Faction Blood for Blood | SO

[Kasir Dorran]

Objective 1: Alvaria

Kasir’s blackheart lay silent as Alvaria burned, the screams of the dying drifting on the wind. To the Sangnir, it was nothing but background noise, for the death of innocents meant less than the ash beneath his boots. He had not come for them. He had not come for Malum’s legacy, nor for the Tsis’Kaar’s abandoned throne. Their banners, their bloodlines, their cries, none of it mattered to him.

His presence was only due to Darth Stroisus’ command, a whisper that brushed against his mind like a clawed hand.

Amidst the destruction, there was one figure he sought above all others.

Through the inferno he moved like smoke. Never was he the type to strike like a soldier, nor march like a mindless legionnaire. No, this one glided as if the battlefield itself already bent to his rhythm. Flames reflected a cruel gaze that was colder than the void. Around him, all clashed in the dark, desperate for survival in a world of death. Tsis’Kaar loyalists, those of the Corpse Legion, Kainite reapers, all fighting for their own selfish reasons.

To Kasir, they all blurred together.

Then, there was a flicker of movement.. another assassin strayed one step too far from his cohort, into the wrong corridor, and into the wrong shadow.

Quicker than lightning that could shatter the sky, pale hands shot forward, seizing the Kainite by the throat. The figure's gasps were swallowed by the dark night as he crashed him against a stone wall, fingers tightening like coiling serpents, the grip of a vengeful deity crushing the very breath from his lungs. Not a single syllable fell from his lips, only locking onto him with a stare capable of stripping away lies and illusions of false doctrine, forcing him to watch as death's icy tendrils drank the warmth from his essence.

His victim’s hands clawed at his wrists, nails breaking skin. Legs kicked, boots scraped, but he only leaned in closer to savor that chaotic and desperate pulse.

And so, he drew it out for as long as he could, taking pleasure in the man’s dying struggle, until the final shudder left him.

Only then would Kasir release him, letting the lifeless corpse crumple to the ground.

Stepping over, the bombardment thundered, a steady drumbeat in the air, he moved with blistering speed, crossing the courtyards, through shattered gates, and finally pressing into the sanctum.

Anger swelled with every death felt in the currents around him. Rather than suppressing it, he let it bleed outward in hateful waves, rolling through the halls. Any who brushed against it would feel the same aura, the hunger, the malice, the drive that propelled him forward.

He came for one figure alone.

The Shadow Hand.

There, within those walls, he felt it, the suffocating weight of the Sith’s presence.

Thus, he waited, wound tight in the dark, prepared to test himself against the storm, or perish in its embrace.

Both outcomes were equally enticing to him.

Darth Prazutis

 

[Mercy]

Location: Fiviune
Allies: Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin
Opps: Anyone standing in her way, including Darth Nefaron , Helix , Lirka Ka
Others: Darth Strosius | Revna Marr | Lina Ovmar | Varin Mortifer

Break the siege, bring me Nefaron's head.

Quinn had been rather succinct, but she had a way of convincing Mercy to assist her, even when the mountain of a Sith didn't particularly care one way or another who would win. Let the Sith bleed each other. That was the way of the Dark Side. The strong would come out on top, the weak would perish, that was how it was meant to be.

But Quinn had a forward looking perspective. She cared about this Empire carved in the Outer Rim. And if one renegade Sith was allowed to dismantle a loyal Sith's base of power without asking for permission? Well, that would send the whole structure a-crumblin'.

So Mercy agreed.

Nefaron and Strosius were locked in a contest of ego and power. The battle raged around them and their allies were posturing. None of them probably expected what happened next.

A sudden surge in the Dark Side, leaking into the atmosphere and corrupting the surroundings even more than it already was. It was the only warning both sides got before Mercy dropped down and the sheer size of her collision with the ground caused a shockwave that would come towards them indiscriminately.

Quinn had only spoken about Nefaron, but here there was a whole gaggle of Sith and Mercy was hungry.

"Pick your opponent, Windrun." She said as she raised herself up, smiling warmly while glancing from one group to the other. "Which one of you is Nefaron? The ugly or the masked one? I don't care about anyone else. But dear Nefaron is getting his head torn off by me and anyone standing in my way is getting ripped apart too."

 

[Arris Windrun]

FIVIUNE
Allies: Mercy | Quinn Varanin
Opp: Lirka Ka | Helix | Darth Nefaron | Open
Others: Darth Strosius | Revna Marr | Lina Ovmar | Varin Mortifer

Mercy had a way of dragging Arris into all sorts of scandals these days, and now it seemed they were to meddle in Sith politics.

Still, it didn't take more than an ask for the cyborg to say yes. It was the kind of treatment she reserved for her and only one other ( Mauve du Vain ).

Arris dropped in after the Sith titan and rolled out of it when she hit the ground. It looked like the fighting was well underway, and the two of them would now be playing interference. With Nefarion already engaged - and now claimed by Mercy as well - that left Lirka and Helix as obvious foes. She had seen both at the Conclave, but knew little about them beyond that.

Decisions... decisions... decision anxiety.

Metal fingers curled around the grip of two holstered revolvers.

"Aww, gonna make me pick?" She teased her friend. "Okay."

The cybernetic fighter launched into action - the 'droid' would have been the prime pick, especially if this were a money match, the thematics were all there. However, it was Lirka Ka that Arris leapt towards. Her feet planted on the ground just a few odd meters away, and she offered her would-be opponent a small wave.

"Hey! I know this probably isn't what you wanted, but we're gonna fight, okay?"

Perhaps the cyborg was familiar to Lirka from pay-per-view or arena spectating. If not her, then maybe Allyson Locke's jacket that flapped against the wind would catch her notice (It has collected a few repair patches since Arris won it off her in the Kaggath). If not either, then new memories would be made to establish future association.

 

[Elane II of Kuat]

​

Sith-Imperial Tag Channel: Closed Since Single Post

The viewport of the Iron Lady provided an simple view of the Planet of Dorvalla, a world located near the edge of the Sith Order and distanced from the turmoil currently unfolding on Jutrand and beyond. Emperor Empyrean had been the foremost protector of the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan and had reassured her during their discussion that the other Dark Lords of the Sith would refrain from meddling in the Markets' affairs.

But now, those assurances seemed meaningless... with him absent. She was unaware of the Emperor's whereabouts but realized that a new administration was on the horizon, one that seemed more inclined to submit to others rather than demonstrate true leadership. The death stick burned between her fingers as she reflected on her standing within the Sith Order.

The SIBC lacked significant armies or fleets to support them, leaving them virtually powerless... The mere idea of being demoted to a simple Majordomo drove her to shatter a vase on the bridge's floor. "This is not like me... to become so agitated..." Elane's gaze shifted from her neatly pressed uniform to the ground, where the vase appeared to awaken, and indeed it did, as fiery crimson flames erupted around her.

A massive serpent opened its jaws wide, causing her to shrink back, her face transforming into one of terror. But just as swiftly as it appeared, it disappeared, her solitary eye widening to expose only the void of space. Such vivid imagery was better suited for the imagination, or maybe the effects of the death stick had finally taken their toll on her.

No, it was something much more dire; Dark Councilor Malum had also disappeared, his territories now under siege by rival Lords of the Sith. The stability of the Eleventh Empire could no longer be upheld and she would not wait for the rumored new Empress to take charge. She was Elane the II of the House of Kuat, rightful heir to its throne. Her hand, adorned with a white glove, touch the corner terminal beside her chair as she issued commands to the treasure fleets of the SIBC.

"Loyal Captains of the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan, for far too long, the Sith Lords have ridiculed the Bankers and Merchants who sustain the Order, disregarding our worries about their actions and the repercussions on the stability of the Emperor's realm. But now, there is no Emperor, and we owe no allegiance to any of the other Sith Lords." Her voice was hoarse as she spoke from her chair, coughing due to the toxins coursing through her system. Although potent, they paled in comparison to the Dark Side of the Force, whose oppressive decay weighed heavily on her body, bringing her to the brink of collapse.

"From this day onward, Operation Gilded Domain is officially in effect. I will no longer serve merely as the High Treasurer of the Clan. I will stand as an equal alongside the Order, and they will accord me the respect I am entitled to." Elane proclaimed, knowing she had nothing to lose. Her health was deteriorating, and it was only a matter of time before death would take her. Yet, before that moment arrived, she would assert herself as a Ruler in her own right, a power that could rival any Lord of the Sith, at least on paper.

A map soon appeared in front of her, displaying the extent of her new realm.....

The Exchequerate...​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Dark Lord walked among the flagstones, a black, acrid rain pounding down upon the cracked permacrete as the skies above were choked by the smog of House Marr's conflagration. Encircling His head like a broken aureola was Qabr'azm, the alchemical construct He'd forged as a personal companion and combat implement. It's dozens of razor-sharp shards orbited in a lazy, circular motion, each one warbling in a broken dialect that only it alone could comprehend.

Further back, fanning out in a semi-circle, were the Dark Valkyries; the winged warrior women that had pledged eternal service to their Undying Lord. Their large, feathered wings were compact against their lithe, yet muscular, forms, each sculpted physique encased in flexible armor plating designed more for dexterity and maneuverability than sheer defense. Each bore a different weapon in their clawed hands, and each had been honed mercilessly in their function. Some were already caked with fresh blood.

"It is a certainty," rumbled the Dark Lord, His brilliant eyes, shimmering like a jeweled diadem, swept down to look squarely at Darth Avida. "A false hope from a false savior." Some bodies yet littered the courtyard, cut down during the initial hammer blow. Most bore the garb of Marr household guards, but there were plenty who wore civilian clothes; servants, functionaries, those who had placed their faith and trust in the wrong person.

The indignity of death did not end there, for even as they lay wet and warm upon the cold, uneven ground, the wretched that slunk in the darkness of the Kainate's wake were already moving to deprive them of whatever value remained on their bodies. Trinkets, jewelry, credits, and anything that was worthwhile was stripped away. Even the bodies themselves, if they were not too damaged, were dragged away to be repurposed in Kainate laboratories. The rest would be used to antagonize the starved menagerie of beasts that the Dark Lord had brought with Him, kept tantalizing out of reach but well enough within sight and smell.

He wanted them truly ravenous.

"But it matters little. They were pieces in a game none knew was being played, as was their Lord. Now the board is wiped clear, only to reset again." This was said just as the palace doors were blown open, bright orange flames briefly illuminating the courtyard before darkness rushed back in to fill it's absence. The first strike teams would already be filing inside, preparing to sweep and clear the foyer and adjacent chambers. Deep orbital scans had given them a general idea of the palace's layout, but it could only penetrate so far into the earth.

Above, the Obsidian Vow continued it's silent vigil. As the first phases of the operation were being met, the next ones would begin implementation. The fight presence around the palace airspace would continue, but all pilots would receive a new order.

"Loosen the cordon, our Lord commands that an allotment of vessels be allowed to flee. The requisite quota has been relayed. Once met, tighten the cordon. Hunt the excess with restrictions relinquished."

Darth Prazutis | Darth Avida | Seela Leini
Darth Caedes | Quinn Varanin | Lysander von Ascania
Ansisa | Srina Talon | Eira Dyn
Jorryn Fordyce ​

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE II
ALLIES- Darth Nefaron Helix
ENEMIES- Arris Windrun Mercy Darth Strosius Varin Mortifer Lina Ovmar Revna Marr
DIRECT TAG- Arris Windrun Varin Mortifer

It was quickly becoming quite the show.

Good. Lirka enjoyed an audience. She ran the calculus in her head as Strosius and his minions presented themselves - a quaint cadre of champions to stand against the chaff and scuttling beasts Nefaron had brought for his grand display. Let them bring a hundred sycophants and champions; it'd matter little. The hammer blow had been struck - they could all brawl over the shattered pieces once the dust settled. For now? It was merely the holy matter of her continued survival that bothered Lirka.

Of course, as she prepared to brawl with the largest of these loyalists - Varin Mortifer . Lirka was interrupted by the sudden shockwave that had appeared within the room. Well. That certainly wasn't one of their bombs. More faces appeared into the fray. Hm. Bad odds. However, the Once-Sephi didn't mind diving headfirst into a challenge till it eventually became untenable. Thankfully, metal feet kept her firmly planted in the wake of Mercy's arrival - this day just got more exciting by the minute.

She had to almost take a moment to figure out which one was the ugly one - even with the obvious...exoticness...of Nefaron's preferred appearance. Though she gave this new-comer a quick gesture, a clawed finger right towards Darth Strosius . Would it work? Doubtful. But Lirka Ka did lie as easily as she breathed.

"That one. He's rather ugly under that mask too, mind."

It's not like their proposals had done much but fall upon deaf ears as of now - far from a surprising result, but to not at least offer these misguided souls a spot within this burgeoning family would have simply been rude. Though there was plenty of time to whisper the siren song of the Chain in the battles that would almost certainly follow this bout upon Fiviune. Looking at this newly gathered assembly, and the newest fighter to appear and size up Lirka's metal form. Two for each of them seemed a quaint enough prospect.

She cocked her head at Arris Windrun - a face unfamiliar to Lirka's calculations. Much like the large Tsis'Kaar warrior before her. Lirka viewed people through simple lenses, it came with so many years spent as a slaver. There were useful people, there were obstacles, and then there was the vast sea of irrelevancy. It was time to see where these two would fall in the trio.

"I have gotten all I desire already from this day, girl. Your sympathies are unneeded."

She looked between her and Varin. Yes. This would certainly be an exciting test if nothing else, the hilt of her Electro-Whip popped into her hand as she let the weapon flare to life with the crackle with the glowing yellow electricity of cruelty. Her stance steadied itself once again, unfamiliar faces needed to be assessed before she could explode into proper hyperviolence.

"Come then, you ingrates. Let us brawl in the ruins of assassins destroyed."

Maces and revolvers? Much more her style versus the endless obsession with Lightsabers the Sith seemed to have.

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin | OPEN //:
//: Attire //:
//: OBJECTIVE 1: Alvaria //:​

Darth Malum.

CT-312 had fought him once. Seen him use his power, wild and self-absorbed against an officer in plain uniform during the Kaggath tournament. The uninvited memory surfaced of their fight… molten air, the roar of Force, and flames. Her jaw tightened beneath the helmet. Unchecked power. A low breath slipped out. Tch, a small sound carrying the faintest hint of scorn. After that fight, CT-312 filed him away with every other Force-drunk warlord the galaxy kept birthing. Not caring much for the man or whatever this Tsis’Kaar thing was supposed to be.

Now the news of his disappearance had spread amongst the Sith. CT-312 could feel the weight of countless Force signatures pressed against her awareness. Heavy and suffocating. Too many strong presences twisting through the atmosphere. She didn’t need to sense the Force to feel it.

This was clearly a Sith matter. Internal bloodletting. “Better to stay out of the crossfire.” muttering to herself. A notification chimed. Eyes scanning the text displayed on her HUD.

<:Make sure the shuttles are protected as we get everyone on board. Some are headed to Eshan ( Everest Vale ) , and others are headed towards the Commonwealth border. :> Quinn nodded as she received confirmation.

<: I'll have to reach out to Counciler [ Taeli Raaf and Ivalyn Yvarro from the Commonwealth to see if they're open to housing refugees. :> Another nod, and Quinn closed the communication.

Orders were simple. CT-312’s gloved fingers hovered over her vambrace, typing a curt response.

[ Shuttles and area secured. ]

CT-312 perched herself on top of one of the shuttle’s hulls. A better vantage point. Her gaze could see the entire evac site. Below, two War-X stood as sentinels. Their hulking silhouettes outlined by the firelight. Hydraulic limbs hissed as they shifted to different positions, scanning for threats. Further out, a pack of Pred-X droids roamed across the grounds nearby. Their optics flickered in synchronized pulses of red and yellow, sweeping corners and checking heat signatures.

The Scout exhaled slowly as she reached for the side latches of her helmet. A soft click, then a faint hiss as the seal broke. Air rushed in, tasting of scorched metal. Hooking the helmet to her belt. CT-312 tugged her tan scarf higher across her nose. It had been a while... The quiet that followed felt alien. The disconnect. No HUD, no comm filters, no targeting prompts or assists.

Maybe she’d been relying on all that gear and technology too much lately…

A ping rang in her earpiece, cutting through the silence. Followed by BARCA's voice, clipped and synthetic.

[ BARCA ]
[ Unknown signature. ]
[ Two hundred meters northeast. Stationary. ]

Pivoting towards the direction, CT-312’s muscles didn’t tense. She simply repositioned herself, kneeling on the shuttle’s curved hull. Bringing up the LO-18D rifle in a smooth practiced motion. Through the scope, subtle movement between the trees. The Scout did a single long blink, activating her contact lenses infrared overlay. Heat bloomed. Confirming. A lone figure, their movement too slow and too unsure to be an ally.

CT-312’s breathing slowed. Steady in. Steady out. Waiting. The figure moved out of the cover. Crosshairs found the target’s chest. Bang. A singular shot cracked across the surrounding area. The body jerked once before dropping on the ground. A brief pause before lowering the rifle. Target down. Another long blink— turning off the infrared.

She let out a faint hum that could’ve been amusement. “Still got it.” CT-312 murmured. There was no harm in staying sharp the old-fashioned way once in a while. Adjusting her scarf again, CT-312 turned her gaze back towards the chaos. Her helmet swung lightly against her thigh.

Let them tear each other apart. There was still work for her to do.

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Objective: 2 Fiviune
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Darth Nefaron / Lirka Ka / Revna Marr / Helix / Lina Ovmar / Varin Mortifer / Mercy / Arris Windrun
--------------------------------------------

A low growl mixed with a half-muttered curse escaped the masked man as the droid general seemed to materialize out of thin air next to the other two malcontents, His grip on His weapons tightening at the clashing landing that Helix made. "Oh spare me the indignation droid, your betrayal is your mistake not my consequence." Darth Strosius gestured dismissively with the tip of His sword. Truthfully He wasn't quite certain how best to handle a foe like Helix, certainly not as he was now.

But of course that wouldn't give Him too much pause, trial and error were some of His specialties. "And you didn't even bother making the best mistake you could have! If you were going to join the decay of the Sith Order, you should have done so with Raaf on Tund. At least then you might have stood a chance, but with these two? Well," A mirthless, venomous chuckle left Him. "My Wonosa is going to adore reverse engineering your remains. Allow me to thank you for your future contribution to the liberation of the galaxy, Helix. A shame that you could only do so post mortem."

While flesh and blood foes may have been His preferred prey and opposition, He'd find a way to break the droid general all the same. The masked man's musings of potential combat were so rudely interrupted by the most vile of the three, with Him fixing the Imperator with what must have been a withering stare from behind His visor. "Young Varin, the only thing we need intact is her head to mail back to the Malsheem after today. Do what you will with the rest, but I'd recommend cutting out the tongue first."

Lady Ovmar's arrival drew a smirk from beneath His mask but any sly comment was ruined by the scowl that crept onto His hidden features when Nefaron responded to His derision in kind. "Oh look how the coward commands others to fight for him! To call me a 'failure' and hide behind your lessers all the while, you wretch!" As the Corpse Legion spilled forward to do their master's bidding, the Lord of Wonosa wasted no time in engaging them. He leapt off the table and into a strike at the one foolish enough to be in front, violet lightning crackling across the blade of His sword whilst His lightsaber sought to cleave all between Him and the three miscreants into pieces.

"You hide just as they all do! Carnifex, Empyrean, Raaf, Ophidia, you call yourself new but you do just the same as them! And you're going to die screaming just like them!" Before Darth Strosius could make good on His threats or take any more steps into the melee setting off within the chamber, something else arrived. A shockwave pushed Him back to the table and pushed aside the forces about to try and carve into Him, no doubt to little success, and in its wake stood a strange pair indeed.

The bold question and even more bold assertion that they would be the ones to dispatch of Nefaron drew a frustrated hiss from the masked man. "And, pray tell, who the feth do you think you are? This isn't your battle to intervene in, stand aside and you can have a piece of whatever's left." He wasn't sure what to make of these interlopers but it mattered little, heads would roll either way. "But I'd caution you to stay out of our way." He raised His sword, the blade still arcing with violet streaks and loosed a bolt from its edge towards the three deviants, heedless of any of their minions or the two interlopers being in the path of it.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin eyed the armored individual head to toe. Looking for any weak points. Sturdy armor adorned with blades, certainly makes for a tough foe. This did not discourage him, he took it as a challenge. That was when he heard his orders from Lord Strosius, confirmation to do as he pleased, just keep her head intact. To him it was confirmation to let go. A smirk pulled his lips and he spoke quietly.

“As you wish Lord Strosius.”

That was when he felt it. Almost like the weight of the room had dropped in on itself, causing everything to shake. Varin almost lost his footing, his gaze shot towards where it came from. Mercy, his second run in with this being, this thing. She wasn’t the target, this time. His eyes darted to another individual that followed shortly after. He growled to himself as his back began to spew flame.

“Get out of my way, that thing is mine!”

Quickly he darted forth towards the armored individual pushing past the new stranger. As long as she didn’t get in the way he had no quarrel with her. But that could easily change in a moment's notice.

The runes carved in his flesh began to spread once again, spreading the scent of burnt skin. He let out a loud roar as he slung his heavy mace crumpling a corpse legionnaire in front of him. Passing over him like he was nothing, another insignificant tile in the floor. More began to take formation in the room with sharpened blades. Varin suffered a few minor cuts, but the heat of his body began to cauterize and heal the wounds, casting them like ash into the wind. Still he fought through them until he finally drew closer to Lirka. His fury not looking to slow down, with a loud yell he drew his heavy mace up high making a wide downward arc towards Lirka’s shoulder, all the while keeping his saber up as a means of defense.

He wanted his enemy broken, shattered. Driven to the ground in pieces. All the more to make it easier to take their head keeping it as pristine as possible.

Allies: Revna Marr Lina Ovmar Darth Strosius
Enemies: Lirka Ka Helix Darth Nefaron
Other: Mercy Arris Windrun​

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

The Imperial Commonwealth of Dosuun, still officially a vassal within the Sith Order, had recently concluded **Operation Rubicon a swift and calculated annexation campaign. The operation secured Takodana, Halm, Cerea, and Riflor, bringing them under Commonwealth oversight. These acquisitions reinforced the eastern lines of Sith control, a necessity, given the unraveling situation in the Core.

Aboard the DCV Margrave, Ivalyn Yvarro's personal vessel, a sleek Frontrunner-class diplomatic corvette — the ship cut silently through the starless gulf between the newly integrated systems.

Trailing a few steps behind her, Tessara Elorov, her ever-diligent assistant, moved at pace. "Grand Vizier," Tessara began, scrolling through her datapad, "we've just received a communiqué from Her Ladyship, Quinn Varanin. She's requesting that the Commonwealth accept incoming refugees."

Ivalyn didn't stop walking, but her attention shifted. Her eyes flicked away from the tax reform brief she had been reviewing on her own datapad. "Refugees?" she echoed, one finely sculpted brow arching. "From where?"

"Alvaria, initially," Tessara said, "there's been a direct assault."

"Alvaria?" Ivalyn stopped now, turning fully to face her aide. "That's Lord Marr's seat of power, is it not?"

"Yes, Grand Vizier. Or," Tess hesitated. "It was. He's reportedly gone. Killed or… vanished. His territories are collapsing."

Ivalyn drew in a long, slow breath, chewing the inside of her cheek as she considered the implications. "So we are to receive exiles from what was once a stable Sith world?" Her tone held a thread of disbelief, though not mockery, merely calculation.

"It seems so," Tessara replied. "The attacks were coordinated. Rival Lords. The population's fleeing. Civilian casualties are already rising."

A pause.

Then: "Very well. Dictation," Ivalyn instructed, her voice clipped and precise.

"To Her Ladyship, Quinn Varanin
The Commonwealth acknowledges the situation unfolding in the former domains of Lord Marr. Refugees from these territories shall be received and processed in designated intake centers on Cerea, Halm, and Riflor.

They will join those displaced from the Core and other crisis zones. The Commonwealth will provide transitional care, with long-term resettlement facilitated either within the Commonwealth or, as appropriate, reassigned under Sith jurisdiction.

The matter may be discussed in finer detail between our offices at a later time."

"End dictation."

Ivalyn lowered her datapad and gave a nod of finality.

"Tess," she added after a beat, her tone softening just slightly, "send a priority memo to the Divan. They'll need to be fully briefed. I'll inform Her Worship, the High Basileus, myself."

Tessara gave a crisp nod and turned on her heel.

Ivalyn remained still for a moment, watching the stars wheel silently past the viewport, the hollow black between dominions once lost, and those now claimed.

 

[Arris Windrun]

OBJECTIVE TWO
Allies: Mercy | Quinn Varanin
Target: Lirka Ka | Varin Mortifer (collateral)
Others: Darth Strosius | Helix | Revna Marr | Lina Ovmar | Darth Nefaron

"I have gotten all I desire already from this day, girl. Your sympathies are unneeded."

Arris shrugged; that was fine by her.

That was right about when the eager young Sith rushed their mutual opponent. Unlike Lirka, Arris hadn't seen Varin before, but it was obvious from the 'as you wish' which side of the sand he stood.

“Get out of my way, that thing is mine!”

Earned a snort. "Okay, fire boy."

The cyborg drew one of her revolvers from its holster and spun the cylinder. As usual, this one was loaded with her favorite shell - Krayt's Breath. An anti-ship munition repurposed to fit a hand cannon.

She watched as the mace wielder struck down a straggling enemy that proved to be little more than an obstacle, and quickly took care of the rest on his way to Lirka. Kid certainly had the brute violence down; she'd give him that.

However, now wasn't the time to sit and watch. The cyborg broke into a full sprint, darting between the falling corpses left in the apprentice's wake. She intended to capitalize on being the third wheel and slid out of their periphery as soon as Varin went in for the strike. Her revolver remained at her hip, however, as she relied on her co-processor for target acquisition.

The end of the barrel roared, firing globules of superheated and very sticky gel designed to cook armored foes alive. It, of course, was remarkably dangerous against flesh as well. The scatterblast of burning gel was aimed indiscriminately at the pair of them. Nothing personal, but she wasn't about to get picky about targets amongst Sith strangers.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Ansisa //: CT-312 //: Jorryn Fordyce //: Lysander von Ascania //: Srina Talon //: Darth Carnifex //: Darth Prazutis //: Ivalyn Yvarro //:
//: Objective 1 //:
//: Alvaria //:

Quinn paused and looked at the newest edition of her inner circle. It was something she needed to build, those around her who were strong and trustworthy. Far too often, she was left without someone or something to have or guard her back. No more. Quinn had learned through trial and error which people she needed to keep around her. One of those that she kept the closest was off taking care of other matters. Quinn shut her eyes tightly, feeling the connection between them and hoping that Mercy took care of herself. She wanted the woman to make it back to her in one piece preferably and victorious.

She listened to the woman, her eyes glancing between the weapon and her face. "You're right," the Princess answered the handmaiden. "Permission granted, make sure the three VIPs… Malum's children and his…" Quinn didn't know how to acknowledge the apprentice who had become the mother of his children. "...girlfriend is secured first above all else."

That was the reason she was here. If the tables were turned, Quinn would hope that Malum would have done the same for her. She brushed her hair from her face and forced a smile. "Take care of things, Jorryn, I'm counting on you." She moved from the woman, leaving her to her mission at hand. Several other reports began to arrive, and the Princess flicked through the device in her hand, trying to sort things as quickly as possible.

She should have known the Sith were going to swarm the planet the moment a councilor had disappeared. First Father, and now Malum, both leaving, both without a word — at least from her knowledge, Mama knew Father's whereabouts. A sigh as the young Echani once more found herself jealous of her adoptive parents' relationship. Hopefully, one day, she would find something similar, something that she felt like she didn't need to hide and could cherish in the open.

Now wasn't the time for wistful thinking. Quinn continued to move; she wasn't far from their intended meeting point. She was nervous, which didn't make sense to her. They were just children, but children who had been kept a secret for most of the time Quinn had known him. Still, this was no place for children, and they didn't need to know their father's crimes or whatever people had against him.

A message, one that she had been waiting for, took her attention from the children. She looked and saw the message from the Commonwealth. A wave of relief came over her as she read the message a few times. She owed them. Ivalyn had come through for the Princess, and she would remember this in the future.

She was in the middle of what felt like a war zone, but she quickly sent a reply acknowledging the dictation.

<: Thank you, we will discuss further soon, Grand Vizier. :>

More information was poured into the comm-way between Quinn and CT-312. She was now informed that the Commonwealth was entering the sector, and to ensure that their allies would be aware that this was intended, it would be used to transport refugees and civilians.
Now her real mission would start.

A hidden path that leads to a secret room where the two women would meet. Quinn would wait with her hands behind her back. This woman had met her only once, and in her embarrassment, she had assumed the woman was a waiter that Malum had sent for her own services. The thought made the young Echani cringe slightly; she hoped Ansisa didn't remember this encounter.

When the woman appeared, Quinn would bow her head slightly, offering her condolences. She wanted to ask her if she knew anything — if, like Empyrean and Srina, she would know Malum's whereabouts.

At the end of it all, Quinn just wanted to know the man was alright and that she wouldn't be needing to mourn another friend.

"Tell me what you need from me…"

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective I // Alvaria // Hold the Line //
// Focus // // Quinn Varanin // Ansisa // Darth Carnifex // Darth Avida //

---

---

A soft bow was offered to the Princess of Eshan, acknowledging the mission given and accepting its possible consequences. As Quinn's forced smile said it's goodbye, the Echani returned one more at ease. An attempt to comfort the girl before she departed. House Marr would be secured by the Princess, even if Jorryn had to be the bulwark that the other Sith would crash against.

"You as well, Princess, the children are counting on you." The words were soft, uncharacteristic for the woman they came from. "House Marr will live, I shall ensure it."

And so she would depart, returning to the stairs they had just departed. Robes delicately draped over every step as the waves of artillery crashed against the walls, a loud shattering nearby signifying the enemy had breached the gates. She was still unsure who would be coming to claim the treasures of Malum, but it did not matter.

If Quinn commanded her to hold the line, then she would.

The expertise of the enemy forces wasn't underestimated by the Echani. They would come with strategy and equipment enough to deal with a simple Sith on her own, but the terrain favoured small numbers. Long hallways that stretched on and barely carried four abreast. A hand would reach out and snuff the light of the lanterns that illuminated the manor's halls.

Darkness would be her weapon, even if the enemy carried their night vision goggles she could simply reignited the bulbs to blind her enemies.

Noise came from further down the hall, tactical units staying as silent as they could, but the new blood that raced through the former Lord Inquisitor's veins heightened her senses.

She could feel it all; their footsteps, the commands whispered silently in their ears, the blood rushing through their veins.

It was a calm rushing, the expertise of men and women used to extermination. Those they killed were less trained, a quickening of their streams before they were ultimately silenced.

A waste, She thought, though not for the same reasons as her charge.

Dying for these innocents held little appeal for the Echani, so she stayed in her placement as they died. Her mission was simple; to keep the survivors of House Marr from harm. The location was identified by Quinn, a limited amount of halls allowing passage to the hidden depths of Malum's domain.

So the Echani would wait for those coming to slaughter children, blade in her hand as she calms awaited her enemies.

They would come, eventually, not rushing in as they noted the darkness of the halls in front of them. It was their blood that gave them away, calming as they stood on the edges of the halls. Night goggles would fall upon their eyes, allowing them to peer into the depths of the mansion. There they would see a woman alone, standing too still to be another servant of House Marr.

A call would be made to command, then an answer.

Push On.

They would make their move; two rushing the halls as a third covered them, laying down a blanket of blaster fire to the unknown figure stood against them.

In response, the woman raised only a lithe hand to answer. The hilt of her blade still lit a maroon hue as she casually deflected the trained bolts to the side of the hallway, not wasting much effort as her other hand seized the foremost trooper. It wasn't a choke as could traditionally be called, instead of his throat it was the man's blood that had been seized.

A swelling in his carotid told him that he was finished; praying that his fellows could finish the fight before he expired. They wouldn't be able to as the clot was forced upwards to the man's brain; a thrombotic stroke rendering him unable to continue the fight. The hand fell away with a sureness of death, an excitement filling her chest as she could feel the blood trailing from the soldier's eyes.

Two remained, and they would be the first to witness the speed of Jorryn's new flesh; tattoos illuminating as her blood quickened and pushed the woman forward. The hallway was long, but the distance closed faster than the remaining soldiers hoped. The closer of the two fired from the hip, hoping a stray shot would lay the woman low.

It did not.

A returned bolt would stun the Arkanian trooper long enough for the distance to finish; a maroon hue bathing a toothy grin as the Echani cut the woman from shoulder to rib. The final trooper witnessed his fellow die, calling the decimation in before attempting to regroup with those behind him. Their strength against the Sith was in numbers, and together they would be able to kill her.

The idea was smart, but unfulfilled as he was pulled against his will into a wooden wall, portraits falling as he crashed.

A blade met his chest before the gun could raise, thrown by the former Lord Inquisitor as she watched him slump lifelessly to the floor. It was slowly retracted back to her hand, dimming as she retracted the blade. The bulwark would wait more enemies trying to claim the last of House Marr, wondering in the back of her mind if and when their Lord would arrive.

Jorryn silently wondered just who her first real opponent in this new body would be, a curiosity how far her new abilities could carry her.

 

[Ansisa]

Objective 1
Direct tags: Quinn Varanin Lysander von Ascania Srina Talon
Others: Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Darth Avida Kasir Dorran CT-312

Ansisa looked up as Lysander approached, she didn't know him. Her detachment from everyone bar Malum and her children allowed her to be objective where he could not be. It was what had made her effective as his second in command. Minimal attachments meant there was never a conflict of interest. Lysander's words were meant to be kind, they were meant to fill her with hope. She was meant to respond with soft words, but none came.

“A wonderful sentiment, but utterly useless unless you have an army.” She kept moving, he would come or he wouldn't, it was up to him. “I need to get the children off world before the Kainites breach-” she stopped short as a shiver ran through the force, a ripple of dark energy that made the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. And in its wake? Fear.

“Chit.”

Ansisa quickened their pace as the screams reached them, as the Shikkari began their cull. She ducked into a passageway, ushering the children ahead of her as they slipped into the room where Quinn was waiting. Ansisa remembered their first meeting perfectly well and had this been any other time, there might have been sarcastic comments to hand to greet the Princess with. Maybe an offer of a drink? But here and now, Ansisa only had one thing on her mind. She didn’t have time for social convention.

"Tell me what you need from me…"

“I need you to take them off world. I need to-”

“No Mama!” Caelia began to cry, her brother quite as ever simply tightened his grip tightening on her hand. “Don’t fight him, Mama. Please. We need you. Don’t leave like Papa.”

Her words were like an ice cold punch to Ansisa’s gut driven home by the way she was reaching in the force, her cries echoing in the room and beyond it, stretching out like a plea for help. It would draw the attention of the assassins.

“Caelia.” she breathed, lowering herself to her level. This was the only time she was ever soft, the only time the edges of her that were honed for death melted away. “Listen to me. If I leave with you all of these people will die. They will spare no one. I have to fight, not just to save them, but to save our home.” She brushed hair from the girls face as large tears spilled over her cheeks.

“You’ll die.” she sobbed. “You’ll leave us.”

“Never.” She reached for Aureus, and pulled them both into an embrace. “Ch'ah cart seo bah vah.” She drew them back, linking their hands together. “Stay together. Look out for each other and do as you are told. I will come find you when this is done.”

“It's okay, Mama.” Aureus said quietly. “I’ll look after her.”

Ansisa felt the lump in her throat and swallowed against it as he pulled his sister into a tight hug, whispering in her ear. The chiss straightened, her gaze locking onto Quinn’s.

“Malum was fond of you, he trusted you. Tell me they will be safe with you.”

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Objective 1: Fivinue
ALLIED TAGS: Helix Lirka Ka , OPEN
OPPOSITION TAGS: Darth Strosius , Revna Marr Varin Mortifer , Lina Ovmar , Mercy , Arris Windrun


The end of the Tsis'Kaar seemed to bring so many together.

Good. They could all die together, too.
​

While the Terror Lord's focus was on the end of Darth Strosius and his foolish servants, he was not so silly as to believe these new arrivals did not pose a threat. These mercenaries, for lack of a better term, were an unwelcome intrusion upon a scheme long in the making, and Nefaron would not have his glory snatched away by these children. This, of course, brought forth questions of allegiance, for if they did not serve Strosius and they certainly did not bow to Carnifex, then who held their leash? It appeared Nefaron's purge would have to cast a wider net in the future, but for the time being, they were but another blade in an already cramped arena.

"Oh, Darth Strosius, you really must learn some manners."

Despite his appearance and advanced age, Darth Nefaron relied on the Dark Side to grant him a truly terrifying gift in a duel.

Speed. He moved like a flash of lightning. ​

He certainly could not take a hit, but if he had his way, he would never receive one. He fought with crazed joy, a crimson lightsaber swung in a flash as he struck out at Darth Strosius in a quick slash, though it was but an opening move in a duel long in the making. If he was to hold his ground against so many foes, he would have to wield confusion as a weapon, and so he made sure to make his strikes crazed, as though he were a drunkard sloppily swinging in some back alley brawl. Yet his next blow was not against his rival for the corpse of the Tsis'Kaar, but instead a strike at the new arrival, the servant of one who had not yet revealed themselves in this little contest.

From the carnage of battle that erupted between Nefaron's forces and Strosius's loyalists, the Corpse Lord broke through a crush of bodies to slash upward at the brute of a woman, though this was but a test of her senses, a gauge of just how far Nefaron needed to go to break her guard.

"So, you come for my head, is that it? You don't serve Strosius, nor the Kainite vultures who peck at my prize. Who might go so far as to send a Sith to claim my life?"

Nefaron, of course, was musing to himself at this point as he glided backward as if floating above the ground, sinking back into the battling crowd.

"Unfortunately, I don't have the time to engulf you in your greatest fears, so I will allow my servants to feast on your flesh as a reward for coming all this way."

As Darth Strosisus so rudely pointed out, Nefaron did indeed plant himself behind his servants and allow them to engage his foe before they ever neared the Dark Lord, but this was no act of cowardice. What the High Prophet failed to understand was that the concept of honor was foreign to a true Sith who would use every tool in his arsenal to achieve victory. If he needed to sacrifice the entirety of his Corpse Legion to triumph, then so be it. Speaking of said Legion, several battle-hungry creatures clad in terrible armor now filled the void where Darth Nefaron once stood, cruel blades ready to taste the blood of their Master's foes.

Now that the new arrivals were being kept busy, Nefaron returned to his true target, the final claimant to the Tsis'Kaar throne.

"Carnifex, Empyrean, Raaf, Ophidia, my old friend, it appears you think yourself better than those who forged the Empire into what it is. I would encourage your rage if not for the fact you've failed to destroy a single one of them on your own."

The Corpse Lord returned to the fray, though this time a blast of purple lightning struck out at Strosius before the Corpse Lord could appear again with his lightsaber in hand, striking at the master of the Wonosa with terrible fury, all the while the Terror Lord bore a smile on his ruined face. Now that they were free of spectators for a moment, Nefaron and Strosius could speak without need of theatrics.

"Come now, Strosius. Don't tell me Ophidia perished at your blade alone. Without Malum, you would be a footnote in our history, and deep down, you know it. Or do you mean to tell me your survival and appearance at Malum's beck and call was part of some grand design?"

Breaking from the clash of blades, Nefaron ripped up chunks of tiles from the floor and sent them toward the High Prophet in a barrage of ceramic and durasteel. Oh, how Nefaron enjoyed these theatrics, especially if he could continue to lure Strosius into a deeper rage.

"You call me a coward. Very well, there is no shame in it. But let us look at your deeds and name you for what you are."

Nefaron's dead eyes, the final deception, turned now to the terrible pale orange of a Sith Lord who was fully prepared to embrace the power of the Dark Side.

"A failure. A slave."​

 

[Helix]

Objective II
Equipment: Himself
Tags: Darth Nefaron / Lirka Ka / Darth Strosius / Revna Marr / Varin Mortifer / Lina Ovmar / Mercy / Arris Windrun​

Helix's feet dug into the floor, resisting the impact of the shockwave. It would take far more than that to shake the metal giant from his position, but he did note that the numbers were slowly turning against them.

"Appears your views are unpopular." He noted, dispersing and reforming closer to the Corpse Lord. Both arms formed into slender piercing blades, followed by another pair of limbs emerging just below the others. He clashed his own blade-limbs together in a taunting gesture, kicking up a shower of sparks as their edges met.

"That's how you know they have merit."

Helix couldn't quite restrain an unpleasant giggle at the words of his one-time ally. "Look around you, dear Strosius. This empire fell a long time ago. We're worms tunnelling through the flesh of a corpse, each seeing who can get the greatest bounty of carrion before the carcass dissolves entirely. I just decided I wanted my cut." The colony made a show of shrugging. "It's hardly my fault you don't agree."

"No, I don't think you'll kill me today. You couldn't kill Malum, and unlike him, I will not exercise mercy, nor will I attempt to educate your quirks away like Raaf."

Helix registered a vague blur of motion past him, a few frames of broken movement that told him he'd been right to dismiss the ghoul's apparent decrepitude as a ruse. Everything was a ruse with the Sith.

Left suddenly to his own devices, Helix fell back into the rear of the erupting melee, sending out a silent signal. "They're here. Close the loop."

A door behind him exploded inwards, disgorging a dozen spindly, vaguely deformed-looking droids. Some rolled around on the floor to better positions, some scuttled across the walls and ceilings to attack from unusual angles.

Helix heartily shared Nefaron's disdain for a fair scrap. At the end of the day, victory was all that mattered. Results were all that mattered. That ethos had kept him alive through far worse than this.

Their target parameters were set to... well, anything besides the members of the fledgling Dzara. He had expected interference, but not quite this much of it.

The colony was not quite as optimistic about their chances of victory as the other two seemed to be. He was very old, and experienced enough to know that numbers counted for much in a victory.

Still, their adversaries seemed... divided. A third-party hit squad, perhaps? No matter. A loose end was a loose end, and the assault crawlers would target them all the same.

In the meantime, Helix would see about alerting their evac. Hope for the best, plan for the worst, after all.

 

[Lirka Ka]

With the eruption of violence, Lirka was home again. This was her element, so many hateful faces ready to rip each other apart - all accented by the endless swirl of belief. And Lirka did most certainly style herself a theologian. And with theology came analysis - she had much to analyze today.

Her slit lenses locked onto Varin Mortifer as the fiery Sithling broke into her charge. She adjusted her footing some, bracing herself for whatever the boy was to throw at her. For her hefty form, Lirka was a deceivingly nimble creature. The powersuit that hummed around her was built to live like a second skin, almost breathing in the whirring shift of its many mechanisms. Casually as his loping swing came down for her shoulder plate, Lirka sidestepped.

And she spoke in that tone that seemed to be almost a scolding mother.

"What sort of thing are you, hm? An inferno? A raging flame? An untethered thing. Your flame will simmer one day boy...and what then?"

Lirka was a dirty fighter. Not an unexpectable trait from a beast born in gladiatorial pits, nor from a force dead beast that had lived among Sith for so long. With his saber high in defense, she went low. A loud scream of servos as one of her metal tree-trunk like legs shot out to slam into Varin's leg - she wanted to see just how much dear Strosius's minion could take.

Lirka was gifted the chance to feel heat once more as the barrage from Arris Windrun made contact - it was not an unfamiliar feeling to simmer and burn. Already she could feel her armored plating begin to glow with heat, the undersuit beneath slowly melting. With it came pain, agony, the sort of thing that would make lesser men collapse and give in to the Primordial Darkness there and then. Of course, she was not like lesser men.

And unlike her fellows here - she knew that the meat of her body could always be grafted back on.

The electro-whip crackled now, sizzling with energy before lashing out at Windrun - this newcomer had a definitive range advantage, but nothing a good jolt couldn't help fix. She hadn't gleamed enough from the cyborg to comment yet - but she'd get her own analysis in due time.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

"What sort of thing are you, hm? An inferno? A raging flame? An untethered thing. Your flame will simmer one day boy...and what then?"

The mace impacted heavily on the floor, shattering tile and warping metal. He felt the impacts of the gel hit his arm and begin to sizzle through his sleeve and onto his skin. A snarl left his mouth as the pain set in. A heavy impact then collided with his leg causing him to lose footing as a loud pop reverberated from the joint. Varin let out a growl as the pain set in.

Let go boy……Show them what it is you hold.

Varin looked down at his sleeve as his flesh began to burn his breathing became harsher as his vision began to tunnel. A red tint began to cover all color around him in his vision. His back erupted in flame as he growled loudly and slowly his gaze met Lirkas as he slowly ran his tongue over the gel that coated part of his arm. The flesh slowly started to rebuild itself as the hot tang of chemicals began to coat his mouth. He let out a sharp exhale as smoke escaped his nostrils. As he manually popped his leg back into place.

“Shut up and fight.”

Quickly he lifted his hand and a stream of flame shot forth towards Lirka all the while engulfing some of the legionnaires near her. Faster his heart began to beat as bit by bit he began to let go. To give in to the entity so longing to be let out.

As he released the torrent of flame his eyes shot back to Arris as he shouted at her.

"Hit me with one of those again and you are next!"

Allies: Darth Strosius Revna Marr Lina Ovmar

Enemies: Darth Nefaron Lirka Ka Helix

Other: Mercy

Questionable: Arris Windrun​

 

[Darth Avida]

Objective I: Alvaria

There was an inkling of something close to pity that welled up in her chest, somewhere tucked in deep between her lungs, but quite remarkably she got over whatever it was she felt for these dying people just as quickly as it had started to fester there. 'At least they knew happiness.' She thought, a justification enough for the cruelty this planet would suffer. It wasn't as if they were totally innocent, she'd tell herself, these were people who supported and benefited from the same murderous people that were turning their red gaze towards them now - this was what they all would earn, in the end, wasn't it? Death?

"True enough." She said as she felt herself suddenly taken with the morbid thought that, eventually, she'd find herself in the same predicament as these people now - no doubt with someone just as young as her, perhaps younger still, just as conflicted with murdering her as she had been with killing the people of Alvaria now. Perhaps she'd feel resigned to her fate, waiting for her butcher with as much the dignity as a prized pig, and with that vision of herself in mind she supposed at least some of the people that would day today were likely less helpless and afraid as she initially gave them credit. There were more orders given, then, and things were a blur for a time: fighters weaved in and out, a gap was given, some fled while others stayed or straggled too long to escape - then, bloodshed.

Her hand meandered down and found its fingers wrapped gently around her lightsaber, as if pacifying the blade itself with a promise of its eventual use.

"Do you think, cousin, that if my father sees me unrestrained he'll see his daughter - or an animal?" Amara asked, turning her head briefly to gaze up towards him like a child asking for a guardian's permission. He was more of a blunt instrument, she supposed, and she doubted he'd understand much more than her request for reassurance, but it felt easier to present someone else with the trigger rather than to pull it on her own. "Which would rather have here, with you, I wonder - Amara or the thing that destroyed her sister." Her gaze was fixed forward at that, her eyes staring off into a scene that was far removed from what was actually in front of them, and with a flick of her wrist the lightsaber at her thigh came unclipped and ignited with a snap-hiss.

"I'd rather like to find out which of those I am, personally."

Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Quinn Varanin Jorryn Fordyce Ansisa Lysander von Ascania

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The flames bent toward him before He was even visible. Stone sweated, torches guttered, and the wind itself recoiled as though the atmosphere were remembering who owned it. The weight felt in the dark was no illusion, it was the world's own heartbeat being replaced by another. From the far end of the unfolding ruins of the estate, as the assault continued came a sound that was not footsteps but pressure, the air collapsing with each slow advance. Before Him the conflict between the Tsis'Kaar and the Kainate came to a frightening conclusion. In His wake the gates blew off the fortress to the estates walls, while the Shikkari swarmed its defenders like tendrils of the dark. When at last the black silhouette emerged from the smoke, the firelight bled away rather than touch it. Qâzjiin'vraal drank the color from the inferno; its crimson veins pulsed like arteries carrying molten hate. Xûl-Karzaan breathed in layers, each exhalation a chorus of whispers that didn't belong to one throat alone, it was a chorus singing into the open air. The Dark Lord stopped in the open plaza, the estate rising behind him as His gaze fell heavy upon the figure before Him. After a pregnant pause He finally spoke.

"You wear the hunger well." Prazutis said, his voice low and immense, reverberating in the bones more than the ears. "But hunger without purpose is just another corpse waiting to be claimed." He stepped closer, and the space between them shrank like a wound closing. The shadows around them elongated, stretching toward the Dark Lord as if eager to be reclaimed by their maker. Sparks froze in midair. The dying fires dimmed to embers, reflecting only in the black mirror of the armor.

"Tell me, Sangnir, did Darth Strosius send you to kill me, or to witness what becomes of those who cross mine own?" The words were almost gentle, yet they carried the gravity of a collapsing sun. Every syllable seemed to drag the oxygen from the world around them. The air thickened with static and the scent of ozone; somewhere distant, the Shikkari were still chanting, their litany rippling through the air like a heartbeat echoing through eternity.

Name to ash. Breath to silence. Debt to flesh.

Beyond them, the Reaping had begun in earnest. The Shikkari were not here for battles of attrition or cities left in ruin. They were here for slaughter, for the kind of killing that left nothing but bones and shadows behind, a totality of death that left naught but silence and ash behind. They tore through the Tsis'Kaar like blades through silk, slipping between guards, commanders, and more as though their very blood fed the storm. None were spared from the fervent followers, to sympathizers. All with leanings towards the falling organization found themselves targets.

Blades cut in perfect, ruthless harmony. Their weapons passed through flesh without hesitation, carving, slashing, and puncturing vital points with a calm efficiency. Tsis'Kaar sentinels screamed as their bodies fell in perfect synchronization, yet their deaths were drowned by the hum of the Embalmers behind them, silent figures in flowing black who moved among the dead, anointing their remains with black oils and wrapping them in cloth, weaving curses and sealing souls.

Wherever the Shikkari passed, their victims were forgotten. Corpses with no name. No future. Just ash and bone left behind. The sacred act of death was their only language, their only devotion. And the planet's heartbeat now pulsed to their rhythm, condemning all to their design. The Reaping was a choir, each stroke of the blade a note, each victim an offering to the Dark Lord's will.

In Averdon, traders were gutted while their wares burned. In Rex Portum, magicians were caught mid-spell and had their tongues torn out before their hearts could even reach their throats. In Altum Hortus, armed warriors who had survived battles only to die under the Reaping's kiss were left to hang, their blood draining into the earth as the Shikkari vanished into the shadows once more.

All the while, the Shadow Hand watched it unfold. His very presence drowned out the sound of screams, as if the shadows He cast absorbed them before they could reach the air. He raised His gauntlet. The very atmosphere twisted beneath His hand as the Godflame ripped from His palm, a cascade of scarlet lightning that roared across the room, illuminating the ruin with an infernal glow.

The crackling storm split the space between them as Kasir stood before Him. The lightning arced directly toward him, a whip of molten energy designed to melt steel and bone alike. But this was no torturous tool of a mere Sith Lord. The Godflame was not merely lightning. It was devouring. A torrent of energy that cracked the very air, tearing through matter as though it were paper. The crimson arcs lanced out, scouring everything in their path. The air exploded with the smell of burnt flesh, smothering ozone, and blood as the lightning shattered the space around them. Its force was so profound it turned the ground beneath it to glass, carving a ravine in the blackened earth between the giant and the sangnir.

Those struck were not merely shocked; they were shattered, their souls laid bare, their consciousness pulled apart by visions of suffering so pure that their bodies caught fire with agony. Destruction so deep even hardened Beskar, shielded against electricity's kiss gave way to its fury. All the while the Dark Lord bellowed his order to the Kainate forces, voice carrying across every consciousness among their number.

"No mercy. No quarter."

Kasir Dorran | Darth Carnifex | Darth Avida | Seela Leini | Darth Caedes | Quinn Varanin | Lysander von Ascania | Ansisa | Srina Talon | Eira Dyn | Jorryn Fordyce​