighters began barraging defenses and ships to draw fire from the Sovereignty attack Ships.
The Carcharodon Stealth Strike Fighters began hitting inner defenses on their way to enemy capital ship bridges, in an attempt to draw fire from the Elysians. The Seraphim Interceptors were using their combat payloads in a move to open up lanes for Jackal Fighters to make way to the shipyards themselves.
The Jackals were a means to an end as the SCAR group that piloted them were under orders. They were going to land on the shipyard itself and secure as many airlocks as they can.
Watching all of this, Angellus hit his comm-link one more time.
[“Ready and waiting, sir!”]
[Hold position…]
Changing the frequency one more time, an open channel meant for anyone to hear.
[If you are hearing this and are aligned with the Sith Order, consider this to be your one and only opportunity to leave this system freely, peacefully and permanently. If you do not. We will throw your sorry butts out! ]
He could see the smiles of his commandstaff in their viewers on his command table and hear the enthusiastic responses from their bridges. He could also hear it on the bridge of “The Celestial City”. This was the fight of their lives, but they will not go down without one.
Their orders are to attack the inner defenses, capital ships and targets of opportunity freeing up the Super Angel Interceptors. When the next move is made:
Their orders are to support the already engaged ships, the Stealth fighters (Elysian and Carcharodon) using their stealth capabilities to his Sith Order bridges and the Seraphim Interceptors clear the way for the Jackal Class Starfighter (piloted by SCAR Group) to hit and board the shipyards. Their purpose to secure as many airlocks as they can.
The Star Fortress ‘Escobar’ loomed over Sluis Van like an oppressive moon. Such was its weaponry, few things but a whole fleet could move to threaten it. Since the fall of the Rimward Trade League, and the subsequent Sith occupation, the shipyard turned Star Fortress became a symbol not of national ingenuity and ethic, but of oppression from orbit. Tyranny from what was once a symbol of days to come.
It still builds starships, though now instead of being traded across the Galaxy, they are created solely for the Sith. It fed their war machine, and continued to breathe life into a beast of fire that needed more fuel to burn. From where a hundred worlds had fallen, where thousands lay dead, they could thank their defeats on weapons that came from this very place.
The Alliance sought to take that from them. The Glory of war manifests in a great moon of metal and steam. For this, the local defense mustered greater and more glorious than it ever had in the name of subjugation. Today was to be their finest, in the defense of their Empire, their Order, and their Emperor. Ships took position, and coordination began to stream from the yet distant AI Typhojem, synchronizing their command structure under a single joint force.
Empyrean saw all of this with his eyes of phrik, orbs that saw miles in all directions. He could see the conversations taking board ships, men kissing tangible photos of their loved ones, a few others gracefully finishing one last call to their families. Zealotry ran deep in these people, and they would fight to their deaths; but was their life's ambition truly needed to burn for his own to find flight?
A weaker man would let that doubt creep in. A Maliphant may have held such simple trivialities of morality once. Empyrean did not - the Dead God had no room, no life, no time to give to doubt and backtracking. He would kill a million and more to see his goals realized, and a billion yet to die awaited his arrival.
“The Ritual is ready, my Emperor.”, a Sepulchral Priest said, as though Empyrean had not already seen its final touches himself.
“Then let us begin.”, he offered in kind.
The two moved towards the great bastion cut from the once luxury floors of the Shipyard, reserved for management. Now, only a great empty void where a great black swirling ball of energy stood above a stone pedestal. It drew in the light, and seemed to devour it like water on a hot pan. The air had begun to shift, pulling at his cloak’s edges and his blood stained hair, dragging it upwards to this great void in the room.
It was the Dark Side manifest, and it awaited its due payment. For rituals of great strength, there was always a price to be paid, but Empyrean had already sold his life long ago. Now, he had to sell the souls of his people - and he would make sure that he got every chit and cred worth of their pitiful existences.
Around the ritual void stood three dozen Sepulchral members, chanting in unison, then in different chords, then two different verses that seemed to perfectly loop into one another like a song. Artists at work, the Emperor thought, then slowly lifted a still mortal hand towards it - and allowed it to absorb his strength with all the others.
“When the Alliance overextends, the price will be paid.”, he said to himself. For those who were about to die.
Objective I - Sluis Van Shipyards
Location: Sluis Van Shipyards, Sith Meditation Chamber
Enemies: Liram Angellus
Allies: Darth Empyrean
The sterile lighting of the cargo bay cast long shadows as Darth Assimilus paced, his mechanical footsteps echoing with a deliberate cadence. The Sith master's piercing gaze swept over the Slussi workers, who were grouped in dozens behind shimmering ray shields. Each group was confined to its own section, yet afforded luxuries that would seem incongruent with their status as captives—sumptuous meals, entertainment devices, and comforts meant to pacify their minds. Yet Assimilus knew better. He observed them with cold precision, noting the subtle signs of resistance—the ones who refused to eat, the defiant looks from those who hadn't yet been broken. For those who continued their silent rebellion, the punishment was clear: a medically induced coma, a forced compliance that turned their very act of defiance into a tool of fear for others to witness. Their limp forms, lying on medical gurneys just visible beyond the ray shields, were stark reminders to the others of the futility of resistance.
Assimilus paused, turning to face a group that had been particularly troublesome. He tilted his head, studying them as though they were components in a machine, assessing for defects. His cybernetic sensors picked up the subtle fluctuations in their vitals, the elevated heart rates, the tense posture. His expression remained unreadable, the dark, metallic mask concealing any trace of emotion, but within the void of his presence, there was a simmering anticipation. The cargo bay's atmosphere grew heavier, as if the air itself was responding to the latent power he held in check. Satisfied with his inspection, he turned sharply on his heel and left the bay, the ray shields humming as they reactivated behind him, sealing the workers within their luxurious prisons.
Deeper within the labyrinthine passages of the Sluis Van shipyards, a chamber had been meticulously prepared. The walls were inscribed with ancient Sith runes, glowing faintly with an eerie red light. In the center of the room, Darth Assimilus settled into a cross-legged position, his mechanical limbs folding with surprising grace and ease. The chamber was silent, save for the soft hum of the machinery integrated into his body. He closed his eyes, the chamber seemed to darken, the glow of the runes intensifying. Assimilus began to draw upon the Force, delving deep into his consciousness, peeling back the layers of reality as one would strip away the skin of a fruit. The air around him thickened with metaphysical energy, as if the fabric of the Force itself was being twisted, bent to his purpose.
The process of creating Force Phantoms was an intricate dance between life and death, reality and illusion. Assimilus' mind became a crucible, where his will would forge ethereal beings from the raw essence of the Force. Tendrils of darkness snaked out from his form, curling and intertwining, as if the shadows themselves were birthing something new. The air shimmered with the onset of these nascent phantoms, their forms flickering between existence and nothingness, tethered only by the strength of Assimilus' focus.
But these phantoms were not merely incorporeal creations of the dark side; they were anchored to something far more tangible. As they formed, invisible strands of energy connected them to the life forces of the eight dozen Slussi captives in the cargo bay. Each phantom drew its strength, its very essence, from the unwilling hosts, feeding off their fear, despair, and very vitality. The captives, unaware of this dark tether, continued their existence within the confines of their ray-shielded cells, oblivious to the new force parasites slowly draining them. In time they would become manifest.
Darth Caedes stood at the prow of Last Light, his eyes fixed on the endless void beyond. The hulking battlecruiser, a relic from the days of the Athysian League, had been resurrected to serve as his throneship. At his feet to either side, sunken trenches held only the finest officers Korriban had to offer, each diligent in their work, punching codes into navi-computers or restored telemetry systems. In a murmuring chorus, Last Light personnel communicated in clipped and efficient tones with each other, keying their final commands in preparation for the maelstrom to come. The bridge, a dark and deep room lit dimly with red strip-lighting, had even been fitted with a formal throne where most would house an admiral's command chair, though Caedes had yet to take his leisure there, preferring instead to gaze out through the ship's transparisteel viewports at the trackless sea of stars. Before him now, the vastness of space was punctuated by the cold, metallic gleam of Sith warships— heavy cruisers hovering like sentinels over Sluis Van. Below loomed the world's renown shipyard turned star fortress, Escobar, surrounded by a churning field of its own detritus and a phalanx of Athysian defenders. Prepared in advance, the shipyards had released clouds of stripped junk into the surrounding open space. Now, half-formed starships and broken hulls drifted aimlessly in the blackness, a menacing obstacle to smaller craft. It was within this slow moving bedlam that Caedes' marauders waited, double-sealed engines idling in silence, recycled exhaust signatures feeding back into the life-support and weapons and making them virtually undetectable, hidden in the floating wreckage.
Oh, how long it took to craft a single moment.
Around him, the blue glow of his tactical flickered and reset, a three-dimensional live projection of the surrounding battle space. Underlit by the holo's pale blue light, Caedes' scarred face remained grim and still. Those scars, remnants of his past, the burns from a childhood bathed in nuclear fire, had long since ceased to haunt him. Now, they were a reminder of just how far he'd come.
Already, he could feel the storm generator's hum resonating through the Last Light's hull. Thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum. As if it pulled from the very light of the stars, the space around Last Light grew darker; condensed and grew thick. The ship groaned, old bones creaking in celebration again of the Dark Side's embrace. Swelling storm clouds and simulated solar winds began to buffet the ship's hull, rocking it and scattering the shipyard's floating debris below, flinging it outward like a wave pushing sticks. The storm began to shape now, to grow, reaching with wispy fingertips to cover kilometers. Soon, the battlefield would be cloaked in a tempest built to blind sensors and scramble comms— to leave both sides in the dangerous dark.
Behind Caedes, deep within the depths of the Last Light's long bridge, A'Mia Madrona, was already at work. Her presence had become a living extension of the ship itself, a tree-like neti form merging with the walls and floors of the bridge, transforming the space into a ritual chamber. Caedes could feel the Dark Side gathered between them, a palpable thing, writhing and hungry. He grinned, attention drifting, turning to watch as she prepared for the ritual that would follow. Her branches, thick with growth, cradled gathered artifacts like twisted fruit; components necessary for what was to come.
Darth Caedes allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as the first arcs of lightning crackled through the storm clouds, illuminating the chaotic battlefield in harsh, crimson, unnatural light. It crawled through the darkness like serpents, scattering and searing vision.
The Sith Order would not just defend Sluis Van here, today. They would annihilate the Galactic Alliance and their naive fleet and leave only silence in its place.
A'Mia circled the vast command area once more, practically pacing. She was not one to fret really, worry was an alien emotion she knew about only through literature, but she was a perfectionist. Or more accurately, had become one in recent months as her training and ambitions demanded more from her.
She could not take root too near delicate nav and comms equipment without risk of damaging something crucial, nor did she intend to be far from where the action occurred. Cold calculation and intense curiosity about the upcoming ambush and subsequent battle preoccupied her until the arrival of Darth Caedes, King of Korriban.
They set to work at once and A'Mia's recollections of the details soon became dream like. Together they charted out where the ritual circle would grow, marking in their minds eye the various runes and components required. The tall, slender woman soon rooted into place and the hours passed like minutes, the days passed like hours. All the while, Caedes tended to their ritual circle as devoutly as a master gardener.
He guided her, laid down severed limbs or sunken torsos jagged with the growth of Koshu crystals as delicately as one might set down a sleeping babe. Caedes ensured each placement was precise while A'Mia all but slumbered, focused on rampant growth. Together the pair brought forth something so beautifully macabre that one might even consider it art.
It was as if a faint breeze rustled the many laden limbs of the strange tree growing artfully rampant at the center of the Last Light's bridge. Caedes' mind brushing against her own, the way their power wove together and intermingled for what was to come, her Lord Master's own focus on the growing storm, these were subtle nudges which caused her to stir though not yet wake from meditative reverie.
It was a far more distant and distasteful sensation which truly pulled her from the depths of ritual growth. In much the same way that the majority biomass of most flora will flourish in the dark, so too did the Neti acolyte. Her metaphysical environment was gradually shifting, so gradually it might have initially been overlooked. But in her current state? No significant amount of the Light side could slip the mycelial tendrils of her mind.
The Jedi were here.
A new low creaking filled the bridge, so low as to almost be imperceptible, but Darth Caedes would hear. A'Mia's great twisting form subtly heaved as if with deep intake of breath. Artifacts suspended within her canopy subtly swayed, her rooting body reaffirmed its grip on the very skeleton of the ship itself, as if she and the Last Light and all its inhabitants were inexorably tied.
Sudden stillness retook the vast ritual chamber. So sudden that a layperson might believe all previous movements had been an illusion.
In that fell quietude, A'Mia extended all metaphysical senses. Her energy brushed against Caedes, she told him in all but words "It is time" while knowing that he was likely already aware. She stood at the ready, tendrils of dark energy coiled and waiting, bolstered by her King and by the blood which had been carefully spilled upon her roots by his hands. Hers was not the offensive strike in waiting perhaps, but their carefully crafted ambush was ready to spring and ensnare all those that wandered haplessly into the dark.
The Sith Order thoroughly intrigued Avel Som. They, as their name implied, held a certain order that also somehow seemed to combine well with personal freedom, something he held above all else ever since escaping that lab on Cantonica. Since then, he'd hitchhiked from planet to planet taking odd jobs here and there, but always treated like a freak for his uncanny appearance. Well, except for Darkwing, his ebonhawk best friend. The unusually intelligent bird had stuck by his side the whole time and was a constant companion. Otherwise, Avel Som had always been an outcast. That was, until he had encountered the Sith. He still was not entirely sure what the Sith were. He'd have to ask Darth Athora
to explain more to him sometime.
But in the meantime, he was more interested in learning more about their emperor, the aptly named Darth Empyrean. He'd caught a glimpse of the man on his throne at the fight between Darth Malum and Darth Strosius, a momentary thing as he was jumping down from the top of the stadium. And now, he had managed to come with the group that was assisting the emperor with some kind of ritual. Avel Som had no idea what was going on, but thing was rather fascinating.
He sat idly in the corner, with Darkwing perched on his knee. Darkwing's red eyes were staring intently at the black orb that Darth Empyrean's entourage were chanting around. The hawk seemed rather lost in the moment, or something. Avel Som just watched with curiosity, but ready to move if anything were to happen. Apparently, one of the Order's greatest enemies planned to attack or were being baited or something. He wasn't really sure which. The details weren't really of any concern to him. All he knew was that he would help his new-found acquaintances. They had helped him twice before, and this would be the second time he was returning the favor.
And he and Darkwing had honestly been contemplating on whether or not to officially join them.
Fiddling with things was always a nervous tick for Kahlil. Drumming his fingers, scratching at his neck or the back of his head, toying with the ring on his hand; they all always meant the same thing. He was nervous about something. Be it something minor like why his children had suddenly gone quiet after rambunctiously playing in their room to major things like the time he felt Valery Noble
cut off from their bond, he was always fiddling with something.
Right now, though, he wasn't.
He stood on the bridge of the Alliance Starhawk that helmed his fleet, hands clasped calmly behind his back. Long ago, a whole lifetime it felt like now, he had a whole fleet under his command. During his years as a Sith, as a boy, a Sorcerer. That fleet had been hidden by him when he fled. A part of him wanted it decommissioned, but another part was practical.
He was glad the practical side won out. That fleet had been salvaged, rebuilt. In time it would be ready, but his people were already prepared to fight. Hence, the fleet of Alliance ships.
"You can feel it already, can't you?"
Kahlil glanced to his second. A taller man than him, a proud Epicanthix like so many manning this fleet. Niv Hani knew, deep down, that this was their war to fight. The Sith Order, against Darth Carnifex
. For so long they had been surviving and rebuilding, all knowing that one day their former King would turn his attention to them. That dread controlled them no longer. They would fight, and they would free their people from his rule once and for all.
The Shield nodded once, giving a brighter smile.
"I do. Patch me to the others."
Brin nodded his head once before motioning to the communication techs. Within moments he'd reach out to the rest of his fleet, the others, even. "There's no reason directly for me to be leading a fleet, I'm aware. The Jedi and the Alliance Military are made separate for a reason. But against the Sith, these Sith. They're already concocting some ritual for us. Whatever it is, that's why I'm here. They assume that their dark control of the Force is too beyond our knowledge for us to counter."
He chuckled. At one point, he thought the same.
"I'll be proving them wrong. The Epicanthix will support your endeavors, Supreme Commander. Leave the esoteric to me."
He closed them after a moment, picturing something.
Thousands of years ago, mankind, species across the galaxy, looked up to the stars and sought their futures. Their destinies, their fortunes, their hopes, their dreams. People dedicated their lives to the study of the stars and never left the soil they stood on to watch them.
And now, Wedge, and others, did not bring peace to the stars. There was no great exploration in the blackest of nights. There was no discoveries left to be made.
There was only death.
There was only war.
And there was only battles to be held in space, hope was long gone.
His helmet secured tightly over his head, he pulled the throttle up, pulling his Jet-black and orange X-wing into formation. He lead the Revenant formation, turning to the Revenant members filing into formation.
"This is Revenant Actual, Revenant Call-signs, check in."
He looked ahead, finally seeing the shapes of the Sith fleet. He tapped the comm unit on his X-wing, and a single message filed to every nearby Alliance X-wing, marked as from him over their datascreens.
Darth Ahriman walked the corridors of the Sluis Van Shipyard alone, his return to public service as unremarkable as his service to the Kainate had been beyond known space. By design, his recent activities go unnoticed by the enemies of Darth Carnifex
and his daughter Zeptepi Zambrano
. The latter of whom had been the Sith Knight's allegiance and concern.
The former Sith Emperor held no consequence to Ahriman's rise to power. However, Zeptepi trained him and helped him shed the weaknesses of Valen Arenais. He also fought a bloody and selfish war to claim the mantle of Darth Ahriman. Before, he had served The Sith Empire, and then the Kainate when the Empire had fallen; now he associated himself with the Sith Order to remain in the loop of the current machinations of Sith movements, their knife and dagger politics and an ear to the word of their enemies, all so that he and his former Master Zeptepi would profit from it in the future.
Today's battle, however, would not deter his ambitions. He had chosen to embed himself within the bloodletting, to fuel the violence from which his power had been bred, and to draw upon the last dying gasps of those foolish enough to stand against him and become stronger for it.
Those among the Sith Order today would not recognise him. Such was the consequence of working from the shadows, beyond the public spotlight of Sith domain, shielded from the known worlds of their controlled space. Few would know his name, and fewer would recognise his efforts during past wars. The young had risen to become the new generation of fodder for a new yet familiar enemy to mutilate, and from them, the weak would be culled, and those who lived would further strengthen the Sith-Imperial regime as each generation before them—endless cycles of war, separating the worthless from those who deserved to call themselves Sith.
Stormtroopers and Sith-Imperial Officers passed him by, some glancing at the Sith Knight clad in black, wrapped in a dark synthweave cloak that flowed with each step, yet none held the courage to question his being there. Ahriman continued to pace about the Shipyards, anxious to enter into battle. It was only a matter of time before the enemy would board the Station and give the Knight purpose. An opportunity to extend himself after such a long time in obscurity.
"Stay close, Aris. We're their shield; stay aware of your surroundings at all times," Valery instructed her son as they advanced ahead of the troops, navigating the labyrinth of corridors of the Sluis Van Shipyards. Outside, the Alliance fleet clashed with Sith forces, aiming to cut off reinforcements and secure these crucial docks.
Valery knew the importance of preserving the shipyards, not just for the immediate battle but for the larger campaign. That's why the Defense Force was sending in boarding teams to take control of the facility section by section, ensuring it remained intact for future use. At the forefront of this mission, as always, was the Sword of the Jedi, leading the charge. By her side, her son Aris moved with determination, not as her Padawan, but as a young warrior eager to prove himself and gain experience in the field of battle.
"We're heading for the capital ship docks," Valery said, her voice steady despite the tension. "We need to sever them from the rest of the station." Just as the words left her lips, they turned a corner and found themselves face-to-face with a heavily fortified Sith position. Blaster fire erupted in a deadly hail, precise and coordinated — these were no mere thugs, but seasoned soldiers defending their stronghold.
Without hesitation, Valery ignited her violet twin-blades, their light cutting through the gloom as she deflected the incoming fire with practiced ease. "Go, Aris! Neutralize that position!" she commanded, her blades a blur as she protected the soldiers behind her with the width of her double-bladed weapon, allowing him to advance.
The moment had finally come, the two entities had been dancing back and forth in a waltz of feints and posturing. The Caldera Crisis had been the beginning that led to this inevitable point. When the Sith Order had struck out along the Hydian Way from their holdings in ancient Sith Space, it was clear that the two bodies would soon come to formal blows. The war against the Dark Empire had slowed as they managed to strengthen their foothold within the Deep Core, however, it was the Alliance victory above Coruscant - despite the world being devastated - that pushed the enemy onto the backfoot and opened up the means for the Alliance to strike against the Sith. Still, it was only momentary, and the Alliance once more found itself fighting against two enemies with no allies or friends.
Amelia stood silently on the bridge of the ANS Theselon, a Hapan warship that was at the forefront of a vast armada seeking to strike at and capture the important Sluis Van Shipyards. Yet, even at that moment, at a time when others would worry or find themselves going over formations and tactics again and again, she was silent. The woman remained still like an alpine pond, showing no emotion nor hint of worry, it was as if the fear of the instant was washing over her and passing through her and only she remained. In these times, it was easy for her to find some form of contentment, some means of relaxing herself, and it was memories of ancient battles past and conflicts long forgotten or barely remembered that she focused herself upon. It was moments that the Confederacy of Independent Systems seemed to stand against the Galaxy. It was moments when she saw old friends embracing the darkest parts of their souls. It was moments that she watched as age-old friends found themselves on opposite sides of a conflict and it was that thought that had brought a soft smirk forward, a ripple in the calm pond as her lips curled at the edge.
It had been Srina Talon
who had encouraged Amelia to seek out her place in the Galaxy. In a way, the Dread Empress of the Sith Order had freed Amelia and led her to the path that saw her standing as the Supreme Commander of the Galactic Alliance. However, her great was heavy with grief and worry, hoping that she would not come face to face with her old friend, hoping that she would keep away from this moment. Slowly her eyes opened, golden-yellow hues falling upon the ornate circlet that she held firmly in her hands. It was an old gift from yet another Exarch of the Confederacy, an item that had been crafted and created specifically for the woman, and it was only now that she had felt the need to utilize its talents to her benefit.
The brilliant blue hues of hyperspace began to dull and shimmer as streaks of white slipped away into their pinpoints upon a dark tapestry. The vast armada dropped from hyperspace, the ANS Theselon at the head of the formation of a Hapan Task Force dispatched to reclaim the Sluis Van Shipyards. Amelia smiled softly as her eyes fell across the darkness of space, focusing on the shipyards before shifting her attention towards the enemy formation and she found her smile growing for she was in her element. She had fought against it for so long, the desire and drive to fight, the near almost constant need for strife. There had been multiple times that she sought to avoid it, to flee into the darkness and keep herself secluded, and each time conflict had found her, dragging her from her hiding place. It was as if the very Galaxy itself had plans for the woman and kept calling out for her to take action on its behalf.
Her hands remained still, motionless like the mountain in the face of the wind as she slowly brought the ornate circlet up towards her brow. She smiled softly as her ears perked up, hearing the message from Kahlil Noble
. She would leave the Jedi to handle the Sith magicks for she had her objectives to focus. Closing her eyes for a moment, she slipped the Crown of Stars down upon her brow, feeling the item connecting with her mind before her eyes opened and beheld the true splendor of the item that her friend had gifted her so long ago. The entire formation was lain out before her, every single Hapan Warship and the Sith Armada that was arrayed against them was projected as a holographic image.
"All Squadrons form up on Theselon Squadron, our main objective is to engage the enemy fleet and secure a corridor to begin boarding operations to capture the Shipyards. All Starfighter and Bomber squadrons are to deploy and form up around their respective formations. Jedi Master Kahlil, I leave the Sith Ritual to you."
Amelia shifted her weight, her arms slipping slowly down to her side once more as she watched the holographic images of the vessels shift and change as they formed and took their positions. Her hands slipped behind her back, clasping together as her smirk grew, a hint of her fang being revealed as she permitted the excitement of conflict to wash over her once more.
War... A generally pointless and wasteful endeavour, especially when initiated by those who dare call themselves the keepers of the light; the righteous few, the fools of Praxis, the dogmatic minstrels of restraint, the devotees of damnation. The Jedi were a sickness, a disease which seemed to have no cure. With their dogmatic stance and nature seeping through every facet and crack within the Galactic Alliance, their poisoned minds drew millions if not billions into a war they had no right of starting, nor any hope of finishing.
With the black ship slicing through the air like a massive blade of Damocles, approaching the even more prepostrously massive space station that loomed over the Sluis Van shipyards, a man...if it was still truly a man, drenched in the force, yet also seemingly devoid of it in its entirety sat within his private chambers, a variety of auridium and electrum bowls with intricate carvings, containing smoking herbs and other materials floating around him in the air.
"Milord, we are approaching The Escobar," A voice came over the comms, eliciting not even the slightest twitch or reaction from the man barely visible within the dim, red light spread across the room. "Shall we Hail them to announce your presence?"
"One such as yourself does not hail the Imperial Vessel...One can only await his approval and act upon the admittance given," The voice was broken, hollow and coarse, sounding almost like a stiff, cold breeze on an abandoned cemetary at night. "There are...more civilized manners and more...fitting ways for me to allow his majesty to know about my arrival to aid him with his...project."
The closer the Usurper came to the massive space station, the denser the feeling within the force, the man hidden within the shadows slowly stretched out an arm, a hand withered til it was naught but leathery skin and bone revealed itself, grasping onto this powerful stream within the force, this insurmountable wall of power and strength which came like a torrent from within the space station. With a flick of this leathery, boney wrist draped in purple silks and golden embroidery, the intricately carved bowls and pots filled with smoking herbs dropped to the floor, perfectly landing and not spilling out even an ounce of their contents. The smoke from all the bowls gathered and pooled towards the shadowy figure, who with a seemingly very labored and forced breathing, swallowed all the smoke, before a thin tendril of energy seemed to crackle around his fingers before vanishing into the eather.
A connection would be made, briefly and almost unnoticeably, but strong enough to pierce the veil around the emperor's ritual, holding no malice nor any danger to and for the Emperor himself. "I shall offer you my assistance, for what will be unleashed, shall nourish me just as much as it will make those impudent trilobites wish they had foreseen their own demise."
The loud clanging of metallic feet could be heard within the large private chambers, each and every intricately carved auridium and electrum bowl started to burst with an unnatural green fire, as the man rose from the darkness. Three droids, tall and draped in red cloaks arrived to remove the man's garments and put on an attire much more suited for combat and the channeling of power, HIS power. Withered arms, legs, torso and head became enclosed in an armor buzzing with power, drenched in an aura of death and decay, a sword was bound to his hip which seemed to swirl with hunger and hatred equal to its wielder, but the worst was yet to come, for when three more droids arrived, they had with them, three men and women, each seemingly unaware of where they were, who they were or even what they were.
"The Jedi seek to break the will of the Sith, the Galactic Alliance tried to throw its full might upon them with no reserve...so too, shall the Sith not know restraint and bring them to bear, the full might of the Force."
The man's armored gloves suddenly burst with a crackling energy, lightning leaping through the air and reaching into each and every bowl, before suddenly colliding with each and every man and woman brought into the chamber by the droids. A shudder could be felt through the force itself, as slowly but certainly, it began to pool and coalesce within each and every of the men and women screaming as they were utilized as batteries, as conduits for the very unfiltered power of the Force.
And he...he began to engorge himself upon this coalescing energy, this growing concentration of the Force, before he started to channel it more precisely to the one place he knew this power would end up being the most useful. The more he grew in strength, the closer this man got to his prime, the more concentrated and potent the power would as it was being channeled towards the Escobar.
You know that light that flashes before your eyes before you die?
That's our targeting reticles.
For anyone that wants to read it, The Angellus family history to this point Is here. Angellus Ewan Isaacs - CAG/SCAR Teams CO LCaptain Halpern "Celestial City CO" Captain Zev Tantor "Silver City" CO Captain Rojuh Pouil "Valhalla" CO Captain Scott Pouil - Flight Director 5th Fleet Chief Gribbs - NCOIC 5th Fleet.
[ANY COMMUNICATIONS INSIDE THESE BRACKETS ARE THE RESULT OF COMMS COMMUNICATION] Fleet Information - Click Signature unless otherwise directed
SECTOR: Sluis
ORDERS: Take down defenses and secure shipyards
WINGMATES: @Amelia Von Soren | Kahlil Noble
| Valery Noble
ENGAGING: @Darth Empryan | Darth Caedus | Darth Assimilus
| Michael Hightower Elmindra Xitaar
| Madrona A’Mia
| Avel Som
Something “odd” was happening in the middle of the opening stages of the attack on the shipyards. Somehow the stars, the very “outer space” was getting “darker”. It could be written off as little more than tricks to the eyes until Angellus began to see glitches in the viewers on his command table. This was an impossibility as the connections required were “closed circuit” and “encrypted”. For those connections to have issues meant that something else was happening.
None of those on the bridge of “The Celestial City” were stupid, they were under no illusion that they were not expected, but there was something else in the midst of this theater. A “phantom” to this “opera” as it were, after all, it is called “The Sith Order” and they were not simpleton yakheads with delusions of grandeur…
Well… maybe…
Fair enough. Those glitches started to become worse.
“CONN-COMMUNICATIONS!” Yelled out the Comms officer from their station. “We’re losing comms with the other battlegroups!”
“CONN-TACTICAL!” Yelled out the officer from the Tactical pit. “I can’t pick up that Star Fortress sitting above the shipyard, let alone draw up a firing solution!”
“I’m having trouble even seeing...”
Panic was starting to settle into the routines of the bridge, and if it was that way on the supercarrier, it was that way on the other carriers, the cruisers, and the escorts. It was also that way of and on the minds of the fighter pilots. They were already starting to show disarray, those that were not slowly being engulfed by this massive “fog”. The disarray was slowly but definitely causing confusion to which the Sith Order counterparts were taking full advantage of and began shooting them out of the sky. There had to be a sense of calm and normalcy and it had to come from the top down.
That’s enough everyone. This is little more than information. The more information we have, the better we can respond. In the meantime, Comms! Keep our pilots updated, trust their instruments, not their eyes… Tactical… keep the guns on the same location until otherwise noted.
The last words from Captain Halpern… “Information… respond…” seemed to spark an idea in the Admiral.
Mouthing the words “Please have internal comms…” as he punched up the frequency of Chief Gribbs. YES! Chief! How quickly can you program the Sky Cranes and get them in the air?
Five, ten minutes, depending on the programming, what do you have in mind?
First and Foremost, I want them set as “beacons” for our Comms… we’re starting to lose them, meaning we’re being jammed. I want a redundancy in place that if that doesn’t work, I want a recorded message replaying over and over for the pilots fall into formations, stick together and most of all to trust their instruments not their eyes.
Gribbs had a look of disbelief in his eyes, it was “out of the box” thinking, to use automated transports as beacons, but they were able to do it, it would be an “old school” approach harkening back to “the old days”. Gribbs thought about it for a minute, then mouthed the words, "Let's do it." The plan had the potential to save many lives. He quickly put it into action.
I need ten minutes, tops.
Send all of them, minimal distance apart, all directions. We might be able to “chain” them together and keep comms. We have comms short range, I don’t want to test how far we can go.
Aye…
As Gribbs turned away from the viewer, effectively cutting his comm-link, Captain Halpern brought up what he was thinking about this.
”Chain” them… send comms to the closest one, it relays that to the next one, and the next one… this could work… but what about when,,,
Angellus didn’t like cutting his people off mid-sentence but he did here… We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. That last statement made him think. Gym, do we have the coordinates in place for the shipyards?.
Halpern nodded quizzically as Angellus pulled them up on the map and smiled as if he had just hit a jackpot lottery. Switching frequencies to the “Starfighter Bridge”, again, hoping the communications were operational, he pumped his fist when sure of it. He moved quickly, typing out his message as he spoke. Quickly sending out the signal, praying it would reach its destination, he waited for a response, his heart pounding in anticipation. The viewer of Captain Scott Pouil, Flight Director for the fleet looked up, SCAR wing commander Captain Ewan Isaacs was behind him.
Finally! Glad we can at least get you, we lost comms.
Can you talk to [/I]any[/I] of your pilots?
Only the ones within a thousand meters, and that is closing fast.
Get with them, keep relaying orders and keep them close by, the ones you can. I can’t explain it but this whole thing is like they are looking for us to respond to something on their terms. Recall everyone and secure maximum distance. They’re figuring the answers…
... we change the questions… got you…
I’m transmitting the coordinates for the shipyards. Get the ‘boys’ to put them in their nav-computer and let it direct them all the way in. Ewan! Get your SCARs moving now! They’ll have the same thing! Anyone that isn’t already on their way, make way for that shipyard. The Stealth fighters will lead the way.
Copy that!
I’ll get the Car Charodons and Elysians moving once they're ready.
They already have the location of the Shipyards preloaded into their sensors and thus, fog or not, can follow those coordinates in their ship’s systems. The Stealth fighters will more or less be stuck where they are, but with some planning and tactical thinking, it won’t matter, plus they will be the most difficult to track. The SCARs will fly their fighters, following the stealths all the way in. Then at the last possible moment “Zero G” eject from the ships, ditching them in hopes that they will be there upon return. The SCARs will then float to the shipyard once close enough to ditch and enter through airlocks.those that cannot do so will stay in their fighters and fly “cover”, firing on any defenders. The fighters will then remain in the area, providing cover for the SCARs as they make their way to the shipyard. The SCARs will then take out any defenders before they can launch any counter attacks. Finally, the SCARs will secure the shipyard and complete their mission.
Angellus changed comm-frequencies one more time back to Gribbs.
Working hard, you’re slowing me down.
Maximum comm distance on those cranes…
Not my first rodeo.
Never a doubt in my mind.
Looking down and at the other figure watching on her viewer, Lt. Colonel Kela Telaskta. Glad that the effect of this “fog” or whatever it is… wait was that lightning? Is Caltin out there? What the?
“Sir…” The frustrated anticipation in her voice was clear.
Colonel, I have one question…
The Marine’s look soured, expecting to be yelled at or something. ”That is?
What is the Navy’s policy for a firefight?
That sour looked sweetened excessively. ”Send in the Marines!”
She didn’t need his confirmation, she cut her own comm and a few moments later three more ships were jumping in almost on top of “The Celestial City” and her escorts. The Tactical Department was transmitting the shipyard coordinates to the Nav computers of Battlegroup Delta (Marine Carrier/Transport/Lander "Stellar", Marine Destroyer/Transport Lander "Avalon", Revelry Cruiser Escort) who just dropped out of hyperspace but did not stop though. They were moving past the fleet and towards the same direction as the dispatching SCARs and Stealth fighters. They had their own orders too. Slowly but surely Cherub gunships and transports launched from both the super carrier and the Marine carriers following the same path. All of them headed straight for the shipyard. The Revelry Cruiser Escort is tasked with providing cover for the Cherub transports and gunships. The objective is to secure as many airlocks as possible, allowing reinforcements to arrive and help repel the enemy.
They’re going into the abyss? We still haven’t gotten Outcome out of it.
I hear you, but they have the coordinates too, and as long as they stick to the path, they should be okay. They also have their own fighters, each of them and that can only help once at the yards… until we can figure out how to get through this soup and take out those other ships.
Why can’t we do the same? With those coordinates, we can be right on top of them?
We can, but they’re trying to force our hand. I want to force theirs first.
See… that’s why you’re the Admiral… we’ll get this done quick…
It’s going to take a lot more than this, but … we have more tactics and resources…
Skycranes from Celestial City, and Silver City being sent out at pre-set intervals as far as possible in all directions to re-enable sensors and communications. Recalled fighters are flying tight formations and patrols securing areas around these automated drones.
All 10 squadrons of remaining Elysian class Strike fighters (111), all 10 squadrons of Carcharodon Strike Fighters (80) are going in at full attack speed flying cover for the remainder of the 10 squadrons of Jackal Class Starfighters (piloted by SCAR Group) (114) to hit and board the shipyards. Their purpose is to secure as many airlocks as they can.
Darth Assimilus sat in his meditation chamber, his consciousness delving deep into the dark side, transcending the physical confines of his mechanical body. The chamber around him seemed to dissolve, the cold metal walls, the pulsating Sith runes, all fading as he shed the physical world like a discarded shell. He was beyond the shipyards now, his presence extending into the void of space, where the cold and the vacuum were meaningless to the being he had become.
In the dark fog outside the shipyards, a amorphous phantom began to take shape, summoned by the will of the Sith Lord. It was a formless entity at first, an ethereal mist that shimmered with dark energy, bound only by the thin strands of life force drawn from the captives in the cargo bay. Assimilus focused his will, and the phantom began to shift and morph, its shape twisting and writhing as it responded to his commands.
The void of space was silent, but in the mind of Darth Assimilus, a symphony of possibilities played out. His imagination expanded, conjuring images of the most fearsome and deadly creatures that had ever stalked the galaxy. He envisioned the Rancor, its massive claws tearing through flesh; the Terentatek, imbued with the dark side, a nightmare for any Force wielder; the Zillo Beast, with its nearly indestructible hide. Each image passed through his mind's eye, considered and then discarded as he sought something more, something that could embody the pure terror he wished to unleash. And then, his thoughts settled on a single image, a creature so vast and fearsome that it had become the stuff of legends. A true monster, a tentacled predator that dwelled in the deepest reaches of space, a being that devoured starships whole and could drive entire crews mad with fear. What could be deadlier than the galaxy's own super predator, a creature born from the very depths of the void?
Its form expanded rapidly in the void of space, its sheer size became fully apparent. Stretching over 7,432 meters in length, the creature was a true behemoth of unimaginable proportions. Its tentacles, each as thick as a starship's hull, extended for kilometers, curling and unfurling with a deliberate, predatory animosity. Despite its original ghostly nature, the Summa-verminoth was no mere illusion or trick of the mind. Now manifest in the physical plane, it appeared as its creator intended. Its massive form was tangible, its shadowy steel like flesh cold and real to the touch. From the creatures head, many eyes opened wide and glew with the hue of dead ion drives, lightning crackled up, down and between its many limbs and from its needle toothed maw it unleashed a sound completely alien within the fog that surrounded it.
All 10 squadrons of remaining Elysian class Strike fighters (111), all 10 squadrons of Carcharodon Strike Fighters (80) are going in at full attack speed flying cover for the remainder of the 10 squadrons of Jackal Class Starfighters (piloted by SCAR Group) (114) to hit and board the shipyards. Their purpose is to secure as many airlocks as they can.
From the void it struck! Changing its yaw, pitch and roll, It lurched forward with its tentacle limbs toward the incoming vessels. A scene that would only reveal horror for unsuspecting pilots. Twisting, writhing and whipping its tentacles in a frenzy, The creature shrieked in its attack at all that dared get caught in the massive storm of spiked appendages.
Amidst the stars over Sluis Van, Ran watched the shipyards grow in size, but the shipyards weren't expanding. It was Ran's boarding ship that drew closer. With every minute, every second, and every moment that passed she could feel the effects of war disturb the force even further. She wondered if there was a way to save it, a way to preserve the force from conflict's corruption. Aboard the Galactic Alliance ship, Mal Millenia, She meditated on it until she was interrupted.
With her eyes closed, Ran saw the visions that had been plaguing her as of recent. Imagery and word came to life behind the lids of her eyes.
In the middle of a boulder pressing on an innocent, a great fire will burn. This heat will consume the rock and soon the innocent beneath it. In their cries strained under the weight of rock and flame, birds will fly from their mouth into the sky without direction. As the boulder begins to burn, embers will fall from the sky - and where they touch, life begins to cease. These birds who are touched by embers will lose their sight, their lungs, and eventually their hearts - leaving all of them to float on winds eternal. The Crowd and the Birds each will face these embers, and none will be spared when the fire is carried to the wind.
Ran had a guess of what the vision meant. In fact, she had many, but none she would wager were correct. Her only certainty was that the visions' meaning would be fulfilled to her there, at the Sluis Van Shipyards.
"Jedi Ran... Jedi Ran!" One of the members of her Jedi Strike Team called to her trying his best to get her attention. She opened her eyes and saw the Chalactan Jedi Guardian Tinn Dizo. "Yes Jedi Tinn?" Ran responded to his call as the Gotal Guardian they called Du Fenir, and the Barabel Consular, Shiba Shutala, along with a few other Jedi rallied behind Tinn. "We are ready to board the Shipyards," Tinn Dizo answered in his gruff and low voice. "But first, Jedi Shiba has something she'd share with you." He angled his body and let Shiba slide past him.
"Jedi Ran, The force guides this one to foul sorcery. It is easily sensed, for this one is attuned. If you follow, Jedi Ran, we will accomplish our mission sooner." Shiba hissed and talked like one common of her species.
Where Ran was gifted with visions, it seemed Shiba was gifted with senses like a dowsing rod. Ran already knew this about Shiba. When the council assigned Ran to lead a task force to prevent any dark side rituals that might take place, Ran hand picked Shiba for her uncanny ability to locate them.
"We will follow, Jedi Shiba. Do you sense anything else?" Ran informed and asked.
"Great danger for this one, and everybody here." Shiba hissed ominously.
They didn't need the Barabel's ominous words. They could all feel the looming danger. The entire strike team felt as if they were on the precipice of death. One wrong step and they'd fall. Ran thought if she could decipher her vision, she could prevent that sort of situation from happening. She'd be wrong, but that didn't matter. She'd still go against the sinister and sorcerous if she thought it meant a better future. As she marched through the Mal Millenia to board the Shipyards, Ran's usually toxic yellow eyes glowed electric with determination.
"Follow Shiba!" Ran ordered the rest of the Jedi strike team. "Prepare for the worst! Be decisive, resolute, and be there to protect each other!" Ran continued as they stepped foot onto the Star Fortress, Escobar, and navigated its walkways with the speeds and awarenesses only force users were capable of.
Betwixt Dead and Dying, the Emperor stood stalwart. His energy was a river flooding the black hole formed by force of will amidst the Sepulchral, as prisoners of war and dissidents of high force sensitivity were brought forward. Each, one by one, had their throats cut by specialized ritual daggers - and their blood flowed from the gash to the growing tear in reality. When it was done feeding on them, they were little more than husks - stripped of all that once let them live. Each was tossed aside, a growing pile nearby showing what Sins it took to start such an engine.
"My Emperor.", a Sepulchral by the name of Malidictus said to him. Malidictus was a fiend of ancient proportions, Empyrean could never narrow down just where his experience began and ended, but the tight, gray leather of his skin, the intricacies of his Sith Tattoos, and the depth of his soulless eyes gave him an inkling that this creature had lived longer than any Sith alive today.
What secrets he must know.
"Malidictus.", Empyrean said, a gentle affirmation he could go on with his speech.
"The Ritual's first phase is nearing completion. All Sepulchral present have assured me that the Ardasa Sûtjaza has become self sustaining. It needs only now the energy we spoke of. I should also inform you, Emperor, the Shipyard has been boarded by Jedi Strike Teams."
"Then we will seal the doors, and I will make sure none enter. You will get your souls, Malidictus. Make sure I get my ritual."
With a bow from the Sepulchral, Empyrean turned and removed himself from the circle of death he had created. Liches of ancient mirth continued to chant and prepare, but his mission had changed. When he was outside of the great black doors, he used the Force to force them shut, then let the intricate locking mechanism slide into place. This door could only be opened with the Force, but before any could do even that, they had to go through him.
He summoned his staff, letting Kala'anda strike a dent in the durasteel flooring as he awaited the first to come for him. With a gentle command of the Force, he informed the Gun Commanders to begin targeting the predetermined locations - the Polis of Gracus, Ludar, Inglet, and Khedive. Soon, the orbital autocannons would shift and begin their saturation, and sooner still, the Republic fleet would be broken like a blade bent too far.
These were the chosen locations to reap from. They were not all guilty of a crime, but these were where the Sluis Van insurgents held the greatest strength. For the crimes of a few thousand, millions would be wiped away from this world and soon replaced by the homesteading order Empyrean had sent ahead to the Assembly. When his crime was done, when he had reaped the harvest he required, he would sow a planet of loyalty.
---
Escobar
Star Fortress
"The Command has been given. Input the following - 1A, 56C, 9L, 42F, 2G.", the Gunnery Officer said to the various gun operators near him.
"Confirmation accepted, Captain. Guns primed and ready to clean.", one offered back. A few more chimed in with Legion affirmations, 'Kill' chief among them.
"The Emperor wants this world cleanses of its blemishes. If the Alliance wants to take our world, then we better clean house before they land. Fire all weapons."
And thus, the command to consign millions to their death was done. Secondary affirmations were given, keys unlocked autocannon safeties, and hellfire began to spill loose - by all but one dual set of Cannons manned by a man sweating beneath his Gunnery Cap. The Captain looked at him, frowned, and then moved closer as anger began to rise in him.
"Specialist Doux, you have been given an order. Has your gun malfunctioned?", he said with a growing impatience.
"N-no Sir... I just.... Those cities, they're full of women and children. I can't do it.", he said, his hand shakily still on the key that would prime his guns for their strike. He sat there, tears almost forming in his eyes as he considered the sin that would soon blacken his soul for eternity, something he would live with for the rest of his days.
"I see.", the Captain offered. He drew his pistol and fired a single verpine round into the side of the man's head. He would bleed out in the coming minutes, seizing on the ground in a grotesque display of death for the entire room to witness. Turning on his boot heel, he looked at the others;
"Insubordination will not be tolerated. To sympathize with the enemy is to allow treason and heresy into your hearts. We do not bend, and we do not break - we do what others can not, so our children may live in peace, and their children's children will yet live in a galaxy unmarked by the Jedi and its slave state. Do your duty men, and do not mourn Doux. A traitor deserves nothing more than a traitor's death."
A few looked shaken, but more still looked strengthened by the display. So controversial a choice as an impromptu execution often did this to men, it forced their traitorous thoughts to their face. The Captain would remember each of them who showed weakness, and they would be marked for the Tsis'kaar and Inquisition to watch. In this war, there was no room for weakness.
With a final few steps, the Captain finished turning the key, and set the last autocannons to begin firing. In the span of seconds, then minutes, tens of thousands would be dead, and millions were to follow as the energy of their deaths, the sorrow of their peoples, and the strength of the Dark Side was manifested only to be ripped from the world and into the Star Fortresses seedy Ritual Chamber.
The Captain didn't need to know what they were doing. All he needed was faith.
The Star Fortress has begun to fire on the planet's major cities, filling the System with malevolent dark side energies. Most of which is being funneled directly into the unknown ritual guarded by the Emperor.
More and more energy, more and more power within the force, through the endless pain and torture of those he had his Sceleratis put within his range, was being channeled, all for the sake of having his own personal footnote, his own personal touch to the ritual which was being conducted aboard the infantesimibly large space station. With glee, the Monster aboard the Usurper could feel how his victims burned through their own connection to the force, how they screamed as the last of their nerves was being fried by his own amplified force lightning, which carried the essence and the necessary spellwork within it to force these force sensitive innocents to unleash their full potential with all their pain, rage and despair, only for all this accumulated power within the Force to be siphoned and plucked away from them, channeled directly towards the epicenter of the very ritual that would change the course of this pointless war.
He had been in the nether for what felt like a thousand years, his soul tethered only through a thin strand of energy to his decaying, withering body, and after all this time he had come back, to see the changes, the new order upon which a new empire had been built. He knew that this time, there was a much better place for him to experiment, to seek a way to transcend beyond the limitations of the Force itself. He would drink up all the knowledge and all the power he needed for this and as such, Credius realized that it was like having to kill two birds with one stone... He would serve the Sith and he would use them...maliciously to his own ends....yet, he would serve...
"Calculations made...the Escobar is priming its weaponry," The voice of the onboard ZEUS MkII AI was audible through the comms, while Credius motioned the sceleratii to clean up his private chambers. He had done his part to expediate the initiation of the Emperor's ritual, now though...it would be time for the crescendo to start revealing itself in all its glory and madness.
With a surprisingly brisk pace, the now fully armed and armored man walked through the corridors of the ship, taking the internal maglev train system to reach the front end of The Usurper, where from one of the viewports near the bow, he could see how with a magnitude of epic proportions, the space station's innumerable weapons started unleashing their terror upon the planet below, drenching it in dust and debris, in ruination and death, in boiling blood and the outcry of centuries of pain in but a moment's notice.
It would have been pointless to add even more fuel to this fire, for he could already sense it and even see it, the energy of souls, the outcry of despair crackling throughout the very firmament of the Force itself. The Emperor had done it, he had created not a ripple, but a vortex of untold power. All Credius could think at this point, was how magnificent, how wondrous it all looked from his own vantage point. Yes, this was monstrous and depraved no matter how one looked at it, but exactly because of this, it was also the most glorious thing the Sith had seen in quite some time.
"Keep an eye out for any ships that think they can get close before this ritual is completed...Sceleratis, follow me," Swiftly, Credius moved away from his position, meeting up with the Scelerati at the hangarbays, where the Lord of Hunger waited, calmly and patiently, as the Usurper continued to orbit the Escobar, utilizing the time to search through the force for the downright oppressive presence within the force. One step was enough for Credius and his Sceleratii to suddenly find themselves stepping through a mirrored portal in front of the Emperor himself, all kneeling instantly upon their arrival.
"Glorious Darth Empyrean, Emperor of the Sith...I am Credius Nargath, here to serve and if necessary protect you and the magnificent ritual you are performing..."
The flow of resources into Sluis Van and its shipyards to feed the Sith war machine made it a tempting target, especially with the Alliance's strike at Sullust having been blunted. Understanding the history of that world to some within the Alliance, the older generations that remembered it as the first capital of the first Galactic Alliance of the modern era and just its sheer potential as a forward stronghold for Sith advancement up the hyperlanes, meant Sluis Van would be a target.
She had arrived on the shipyards a few days ago for a variety of meetings and to see how production of warships was going and the defenses in place around the world. She had even begun arrangements for Aurora to gain a portion of the shipyards for development facilities of their own that could augment production, planning on seizing more of the Sith Order's industry within her own sphere of influence and away from the other Dark Councilors. She had invited the acolyte her family sponsored, Zarava, to join her for the final days on her inspection and acquisition tour, so to speak, as she knew the younger woman had a fascination with starships and space and it would be a good bonding experience. The Emperor and other members of the Sith had arrived in system for the preparations for the coming campaign, although they had elected to gather at Escobar Station.
Then the Alliance attack had come.
She would allow others to worry about the naval engagement, while she would take command of the defenses of the shipyard and its internal defenders. She was just regretting one thing... she hadn't had the pre-invasion tradition with her wife and it had left her cranky towards the Alliance attackers and the Jedi.
Eyes closed, focusing on the masses of life in the theater of war, focusing on the brighter presences of Jedi and the darker presences of Sith... and the black hole of a ritual that even this far was gently trying to draw her towards it. A frown appeared as she opened her eyes, glancing towards the tactical display that showed the space around the yards and Escobar Station where the Emperor and the Sepulchral were plotting something.
The Grandmaster of the Jedi had been part of the first wave of troops embarking on the main yards. She could feel her... she had never really engaged Valery Noble in combat, nor had they really met beyond Taeli being the hidden second presence during Darth Carnifex
's incursion into the Wellspring. It was time they met.
"Zarava, follow me." she would say, leaving the command center and into the labyrinth of corridors. the Force would guide them to their fated enemies for this battle. "If our forces are to stand and hold the yards, we must intercept the Jedi in this section. Otherwise, she will carve her way through our forces with impunity and the yards will fall before the Emperor's ritual is ready."
She had suspicions on what the ritual could be, considering how it felt, but that would be a matter to worry about later. She had a Jedi Master to engage and a shipyard to hold.
The Sith are like interstellar Fire Ants. Their entire lifespan is to trek from planet to planet and raid each of its natural resources, to fortify their personal tally of possessions. Smaller hives spring into existence from a single figurehead and are on an eternal campaign of expansion…Tempest couldn't believe she would actually like them at all, but she has said aloud that she liked the Sith best (at all is implied) when they took it upon themselves to enforce the "only 2" Sith are permitted in existence at the same time self-governing rule. The Sith did everyone alive a favor during that long ago lost era, by culling themselves nearly out of existence, if one didn't count the hordes of soulless clones awaiting possession; but clones weren't much to fear and could be eradicated by anyone who could manage to encroach upon their test tube laboratory.
'Here we go again,' she thought. Their presence always felt like the bass of a heavy metal band, a fuzz sensation that physically grips her brain. She immediately shields her presence in the Force, as the civilians scramble for cover under the blaring warning siren. She exited the hangar where her ship had undergone repairs. It figures that the Sith couldn't have arrived within milliseconds prior, before she had paid for the work! "Bastards." She can't get a break!
It was not long before she spotted Darth Ahriman
, who glided along the streets like a shadow just cast from Hell, a stark contrast to her own Soul's existence. She could never figure out how Sith are actually considered to be alive. Their life-force seems…surreal.
The Sith would slaughter everything that moves at this point. She stopped in her tracks, the hangar not far from him, her visage expressionless, void of emotion and tapping into the well of the Light of the Force that roots into her calm core being. They shall soon clash like two opposing forces to be reckoned with, she like the stable nucleus of an atom, and he the electrons swarming around it's force.
