Aftermath.

[Alkor Centaris]

High Orbit, Castameer system​

​

In the wake of the catastrophe...​

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The Battle has come to its conclusion.​

​

For many, the events surrounding the Omega predicament were a culmination of many​

grueling years of hate, discontent, and cold war between the oppressive Sith and ​

the various other denizens of the galaxy.​

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For the Jedi, the end came as bittersweet. In the destruction of an unimaginable threat,​

millions were sacrificed. Though the planet was a frigid wasteland, the Sith had​

amassed a culmination of their own and their slaves.​

​

The staggering amount of death created a sensory overload​

on a level with the destruction of Alderaan, some nine hundred years prior.​

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For the Sith, the loss of precious resources dealt a staggering blow.​

Not merely brothers at arms, but crystals that were difficult to acquire any place else in the galaxy.​

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Others vied to take command of the ship's technology,​

some sought to destroy the monstrosity without incident.​

​

For a few, it came down to an issue of the highest bidder.​

[member="Keira Ticon"] and Alkor Centaris watch the last moments of an entire civilization from the stars...​

 

[Garza]

"Next time don't try to blow us up."

Shaking my head as the clothing I wore was ripped to shreds. My mask was still in tact as it was made specifically to resist a lot of stress, but even then, Parts of the leather around my neck were broken. I'd have to be careful about hiding my identity. My right hand was reaching out to the stump of an arm that I had cut off on the ship. I had hoped I could maybe retrieve the arm, but now that was impossible. Leaning back in a seat, I was trying to fight through the pain that I had taken on myself.

​"I don't want to fight you now Corellian. But I would have your name for future reference."

[member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Keira Ticon"],

 

[Keira Priest]

Physical exhaustion ran deep, but that of the ethereal sort ran deeper. Her helmet sat in her lap, its visor dim and lifeless, a strange sight after what battle it had just seen. The entirety of her armor was scuffed and scorched in multiple places, some from this fight but others scars of wars long past. In comparison to the hardened warrior she had embodied beforehand she was now worn down, it evident from just a look that she was tired, though not entirely of the fighting. Unlike earlier there was no commentary Keira had to provide, and she remained decidedly silent, keeping her senses extended about herself as a sort of offhanded warning system, not quite acknowledging the others about her.

It had been an interesting fight, all told. Not the first time she had clashed with the Sith, but arguably one of the more interesting ones. Admittedly, taking on two Sith Lords at once likely hadn't been her wisest choice, but she had come out of things relatively unscathed and without any new scars to show, which was more than could be said for most instances. It was the Sith that had suffered the brunt of things for once, and she had managed to remove one of them from the fight entirely, holding her own against the final adversary before the alarm had sounded and the both of them had to depart if they wished to live another day.

That led her to where she sat now, with her brother and a seeming former opponent of his. The silence was broken by the masked man, but she didn't deign to respond, leaving that much to Alkor. Instead she worked through her muscles from head to toe, flexing and relaxing each one in turn in order to gauge just how badly she'd managed to hurt herself this time. Surprisingly the majority of her pain didn't reside in the physical realm, instead rooting itself within the ethereal, her aura itself aching and bruised, similar to a muscle that had been overstretched and overworked. Taking in a breath she released a sigh, finally sparing a glance to first the masked man, then Alkor, "Friend of yours, vod'ika?"

[member="Atheus"], [member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Darth Veles]

With adrenaline still furiously pumping in a foolish battle, cybernetic heart racing for no valid reason, his body continued to deny the result in false hopes of jumping right into action any second again. It almost felt like he had arrived too late to join the party, though his memories begged to differ. Imprisoned in his own physical shell, an enhanced war machine that simply lusted for more, Darth Veles’ solitude knew no bounds as he sat and waited, complete silence denying him the destructive spectacle going outside. Alone and safely isolated from the pitch black sea outside of his metal saviour, Veles felt no peace, no satisfaction upon watching the Omega vanish in one last deadly shower. His target posed threat no longer, yet he still felt incomplete.

No, not incomplete; unfulfilled.

It was the tomahawk. Restless motions of his webbed fingers continued to stroke it, turn it, feel its weight, test its edge. Nothing else remained from his duel against the Mandalorian Force user. For some reason, this result appeared completely unacceptable to him; it lacked a winner. Even if too wounded or tired to continue fighting, forced to retreat, he would have found it much more satisfactory. The Sith Lord disliked leaving his fights unfinished, without one side suffering a defeat. And as if the Force truly intended to rub it into his face, he was forced to wait, accompanied by his opponent’s weapon to tease him constantly. Orange eyes curiously studied his new trophy anyway, adding to the desperate sensation wrapping around his soul, knowing he truly had to meet the right moment for them to meet again.

This realisation caused him to blink, immediately putting the weapon down, albeit involuntarily, as if parting with it even for a moment meant severing his imaginary connection to its rightful owner and breaking his unspoken promise. Worse yet, he realized to be staring at the axe, yet could not deny his eyes from feasting upon its almost mirror-like obsidian surface. A deep breath filled his lungs with air and delivered a momentary relief. Perhaps meditating on his own hatred would help him push through this prison, crack the walls of desire with focused anger. It was a good idea, putting his passion to use – and so the body obeyed its controller’s commands, eyes shutting closed and no longer staring at the dreaded weapon.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"To be fair, you did ask me to do it."

Alkor glanced in the direction of his now one-armed adversary, a bemused expression on his face. "Once you have a new arm, we can finish the fight." The Dark Jedi leaned back and closed his eyes, head tilted so that it rested against the interior of the pod. "I am in no hurry to execute a wounded man."

The fallen Jen'jidai glanced sidelong to [member="Keira Ticon"] when she inquired about the other man. "Alkor Centaris ," he gave his name to [member="Atheus"] . "Last of the Jen'jidai." Rarely did he speak of the time before the civil war on Muunilinst, or of the rank given by his fallen brothers. Atheus had earned that honor by the blade, having survived an encounter against one of the Xendorian Guard's Blademasters. It was not often that those of the Dark Jedi Order found worthy foes.

What went unspoken was possibly the most important thing in all of this. The Traitor to the Mandalorian people had been felled. Alkor's former comrade at arms, who had desecrated the final resting place of his brothers, was dead.
Saverok.

He pulled up the sleeve covering his right arm to reveal the horrific scar where Bedrovelse Hevn had flayed his flesh and used Sith Magic to bond him to an ancient promise of retribution. The oath had been held fulfilled, but the markings remained. Its color had drained away and power long since ceased to flow through it. Still, the ruined and mangled appendage rippled with each movement of his fingers when he flexed them in turn.

"History repeats itself," he muttered.

 

[Garza]

Alright, then man was right. I did tell him to do it. But I more so didn't expect those results of taking the entire hangar out. Even then, Alkor stated that he wasn't going to fight someone who was injured. To be completely honest, I injured myself out of it, and so I was the one to blame. As well as providing me the name of the man. Alkor Centaris. Last of the Jen'Jidai. An old term used for Dark Jedi for a faction long ago. I knew about them, but what took place, escaped me. However, as the man revealed the scars he carried, With the mention of history repeating itself, I nodded my head.

"Atheus. Voidwalker of Makrosia."

In turn for the man's name, I could only respect him by providing my own. In as much, I too had to provide a title. One that I claimed to be for my leaving of my people, being "void" of emotions and forgetting my past. People on Hora knew more about me because of my past. Out here? Nobody knew me. My title may not mean much, but back on Hora, I was known as the Voidwalker. The person who walked along the line of life and death. On the "Edge of the Void" as you could say.

"Galaxy tends to do that."

Looking over to the companion of Alkor's, The woman was rather powerful in the force, and used Mando'a to speak to him. Vod was for brother or sibling, so likely the Vod'ika was a more formal form? I could only go off of speculation. Either way, I nodded my head towards her.

"No intention of intruding. I just need a ride."

[member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Keira Ticon"],

 

[Keira Priest]

One shoulder raised in a shrug at the words [member="Atheus"] directed towards her. "So long as you're not looking to start a fight, I couldn't care less." In the aftermath of Omega, it really was that simple for her. So long as they were all on the same page that instigating something wouldn't end well for their relatively unknown companion, everything would progress smoothly. "We won't be getting all the way back home in this thing. But you're free to accompany us to Echoy'la once it's all been sorted out." Far from an invitation to stay, but granting him time to get back on his feet and recover was more than she had ever offered any perceived adversary of herself or her people in the past. Not a kindness per se, but rather a token of respect for him as a warrior.

Almost absently she looked to the planet below, her gaze then flitting to the controls of the escape pod itself. Not the most adequate world on which to land, but the beacon she had put out for the Crusaders wasn't getting them anywhere, and so this was the next best choice. "You two might want to hold onto something. We're going to make landfall." That was the only real warning she offered before situating herself in front of the controls for the escape pod, her AI transferring itself from the helmet to the small craft's systems near-instantaneously. There was a sharp jolt as they broke atmosphere, flames beginning to lick the outside of the pod. She managed to hold it steady and keep their speed at a manageable level while Thalia manipulated the inner workings of the vessel itself to make things much easier.

The landing wasn't near as rough as it could have been, but the three of them would find themselves knocked about regardless, a consequence of nothing more than the craft they were aboard. There were a few moments of unbroken silence as the lot of them gathered their bearings, and eventually she shifted in order to sit up properly, pulling her helmet on with one hand and sealing it to the armor, HUD lighting up within seconds. "Helmet on, vod'ika." A mostly offhanded comment, though she glanced to Alkor briefly, the barest of smiles on her lips beneath her own helm. Once everyone was on their feet and capable of moving about, she would release the seal on the hatch and step outside.

[member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Darth Veles"]