Faction Blood for Blood | SO

[Arris Windrun]

Allies: Mercy | Quinn Varanin
Target: Lirka Ka
Involved: Varin Mortifer
Others: Darth Nefaron | Darth Strosius | Helix | Revna Marr | Lina Ovmar

An electro whip... Was a weapon Arris knew not the existence of until this very moment. Sure, she saw it ignite a moment earlier, but her mind never processed what it could do, so when Lirka raised it to attack the cyborg surely thought the flaming Sith was her target. So when the weapon instead flew towards her like a serpent's tongue, Arris had very little time to react.

Her first instinct was to leap back, but even then she underestimated the whip's reach. The very tip managed to lick her wrist, just as she threw an arm up instinctively to stop it, not even considering 'what if it was plasmic'. The outer casing of her cybernetics had insulative properties, but not to the extent necessary to fully resolve the intense energy that flowed through her in a matter of a split second.

It was a sensation that brought with it fear, not pain - a fear born of familiarity, of a particularly traumatic event...

That is when it hit her. A powerful ionized blast of energy that ripped into her flesh and cybernetics. The smell of burning reeked as her systems began to melt. She fell backward and spasmed. There were audible pops as various systems overloaded to the point of destruction.

When Allyson Locke ... Arris shook the feeling and recoiled with gritted teeth. Her fear rippled through the Force.

"Ugh!" She groaned in complaint, directing her anger at the whip wielder. "Fancy weapon!"

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

Her attention remained locked on Lirka even as the fiery apprentice threatened her not to interfere.

Arris still held her revolver in one hand, the one that fired the burning gel, and with the other she drew her second. The cyborg decided to close the distance, regardless of how Varin might react, and fired both pistols within a second's succession of each other.

The first shot came from her second weapon - a shell which contained cortosis dust meant to short out sustained energy weapons. Hopefully, that meant the electrowhip, too. The second shot trailed just behind it, the familiar globules from before, but this time aimed roughly for the monstrous woman's whip-wielding hand.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Objective 2: Kill the Droid
Engaging: Helix
Allies: Darth Strosius Revna Marr Varin Mortifer
Frenemies? Mercy Arris Windrun
Enemies: Darth Nefaron Lirka Ka

Lina rolled her eyes, the more Nefaron spoke the more she knew that this had been bait all along. Whatever claim they thought they had was irrelevant, the Tsis’Kaar would naturally align themselves with Strosius simply because he was Ophidia’s other heir. They were too bound by pride and tradition, regardless of the outcome of the Kaggath. This stunt was to draw Strosius out and to kill him. But they hadn’t banked on others supporting him, that much was evident.

Her eyes shifted from the conversation to the incoming Legionnaires, bringing with them the stench of death. Her hand twitched, the shadows in the room bending to her will as they surged forward, spears of midnight black split the air, slamming into corpses that came to close as she continued to watch, to let the scene fully unfold. Only when she understood it all would she move.

The dark side surged, a familiar wave rumbling through it and Lina braced as Mercy hit the ground, the vibration reverberating up through her legs. A brief memory flickered, the tang of whisky on her tongue, Mercy’s face impossibly close. She blinked. What in the world was she doing here?

“Mercy?” The question was punctuated with the flick of a saber as another corpse leapt at her. “Strosius! Wai-”

Too late. The lightning cracked from his hands without remorse or care for Mercy and her companion.

“Bogan, give me strength.” she muttered. They could have fought together, they could have taken Nefaron’s head, but no. As usual Strosius let his anger lead, and now? Well now it was just a fething mess. Varin and Mercy’s companion moved to take on Lirka, Lina disregarded her as a problem. Her blades moved with ease, cutting through incoming Legionnaires though ehr focus was not entirely on them. They were an inconvinience at most. Obsidian eyes flicked towards the trio as an explosion rattled the room, droids scuttling in like ants, climbing the walls hanging from the ceilings and levelling their guns at all of them.

That, was a problem.

Her gaze snapped from them to Helix, lurking so conveniently at the back of the group. Lina deactivated her sabers, drawing the shadows towards her once more before lifting them up and casting them outwards. Darkness exploded outward from her, suffocating every light and plunging all of them into shadow. At best, it would prevent them from firing, at worst, it slowed them down. It would absolutely be an inconvenience for anyone incapable of seeing in the dark. Lina did not need light to see, she walked in shadow every day, it was hers to command and it obeyed without question.

She moved with unnatural speed, crossing the room in a blink, blocking the path from which the droids had come from, reigniting her blades behind Helix. “You are not the only one who does not exercise mercy.” She hissed, lifting one saber towards him and tilting her head. "I do hope you weren't planning on running."

 

[Revna Marr]

Objective: Fiviune (II)
Current Actions: Targeting NPCs
Gear: Lightsaber + Armor
Tags: Darth Strosius // Darth Nefaron // Varin Mortifer // Lina Ovmar // Lirka Ka // Mercy // Arris Windrun
// Helix ​

Rage continued to simmer underneath Revna’s skin - the feeling of it only deepening when a third figure, a rather familiar one, made its appearance:

Helix.

Brief visions and memories of when he had worked alongside her and her Master surfaced, all of it turning to ash in an instant. Betrayal stung, but a grim part of her accepted it for what it was. These things were bound to happen amongst the Sith and it was just another reminder to her that she and her Master and what they had and how they went about their lives was simply not the same as everyone else. The reminder that the Lord of Wonosa, herself, and the Wonosans themselves were nothing more than outsiders and heretics amongst the rest of the rabble, hit her hard once again.

To some, the knowledge might have forced them away and perhaps even into the awaiting arms of the masses, but not Revna. It only deepened her resolve to remain with the Wonosans, to even die with them, if that is what it took.

Bitter words were exchanged between the armored giant Lirka Ka and Darth Strosius, but Revna hardly paid them any mind. Words were only effective if she allowed them to be, though she knew they would rile up her Father. He was one who was rather easy to rage-bait, and He had no qualms about telling everyone else His personal thoughts and feelings on the matter.

Quite suddenly, Revna felt a familiar presence appear and out from the shadows stepped a figure she was rather happy to see in the moment: Lina. She was here to support Darth Strosius it would appear, and Revna was thankful for the added aid. But Lina wasn’t the only individual to arrive quite suddenly - another figure quite literally dropped through to the table, a hulking behemoth of a woman who radiated the Dark side like it was a second skin. A stranger…who made it very clear very quickly that she would take Nefaron’s head and she was not afraid to fight and/or kill anyone else who dared to get in her way. More anger seethed within Revna; how dare she interfere into something that was none of her business? Who the feth did she think she was?

Still, more arrived. Now the chamber was crowded with enemies, mercenaries, and allies alike.

And of course, Nefaron had to open his rotten mouth. He used fact and twisted it to suit his own purposes and reasons for being there, spewing vile venom against Darth Strosius and all who stood with the Sith Lord. Dead yes flickered towards Revna - a gaze she met unflinchingly and with seething black hatred when the bastard had the audacity to mention her brother Veradun. He’d been there?! At the Kaggath? He’d seen Strosius die too? Pain lanced through her heart at the thought of it, but it was burned away in her fury as it clicked that Nefaron had used her Father’s demise to turn her brother against all that he had known. Veradun had made his choice, and he would reap the consequences of them in due time. Perhaps she would hear the truth out of her little brother’s mouth before she killed him. A measure of closure perhaps…though it was likely something she would never have in this lifetime.

Things were quickly descending into utter mayhem and it was only moments before all hell broke loose. The air practically vibrated with the coming violence that was to be unleashed. All it would take was one individual to take a step towards someone, and the hounds of war would be let loose. Revna’s grip on her lightsaber tightened as energy and power coiled within her.

And then - it happened. The first moves were made, and the chamber erupted.

Corpse soldiers, rabble servants of Darth Nefaron, lunged forward with crude weapons - nothing but fodder for the fire. Though she was not at her best physically like she had been before her capture and rescue from Kainate hands, Revna was no mere acolyte anymore and these Corpse soldiers were nothing before her fury and her blade and sorcery. Rage, fear, death, hatred and a slew of other potent emotions flooded everything and she drank from it like it was a heady, sweet wine. Nefaron moved to engage her Father and anyone else who wanted a piece of his leathery, patch-work hide, and Revna wanted a piece of him too - but she decided to focus on Nefaron’s forces to help thin them down. She was oh so tempted to unleash the Void here - but she refrained. There were too many allies, too many moving bodies and she feared she would not be able to tell friend from foe when in the throes of her Hunger. If it had just been Nefaron and his forces and a couple of others fighting against him…then maybe.

All around, chaos reigned. Death and mayhem were unleashed on a vicious scale and the darkest part of Revna fed off of it greedily, adding fuel to her fire. Most who knew her, were only accustomed to seeing her so composed, watchful, slow to speak and quick to listen. She was often the more level headed one between her and her Master. But the Revna that was unleashed here was a different creature entirely.

Savage, cruel, merciless - a creature that enjoyed killing and feasting on the terror and pain she unleashed. Hatred, like black poison, spread through her veins like wildfire and contorted her face into a snarl. Anyone who appeared to be aiding Nefaron, Helix or Lirka became an instant target and she swung her blade or let loose streams of purple-red tinged lightning, snapped bones with the grip of the Force or physically slammed bodies into walls to rip them limb from limb as she let her caged violence out to finally play. Just as she had been taught by Carnifex and Prazutis, Revna embraced any amount of pain that was dealt upon her, turning it into more fuel for her power. The runic markings that they had inked and etched in her skin, into her very being, writhed as her darkness was unleashed.

It had been so long since she had unleashed this inner beast and it felt good to just let go.

And that was exactly what she did.

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

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

---

---

More soldiers lingered the halls of the Marr estate, all of them as ready for combat as they were for slaughtering innocents. Commendable, the Echani thought to herself, these were the men and women that she would fight beside in the future. At least their competence was guaranteed, though not enough to fell the witch that stood against them.

Her blade was drawn from the chest of yet another felled in the hall she held, not a mouse managing to skirt by her in her completion of the Princess' mission. As long as those of House Marr stayed within the manse, then the Echani could give no quarter.

But something drew her curiosity and ire, a faint pulsing in the force crawling along the walls on the estate. A cold chill raced along Jorryn's spine, exciting her and igniting something of an interest in what was to come.

This new body of hers was untested in combat, the skills she gained through the Sith's magic still foreign to her. She had been a master of Makashi in a past life, and that skill remained to her, though that was about all she had during her period as Lord Inquisitor. But she held power now, alchemy racing on her skin and in the blood that fuelled her.

Arrogance.

An emotion that had carried her through much of her life was what pushed her forward to meet this force that illuminated the dark halls. She stepped over the corpses of the soldiers she had felled, a hand resting the hilt of her lightsaber against her hip once again. She wondered who had come, if it was someone she remembered from back in the day. With the sigils on the troopers, she surmised it might be Darth Carnifex or Lord Prazutis.

As she turned the corner neither of them would grace her amber eyes.

Instead a woman stood in the open chamber, dark and beautiful in her own way. Even beneath her skin the dark sensation she felt earlier slumbered within the figure, a smile curling upon the lips of the Echani. It was not a form she recognised, but the presence curling away from her figure signified her as the entity Jorryn had been searching for.

"I had expected other company..." A feigned disappointment curled from the dark lips of the silver-haired Sith, wondering if perhaps this was the type of woman she could combat through words instead of sabres. "Though you are more appealing than those that came before."

A lithe hand caressed the railing as she descended, eyes catching upon felled servants and soldiers of House Marr, burns cut across their flesh. Whoever this woman was, she clearly carried out the mission as faithfully as the soldiers she had met before.

"Do my Lords Kaine and Prazutis think so little of this carrion that they did not come themselves, or perhaps they thought you weapon enough to send alone?"

Another provocation, curious how the Sith in front of her would respond.

Violence was ever the forte of the Sith war machine, the Echani kept her distance in case the woman was the same. Jorryn herself preferred words, especially when exchanged with one more powerful than her. Whatever form their conflict held, only one truth remained to the silver-haired Sith.

That she would not allow this creature to pass.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

OBJECTIVE 1: Alvaria
Ansisa Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Darth Caedes Jorryn Fordyce Srina Talon Darth Avida Quinn Varanin Seela Leini

Once more, the grandeur of the palace shook, walls and pillars trembling of the cataclysmic events unfolding. Dust sifted through the air, and it coated Lysander's armor as he stood in the corridor, helm still tucked under an armor. The world of Alvaria was falling apart, the screams and roars of war drowning out the very essence of life. He had fought on Woostri and Brosi, witnessed cities engulfed in flames and entire armies reduced to nothing; but this was different. This was the Sith, the very epitome of chaos and destruction, tearing themselves to pieces. And he, an outsider, could only bear witness to the weight of it all, pressing against his chest like a heavy hand. It was not fear, nor was it dread, but something closer to awe that filled him as he registered everything.

Whispers were carried from afar.

Name to ash. Breath to silence.

The collapse of an empire now had a sound.

The Chiss' sharp retort split the air no different than how a blade might, not even bothering to slow their peace, or even glance back. Lysander, for all his presence, might as well have just been another shadow on the wall, unnoticed. While part of him understood, they still landed heavily, leaving him to feel useless. But then again, recently he'd been burdened with the same guilt that'd been haunting him from world to world. It made him wonder if his cousin had needed him in his absence, while he had been busy running from his own problems since leaving Korriban. Now, in the midst of a dying planet, he couldn't escape that reminder..

The teen's jaw set in a stubborn line. But he wouldn't argue. He just let those words sear through him, stoking a fire of anger and resentment, until all that was left was the one thing he still had control over.. his determination.

“I’ll hold the line.”

In a palace that was doomed, it could've been laughable as he more or less stood there proving her point.

A flicker in his peripheral vision caught Lysander's attention and he turned to regard Quinn, the memory of her in Malum's presence on Jutrand enough to steady the blonde’s crumbling facade. A nod was offered in acknowledgment before he paced back several steps, not wanting to crowd. Yet the truth remained that there was no other place that held any logic or reason for him to be than here.

With a hiss, the Sith apprentice sealed his helm once more, the youthful face now hidden behind the cold visage of a soldier. The Kainite were coming. They always were. No matter where in the galaxy one roamed, it seemed like their shadows would follow, hunger ever present.

And now, they were at the gates.

Whatever came next, whether it be traitors demanding his head, jaws of carrion wishing to feast upon flesh, or the flames themselves, Lysander would have to face it. No army stood at his back, no empire bowing to him.

Only an idiot with an oath.

 

[Lirka Ka]

TAGS - Arris Windrun Varin Mortifer

Flame washed over her again, vision bright as Varin Mortifer let loose his torrent. The symbolism of it all wasn’t lost on her, or perhaps - she was the only one fanatical enough to see it. The fires of a new age, the shifting of the tides. The transience of existence brought forth by Primordial Darkness.

Poor Wonosan fool. He didn’t know that Lirka never shut up. There was a certain degree of dramatics that came with jousting with words as much as blades. And Lirka still had enough Sephi in her being to be quite the dramatic.

Over the torrent, she could hear the crackle of her whip striking true. A sadistic weapon indeed. A antique from Zygerria at this point with how many time those feline fiends had been smacked around for their rather…unpopular profession. It was a short lived jolt, while Lirka may not have wielded a lightsaber and all of its many strengths and faults. Cortosis was enough to give her electrifying weapons a surge, letting their roar die and the barbs of the electro-whip reeling back into their hilt.

But her foe…Lirka couldn’t see if Varin’s saber had been hit. She supposed it didn’t really matter, her body was a weapon enough itself: at least till her blade could reboot itself back to roaring life. So she did as Lirka Ka does.

“Let’s see what you’re really made of, Brute. Let us see the potential you waste in the shackles of Strosius!”

She swung her fist now, through the torrent as her face plate began to shine with heat. If nothing else to break concentration, and at best…well Lirka did most certainly like to leave a mark to remember her by.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The powder of cortosis impacted near Lirka, disengaging her weapons. Varin heard his saber also shut off, no matter. The mace would do fine at sundering the armor, blunt force trauma was always the go to when it came to armor. As his saber cut off he watched Lirka’s fist barrel towards his face, there were two things he could do within this split second, he chose the more risky one to get closer.

Side stepping inward one of the blades on Lirka’s armored gauntlets cut into Varin’s cheek. This only added more fuel to the fire. He was slipping further into the rage. Finally he embraced it. If Lirka wanted a brawl, he would gift it to her.

As he stepped in close he clasped his other hand in the midsection of his mace and drove it towards Lirka’s midsection with all his strength. The dark side surged through him amplifying his strength even further as his eyes now began to burn.

As Varin’s stance shifted to accommodate the close quarters he arched backwards and drove his skull forward towards her helm. As he waited for any sign of impact he let out a deep roar, dumping yet every ounce of strength he reserved into his attack.

Pain during this state of being for him became a welcoming close friend. The only constant he knew that would never abandon him. So he would not cower from it. His care for if this made Lirka a more difficult target for Arris did not come to mind nor care for him. He was now a predator latching onto his prey.

Lirka Ka | Arris Windrun​

 

[Helix]

Objective II
Equipment: Himself
Tag: Lina Ovmar ​

Helix's mountainous consciousness flickered through oceans of data. Every droid, every ship, every last credit and blaster. Until he found what he was after.

A single Aconite-Class raider. Large enough to get them offworld, albeit in no great comfort. Small enough for in-close support.

Helix's will diverted the support vessel from his forces in orbit. If worst came to worst, it could get them out. Hopefully.

His brief moment of smug, egotistic pleasure at his own genius was short-lived. The droidekas were reporting that their sensors were being hampered. Helix's gaze flickered briefly through theirs.

The machines did not necessarily need to see to fight, but it certainly helped. Each was equipped with trajectory and position calculation software, but that would only get one so far without a clear early visual. As such, their data-streams reported a roughly 43% decrease in average accuracy. Utterly unacceptable.

Helix had just concluded that the obstructions must be unnatural in origin before a voice behind him spoke up, accompanied by the familiar snap-hiss of lightsabers.

His reaction was near-immediate. A cluster of fungus-like photoreceptors burst from the back of the colony's head, observing the interloper for a moment before he spun round.

"No quarter asked, no quarter given." He rumbled. "I'd have it no other way." One arm lengthened into a long, saw-toothed cleaver, lashing out with all the force the colony could muster.

"Cross blades with me. If you dare."

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Prazutis Darth Carnifex Darth Avida Seela Leini Darth Caedes Jorryn Fordyce Eira Dyn Ansisa Quinn Varanin Srina Talon

Kasir stood like a shadow carved from the void itself, pale skin catching the glow of lighting that bent away from the silhouette of the Dark Lord that’d come to make himself known. And for a moment, just a moment, he did not move, only listened, the Sangnir’s senses drinking in the chorus of death that rippled beyond the estate. Every heartbeat, every throat torn open from afar, every soul extinguished fed him like a tide of black wine.

When the Shadow Hand came into view, Alvaria seemed to recoil, ashamed to touch one so steeped in the dark. But Kasir's chin tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s acknowledgement, not of fear, but appetite, for the weight of that presence, the suffocating immensity of it.

He tasted it on his tongue like charred marrow, inhaling the perfume of death itself, and running his tongue across the edge of his fangs as though to sample it, to savor the bouquet. Index digits flexed at his sides until nails broke his own skin, crimson liquid swelling in his palms. He did not notice, or perhaps he did and welcomed it, a small communion of his own offered to the void. It made the glow of his foe's aura burn even brighter, etched into his vision. Everything sharpened. Every heartbeat struck harder than a drum. Pain wasn't the wound, but the key, flooding his unnatural senses.

When his gaze narrowed, it was in appraisal, already measuring how much of this storm he could consume, how much of this godly weight could be made feast.

His head bowed a fraction, lips moving like a fervent prayer, matched with the emptiness of his being. Through the prayer there was only silence, and in that silence, he remembered. The Disciple of Faith, whom he viewed as the daughter of the Prophet of Bogan, his sister in communion. Kerstas.

“Revna.”

His cold stare locked onto that black mirror of Prazutis’ armor.

“You burned her, broke her, bound her spine with your filth."

Between words he exhaled softly.

“So long have I waited for this hour. And tonight, I will return her pain to you.”

When a gauntlet rose, he would not blink, would not flinch, only watching as the flame tore itself free across the plaza. It howled, not like hunger, but devouring, having felt it before it struck, having felt the pressure of it in his teeth, in his spine. This storm did not seek to kill, but to unmake, and he didn’t move, not yet, not until the moment between moments, the breath between pulses, the instant where death paused. Finally, the first step was taken. Not like a soldier, not like a seasoned warrior, but like smoke, like shadow given into form, his body blurring sideways with a speed that so often bent the eye of mortals.

Blood surged together with the thrum of the Force, and for all his speed, the flames still licked at his heels, catching the hem of the loose fitting cloak. His entire world just blinked; there was no fire, no smoke.. just absence. The black fabric unraveled into nothing, but that nothing still reached through his ribs, where skin did not blister, but felt the threat of erasure.

What remained under was no less terrible, for the map scars made him appear like cracked marble, appearing more spectral, more vulnerable, but also more dangerous.

For the first time ever, flayed of shadows.

Elsewhere, the blast turned stone to glass, corpses to ash.

This pain was different, at least, from the traditional sense. There was a nerve that’d gone silent in his right hand, and somehow deeper, like frostbite from the soul.

That hunger recoiled, confused, starved. For a second the Sangnir felt hollow, until the hunger began roaring back, louder than ever.

The storm’s violence had lifted him until he stood upon the shattered crown of a wall. And below, was the god, the continent of nightfall, and yet he still looked down upon him how a carrion might perceive a titan’s corpse waiting to fall.

His right hand was still numb, half forgotten, teased by annihilation. But the left curled into the stone, trembling with a pressure that had been caged for far too long. All the silence carried since forged into a Darkseeker, all the syllables whispered into night, all the rage that had festered upon Musarfar, would finally break.

His head tilted back, fangs bared, and the scream tore free.

It was not just a voice; it was a cataclysm, the craving given sound, the Force itself erupting. The brittle surface of a nearby wall cracked, webbing outward into a thousand tiny fractures. From there, into shards. And so, they began to rise in the wake of his cry, a tempest of blades circling him. Kasir's left hand snapped forward, conjuring the dark murmurs of his power. The shards obeyed, black rain descending like a curse, each one a piece of his silence, each like a vow with a razor sharp edge, a physical manifestation of hatred for the Kainite doctrine.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The scream tore heaven open.

Shards fell like rain from the sundered skies. A storm of black glass, stone, and burning hatred, propelled by the Sangnir's undying fury, and the scream that shattered the estate around them. The air itself became a weapon; every sliver carried the density of death behind its blurred descent; every angle was a prayer to vengeance. They scythed through corpses, shattered columns, and ripped toward the Dark Lord in a tidal wave of annihilation. They struck. The courtyard erupted into a hurricane of sound and light in their wake. Every shard that hit Qâzjiin'vraal sparked red arcs as if the armor bled lightning. Hundreds of impacts clanged and shrieked at once, metal screaming, air convulsing. Some found seams, piercing deep enough to draw the faint black ichor that oozed from the armor's runes instead of blood, and yet, the Dark Lord did not falter.

He simply weathered the storm. His silhouette vanished within the turbulence, a void inside chaos. When the hail began to slow, when the echo of Kasir's fury finally started to fade, the smoke cleared, and what emerged was a force of nature. Every shard that had buried itself into the warplate was now melting, liquefied in place. The armor glowed from the heat of its own hunger, crimson veins crawling outward as the Godflame woke again. The lightning didn't simply appear, it erupted from the cracks like blood from an open wound, hissing and roaring until the courtyard was filled with its glare. The Dark Lord's helm tilted upward, the lenses flaring white hot. The air trembled with the sound of whispering, not words, but voices, hundreds layered on top of his own, the chorus of the Shikkari's victims and the Tsis'Kaar dead feeding the storm. "You've drawn blood. Good." The giants voice deepened, distortion roaring in its wake. His gauntlet clenched, and all the molten shards littering the courtyard rose, drawn upward into a cyclone of glowing debris.

"Now bleed for me."

The Godflame burst outward, not a single bolt, but an eruption that tore through the storm Kasir had created. The molten shards were swept up, igniting in crimson fire and spinning outward like meteors. The blast consumed the courtyard in a cataclysmic detonation of energy; every impact vaporized stone and turned the ground to black glass. Kasir's shards were still there, their edges turned to molten halos, and they came back at him. The Dark Lord twisted His hand, and the molten cyclone bent in obedience, the storm inverted. Blazing shards screamed across the air like a reversed rain, a torrent of incandescent knives driven by pure will and hatred. The space between them became a crucible. The Godflame engulfed the air itself, turning it red and alive. Lightning forked between Prazutis' outstretched hands as the aura around Him distorted gravity; pebbles and corpses alike floated in the field of pressure. "You carry her name like a wound. But I am the thing that opened it." He stepped forward. The ground split under His might, sundered beneath His presence, glowing in the wake of His steps as though magma ran beneath the soil. The lightning didn't stop, it followed Him, dragging across the courtyard in crawling arcs, a beast on a leash. "You want her vengeance? Then come take it." Then, and only then He moved.

For something that size, that armored, it should have been impossible to move this fast. The Dark Lord lunged through the haze like a siege engine made flesh, nothing more than a blur on the stone. The moment He crossed the broken gate, the Godflame flared again, a detonation of dark power that illuminated the entire estate. His strike wasn't finesse; it was obliteration, a massive swing of His arm that dragged a serpent of lightning in its wake.

The Godflame lashed forward, a roaring whip of molten fury and the pure malevolence of the dark side given form. Its contact with the air left afterimages, crimson streaks of ruin, and every sound after it was gone. The lash was not meant to kill, not yet. The Dark Lod meant it to shatter the Sangnir into ten thousand pieces. The stone courtyard exploded under the recoil, a trench gouged into the earth as if a meteor had passed. The Shikkari chant around them reached fever pitch, blending into thunder.

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

Every syllable bled into the battle, every death on the periphery feeding the storm. Kasir's black rain met crimson hellfire in a collision that turned night into day, a halo of apocalypse surrounding two shadows. When the light finally dimmed, Prazutis stood within it, His form ablaze, His voice low and full of terrible satisfaction. "Let us see how much your hunger can take before you burn."

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

 

[Mercy]

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

Oh, nobody liked their fight to be intruded on, least of all Mercy.

The issue, of course, was that Mercy was a hypocrite. The things she hated, she'd inflict on others with no hesitation. It was no different here. She could practically taste the anger from Strosius for interrupting his fight. So she was not incredibly surprised when his sword lashed out and lightning erupted from it. If she had stood just a bit more to the side, she would have avoided it entirely, since his aim had been to take out Nefaron.

Alas, she had dropped right in the thick of it all, as she often did.

Instead that violent current ripped straight into her on the path towards its true goal. The cackling lightning erupted as it hit her, casting her image in luminescent white. One could almost imagine the heavy bones being reflected within. It was a clear hit, it should have burned straight through her, but instead the howling sound from Mercy... was not a cry of pain.

It was laughter.

The aura around Mercy burst into existence and shrugged off the lighting. Inside, Mercy's skin was burning, parts of it blackened. That crazed psychotic grin veered towards Nefaron right as he came at her with his blade. "More." She hissed approvingly as she batted away his saber with her bare hand, it burned, but for some reason it didn't cut her hand off clean as it should have.

The pain curled through her body, from the lightning, the plasma burning her hand, it only reinforced her. It was exquisite. Nefaron thought he could replace his presence with his lackees, but that was his mistake.

Never put your back to a Sith Lord who seemed to enjoy the expression of pain.

She ducked under one of the guard's swing and grabbed his ankle. Then she lifted him up, as if he was made of a feather, instead of being wrapped in heavy armor and fury. This was Mercy's power. She didn't have fancy lightning coming out of her hands, but she could crush mountains and tank explosions like nobody else.

To underline this, Mercy used one of Nefaron's guards as a hammer... to slam him into the Sith Lord from behind even as he was focused on Strosius.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Tag: Lirka Ka Varin Mortifer

It seemed her opponent and the nuisance also fighting her opponent had gotten up close and personal with it. For the cyborg, the result was nothing short of a disappointment. She was used to her guns serving a more inspirational role - goading her enemies into striking back. When it did not happen a second time, Arris considered...

The first option was to simply wait things out. Let them tire each other and pick up the pieces. Maybe if Fire Boy managed to defeat the Whip Wielder, she could knock him down a peg and still have done her job. Mercy wouldn't mind the outcome, right?

Her second, more rational choice, was to use the reprieve to swap ammo. She opened the cylinder and dumped out the remainder of her krayt's breath shells and replaced each one with armor-piercing incendiary rounds. The trick shot scooped up one of the fallen shells and tossed it into the air above the two, and fired a singular round at the falling shell.

The impact would explode the krayt's breath above them, sending tiny bits of metal rain coated in the burning gel down upon them. There would be a very nice and concussive bang, too.

Unless she were dragged into the close confrontation, Arris would remain very comfortably on the perimeter of their fight. Harrassing them with the worst kind of torment she knew: deadly annoyance.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Objective 2: Kill the droid, collect its remains for experimentation
Engaging: Helix
Allies: Darth Strosius Revna Marr Varin Mortifer
Maybe allies? Mercy Arris Windrun
Enemies: Darth Nefaron Lirka Ka

The way his photoreceptors burst from the back of his head was a little unsettling to say the least, but Lina had faced bigger and uglier things in her time. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as he turned the rest of himself around to face her, his arm shifting into a crude yet cruel looking weapon.

Fascinating.

For a beat she wondered if she could collect a sample of him, the construction was clearly something worthwhile tinkering with. Imagine what alchemy and magic could do with him? But the thoughts vanished as he lashed out, bringing her back to the here and now. She’d have to kill him first, then she could fantasise about what creations could be born with what remained.

Both blades hummed as Lina moved to meet the attack, one lifting to meet the cleaver, slamming into it with a scream of heat and sparks, the second sliced up into the gap his lunge had left, seeking to carve through the offending limb.

 

[Helix]

Objective II
Equipment: Himself
Tags: Lina Ovmar ​

Helix glowered down at the woman as their blades clashed. He'd worked too hard, endured too much, and been too patient for things to fall apart here and now.

So much of this could have been avoided, or at least steered in more productive directions. It was infuriating, to say the least. This open warfare with Wonosa would almost certainly cost them later. It would have been far more ideal to continue acting in the shadows, to keep utilizing the resources of the Tsis'kaar while covertly bleeding it dry. Helix was beginning to realize that he'd simply exchanged one madman for two.

Over the centuries, the colony had grown to accept that any association entered into with another was temporary by nature. Alliances always ended, whether in war, betrayal, or death. Still, this was not an ideal ending, even if it was an inevitable one. Eventually, the Wonosans would have come for him with or without Nefaron to provoke them.

After all, he stood as a living monument to all they despised. A being that did as he wished, to whom he wished, whenever he wished, with no regard for who or what stood in his way. There was no place for him, in the future foreseen by Darth Strosius. No room for monsters in the New Order.

No, their partnership could never have lasted. Why, then, did it still bother him?

It shouldn't. Malum was gone, and his dream of a different path forward was very literally burning down around them. It was precisely as the Corpse Lord had predicted, that night on Dromund Kaas. Alisteri lacked Malum's taste (or capacity) for subtlety. That had been one thing Helix had shared with the prodigal Marr.

A Tsis'kaar run by this fanatic and his deluded followers would not have lasted long anyway. Much as Helix disliked it, Nefaron was right. He always had been. The only path forward was for the monsters to draw steel in common cause, or be destroyed.

So, Helix did the only thing he could. He'd remove that little part of the problem who had so foolishly gotten without his reach.

Helix saw the disarming strike coming. Rather than twist aside or harden his metal skin, he let it land.

The blade parted his arm neatly, sending the limb clattering to the floor. Within moments, the arm had sprouted dozens of tiny, skittering legs, along with a pair of scissorlike mandibles.

The arm-worm coiled itself, then sprang for the Sith's throat, jaws spread wide. At the same instant, Helix formed his remaining limb into a bladed, crustaceous pincer, like the foreleg of an Acklay. He stabbed low, towards her legs, hoping to send his foe stumbling into the razor teeth of his disembodied arm.

He certainly couldn't stop things anymore. They'd spiraled too far out of control. But maybe, just maybe, he could take his irritation out on Lina Ovmar.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Prazutis Darth Carnifex Darth Avida Seela Leini Darth Caedes Jorryn Fordyce Eira Dyn Ansisa Quinn Varanin Srina Talon

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

And so that cadence echoing in his mind became inescapable, heightened senses that came with his unnatural state both a blessing and a curse, tormenting him with every scent and sound polluting the air of Alvaria.

The crucible of hunger raged within, the battle against his primal need for sustenance.

Kasir's nostrils flared at the taint of black ichor, the essence of divinity. But it would deny him true satisfaction, mocking him. The affirmation of such, delivered by the god, landed not as a praise, but like a brand against the spine. The Sangnir felt it long before he understood it, a tremor in the marrow, a pulse that was not his to claim.

Not yet.

Tautness settled over the jaw, sharp points of his fangs grazing against the flesh of his inner lip, tasting the metallic tang of his own tension; it was a dark pleasure in its own right, one that coursed through his veins like a potent drug. The area around him did not thicken with the heat of Godflame, but with the memories of every scream, every of every kill he had reveled in with sadistic satisfaction over time.

Then the cyclone rose. The shards, each one a piece of his silence, each one a vow turned traitor. It was the Godflame igniting them, his own fury no longer his. Reshaped, repurposed, weaponized against him, it belonged to the Dark Lord..

Frosty breath caught as though he’d been betrayed, the shock sharp as a vibroblade through his exposed sternum. Fingers twitched, desperate to reclaim them mid-air. But they were gone.

He staggered back a half step, not from impact but from instinct; lightning crawled across the stone like a wild beast, and even gravity seemed to recoil from the Dark Lord’s advance. His body adjusted.. knees bent, spine curved, weight shifting to the balls of his feet, preparing for the inevitable onslaught.

The lash came, heralded by the roar of the Godflame, a serpent of molten ruin that offered only death in its wake, its fiery tongue licking the very air as if seeking out its next victim. But this was not a only strike; it was a verdict, a sentence delivered with finality. Kasir did not have the luxury of meeting it head on, for to stand against it was to be unmade. Instead, he moved, his body a blur of calculated grace and desperate instinct, evading the inferno and defying the hand behind it with the raw and unforgiving violence of a predator; every tendon and muscle snapping into motion as if propelled by the fury of the Dark. He flung himself sideways, the Force surging through his veins, amplifying inertia until his leap transcended mortal limits. His boots shattered the stone beneath him, the air cracking and snapping wildly in his wake as he defied gravity.

For only an instant, he was gone. He did vanish, nor was he cloaked; no, he was displaced, his form dissolving into a smear of fractured light, a hunter capable of slipping between stuttering heartbeats. The whip struck where he had been, gouging a violent trench through the courtyard, vaporizing all it licked into ash. The shockwave still caught him, a heavy hammer of pressure that now flayed the edges of his form.

His right arm screamed with numbness, nerves silenced.

Scars glowed faintly, reopened by the static fibers clinging to porcelain skin.

He had dodged, but not truly escaped.

Again, his ears rang with the chant.

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

Not outside, but inside.

So, he rose slowly, shoulders hunched, breath ragged in ways that he did not understand. The hunger roared back again, louder than the pain, louder than the numbness. The move had spared his body, but not his essence. The Godflame had brushed him, and its touch lingered like a curse in the corrupted soul.

The arm became absolute, hanging like dead flesh stripped free, skeletal in its resemblance. He could not feel the saberstaff hilt at his side, but he did not need to. The body remembered. The emitter stud depressed beneath muscle memory alone, another ritual carved into his bones long before this night.

The courtyard split with sound.

He was no longer just a Sangnir; he was something half‑claimed by the void, half‑crowned by hunger.

A cursed demi-god.

Twin blades screamed into existence; this was not the clean hum of a Jedi’s weapon, but a dirge of fire brought from Mustafar. They did not illuminate, they too devoured. The light bled outward like festering wounds, each blade a vein of molten hate. A shower of sparks hissed where the plasma raked the glassed stone.

The few shadows that still clung desperately to him bent away, unwilling to be near..

The extended hilt spun in his grip, arcs of crimson carving through the ether, each rotation promising oblivion.

“Blood is only the beginning.”

The wind seized him then, raking through his black, inky locks, loose strands writhing like tendrils in the night's breath. Amber orbs burned, molten and ever mesmerizing, daring not to blink, resting upon a mask of eerie calm. Not a single emotion betrayed him as he stared at the Kaitnite.

A shift of his body began, movements becoming more calculated, akin to a nexu circling its target in a tight space, welcoming this courtyard to become a cage for two apex predators.

So often he had dipped into the psychological currents of the Force, wielding them as blade and shield, until somewhere along the way, somewhere in the forging of himself as the extended weapon of Darth Strosius, he had lost the shape of who he once was .

The fractures of his mind were many, but some memories still bled through.

He remembered the High Priest, the voice that had once named him more than his champion. He remembered Revna, the shadow of a sister's hand that still rested on his shoulder. He remembered Soah, the apprentice he had failed, her absence a wound.

The emotions poured through him, a torrent of grief, guilt, all braiding together.

“Let me drink the truth of before the first cut.”

Another tendril uncoiled from him, akin to the reach of Mind Probe, capable of latching onto one's consciousness invasively. But this was not a power born of control or domination, no, this was a lure cast out as a psychic hook, daring the other to step through the doorway of his mind and into the twisted hellscape of his own creation. A realm of silence and torment, where the only voice was the demon within.

“Step into my darkness. Let it decide which of us it crowns.”

Into guard position the saberstaff fell, a wordless signal, an invitation to the dance of blades, should he accept.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The chant was no longer outside the fight. It was inside it.

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

The cadence threaded the courtyard like wire, pulled taut through bones and stone. The Reaping roared at the margins, Shikkari rites in red rain, bodies folded into prayer by knives, as the order waged its final battle against the Tsis'Kaar. But here, at the broken gate of House Marr, the storm took a shape. The Once Emperor didn't answer the Sangnir's invitation with rash anger. He answered it with the forceful weight of the oceans tides, living gravity. The pressure deepened with weight that defied heat, defied wind. It was the very same smothering inevitability that preceded an avalanche descending over you. The Godflame lingering in the air refused to fade, held in orbit about him like obedient comets of arcing crimson. Mortared glass spider-webbed beneath his boots as he advanced one pace, then another, until the world around Kasir seemed to tilt toward him.

"Truth?" the giant asked, quiet as a tomb. "You were not made to bear it." Lines of abyssal bloodfire screamed into life as Xûl Qarnak ignited it was no clean hum, no snap hiss of a typical blade, but a furnace howl, a blackened core rimmed in dying crimson. The warblade's reach erased distance; its presence fed on the carnage beyond the walls. Obsidian Voidshards along the hilt bent perspective so the strike was always closer than the eye reported, the angle always wrong, the guard always a breath too late. Its runes pulsed like the rapid beat of a strained heart. Kasir's mind-hook skimmed the edge of the Dark Lord's consciousness. But it didn't find a mind. It found a horizon, an utter absence where thought should be. No fury to turn, no passion to reflect; only a pressureless cold that drank current and sent it back emptied. The tendril of will that touched it iced over, numb at the edges as if nerve endings had been politely removed. If he pressed, there was a suggestion, no more than a whisper of iron, that the tether would be kept. The Dark Lord had let him taste the truth. Just that there was no heat to steal here, no fury to feed upon, only death, a devouring calm that turned hunger into hollowness.

The Dark Lord moved. No flourish. No warning. The Hollow Maelstrom broke across the courtyard in three perfect lines as his blade came down, a style all its own. A downward diagonal that sought to bind the saberstaff on contact rather than meet it, Xûl Qarnak's vast leverage turning a parry into a manacle, the weight would transmit through hilt and wrist if contact was made until bone had to choose between yielding or breaking through titanic force alone. A pivoting cut that didn't chase the blade but harvested stance, a swift bit of Makashi distilled to surgical cruelty; one edge seeking to pass so near the Sangnir's forward knee that the pressure of it threatened ligaments, the follow-through sought to shear the air at his hip to punish any rotation. A final, deceptively short thrust that arrived too quickly for the distance the eye believed remained, the Voidshards' distortion stealing a step and turning reach into inevitability, it would appear to stop just shy of flesh, only to attempt to drive past the guard with a telekinetic micro-pulse timed ever so carefully.

There was no wasted motion in anything the Shadow Hand did. No rash blind rage turning his attacks into feral strikes. Each strike seeking to erase a possible future. The skill of a living artist of war. The air buckled. As he drew upon Tutaminis, it bloomed over the warplate like a black mirror as shards of superheated glass skittered from the previous exchange and were refused, their kinetic murder taken, digested, and fed into the next stroke. His free hand opened, ever so subtle, almost idle, and the debris field obeyed: lengths of rebar, fragments of gate iron, severed pennants made cinder and wire, all lifted into a slow, hungry orbit around the duel, a grinding halo that promised amputation for any misstep.

"Revna Marr was a lesson." The giant said, his voice rolled, glacier-calm. "Not merely for her." The Dark Lord wouldn't chase the Sangnir, at every turn he aimed to corner him. Feet silent, blade lines closing lanes one by one, his aim to ensure the courtyard collapsed into a killing geometry until there was only the Dark Lord in front of Kasir and a wall of lightning death at his back. The chant swelled; from beyond the shattered archway, a Shikkari psalm shivered through the nexus, each verse came to the tune of another throat opening, each another name removed.

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

The Godflame answered. Not a thrown spear this time, not a lash to carve trenches across the estate. The Dark Lord lifted His free gauntlet and the lightning breathed, a close-range cage of crimson arcs descended that fell inward like closing ribs aiming to trap the Sangnir. Sound died in its radius; the air inked with static and taste of iron, the temperature spiked to kiln and then snapped cold as Prazutis shunted the heat away into the ground, glassing a ring under Kasir's feet. The cage wasn't meant to kill. It was meant to break the guard, to collapse options, to force motion where motion had a cost.

If the Sangnir vaulted, the halo of rebar and razors would scythe to meet him. If he rushed, the Maelstrom waited with inexorable angles and a blade that devoured distance due to its length. If he stood, the cage would snap closed and cook the stance out of him, nerve by screaming nerve. "Blood is only the beginning." the giant echoed, almost amused. The black ichor along Qâzjiin'vraal smoldered, runes strobing with each sacrifice the Shikkari offered from the periphery. He advanced one more, leisurely pace. The warblade lowered, not in mercy, but as if he was passing sentence, and the world leaned with it.

The next heartbeat belonged to the Dark Lord.

Xûl Qarnak rose in a two-handed arc, all that reach and inevitability brought down like the blade of an executioner, its edge drawn to erase, to butcher his opponent, the void sick aura around the blade making the air misreport where salvation truly lived around them. All at the same instant, the Godflame cage collapsed, a thunderless implosion of red lightning designed to drive the Sangnir into the line rather than away from it, to make any surviving parry meet more than metal. Beyond the gate, the Reaping hit its next octave; whole squads of Tsis'Kaar broke like wet paper under the Shikkari's knives, their death-voices carrying on the wind to crown the strike.

When it was done, when light returned and the glass stopped falling like black snow, Darth Prazutis stood unhurried, unshaken, the storm tame at his shoulders. "Remember your courage." the giant whispered through the ringing quiet. "You will need it before the end."

Kasir Dorran | Darth Carnifex | Darth Avida | Seela Leini | Darth Caedes | Jorryn Fordyce | Eira Dyn | Ansisa | Quinn Varanin | Srina Talon | Revna Marr​

 

[Srina Talon]

Alvaria: Darth Carnifex | Quinn Varanin | Jorryn Fordyce | Darth Avida | Darth Prazutis | Lysander von Ascania | Darth Caedes | Seela Leini | Kasir Dorran | Ivalyn Yvarro | Ansisa | Eira Dyn
Location: Space - Nerby Systems

____________________________________________________

The descent was slow.

Not because the Ferocity wasn't fast enough, but simply because the pale warrior was taking stock of events while they unfolded. It was as much as she had explained to Korran Dorn in recent months. She was rarely the progenitor of violence, but too often was she required to quell the worst of the effects. This wasn't even the only world with a fighting force. This was, currently, the world where the death of the living screamed the loudest.

Fiviune and F'tral weren't exempt from such a fate—But that battle was for more than vendetta.

The knowledge the Tsis-Kaar had squirreled away had always been the golden ring. It was not a defunct spy organization that she sought to retain, useless, without a head to lead or direct it. She required something far more valuable. Irreplaceable.

"Sound the alarm."

"My Lady."

Typhojem winked out of existence, and his sickly green glow blinked out of sight. He also reported to Darth Carnifex , however, that had never been her concern. She wasn't worried if the Butcher King knew of her plans because his destructive nature had already filled the streets of a once thriving society full of blood and horror. In fact…He would help her. The still woman reached up and touched the phylactery that sat warmly against her chest. Safe and sound. "You are with me…Are you not?"

Her voice was startlingly light. Clear.

Until it dropped.

"Always, with me."

The unanswered statement was left to hang in the air whilst she watched other parts of Alvaria light up with warning as a significant portion of the populace moved to be received by the Commonwealth or take shelter. Her entourage would seem like an invading force on top of what already wracked their home with fear. It would send them scattering, allowing continued terror to potentially save their lives. Interesting, how that worked out.

Outside the viewport, she witnessed the once clear skies of Alvaria darken as if bruised, heavy, from ash and burning ion. Her ship sluiced through clouds without hesitation while she watched smoke rise from the surface of a planet that had once boldly proclaimed their support for Darth Malum of House Marr …Even now, in the face of imminent death, zealotry for their fated King did not die.

Srina stood now, at the edge of the bridge, with her reflection suspended in glass. Lengths of white hair framed her face like holy fire, stirred only by the whisper of the ship's circulation systems. There was no sense of conquest in eyes of molten gold, for this was no victory. It was a funeral—And she was visiting a mass grave. The only taste of humanity that lingered in her was an ache older than memory.

"So much noise…", she spoke to nothing, watching a building collapse, while dust and smoke curled higher. The once sky-blue river that wound through the capital was so full of blood that the waters almost appeared black. "So much waste…"

She could feel them below. The dying, the triumphant, the indifferent. The Sith always sang the same song, a hymn of teeth scattered across the pavement, with a chorus of blood. It was often circled with cruelty for good measure. Srina understood it. Violence was not corruption among their kind…It was heritage. The need to prove, to destroy, to dominate was carved into their bones. But there came a point when the blade turned back upon the wielder. It was not something they had learned.

Not even while watching their own Empire burn.

A brief bit of turbulence drew her back to herself, to the moment, and her hands clasped behind her back when the landing ramp lowered. The world that met her was one of ruin.

The air was thick with ozone and death. Bodies lay scattered across the once pristine marble causeway that led to the heart of the palace. The armor of the fallen glinted sacrilegiously, merrily, in the dying light. The scent of them, burnt metal, charred flesh, and the copper tang of blood, was an old companion. She did not balk, but strode forward, boots touching the ground soundlessly. The very few guards that remained bowed low on instinct…Broken men. Broken dolls.

She did not look at them. Her gaze remained fixed forward, past shattered gates, ignoring the once luxurious banners of House Marr that were now tattered and soaked in soot. When she reached the throne room, she paused in the doorway. It was not what she remembered, and her head shook slowly. There was no music, no celebration, just the hum of broken lights and the dizzying sound of screams in the distance. She moved toward the dais and sank gracefully into the cold throne at its center.

Her head bowed low with silvery-white hair spilling over her shoulders like water.

For a moment, she said nothing.

There was nothing left. No sign of him…Just residue.

<<Daughter…>>

The singular word would find Quinn Varanin without any difficulty at all. Clear and absolute. It would have the strength of an ocean pressing forward, but remained mild, for the sake of one of the few she held so close. Coveted, almost. She was spreading her wings, but the Empress had a hard time letting go. She was possessive to a fault…Because when she lost hold of something?

It tended to die.

<<I am here. Bring to me the children of House Marr…They are mine>>

The words carried no heat or hesitation, merely breezing through the mind of her young one with ease. When she referred to the offspring of the former Dark Councilor, she did not speak of motherhood. She spoke in terms of battle. If they were to die? It would be by her hand. So many scrambled toward everything that Malum had left behind, but even his own family had forsaken the people of Alvaria.

Then, she exhaled, head still bowed while her senses expanded. She could feel the Darkside bleeding through the broken hall, thick and metallic, while death clung like old perfume. It pressed against her and demanded recognition. The pain, the rage, the loss…It was all here. Aimless and wild. Her eyes opened, luminous gold beneath pale lashes. She was looking at nothing and everything…Willing Darth Empyrean to hear her throughout the verse as clearly as if she were standing right beside him.

"…What a fine mess you have left me with, meldanya."

The rivers of blood that pooled between the stones began to stir. At first it was subtle…But it soon grew deliberate, pulsing in time with the noise outside, with the sound of war. She did not move her hands to form symbols or archaic gestures. For this…She did not need to. The Force answered her silently, utterly. Her lips parted once more, and she began to speak. The words on her tongue were heavy and familiar…Courtesy of the Korribani Tombs, secrets stolen from the damned.

"Ashaari kor thule… vosh raen nasha…"

| T h e – b l o o d – o b e y e d |
​

It lifted, twisted, and blackened, crystalizing as it rose—jagged onyx spires forcing their way up from the ruined floor. The spikes crawled outward, slow, spreading from the base of the throne like self-aware bursts of fractal glass. The sound of it creaking and breaking while it formed filled the large hall with a grinding, shivering resonance that hummed in the pit of her being. She could feel it returning that which she offered, power, filling the area behind the mirrored surface.

Outside, the crystal grew exponentially as there was more to feed on. It started to spread unchecked, covering walls, streets, buildings, and corpses alike. It reached for the sky and punched through the roof of the palace while it unfurled into a lattice of dark brilliance. Through that nexus, her voice carried across the city—across the battlefield, carrying the quake of a dying populace.

"Fight each other…", Srina whispered to all on Alvaria, her tones doubled, both the sweet and demonic speaking in tandem. If she was angry with them, it didn't show. Happy with their choices, there would be no inkling one way or the other. The phylactery at her throat amplified her every action, her presence, making it so that force-sensitives near and far would feel as if they were caught in the wake of her echo. "Every life you take, every scream you summon, is mine."

"Tal'kor shun…"​

"Can you hear them? The dead are louder than the living…"

"Reth al'voss…" ​

"Where are my warriors? Why am I alone among the carrion?"

The blood responded to her once more, crystallizing harder, faster, as if resonating with pain that none would understand. The throne itself slowly became encased in a crown of midnight glass, leaving only slim pathways behind. The entirety of the palace was being closed off, the remnants she spoke of, becoming trapped as if held in amber, locked in suspended animation. Srina sat unmoving at the heart…Her expression empty of all things. Still, silent. Her eyes closed…And it would seem as if she were carved of the same substance that now seemed hellbent on devouring the city.

Those who fought nearby would find that the crystal seemed to come right toward them, almost seeking them out, rather than spreading without thought or strategy. As if it wanted them.

As if the Empress wanted them.

"Drazh mek.…Or I will find you myself."

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

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

---

---

As the Echani continued down the stairs to her quarry, a different sensation altogether told her the altercation may no longer be necessary. Across the entirety of Alvaria whispered a voice, soft and commanding in its tone.

It crept along the back of the Echani's ear as it spoke Sith and common in turn, the warning not deaf to Jorryn as she listened. Her footsteps halted, the voice fading into obscurity but the presence in the force still clinging to her skin. To her soul.

And eventually, something would come to claim them.

Down the hall came noises like shattering glass and splitting wood, her gaze turned away from Darth Avida as she looked back to the dark hallways she had crept out of. The sensation hit her palate before the sight of the crystals ever could, the breaking and transmutation of blood in the air raising a smirk on the lips of the hemomancer before she could prepare herself to fight against them.

Blood red crystals consumed much of what laid before her, the bodies of those she had slain jerking before the flesh became crystalline and beautiful.

How fascinating.

The smile didn't fade even as the bloom raced towards Jorryn, only fuelled by the spark of inspiration. For awhile now, she had worked to alchemist and transmute blood on her own into a more malleable substance, but whoever had done this was far more powerful than she could imagine.

Oh how she hoped to meet it's author.

The blood red constructs cared little for the woman's observation, only existing to spread the message of the one that had created them. A warning and summons in two hands, overtaking the wooden railing her hand laid on. A stabbing sensation forced the Echani to jerk her hand away from where it rested, drawing a ruby line across her porcelain skin.

The blood that had been drawn was swallowed by the crystal, its warmth stolen and taken away as it intermixed with the bloom. Amber eyes examined the process carefully, watching as the droplets fell deeper in the crystal before laying in stasis. Then, it bloomed into a crystalline pattern, beautiful in it's uniqueness.

The thin droplet was stretched and spread along the construct, giving a shade of rose to the all consuming alchemy. She could still feel the sensation of her own blood in the crystal, marvelling in the fact that whatever this was held the properties that her alchemized blood carried within her.

Even now, the bloody rose called to be fed, inching towards the hand of the Echani in a gluttonous grasp. Her own blood called to be consumed as well, whatever manner of alchemy this was fell along a similar line as Jorryn's own.

The wound stitched itself before more blood was wasted before it's bearer looked down upon the other woman in the room.

"Looks like we may have to do this another time." A silent feeling of relief was ignored within the former Lord Inquisitor as she spoke. "It appears as though we have been summoned."

The crystals acted as guide to its creator, dividing the Echani and the Sith woman to separate paths. A hand hovered along the crystals as she climbed back through the halls, the feeling of whatever created this intoxicating the scientist within Jorryn.

The figure the winding paths lead to would eventually be met by the silver-haired Sith, the smile not fading as she recognised a fellow of her people. There were few that it could mean, and fortunately for Jorryn, this was one she could consider an ally. One of the mothers of her mistress, Quinn Varanin.

"Empress..." A low bow was offered to the monarch, holding its depth as only amber eyes peered upwards towards the pinnacle of alchemy. "A pleasure to finally meet my Lady's mother," Jorryn spoke softly before she raised, apparently the first of those present to arrive. "And overjoyed that you are everything I hoped you would be."

Peering through both sense and the force, she would carve the woman's image into her mind's eye. The ideal of who she herself would chase to compare to and, perhaps one day, become.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He'd split from the larger force some time ago, and found a small ancillary courtyard with which to hold His court. Throngs of the detained had once nearly filled the courtyard to capacity; men, women, and children who'd been too quickly swept up in the attack to find shelter or seek escape. He'd formed a crude bench of earth and stone, a throne from which He could watch the proceedings with cold indifference. The Black Valkyries stood around Him in a loose assortment, their masked faces betraying nothing.

One by one, the condemned were brought forth on ragged, bloody knees. The charges were read in a steady monotone. Treason, heresy, and a litany of other offenses; all from their mere association with the true culprit. Judgment was summary, they were dragged forward and thrown before the Butcher King's throne. They had perhaps a moment to collect themselves before they were set upon by a pack of ravenous beasts, all chained by thick iron collars to spikes driven deep into the courtyard floor.

Gnashing teeth, ripping flesh, crunched bone. Within moments, the condemned ceased to be. So it carried on, one after the other, none were spared the Butcher King's judgment. He hardly seemed to be watching, only appearing marginally aware of the grotesqueness that was unfolding less than a meter away. His attention was divided, drawn away by other forces, especially that which descended through the atmosphere at this very moment.

Rising from His throne, the Butcher King moved to leave the courtyard. What remained of the condemned would be handled in His stead, the faithful never wavering in their commitment to His vision. The Black Valkyries followed after Him, a silent shadow at His back. Onyx crystal crept along the floors and walls to meet Him, but it hardly had to; He'd anticipated this, and was already making His way towards her.

"I hear you," carried His voice upon the wind, caressing her ear with each succulent syllable. "Always."

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