Skirmish A Monument to All Your Achievements | THR vs TSC | Jakku Enclave

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Jakku had never felt right to Bastila.

There had always been something heavier about the enclave than the others she had known. During her years of training she had dismissed it as a reflection of Romi's philosophy. Jakku forged survivors rather than scholars. Its halls produced Jedi who stood their ground instead of contemplating them. Harder lessons. Harder people. Results of a harder world.

She had accepted that, but this was something else. The darkness pressing through the room did not belong to the Enclave’s stone or history. No, this darkness was alive. It settled over her shoulders with familiar weight, and for one impossible heartbeat she was no longer standing beneath the sands of Jakku.

She was back aboard the Outbound Flight.

She could almost hear the screaming alarms. Feel the unnatural emptiness that had bled the strength from her limbs. See Dominic being dragged away as she lay helpless, unable to move, unable to stop it.

The memory struck like a blade through old scar tissue and her hand found the hilt of her lightsaber before she consciously realised it had moved. It was training as much as it was instinct.

At least she hoped.

Romi's voice cut through the suffocating atmosphere. "It is time to leave."

Bastila's fingers remained wrapped around the cool metal at her hip.

She glanced sideways towards Lossa, a quiet prayer forming in the back of her mind that the movement had gone unnoticed. Drawing a weapon against someone you loved was unthinkable. Realising you had been ready to was somehow worse.

"Lossa..." Her voice was softer now, almost full of pleading. Outside, the enclave's warning systems erupted into life. Automated announcements echoed through the corridors in emotionless repetition, their words swallowed by distant impacts that rattled dust from the ceiling.

Bastila barely heard them. Her entire attention remained fixed on the woman before her. Eyes searching for familiarity. For warmth. For the woman who was much a sister as the ones who shared her name.

Instead she found something she could not name.

The Force recoiled around Lossa in a way that unsettled every instinct Bastila possessed. It wasn't simply anger or fear. It felt altered. Like standing before someone whose silhouette was familiar while everything beneath it had shifted into something unrecognisable. A cold knot settled in her stomach.

"What have you done?"

The question escaped before she could soften the fact that it was a clearly desperate attempt to understand. Her grip tightened unconsciously around the lightsaber's hilt, the cool durasteel grounding her against the growing unease.

She loved Lossa.

There had never been a distinction in her heart between Lossa and Briana or Blaire. They were family, earned through years rather than blood. Yet, standing in this room, surrounded by a darkness she could neither explain nor ignore...

...Bastila could not shake the dreadful feeling that she was looking at someone she recognised but no longer truly knew.

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Romi Jade Lossa Aureus Briana Sal-Soren EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Naniti]

The Togruta shot straight for Zaiya Ceti and any other Jedi accomplice that showed their face. The crimson beam in her grasp twirled off to the side on the approach in case her opponent didn't appreciate what was in store for them. It was not a weapon held idly or casually by happenstance.

No words were given by way of introduction. Her feet left the ground as she spun around in midair for effect; her blade would come down with the force of her weight and gravity on its side if any sought to meet the blade head-on rather than evade. Follow-up would be just as quick with her adjusting course as needed to track her target.

"Surrender, and this will be quick." No one had said anything about prisoners being useful or important. A quick death was more than they deserved, but Naniti wasn't there to torture people to death. She was a hunter; she'd been trained for battle and desired nothing more than a swift end to this confrontation so she could move on to other things. The Jedi weren't worth her time, which only fueled the anger rather than dulled it.

Lysander von Ascania | Mercy
Corazona von Ascania | Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Kadeon Virell]

Objective: Protect the Archives
Location: Jedi Enclave, Jakku
Outfit: Combat Ready
Equipment: Double-bladed lightsaber - Twin Verdict
Tag: Kaelyr

The corridor beyond the archive vault had become eerily quiet. Too quiet. Kadeon Virell stood between towering shelves of holocrons, datacylinders, and relic cases, his double-bladed lightsaber still clipped to his belt. Around him, a handful of Jedi archivists hurried precious artifacts into reinforced transport containers while engineers argued over what deserved to be saved before the vault's final safeguard erased everything else.

Every few seconds another distant explosion rumbled through the enclave. Not much time left. Kade resisted the urge to pace. His instincts screamed at him to be out there helping the other defenders. Every athlete in him wanted to throw himself toward the biggest fight. Instead...

He guarded books. Holocrons. Ancient history. His jaw tightened before he let out a slow breath. ”They're worth more than another lightsaber duel.” That was what he'd been told. That was why he stayed.

Then the Force lurched. Heat. Violence. Death. Not the scattered chaos that already filled the enclave—but something concentrated. A furnace wrapped in hatred barreling directly toward the archives.

The archivists felt it too. One of them froze. Another looked toward the corridor. Kade stepped forward before either could panic. "You keep packing," he said, calm despite the pressure building in his chest. "I'll make sure nobody interrupts."

His hand settled on Twin Verdict. A heartbeat later two vault guards stumbled around the corner. One never reached the floor. The other struck the wall with horrifying force, pinned there for only an instant before lifelessly collapsing. Kade's expression hardened.

"So much for a quiet assignment." The approaching presence wasn't merely strong. It burned. Every instinct told him this wasn't someone raiding the archives for wealth or knowledge. Whoever was coming had purpose—single-minded, relentless purpose. The Dark Side rolled ahead of the stranger like wildfire racing through dry brush.

The Jedi Knight unclipped his saber. Snap-hiss. Twin emerald blades erupted to life, casting green light across the polished stone and rows of priceless relics. He planted his feet squarely in the center of the passage leading into the archive proper, broad shoulders filling much of the corridor.

Behind him, the archivists continued their frantic work. Ahead of him, footsteps drew nearer. Kade offered a crooked grin that somehow managed to look equal parts confident and welcoming.

"You've already had a rough day," he called down the hallway, voice carrying easily over the distant alarms. "No reason to make it worse."

His stance lowered, athletic and balanced, the spinning green staff tracing a slow figure-eight as he settled into guard. "If you're after what's back here..." The smile faded. "...you're going through me first."


​

 

[Seris Velmora]

Tag: Nova Dainlei | Xan Deesa

The woman's response drew a grin from Seris. Most people hesitated. Most people pleaded. Most people tried to run. This one closed the distance. "That's more like it."

The crimson blades lifted instinctively into guard as the stranger advanced, but Seris' expression shifted from eager anticipation to momentary confusion when the woman's fist snapped upward. There was no blaster. No saber. Instead, several tiny objects erupted from her knuckles.

"What in the—" Instinct took over. Seris shifted sharply to one side, then the other, her feet carrying her through quick, darting jukes as though avoiding blaster fire. The Force warned her of the incoming trajectories, each nudge translating immediately into movement. One projectile clipped across the outside of her shoulder while another grazed her thigh, neither impact carrying anything close to the bite she'd expected.

She frowned. "...That's it?" Whatever they were, they weren't meant to tear through armor or flesh. A distraction? Tracking devices? Some unfamiliar piece of technology she had never encountered? She didn't waste time trying to solve the mystery.

The chrome-clad woman was already upon her. Now this made sense. Mechanical blades sprang from her opponent's arms with startling speed, accelerated by machinery rather than the Force. Seris met them eagerly. Scarlet plasma crashed against gleaming metal with a shriek that echoed through the archive. The impact rolled down Seris' arms, heavier than she'd anticipated. Strong.

"Good." Her footwork changed immediately. The evasive movements she'd used against the strange projectiles settled into something tighter, balanced. One foot slid back while the other angled outward, hips turning just enough to let the crossing blades absorb the force instead of meeting it head-on.

The first exchange belonged to defense. The second would not. Twisting with the bind, Seris redirected the opposing blade just enough to create an opening before her off-hand saber snapped free. The crimson blade carved back across the narrow space between them in a fast, rising diagonal cut aimed toward Xan's torso, the strike flowing naturally from the completed parry instead of forcing its way through.

A laugh escaped her despite herself. "I thought this was going to be another librarian." Another step forward followed immediately, refusing to surrender the initiative she'd just stolen. "This is much more fun."

​

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Homies: Corazona von Ascania Zaiya Ceti
Poo-heads: Lysander von Ascania Mercy Naniti

Any remaining frayed edges of worry not resolved by her force valor were chased away by who Zaiya was. And for the first time since the events of Tapani, Soph was grateful to have been placed here at this moment of time to meet her. Someone she may never have met if things hadn't happened. Fingers tightened around the bracelets as she quickly slipped them on. She was convinced she'd just made a new friend. Face beamed an unspoken thank you. Curiosity snagged her features as Cora stood. She could feel where those seeds were hidden and ready to spring. "You'll have to teach me that someday." A small smile as more comfort washed over her at Cora's touch. It was strange feeling that from someone she'd just met. Someone who was the sister to a man she very much disliked.

If…what?

Worried expression watched as the bright jedi…was Zaiya skipping? Skipped into battle toward a decidedly beautiful Togruta. A glance at the entrance as rest of the sith entered. Bright blue eyes of hers focusing on one in particular. Even with that armor on, she could imagine what he looked like from his Spacebook profile.

Days. Weeks. Months after Pelagia. Sophelia contemplated what it would be like to come face-to-face with those who had brought so much destruction upon her and her people. Would they look as monstrous as she'd built them up in her head? What would she feel? Would she be strong enough? She felt a lot of things: resentment, nerves, sourness, anger. The most surprising emotion was perhaps grief. A deep sense of sorrow. She stepped forward, careful of the tiles she placed her feet upon. Eyes narrowed on the boy in armor even as Mercy's formidable presence seemed to take up the entire room. The Empress being as much a butcher of her home, if not moreso, as Lysander himself.

"Mister Ascania." Her noble upbringing was the only thing that made her tone true and clear. Unwavering. Even as she felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. Voice softer this time. "You disappoint me."

Her staff pointed at his chest with one hand as her other popped one of those black EMP pearls away from the bracelet and chucked it at his helmeted face.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber​

His blade met resistance, resistance that held. And behind it a familiar presence he had not felt since…

Varin’s gaze glared from behind his helm. The same Jedi that had attacked him while on the space station that was taken by the Sith Covenant. He could see the intent in her eyes, the fighting spirit of one who loved battle. But not just the battle. Something else he could understand as it was something he too would do.

The feeling to protect.

“It has been quite some time.”

His blade deflected the guard after it had held for a moment, then he released a flurry of slices to not only impact her blade, but fire of sharpened telekinetic waves that followed each strike not far behind, effectively doubling his attacks.

This was not some Jedi he needed to play around with and he knew it. It was someone he could not just poke and prod and test. He needed to find a way to overwhelm.

As the strikes followed, superheated tendrils of smoke slithered at great speeds along the floor towards her feet in hopes to not just burn, but to grasp and entrap.

“But I have certainly had better days.”

Jonyna Si​

 

[Sera Rosh]

SPARROW
VAULTS | JAKKU
TAG: Quinn Varanin
GEAR: In bio

ONE WRONG MOVE​

She felt it immediately.

The drain.

Increasing as she approached the vaults. Nothing major at first, but the draw was unmistakable to Sera. If she wasn't in the prime of her life, it would have been troubling. For now, she merely increased the natural Force barrier around her.

She will not become her master nor will she bend.

By the Light, she can't. Not yet.

Sera didn't approach the door with apprehension. No, she barreled through it, not waiting for it to slide open properly, lightsaber hilt in hand by now. She could feel a manner of dread settle in the pit of her being, yet her innate stubbornness shoved it deep.

She had clawed her way to survival in every sense of the word ever since she was a child. Deneba had been cruel in so many ways, yet she had crawled and eventually fought her way to where she was now - a little sparrow fighting the winds and storms trying to push her down.

This wasn't Lord Creuat - this she could weather.

<Dobs, grab what you can carry, bud. I have something to sort out first.> she relayed softly to Dobby over her comms.
He chirped back at her in affirmative, wherever he was within the Enclave along with another warble.
<You too, bud. I'll see you on the other side.>

The she stepped into the area proper.

Where a white-haired woman, around her own age, was waiting, a menacing crown on her head. It was clear, however, that this is where the idle drain on her essence was coming from.

The Sparrow ignited one of the green blades out of principle, yet it remained lowered for now.

"Whatever you took, it ain't yours, so hand it over and I'll let you go." her melodic voice told the very clear Darksider in front of her - looking oddly familiar, yet Sera couldn't recall a name.

Then her eyes flashed with the fire of Light's conviction.

"And if you don't, you will be sent home in a body bag. Either way, I'll have it back."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Desevro Sith Armor | Helm of the Twin Suns | Nightstar | Raven's Heart
Naniti Mercy
Corazona von Ascania Zaiya Ceti Sophelia Ardemark
​

Visualized through the tint of the HUD, the transmutation of Mercy's limb defied the laws of biology. The slaughter followed seconds later.

Diagnostics whispered warnings through interior of the helm. Even so, the woman's proclamation echoed inside the skull. Proof. Validation. The singular pillar of ambition that had kept his spirit upright all these years. Doubt, that insidious architect, tried to build a foundation in Lysander's chest. But a hand on his shoulder caused the foundation to collapse instantly.

"Then why does it never feel that way?" a mechanical rasp demanded.

Persistence of the Sith's battle state manifested with tightening across his forearms. Hunger began coloring the perception of chaos before him. Across that expanse another motion caught his eye. A Lovalla. Each skip looked like some flare of bright defiance, as if oblivious to the Dark closing in. A familiar face from a chapter long ago. They hadn't parted on bad terms last time he saw her. Just two trajectories diverging. Perhaps in another existence, he might've called her a friend.

Further out, Naniti's predatory vector locked onto her like a closing trap. And so, clarity struck - this would be the final scene shared with Zaiya.

Shoulders squared, shifting his weight toward the interloper who cut off the enclave's entrance. The helm pivoted with indifference. "Disappointment is a luxury I discarded leagues ago, along with my conscience," the retort slid out. "Save salvation for someone who's begging." Instinct outpaced thought by a microsecond. The flick of a wrist triggered a sweep of his gauntlet. The sphere was sent spiraling away. A concussive detonation slammed into the air, and darkness swallowed the HUD. His breath fogged the visor as the helm became suffocating.

With a lone hand reaching under his jaw, the unsealing sequence began. A moment later it hit the floor with a groan. Nothing more than iron waste now. Damp hair clung to temples. Nightstar rose, leveling toward the Jedi's throat with no regard for her staff. Studying the features behind such strange bravado, brows would soon furrow.

"I know who you are now." Then the Sith took a single step off to the side. "If revenge's your keepsake, today's the worst fucking day to share it." Coldness bled into the blonde's tone. "If you have more to say, speak it now. I won't indulge you twice."

​

 

[Efret Farr]

Efret wasn't here as herself, but as Nergüi.

The Nameless One.

It was the only natural Sith moniker for her. Nazar had given her the apotropaic name when she had first ventured into Deep Well, driven into the darkness and dampness of Fondor's crust by her desperation for a cure. Darkness had been hemorrhaging into her mind and heart for years at that point, let in slowly but ever so surely by a curse cast over her by a Dark Side Elite on Jedha.

The Light hadn't failed her all at once in the Nabooian sacred swamps with Mercy ; it had been draining from her, distancing itself as if from a malign tumor in an otherwise healthy body over a long, long stretch of time.

Even though she had confided in only three fellow Jedi and one civilian friend about the Elite's meld over her mind, she hadn't neglected the wound. She had sought out two different Force nexuses to mend the wound. She had attended to it herself in the best ways that she knew how in the few quiet moments she had between her many duties as Chief Curator: the travel, the nullification and archiving, the training, the preparation.

If the Galactic Alliance's dual-front war against the galaxy's Dark agents hadn't been so demanding, and if the Senate hadn't stoked public stigmas against any Dark side influence, even of the incidental sort, that already thrived within the Jedi Order, she would have most certainly been able to attend more effectively to herself.

To prevent the gradual changes that had taken root.

But alas, the sculpture chiseled from the stoic stone of Jedi philosophy by those changes had come to Jakku.

And what a beautiful work of art she was.

No one but herself, Nazar, and Corazona von Ascania knew that the name Nergüi had been bestowed upon the former Jedi master. It would protect her as the sufi had originally intended it to, but in a different manner; instead of confusing Dark side spirits and visions looking to implant themselves into her head, it would help conceal her identity from physical servants of the Light.

The other parts of her carefully premeditated disguise had also fallen into place: black tunics and a robe; an intricately-carved metal face mask; a new, curved halt lightsaber; and another necklace communication aid that didn't require her to sign with her hands—she did mentally instead and the voice trapped in the pendant interpreted aloud.

Shortly after Efret rounded a corner into a hallway leading to the archives, one of Aileni's energy arrows hurdled through the air towards her. The crackle of its plasma was ever so slight, unnoticeable to most but jolts through her heightened sense of physical feel. Her bled blade ignited with a snap-hiss and raised in a wide arc with a flick of her wrist to bat away the projectile.

She squinted, a physical habit whenever she tried to visually focus, though it rarely helped her see—and never had an effect in visual telepathy or Force Sight. For now, Aileni's diminished Force presence was concealing his exact location from her, though she had seen where the general trajectory of his arrow would place him.

A hauntingly echoing feminine voice would drift through the air to his ears.

"I know you're up there, my dear."

As the woman seemed to speak, the pendant of her choker shuddered. Glowing tendrils of energy condensed like fog seeped out into the immediately-surrounding air, not staying far from their source. Though their hue was luminescent red instead of green, their appearance otherwise resembled that of magickal ichor.

It perhaps suggested that the voice coming from it wasn't truly this Sith's, that some Dark sorcery was as work.

Post: 01
Objective: 02
Aileni Ifor Xeraic​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

A MONUMENT TO ALL YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS
Y O U ‎ ‎ ‎ S H A L L ‎ ‎ ‎ N O T ‎ ‎ ‎ P A S S​

LOCATION — Jakku, Jedi Enclave
TAGS — Arris Windrun Acier Moonbound
PARAPHERNALIA — Vesper et Aurora, Armour of the Lost

Bestia, the monster, the beast that lurks within. . . An entity that sought to study, sought to ambush and sought to vanquish. If holiness was pledged to one, then wickedness had shaped this one's skin--a hide destined to bleed, to shed its crimson and that of others within this unjust galaxy. It assaulted the mental defenses, suppressing whatever petty resistance the mind may seek to conjure up, until all that remained was the hunger. The Wrath. Nevertheless, Anger was naught more than a veil, obscuring one's sight, nay all the senses, and naught more than a lone candle in the dark--waiting to at last die out.

He doesn't understand.​

No.

You do not want to abandon 'your Light'.​

Quiet!

This is your destiny.​

Never. . .

This is your destiny.​

The rough collision into the sands forced it all to a staggering halt. Nothingness consumed the senses, akin to a planet slipping into a black hole's trajectory. Isobel was adrift, without purpose, without. . . guidance from the Force, from Bogan's dark illusions. Writhing as though two entities waged war within her very skin, begging her to give in, begging her to resist. The conflict flourished as a bright spark spurred her eyes into a wide stare as the flames of a nearby walker rose taller. Then followed the voices;

"Isobel..." Her voice was eerily calm, a definitive contrast against her screaming just seconds ago. "End this."

He looked up. "Isobel, stop this. Please."

The words hung between them as he hesitated.

"I know how it feels..." His voice softened. "Thinking destiny... the Force... whatever the fuck controls your life. Your future. You..."

Fear had become a constant caress of the psyche during shadowed days; the endless worry that one deed may result in one's demise. . . the endless sacrifice of all of one's humanity for a sliver of approval. Even now, lying upon the soil whilst the sand and heat of distant flames slithered its way into her chainmail, she feared. Feared that the fates may brand her unworthy, feared that Arris may channel her wroth upon Bel. What life was that worth living? To be destined to don these chains until a figure might come along and liberate her from this agony?

But this was the demand of prophecy and fate, was it not? A necessary sacrifice for what was to come. . .

Amid the roar of flames, a hushed sobbing found root to blossom as twin gloved palms cradled her face--seeking anything to balance her amid the tide. . . An eternity passed in a matter of breaths; destiny rewoven in melancholic patterns as the clouds gathered over her future. Waiting. Knowing.

Longing spurred the drum of her heart, as thoughts slipped back to a theatre of peace locked away within her suffocating prison. Scenes played out in the mindscape, orchestrated by a lost serenity: the merriment upon Ukatis, rocking Corazona von Ascania 's Lucy in her arms; the sheer absurdity of her drunken evening with Varin Mortifer and what little she recalled of it, and lastly. . . Lysander von Ascania . The tears began to flow like a downpour as she recalled that stupid smug smile, the warmth of his being and how perfect it all was. . . no, is. For it was not the blue nor black rose flourishing within the rediscovered link, but the Great Maiden's Blush.

A warning.

A plea..

But in the end, mere stars did not brighten the nightsky, they were not as fervent, not as consistent as the sun. For that, change was demanded.

With each crystallite droplet that rolled down the soft curves of her face, the soil began to shift--beyond her consciousness. . . mayhaps never coaxed by her doing at all. Dense clouds of sand gathered around ally and foe, pierced only by the infrequent flares of fire from the nearby vehicle. This haze was not so easily dispelled by a mere act of telekinesis; its ceaseless cascade of particles plagued the three figures, swirling around them akin to a whirlwind or horde of frenzied insects.

"Forgive me." A vulnerable yet resounding voice crept through the haze as Isobel rose to her full height, body and mind weakening with every breath she drew. Her words were a quiver of arrows loosed towards many a target--close or faraway, vague or clear.

In the blur of things, Vesper found its mark--guided blindly through the sand, its crimson blade emerged against one abdomen:

A R R I S.​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris | Acier Moonbound
Down & Out
​

It was as if the world were sharp static suddenly silenced. Arris looked down, where the shoto-saber cut melted through her cybernetic stomach, all the way into her gut.

Coolant rolled from her like molasses, congealing in the air. She coughed some of it up, along with blood - smiling bitterly.

Her hand wrapped around the hilt, pulling the blade from her abdomen. The wound didn't look good. She walked over to Isobel, offering the weapon back as if things were just fine.

Then, Arris gently cupped Isobel's cheek. "You should've gone for the head," She murmured.

The Triumvir was different. Acier would have sensed it undoubtedly, given his intimate familiarity with how Arris Windrun felt in the Force. Maybe Isobel would've noticed something, too: Arris was calm, yet the Dark Side rolled off her like a tsunami wave; her anger trumped by despair. The logical thing to do would've been to give up. Or to die. But when did she ever? This might as well have been Ruusan.

For a moment, it looked as if Arris was going to backhand the acolyte, but instead, she only dismissed the clouds of sand with the wave of her hand. Her eyes looked past Isobel, hawking in on Ace.

"Are you surprised?" She asked. "Did you believe she'd kill me - or... did you think I'd kill her?" Arris looked back down at Isobel, smiling faintly. "I bet you thought so, too, didn't you? Were you counting on it?"

She coughed more blood again, rolling along the contour of her chin and down her neck.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Jakku - Jakku Enclave

Equipment:
Vanguard Robes | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

Ace's attention snapped back to Arris. Whatever he'd said had struck far deeper than he'd intended.​

​

The artillery walker emerged over the ridge behind her. His grip tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber as he rose smoothly to his feet. His eyes never left the cyborg as she descended the dune to meet them.​

​

She kept shouting and her grief hit him like crushing pressure, dense enough to make his chest tighten. He'd almost forgotten what Arris felt like through the Force. Every emotion she carried seemed impossibly heavy, threatening to drag everything around her beneath its weight.​

​

His eyes flicked past her as the walker's cannon lowered. Toward them. Ace bent his knees instinctively, ready to grab Isobel and dive the instant it fired.​

​

Instead, Arris screamed, and the sound wasn't human anymore. His free hand shot toward his ear as the Force itself seemed to recoil around them. Then the walker simply... imploded. Blackened plasma erupted within its barrel before the entire machine disappeared beneath fire and twisted metal.​

​

Arris went on as if nothing had happened. Hatred. For herself most of all. Ace's expression softened, and she would see for the first time that there was no frustration left in his eyes. Only sympathy.​

​

"Arris..." The name escaped him quietly, ignoring her order to Isobel entirely.​

​

He heard quiet sobbing, but not from Arris. His gaze dropped toward Isobel and his free hand instinctively reached toward her before stopping halfway, fingers slowly curling shut as they returned to the grip of his lightsaber.​

​

Then the sand stirred. He watched Isobel rise through the haze, heard her apology... and saw the crimson blade disappear into Arris' abdomen.​

​

​

"Wait!"​

​

But he was too late. He didn't know whether Arris would survive the wound, but he knew what killing someone in this state would do to Isobel. He couldn't let that become another burden she'd carry forever.​

​

Yet Arris remained standing. Ace couldn't feel her life slipping away either. He watched in silence as she returned the shoto, cupped Isobel's cheek, and spoke with a gentleness that he still hadn't gotten used to. Beneath that calm, however, the dark side poured from her like a flood, as relentless as the coolant streaming down her body.​

​

When Arris' arm lifted, Ace moved without thinking, stepping between them while gently guiding Isobel behind his shoulder.​

​

"I don't know what to expect from you anymore." His voice remained calm as he met Arris' gaze. "What's the point in all this, Arris? You hate everything. Everyone. Yourself."​

​

He took another careful step forward, brows drawing together.​

​

"I think I know why... there's still some part of you buried deep, still human, that knows this isn't the answer. Smashing shit around you... thinking it'll make things better." He slowly shook his head. "It doesn't work, Arris. I know because you showed me."​

​

It was probably a mistake. The last time he'd tried reaching that part of her, she'd answered with a slug.​

​

And still... he refused to give up on her. He owed her that.​

​

Arris Windrun | Isobel Serraris​

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: Jakku | Objective: Talk | Tags: Lysander von Ascania Corazona von Ascania Sophelia Ardemark Zaiya Ceti​

.

"Then why does it never feel that way?" a mechanical rasp demanded.

Oh, child...

The hole where a heart ought to be went out for him as she squeezed his shoulder one more time before letting go.

"Because you were taught to fear." Mercy answered without holding back. There were Lords who jealously guarded their knowledge, their secrets, they made their apprentices suffer for morsels of power. That had never been Mercy's way. What she knew, she taught her apprentices without hesitation, because she did not fear them.

"They have tried to infect you with fear from the day you were old enough to walk." Mercy continued as her corrupted golden blade swept through another Jedi, cutting them in half, without even looking at them.

They did not matter.

"To fear your emotions, your resolve, your determination. They have wanted to hold you back from the day you could hold a sword and had the will to use it to shape your own destiny."

A slow stretch followed as she rolled her shoulders for the coming battle.

"And even as you have broken those chains... a part of it remains. But now it fears that you will never escape them fully. Kill it, Lysander. Kill it like you slaughtered the Tapani, the Coruscanti, the Imperials on Humbarine."

Then she stepped to the side as Lysander von Ascania was engaged by Sophelia Ardemark .

She watched as Naniti engaged Zaiya Ceti .

Finally... her own attention went to the other presence amidst the ruins. That terrible smile on that horrible face grew brighter. Lysander's promise had come true, Corazona von Ascania was truly here.

"No boy to protect this time around, darling? Can we finally go all out like we did all those years ago?" Her golden hand slashed out again, another Jedi died, once more Mercy didn't even spare a glance. Right now, in that moment, Mercy's entire attention bore into Cora. The latter would notice the difference.

They had met many times over the last decade.

But Mercy had changed since their last fight. Back then she had still pretended she could be both Empress as well as the brawler that destroyed for the joy of it.

That was gone now.

Her posture was rigid, the slouch was gone, the Mountain was here and her presence... encroached on the Enclave past the ruins. It infected all those around her. From Sophelia, to Zaiya to Naniti, to Lysander and finally Cora personally. It didn't try to depress them into giving up. Instead it projected Mercy's own passions on them, her hunger, her ever-lasting fury.

She wanted these Jedi to begin to love the fight. To feel the same joy that she felt.

To turn this place... into a field of blades.

.

ERASE THE PAST