Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[Kyrothian Ravoch]

Wrath of God

Acier Moonbound ​

Ravoch had created a predictable pattern for his foe to fall into. A pattern aimed at exhausting the Rebel, rather than actually breaking through his guard. All while allowing words to be exchanged, facial expressions to be read and flares of emotion to be tasted through the Force. Something new seemed to surface - the grief, guilt, fear and anger were all still present in the young Rebel's mind - but then, there was something more. As Ravoch kept pushing and prying, there was a sense of loss. Of heartbreak.

His jaw fell, just a little - eyes flared up in a bright yellow as realisation set in. But when the Lord gathered his might for another attack, the pattern he had established was broken. It was broken by the ashen-haired Rebel: Instead of a block or a parry, Ace dodged out of the Lord's swing in the small cramped space that he had been pushed back into. Despite the perilous situation he found himself in, Ravoch's brows rose, both impressed and amused. The counter was fast - it had to be. When the blue blade streaked across his armoured shoulder, a hailstorm of burned metal shot out in the direction of the swing.

The Sith Lord quickly leaned back and his saber fell into a defensive position. The shoulder pad still carried a glowing scorch mark from the hit and a few strands of hair had come loose from the tight slick-back. An arrogant smile formed across his lips as he took a step back. Ace claimed not to be his project and that he didn't need saving. Ravoch simply shook his head and let out a menacing rumble. "Progress"

Loose objects started to whirl behind him as his armoured hand started to close into a fist. Helmets, pieces of his shoulder pad, severed blasters all spun around an invisible axis with increasing intensity. Ravoch's eyes shone bright as he spoke. His voice dark but still as calm and composed as ever. "Don't let your hubris put the lives of those close to you at risk." It was a jab - meant to open him up for the follow-up. "I don't know how many more you could afford to lose." his words were precise and measured - and his tone was filled with pity.

With that, Ravoch made a subtle gesture with his hand. The telekinetic storm that had been brewing behind him suddenly rushed forth to pound both the ashen-haired Rebel, and the door that his back was pushed against. This was not fatal - but it would break bones and blast the door open.

 

[Domina Prime]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASHEMY?

Aether Verd | Renn Vizsla | Aselia Verd | Haro Aven | Korda Veydran | Siv Kryze
Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Elmindra Xitaar | Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf | Gerwald Lechner | Lina Ovmar | Naamino Zuukamano

Lysander von Ascania ​

L O C A T I O N: Death Star III
G E A R: Starfang | Warpriest Beskar'gam

Oh yes, this was turning out exactly as she had hoped. The boy had heart, she'd give him that, but heart alone couldn't carry a blade. He had no rhythm yet, no divine pulse to his movements. Every strike he made was honest, desperate, raw. And it thrilled her.

Each parry and pivot only made her grin wider behind that burning mask. He was learning on instinct, and instinct was holy.

Cartwheeling forward, her taloned feet gleamed in the stormlight, slashing low with mechanical precision, testing him, teasing him- until he vaulted free, using the Force to propel himself down the corridor. His boots kissed the durasteel floor with grace. He steadied himself, lightsaber poised, body resetting for another round.

Dima landed with a heavy thud, laughter rolling through the smoke like thunder. Their skirmish had carried her right back to where her sword still lay buried in the deck, humming faintly. As she exhaled, her tail slithered out like a serpent, wrapping lovingly around the hilt of Starfang.

The weapon tore free of the floor with a shriek, metal bending like song. The azure fire of its edge flared bright once more, bathing her in ghostlight.

"Don't run, little rabbit," she chittered, voice echoing through the blazing hall. "Prime doesn't like to chase~"

Her laughter was metallic, lilting, an unholy melody of amusement and hunger.

Then came his insult. "Imperial."

That word hit her like a slap, and she broke into a howl of laughter. Sharp, wicked, and genuine. "Honey, please. Imperials dream about looking this good...and then they wake up!"

She dragged her tongue across her tusks behind the mask, lowering her stance.

That's when she saw him lift his hand. The air tightened, the Force gathered like the breath before a storm. The deck screamed as the push came, ripping smoke, sparks, and shards of bulkhead into the air.

The blast crashed against her like a wave, knocking her footing, but it only stoked her joy. The runes across her armor hissed and flared, ancient symbols burning bright as they drank from the residual energy. Blue currents crackled along her pauldrons and danced across the mask, feeding the thing that stared through it.

Her fifth eye ignited like a star.

It focused the storm. The heat. The will.

And then she unleashed it.

A beam of plasma like power burst from her visor, lancing through the smoke in a searing arc. The air howled as the azure blast tore through the corridor, melting walls, bursting pipes, igniting stray fuel lines. The Death Star's sterile halls were instantly transformed into a cathedral of blue fire.

The blast blinded her for a moment, the fifth eye sizzling and sealing itself shut with a hiss of steam. But she didn't stop. She walked through it.

Through fire, through wreckage, through smoke that curled around her armor like worshippers at her feet.

"I need more," she growled, voice dripping with fervor. "I need you better...I need you strong."

Her blade hummed as she dragged it behind her, sparks hissing from the molten floor.

"Come to me, champion," she crooned into the haze, every syllable a commandment. "And I will make your name legendary."

Her pace slowed. The voice softened to a dark purr.

"You should know," she continued, her silhouette flickering against the azure inferno, "that despite everything-" she paused, turning her head, as if she could see him even now. "-I only want what's best for you."

Then, tilting her head, her final words slid out like the strike before a storm:

"I want you...powerful."

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: On his way to the ritual... threateningly so
OBJECTIVE: Devour it ALL
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Darth Caedes | Deonis Laythar | Onrai | Revna Marr | Gerwald Lechner | Srina Talon | Da'Razel | Darth Solipsis | Voldran Molf | @open

​

The nullification due to Onrai 's interference with the anti-force was a known problem, but at this moment, all that was necessary was for the Lord of Hunger's own connection to act as a guideline, for when the shadowy entity's tendrils of negative energy began to reach for the very ritual, He wisely severed his own connection, though as he stared at his hand of Avaritia when doing so, he noticed that some of the embedded crystals were damaged and tarnished...while not a huge issue, it did denote the weakness the artifact had.

"My dear Onrai...unleash all your strength, break through the wards and sorcery protecting that place...now that you have gained my guideline," The monstrous man let out a soft chuckle, his eyes vibrant with golden and crimson hues behind his mask, for a moment, as he took in a deep breath filled with a tone of satisfaction and amusement, a reddish hue seemed to roll over his entire armor as his presence within the force only seemed to have amplified considerably despite the interference of those wretched sith who foolishly claim to be following the Sith'ari. "Make them feel what it means to anger those who stand beyond the precipe of mortality."

Turning his head around, he could sense them, closer by than he had thought, Revna Marr was close to reaching her limits, not those of her power, but clearly of her restraint, for The Lord of Hunger could feel it, the shift within the Force, the change in the nature of the living force. raising his hand covered by the gauntlet towards one of the walls, the unbroken gems on the gauntlet started to shine with a bright, yet sickly green color, before a black miasma seemed to wisp around the gauntlet, the air crackling with energy and laden with supercharged electrons as the force hidden within suddenly burst out in a torrent of crackling, hellish green lightning. This energy, this lightning presenting itself to be powerful enough to rip and tear through the walls of metals and plastics, tearing through wiring, struts and supports, colliding with the next wall beyond that and tearing through it just the same, systems within the vicinity of the Lord of Hunger would no doubt begin to strain under such volatile energy being sent through wall after all. "I will have to pay someone a visit...if you'll excuse me, Onrai ."

Taking a deep breath, tensing the rejuvinated muscles within his body, feeling the absorbed magnitude of the Force coursing through every fiber of his body, the Lord of Hunger slowly bent through his legs, allowing each and every cell within his body to be drenched in the force, to be fed and strengthened, as the blackwing mutation within him engorged itself upon this insurmountable amount of power and energy he had managed to hoard within himself. If this was what but a part of the energy did to the Lord of Hunger, he shuddered at the idea of what the true volume of power entailed the ritual was aiming to reach.

Leaning forward, the floor started to crack and buckle under his feet, when he launched himself forwards, following and eventually passing into the trail of his own lightning, reaching with his shoulder towards the final wall that seperated himself and the origin of this new revelation within the force. With the wall of metals and plastics bulging, shattering and buckling under the sheer force of his 'entry', The Lord of Hunger had arrived at Revna Marr and Darth Caedes ' location, his aura of dread and despair emanating like a black fog. "Now...where is the child I was looking for...?"

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

Ace's strike had landed true. It wasn't much, but it was something. Proof that the Sith could bleed. Even seeing his hair slightly dishevelled nearly drew a grin from the young rebel.

Progress, the Sith said. Ace's chest heaved, sweat streaking along his brow. The debris behind Ravoch began to tremble, then rise. Helmets, scorched blasters, fragments of steel orbiting the Sith like debris around a black star.

"Don't let your hubris put the lives of those close to you at risk…"

Faces flashed in his mind: First, Aether Verd . His brother, somewhere out there in the storm. Then, Sibylla. The one person who looked at him like he wasn't a monster. Eve, Noodles, Michael, Jane, Aris, Verse, Devin. All of them, people who believed in him despite every reason not to. And beneath it all, the image of his mother lingered like an ember that refused to die.

"I don't know how many more you could afford to lose."

Ace's teeth ground together. He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The guilt and grief twisted into something sharper.

Before he could dwell on it, the telekinetic storm slammed into him like a shuttle impact. The sound was deafening, metal shrieked, air compressed, his own grunt swallowed by the blast. He barely had time to brace before the invisible wave picked him up and hurled him backward.

His shoulder smashed the door behind him; the metal cracked before blowing open in a burst of white sparks. He was thrown through, crashing into the next corridor in a tangle of dust and shrapnel. For a moment, all he could hear was the ringing in his head and the echo of Ravoch's words.

The first time Ace tried to get up, his arms buckled and he fell on his cheek. Something was broken, his left arm maybe? Adrenaline and rage dulled the pain, however. Finally, he got up to one knee, ribs burning, arm aching, but the lightsaber was still in his hand. The blue blade hissed to life again, its glow spilling across the floor. He stood, staggering slightly.

The Sith Lord stepped through the haze like a shadow given form. The flames reflected in his armor, the faint scorch along his shoulder plate still visible. His gaze locked onto Ace, those yellow eyes cutting through the dark like a predator spotting prey.

Ace's fingers tightened around his hilt. He stepped back once, then turned his off-hand toward the doorway. The metal around the frame screamed, bending under his telekinetic grip. Pipes tore loose from their brackets, crossbeams groaning as he wrenched them free. In one swift motion, he hurled the debris into the entryway. The wreckage crashed down in a heap, sealing the breach behind Ravoch.

The echo of boots and the muffled shouts of Stormtroopers followed. They wouldn't be getting through... not for a while. That left the two of them.

Ace's breath came slow, deliberate. His muscles trembled under the strain, but he didn't lower his guard. He could feel Ravoch's power pressing down on him, like gravity itself bending to the Sith's will.

Then something shifted in the Force. Faint, like a whisper carried through static, but there. A pulse of familiarity. A signature he knew better than his own reflection. It wasn't words, not a call, but it steadied him all the same. Aether. His brother was close. Somewhere beyond this corridor, beyond the fire and steel, he was here.

The faintest flicker of resolve sparked behind Ace's exhaustion. He leveled his lightsaber at Ravoch once more. The blue glow cut reflecting in his sweat-slicked freckles.

"You're running out of walls to throw me through."

He didn't wait for an answer. Ace lunged forward, lightsaber flashing up from his hip in a sharp diagonal slash meant to break through the Sith's guard and drive him back.

Kyrothian Ravoch ​

 

[Onrai]

Location: With The Lord of Hunger
Objective: SUCC
Tag: Darth Caedes Revna Marr Deonis Laythar Darth Vinaze Da'Razel Dark Forces Darth Solipsis The Lord of Hunger Gerwald Lechner Srina Talon Vireth Voldran Molf @Open

"My dear Onrai...unleash all your strength, break through the wards and sorcery protecting that place...now that you have gained my guideline," The monstrous man let out a soft chuckle, his eyes vibrant with golden and crimson hues behind his mask, for a moment, as he took in a deep breath filled with a tone of satisfaction and amusement, a reddish hue seemed to roll over his entire armor as his presence within the force only seemed to have amplified considerably despite the interference of those wretched sith who foolishly claim to be following the Sith'ari. "Make them feel what it means to anger those who stand beyond the precipe of mortality."

Onrai gave but a nod and the faintest trace of a smile as she focused the accumulated energy she had accreted through the destruction of the ritual's consumed Force energy with her own Anti-Force essence. She wasn't looking for a complete nullification of the wards that the Sith had put in place - there was no reason after all given everyone else was focused. She just wanted to open the doorway for herself and Credius to make the move.

And so he did, right through a substantial internal barricade from what she could tell. As he stepped into the area, the shade slowly wafted along behind him, eyes locked on Revna Marr and Darth Caedes .

"Hello there."

 

[Lilianna L'lerim]

Information

Crown Princess of Aaven, Priestess of Ashla​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Survive
Location: Aboard the Death Star III
Equipment: Noble Attire | Ashlan Rosary || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m

Tags
Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Tancred L'lerim (as Yorunarr) | Kael Varnok | Open​

I listened to the man’s words; I did not know what I should have said to him. My childhood had been difficult as well, though not in the same way as his. I was a princess who spent most of her life in a safe yet sterile room, for a Sith poison had destroyed my immune system even before I was born, and the smallest infection, even the faintest illness, could have killed me. I had to study there, live there, do everything there.

I could only embrace my father or my siblings if they were dressed in protective gear. Until they found a cure for my condition, I could never touch anyone throughout my life. I could not go among others, could not experience what it meant to truly live. But I did not complain; I never said it out loud. Nor did I mention the other things, that I had not seen my sibling for nearly half of my life…

No, I could not allow myself to complain or bring up anything of the sort in this situation. I merely nodded sadly at the man’s words, continuing to tend to the patient. When he mentioned the few passengers in his mind, I looked at him in slight confusion, not quite sure what he meant by that. Thankfully, he went on speaking, and this time he brought up something less uncomfortable... something I could actually respond to.

"I am one of Ashla's priestesses; my faith shall never be broken." I said to the man resolutely. Perhaps I sounded a little naïve, yet I truly believed it; and my heart was filled with deep sorrow, knowing that the man was most likely already broken and believed in nothing at all.

I believed in Ashla and in the certainty that her light and strength would never fade, not as long as there was someone who still believed in her. I had told Cesare this before, and I still held to that belief. I wanted to believe that it would remain so until the very moment of my death. All the more because I knew she watched over us, that she cared for us, and that she would help when needed. She existed; she was a tangible something, not merely an imaginary phantom of faith.

"I was taught to offer strength where hope and faith have already been lost… and Ashla will not abandon us. This is my duty, this is what I believe in, and if there are many across the galaxy who have lost their hope and faith, then I shall have much work to do." I smiled, determined and unwavering.

Meanwhile, I received a message from my brother as well; his determination filled my heart with hope and joy; yet also with sorrow. Too much determination could be dangerous.

~ Cesare wishes to help Aaven and seeks the Emperor’s fall… Ella only wishes to torment us. ~ I told Tancred telepathically at last, hoping I had not made a great mistake by speaking of my betrothed’s deeds. ~ Please, Tancred… please try not to get yourself killed before you arrive... and promise me you’ll be careful! ~ I beseeched him.

And of course, silently within my own thoughts, I said a prayer to Ashla as well... to protect him.

 

[Voldran Molf]

Information

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmare, Dream Lord​

"Galactic Basic" | <"Mandalorian"> | ["Úr-kittat"] | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>​

Objective: Perform the ritual.
Location: Death Star III
Equipment: Armour | Sword || OPBC-01m

Allies
Darth Solipsis | Darth Vinaze | Ibaris Varanin | Deonis Laythar | Kann | Cesare Demici | Aphon | Da'Razel | Janus Vipsanius | Open
Enemies
Corazona von Ascania | The Lord of Hunger | Onrai | Open for a story, not for duel​

Voldran felt that the pressure had lifted or at least the sense that they were being attacked had faded. The man grimaced again; he had hoped this would not happen, that the enemy would simply continue what they had started. Because that meant Vinaze and Janus could carry on with the ritual they had already begun earlier, unhindered. And that, quite clearly, was something the man was not pleased about. He longed desperately for someone... anyone.. to arrive and put an end to this madness; the whole thing was sheer lunacy.

Yet somehow, his silent plea seemed to have been heard, for only a few moments later, the avatar of Ashla appeared in the chamber where the ritual was taking place. Voldran or more precisely, the smoke demon within him was highly sensitive to Light Side energies, especially since the woman was a walking Vergence, a Force nexus in living form. Though the sithspawn had not exactly imagined help arriving in this particular manner, he was nonetheless grateful for any action that might interrupt the ritual.

The Light Side’s power caused excruciating pain to the man, forcing him down to one knee. Voldran had long grown accustomed to pain... he could endure it. But the demon, after being fused to him, retained only its instincts. And instinct, in moments of agony, always screams for one thing to make it stop. Thus, the demon yearned to flee from Eina’s presence. But it could not. The runes burned into the man’s soul prevented it.

This time, Voldran did not even need to force himself to stay and make the demon suffer; his mother did that for him. The agony silenced his chanting, and he only refrained from crying out because he clenched his teeth with all the strength he had. And yet, in an ironic twist, it was now the enemy who ensured he could no longer aid the ritual. There was no powerful counteraction, no battle meditation, nothing left to suppress the might of the Light.

The man laughed, joyfully, though pain still laced his voice. He had won; at least for now, in some small way, he had triumphed. He kept laughing, and from that blend of pain and laughter, tears welled in his eyes. But in time, his laughter began to fade as his body grew accustomed to the pain… as it learned to bear it. His trembling ceased; his heartbeat and breath slowed, steadying once more. He had been tortured too many times in his life, he had learned too well how to endure, how to survive.

And so it was again now. Soon, Voldran began to chant once more. His voice was hoarse, the pain still audible in it, but he continued, bound to do what he was forced to do…

 

[Eina L'lerim-Vandiir]

Information

The Light of Ashla, Champion and Avatar of Ashla ​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Stop the ritual
Location: Death Star III
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (weapons) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m

Writing With
Darth Vinaze | Closed
Tags
Heinrich Faust | Darth Solipsis | Ibaris Varanin | Deonis Laythar | Kann | Cesare Demici | Aphon | Da'Razel | Janus Vipsanius | Open​

The ritual was already well under way by the time Eina arrived in the chamber where it was taking place. Unfortunately, she had neither the time nor the chance to see who else was present, for all her focus was bound to Vinaze. The man was the one most deeply immersed in the rite and it was around him that the greatest disturbance in the Force could be felt. He was the centre, the focal point. And now that they both stood in the same place, the time for words had passed. Words were no longer truly needed. The woman had a feeling that, once again, this battle would not be decided physically, but mentally.

They were both creatures of the Netherworld, and even their greatest battle before had not been fought with weapons, but with their minds. On Tython during that first battle, when Solipsis sought to shatter reality itself, yet perished in the attempt, along with so many others. It was during that conflict that Eina and Geriseric became the avatars of Ashla, and their first child was “born.” Or rather, it had been given to them as a gift from Ashla. But that was the past and time, especially for an entity such as Eina, was a deeply relative thing.

Only moments passed before the woman felt Vinaze’s assault; and she did not resist. Eina allowed the eldritch being to grasp her mind, to try and unearth her hidden fears. Like all things in the Galaxy - or in the Netherworld - Eina was not perfect. She had her worries, her burdens, but true fear… there was but one.

She worried for the weak, the suffering, the fallen, for her friends, her family, her husband, her children, and countless others. But fear… fear was something else entirely. And Vinaze could find, stir, and bring forth a single thing within that “theme” in her mind. It was not the victory of Solipsis, nor the death of another, nor the triumph of the Dark Side over the Light. Eina’s fear was utter annihilation; the destruction of a soul.

And not her own. It was the loss of any soul, even those she did not know. For death was not the end; within the Netherworld, anyone could find new life.

… But when a soul is destroyed, nothing remains. That was Eina’s true fear to witness souls being annihilated, unable to do anything to stop it. Vinaze could see how Eina had often visited a great soul chunk; the only thing left of Adrian Vandiir, also known as Darth Prospero, who was her “father,” for Ashla had created Eina from the souls of that man and Ingrid L’lerim. Then came other visions, Zachariel Steelblood devouring souls before her eyes on Korriban, tormenting her with their agony…

… And beyond that, Vinaze could also see what Eina had witnessed when War, Death and Rebirth devoured souls by the hundreds, even thousands, only to spit out their mangled remnants and form the Martyrs from them. That was what caused her the greatest pain and the deepest fear; to see it, to stand helpless, unable to save them.

As those painful memories resurfaced within her mind, Eina became motionless in reality; the sensations assaulting her mind made her barely aware of the world outside, perceiving only what unfolded within. From the anguish and the flood of memories, golden, luminescent “tears” streamed down her cheeks, the very manifestation of the Force itself. Despite the pain, despite the distress, Eina did not yield. She tried to use the very channel that now connected her to Vinaze, reaching out to him through it.

Yet she did not seek to awaken good memories or pleasant emotions within the man. From their earlier encounter, she already knew he used host bodies, for he was nothing but a Force entity. So the woman tried to reach the host to awaken it, to strengthen it, to give it the will to resist Vinaze’s possession and fight back against his will…

 

[Kyrothian Ravoch]

Wrath of God

Acier Moonbound ​

Small, weak, pathetic. Ravoch's eyes narrowed as he saw his foe deep inside the corridor. On his knees, exhausted and wounded. But then, the boy pushed - he fought and stumbled back up onto his feet. "You're stubborn.." His voice was calm, bordering on nonchalant - loud enough to carry a fair bit past where Ace was.

White light bars running along the corridor's walls flickered back on, removing the cover of darkness that the non-Padawan had enjoyed so far. Gloss black panels softly reflected their light while reds, greens, blues and oranges shimmered faintly from the wall-mounted terminals. Clinical and efficient, their current location was similar to where they had started. In fact, the metallic doorways leading out to the right looked very much like those which had sealed the hangars they had entered through before.

When the boy's arm shot out in Ravoch's direction, the Sith kept closing the distance between them with leisurely strides. He did not even flinch at the posed threat - perhaps his defences were already up, or perhaps he had sensed that he was under no immediate danger. Ace was tearing the clean corridor apart: metal beams groaned as it was bent to his will, pipes snapped from their slots and panels screeched before being torn from where they belonged. It was a display of pure, raw and unrefined power. Power that allowed the ashen-haired Rebel shape the world to his will. Almost ignorant to the potential threat, the Lord continued, his voice seemingly capable of piercing through the chaos. "... and tenacious. I applaud you for pulling yourself back up."

An unbothered glance was thrown at the blockage that had just been created. His opponent had just ensured that the Stormtroopers were taken out of the equation. An impressed nod was offered. Eventually, Ravoch's pace slowed to a halt, giving Ace a bit of room to recover, physically. "This is where most Jedi would sue for peace." - his foe, however, was not like most Jedi. In fact, he was not a Jedi at all. A defiant quip along with a raised blue blade followed. "You're running out of walls to through me through" Ravoch shook his head in disbelief with a chuckle.

The ashen-haired Rebel lunged forward. But he was exhausted and wounded - both from the most recent impact, and from previous cuts. Ravoch simply raised his blade to block the diagonal cut, pivoted and stepped away. "Few could have rallied as you just did. Good. But to waste that energy on yet another attack?" A subtle, disappointed shake of the head was offered.

Stern and measured words followed as the massive frame circled the smaller fighter with surprising grace. "You are being reckless. Again. You are a danger to yourself - and if you have someone who loves and cares for you, you are a danger to them too. You need to control yourself." He spoke as if he was an older brother disciplining his unruly sibling. His expression barely changed as he suddenly launched a series of three quick slashes to throw the Rebel off balance. He would then leap back to create distance.

"When will you realise that our interests are aligned? You are forcing me to fight you - but I would much prefer having you at my side. Who - who in your life could understand you like I do? Pledge yourself to me, let me teach you control. Let me show you how to keep the people you care about safe." Ravoch was either going to crack through the walls, or provoke another attack. His blade hummed as he shifted his stance, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture.

 

[Matsu Ike]

OBJECTIVE: Crystal Assembly
ALLIES: Jedi Connel Vanagor
ENEMIES: Sith
She allowed the force to guide her as she gave chase to them, they ran towards the ones who had waited longer... working more to scare them into retreating as she continued to work around in the crystal chamber. A finger was moving along the hall to shift, twist and reform. Outlining it as slowly her attention went towards more where the force rippled around it. Displacement was there as she didn't need to rip or tear she was just shifting and moving. Altering the molecules of the room to work on emptying it out. "Hmm they might be able to use a few of these in otherspace." She was debating mentally with herself what she might be able to do for more disruptions or to work on it. MOstly it seemed things were getting quiet now.

"Connel, Acier is doing something but I am not sure who he is engaging." She wasn't certain and debated if she could teleport to him... would be a sight to behold as she more reached out with her mind... her body and thoughts dividing the workings of her mind. Slowly manipulating and observing the rooms in the force as her body moved around giving her a consciousness throughout the unbeing of the force... Acier was a thread she could find and project to. Her eyes looking at the sith who was talking while she was making herself small like an angel on the shoulder of Acier Moonbound if he let her. As the sith was talking she finally had a look at Kyrothian Ravoch with a tilt of her head for a moment as she spoke. Her projection hovering as the hair spread out behind her with wide black eyes reflecting starlight.

"Look at his chin it is so big he skipped double and went straight to the quad... and those cheek bones are so sharp you could cut beskar on them." She said it for a moment though only hovering as her presence remained a mixture of expansion and contraction. Letting it be felt as it went from small almost youngling presence to a supernova. She nudged at Acier as she was speaking. "Look at him dude he is like the size of a wookiee if the wookiee was swoll, like he spent the year at the gym and only survived on high protein smoothies.... and that hair it is like a business in the front and party in the back. You know he knows how to party." She was nodding her head before her hand came out with the force candy as it was forming. "Dude you aren't you when you're hungry... have some candy and like chill."

SHe was allowing her mind to operate there... and here in the crystal chambers... focusing on the disruption aspect when another point was what she could do. Darth Carnifex was here which would be dangerous and if they had the shot she might as well sending him a small project. He couldn't be spoken to mentally which was all sorts of boring... she didn't know the comlinks he used to mimic them. "So... if this place was thrown this into a blackhole would you be opposed?" She said it and the ritual could be there but he was one of the more powerful... a sith storm from him in the station would be something that could hijack their energies and... there was the whole hilarity of the situation that could be caused. She didn't keep the projection there as she remained in the room and scooped another piece of crystal turning it into food. She was obserrving in the force several other areas of the station to try and figure out their potential plans.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Weal & Woe
Kor'ethyr Issued Kainate Trooper Armor
Armor Permissions

TAGS: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Haro Aven | Srina Talon | Lina Ovmar | Gerwald Lechner | Deonis Laythar |

​

"Zuukamano. Destroy them."

He was moving before the last word left his King's mouth. Legs surging him forward, closing the distance, saber ready to strike out or defend as necessary. Danger sense rippled up the center ridge of his horns and something told him hazards abound on all sides, not just ahead.

A shadowy tendril would slip around and past Naamino, avoiding him entirely as it slipped towards the first of their opponents - the Dathomirian sorcerer Caedes had pointed out to her to target. If they allowed the snaking tendril to touch them, then it would be all over. If they wished to live, they would need to break her concentration and force her out of her current state - something that had never been done to her before, and who knew if it would work. And soon they would have to deal with Naamino as well, challenging them on a physical level.

So Deonis gave in to his hatred, vented his fury, let the Dark Side flow through him. He pointed his twitching fingertips at both Marr and Zuukamano and let loose.

A storm of lightning erupted from his hands, a pure expression of the Dark Side's evil.

"Fethin' hells," the zabrak growled under his breath.

Naamino moved with speed and grace belied by his size. Though not supernaturally fast, his excellent reflexes paired with forewarning meant that he was already shifting his footwork sideways. Moving his large form in such a way that he left ample room for Revna's fell sorcery, while swinging his saber in a deflection arc. It was a technique that had not yet been tested on the field of battle but one his Master Elmindra Xitaar had been drilling him on recently for just such an occasion.

Deflection paired with his armor kept the zabrak upright and moving, but his right arm sizzled and stung with some of the lightning all the same. Naami grimaced and steeled himself, swinging in for a brutal slash toward Brother Vaan before whirling upon Zharrek, regarding the lightwhip wielder as the more dangerous of the two and seeking to close the distance so his opponent's reach weapon gave him less advantage.

Raising his left hand, Naami called upon the abundance of darkness all around him and channeled it into a Force blast.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

Ravoch's words followed, calm, patient, almost pitying.

"You are a danger to yourself… Let me teach you control."

Ace caught the first strike on instinct. The blow rattled through him, pain lancing up his left arm, his weapon hand, like fire through bone. The lightsaber wavered in his grip, but he bit down on the pain and steadied it, both hands tightening on the hilt.

Ace's breath rasped through his teeth. "Control?" He said, voice rough. "That what you call this?"

The second strike came faster, heavier. He blocked again, teeth grinding, every nerve in his left hand screaming. The third he deflected by pivoting off his heel, dragging his blade across the polished deck in a shower of sparks as he slid back into stance. Ravoch had leapt back before Ace could issue a return strike.

The rebel shifted his footing, blue light cutting through the haze between them. His left arm trembled, barely holding, but he refused to let it fall.

"You talk like you give a damn." He growled. "But I've seen your kind. Every word you say's just another chain."

The corridor around them pulsed with cold, sterile light. White bars flickered along the walls, their reflections dancing across the slick black panels. Red strobes bled through the haze, casting Ravoch's armor in sharp, shifting color. Conduits sparked overhead, and somewhere deeper in the Death Star, alarms wailed through the pressurized halls. They were close to a hangar, he could feel the thrum of engines beyond the bulkhead, the faint pulse of distant movement.

A flicker brushed the edge of his mind... a voice, distant, distorted through the haze of pain. He didn't have the space to focus on it. Not now. Not here.

Then he moved. He surged forward, both hands gripping the hilt despite the agony, every strike drawn from instinct and willpower. The first came down hard, the second spun low, the third whipped back up across the body, the speed building, the rhythm breaking apart into something wild and furious. Each swing cost him more than the last, the bones in his left arm grinding with every motion. Still, he pressed on.

One last strike, everything he had left. Ace roared through the pain, throwing his weight behind the swing, his left arm leading the motion despite the break. The blade came down in a savage diagonal arc, wide and overextended, his stance collapsing with the force of it.

Kyrothian Ravoch​

 

[Sars Sarad]

NPC's: Dark Forces
Hasuras Na-Gerra | Arris Windrun​

---

Sarad was satisfied he had saved his contemporaries if nothing else.

The Valhans thanks would be met with silence; he didn't require acknowledgement. As for Arris Windrun , her voice was met with the same silence until a response crackled over the comms...

"No."

...the answer was straightforward and matter of fact, unlike the rest of the group Sarad hadn't sojourned so far into the Death Star though he left the equatorial trench which was still kilometers in width. Glancing around the room he occupied, noting the damaged consoles and flickering lights that indicated the tractor beams were either deactivated due to low power or damaged he eventually remarked...

"The Overbridge is out of your reach now I think."

...his voice through so that both Arris and Hasuras Na-Gerra could hear him. From his location Sarad couldn't even know where exactly the two of them were aside from the vicinity of the breach he'd thrown them towards but his did have a suggestion...

"This station moves, albeit slowly. Perhaps you could overload one of its ion engines."

There must be multiple engines, each of them massive in comparison to what a Star Destroyer would need to traverse the darkness of space. Sarad only assumed but he wagered that if an engine was overloaded, exploding in the process it might rip another sizeable hole through the Death Star. Only causing the actual damage would reveal if this was a viable target though.

Turning his head, he thought he heard the sound of approaching troops causing him to lament...

"Apparently fate has decided I'm only to test myself against fodder this day."

...he would make ground and find them, the force was a powerful tool for tracking individuals down.

 

[Haro Aven]

LOCATION: CORE WORLDS > ATRISI SYSTEM > THE DEATH STAR​

EQUIPMENT: BODIE | VIBROKNIVES | BLASTER PISTOL | FIELD COM-SCAN LINK | SLICER SPIKE | KOR'ETHYR-ISSUED KAINITE TROOPER ARMOR [armor permissions]​

OBJECTIVE: INFILTRATE THE DEATH STAR...GET TO THE MAIN REACTOR CORE​

TAGS: Naamino Zuukamano | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Srina Talon | Madrona A’Mia | Lina Ovmar | Gerwald Lechner | Domina Prime | Taeli Raaf | The Lord of Hunger | Onrai | Deonis Laythar ​

In those precious few moments before the combat began in earnest, as the tension crackled and compounded in the air, Haro studied the schematics for their best route to the main reactor core furiously. It was almost like being in one of those holo-puzzle games, but with an unseen timer that ticked down to his demise if he didn't solve it in time. Hyper-focused on the device in his hands, the young engineer barely registered the rest of their opponent's speech nor the King's taunting response. It wasn't until something dark and writhing slithered around and past him that his gaze snapped up again. He could feel the bone-deep chill resonating from Lady Revna Marr 's shadowy tendrils, as if they were devouring the heat in the air. Instinctually, he pulled away from them, slinking to the edge of the corridor and toward one of the nearby side passages as inconspicuously as he could manage.

Darth Caedes followed behind him at a casual gate, seemingly unconcerned about their opposition as he off-handedly commanded Naami to destroy them. He didn't like leaving Naami's side, but he knew he'd likely just be a liability in this kind of fight and the best way to help was to get them to their destination as fast as possible. So he pulled up to the terminal beside one of the lift doors just around the corner in the side passage and went to work. It wasn't the most direct route but the lift would take them to the proper level and they could circle back from there.

The so-called anointed servant apparently didn't take kindly to being ignored by the King and his enraged bellow echoed through the corridor before bolts of lightning lit up the space with a malicious screech. Haro whipped around, sparing a glance to see if Naami had been struck, but the blow had barely slowed the Zabrak's momentum as he closed the distance and pushed the offensive.

Haro turned back and redoubled his efforts, easily bypassing security with code cylinder and calling the lift to their location. He pulled up an approximate time of arrival for the lift—02:13 and counting down. He scoffed frustratedly.

"Lift won't be here for another two minutes," he relayed through the team's private comm channel even as he was sending the override commands to open the doors despite the absence of a lift.

"We're on level 465. We need to get to 500." The doors slid open to reveal the dimly lit empty lift shaft. Haro glanced back at the King of Korriban.

"Any ideas?"​

 

[Kyrothian Ravoch]

Wrath of God

Acier Moonbound ​

Amusement and interest started to fade from Ravoch's eyes. Perhaps his words had agitated the ashen-haired Rebel — perhaps they had even sown a seed of doubt. If so, it did not show. Instead, the reply - that he didn't give a damn and that all he offered was just another chain - addressed who it was that spoke the words, rather than what he actually said. The Lord shook his head in quiet disappointment, exhaling a sigh before speaking "You will find my chains far more liberating than carrying the weight of your own decisions."

His eyes narrowed as he sensed a faint presence in the Force. Someone was trying to influence them from afar. But then, he had been prying and prodding at his foe's psyche throughout their encounter - it would seem as if the Rebel wasn't very receptive to whatever it was that was being offered. Yellow eyes shifted, studying a brief flicker of light before settling on Ace. A streak of realisation showed across his features "You can't even think straight, can you?"

Brows slowly shot up and his interest and curiosity quickly seemed to return. Ravoch shook his head as a vicious smirk appeared on his lips. "He keeps fighting. His mind is a haze and he's drowning in pain - and even then, his instincts are to attack." The Sith was no longer talking to his opponent - he was simply speaking his conclusions out loud. An amused glint crossed his eyes as he leaned his head back "My past Master would have killed for an apprentice like you."

The smaller duelist followed his instincts. He fought through the pain and exhaustion to launch another series of attacks. Ravoch's stance shifted - with a quick step, he moved back. His opened arms didn't allow him to block with his own saber. The blue blade narrowly missed - falling but a few short centimeteres away from his chest. The Lord's eyes shone in a bright yellow - this was dangerous, far more dangerous than it should have been considering the state that his opponent was in.

Crimson red rocketed from the Sith’s side. But the attacker’s tight movements meant he wouldn’t be fast enough to block the blue blade's low sweep. Instead, he leaned on the Force, making it give him astonishing amounts of strength and agility to fuel a leap. Before the ashen-haired Rebel could land the strike, Ravoch spun upward, it was a sudden, fluid ascent that carried him above and past his foe. Metal groaned, the glossy floor buckling beneath his landing as he touched down a meter behind the attacker.

The next swing came fast - much faster than it should have. This time, however, the Lord's own blade was close to his core, allowing his unarmoured arm to easily raise the crimson weapon into a block. Finally, their blades clashed in a violent buzz. With their blades locked, it would have been natural for Ravoch to speak - to keep pressuring his foe on all levels. But this time, Ace let out an exhausted but defiant roar. The blade lock was disengaged and a follow-up attack was about to come crashing down on the Sith.

Yellow eyes followed the blue blade as it was raised high. But it wouldn't be allowed to come down at him. Ravoch would answer by producing a much more imminent threat. With a swift, one-handed sweep, his crimson blade arced high, threatening to cut his opponent's saber arm off. Meanwhile, the Force surged in his free arm to produce a powerful blast to send the non-padawan away with an immense bone-breaking force. A sharp and stern "Enough!" cut through the air.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

For a heartbeat, it felt like he might've turned the tide. His blade had grazed armor, the air itself shuddered between them, and the rhythm of the fight finally felt like his again - brutal, fast, alive.

Then the shift came. Ravoch moved, impossibly fast. Crimson light carved a crescent through the air, the hum splitting into a roar as the Sith Lord spun past him. The impact of his landing rattled the deck plating, vibrations crawling up through Ace's boots. He turned with it, barely catching the next strike, the two blades locking once more in a storm of light and fury.

The weight behind Ravoch's lightsaber was like nothing he'd felt before. The corridor screamed around them, metal bending, alarms wailing, sparks raining from the ceiling. Ace's left arm buckled, his bones already fractured, his muscles trembling under the strain.

"Enough!"

Ravoch commanded when the rebel had made the mistake of overcommitting. A reckless, desperate attempt to end it. Ravoch's crimson blade flashed high, too fast, too close. Ace's body moved before his mind did, a desperate parry that came an instant too late. Light and pain exploded together. His world turned white.

The sound that tore from his throat wasn't a word; it was a raw, animal scream. Agony ripped through him, nerves burning like molten wire. Heat and fire swallowed his senses, and his lightsaber spun free, clattering across the deck. The smell of scorched flesh hit him next. And for a moment, just a moment, there was nothing but disbelief.

He looked down. His arm... his arm was gone.

Then came the Force. The blast from Ravoch's free hand slammed into him, ripping him off his feet. He hit the deck hard, skidding across the polished black surface until his back struck a wall with enough force to rattle the fixtures.

For a long, shuddering second, he couldn't breathe. Just the burn, the ringing, and the red haze swallowing everything else. The cauterized stump smoked where his elbow should've been. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, his heart hammering like it wanted out of his chest. He stared at the empty space, mind refusing to connect what he saw to what he felt. It didn't make sense. Couldn't.

He clutched his left arm, or what was left of it, his fingers trembling, his breathing jagged. Shock warred with pain, disbelief with fury. His vision swam, the red strobes above turning everything into a fever dream of smoke and color.

Through the haze, the glint of his lightsaber flickered against the deck. His gaze fixed on it. That tiny sliver of light.

Somewhere inside the pain, defiance stirred. While he couldn't stand, Ace forced himself upright, every nerve on fire, his body trembling but unbowed. His voice came low and fractured, thick with both agony and defiance.

"I'll…" a ragged breath, "Die before I join you."

Kyrothian Ravoch | Aether Verd ​

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

TAGS
Lilianna L'lerim Cesare Demici Kael Varnok

WRATH OF GOD
7

​

ACCESS HALLWAY (INFIRMARY GREEN), ABOARD THE DEATH STAR III,
APPROACHING ATRISIA, CORE WORLD TERRITORIES (903 ABY)

'Shaman psychobabble, futility made manifest.... You will find it retains no power here.'
'So said the weakling, hiding behind borrowed power! FIGHT ME, YOU COWARDS!!!!'
​

Thus the great dance began, goaded on by the outnumbered target, and like a flash, the warriors in the shadows lunged forward with daggers hidden beneath their cloaks. Shorter blades of the sort, senseless though it seemed to implement Vibro-tech against such a foe, had been chosen with reason in mind; and for as long as the darkness persisted around the solitary charging-station, it made no sense to suddenly reveal themselves by activating bled Kyber, as all efforts to suppress their Midichlorian outputs would have rendered all their tactical choices quite redundant. Unfortunately for the unidentified Dark Side warriors, however, their desired target was operating on an entirely-different level of combat, and for as long as the Priest-King's eyes were glowing, his assailants would soon agree that Lightsabers would have been more useful.

The old Novanian could see, and the assassins surrounding him would never know that their souls had betrayed their positions - to a man they never encountered before.

But more yet was bubbling in Yorunarr's mind, that which only mind-readers could uncover, and if such beings were to be implemented in such a moment, it would not take a translator to know it was inwardly-repeated incantations. Perfectly balancing high and low aspects of his people's spiritual paradigm, just as his father once had, embodying both Godseer and Blood-Shaman beliefs, working both extremes in concert with each other. To see the attack coming with the eyes Melarran bestowed upon him, and to prepare a surreptitious answer to vicious, murderous intent, it was little wonder that Yorunarr spread his arms out in serene, goading acceptance at the time, as there was little need to resist that which no assailant could forsee.

'AS ONE!!!! NOW!!!!'

In went the blades, stabbing in all the available openings across his shirt-wearing chest, but to the Priest-King's shock, all would miss the heart. This was a variant of the Carbonite Drill, Yorunarr could see it as clearly as he could see all of his home province on a bright morning, understanding that it's function was usually implemented to debilitate the target as a mercy, lest the target struggled in the Carbonite freezing process. Yet still, for the norm of incapacitation he recognized, it was clear that no restraint was specified for Yorunarr in the effort to subdue him successfully, even grunting under the weight of every stabbing-impact as if they were all hoping he would fight back against it, but the Priest-King persisted to hold his ground in silence.

The shadowy assailants had already lost, basking in the midst of their own mistake, and not one had questioned the fact it was too easy to believe they had prevailed - not until it was much too late to stop and back away from the gravest of errors.

​

'Heh! I smell Hookah on your breath.... You're Carannian, aren't y-?'

[Cough]
[Splutter]
[Spit]​

'Why aren't you fighting? Is it-? Wait, NO!!!!'
'Three.... Two....'

​

Like clockwork, the silhouettes of those hooded, cloaked assassins erupted with wounds to their chest, leaving each and every one (right down to the last wicked dagger) in conditions that were considered equivalent to those they had only just inflicted on their desired quarry. Dropping, one-by-one, before the Priest-King, brought to their knees or onto their backs by a man who felt every presence on arrival, and coincidentally, by a man who was still yet to physically deliver his first conventional strike, still standing despite all he had just incurred at their hands. Even whilst his adversaries groaned and writhed around on the Durasteel-mesh platform at his feet, Yorunarr's only showings of pain had been the pained grunts from the chest-deep wounds he incurred, showing yet another chasm left in the wake of yesteryear's destruction, thus leaving the old Novanian with nothing else but the desire to return Raindancer to her gilded scabbard.

After that, the Priest-King made a point of moving away from all the screaming, walking away from all the headache-inducing pain it sent to his eardrums, and as he turned to look back to the predicament it left upon his assailants, Yorunarr knew he could smile for his good deed of fellowship. As not only had it bought time for the young Saint's rescue-attempt, but in noting that his pursuers were no-longer in a condition to follow, the old Novanian had also just assured safe approach on the way back to the docking bays. For all intents and purposes, the Priest-King's part had been played, handling his own (and Tancred's-) workload to pitch-perfect precision, the rest was just that which the Aavenian was to endure eventually.

Sooner or later, one way or the other.

'Getting real quiet over there.... Look, whatever wild thoughts you're cooking up now, just go ahead and attribute all of that to plain, simple hubris. Should've known, should've seen it coming.'

Bringing another cigarra to his lips, Yorunarr would once again stand alone with his thoughts in the dark, returning to silence as his adversaries' groaning steadily gave ground to silence, and the creaking, whirring reverberations of the Death Star's inner workings. There was something calming about the silence when it eventually gained full control over the substation, but that which calmed the Priest-King the most was the soothing, therapeutic effect the darkness had on his mind, and fortunately for Yorunarr, this would mean an early effort to steady heartrate and bloodflow alike. The old Novanian knew well enough that his legs would give out beneath him, and in preemptive, measured consideration, chose to sit down by the recharging-plinth before lighting the deathstick in his mouth at the time.

The cigarra would be ignited after that, and just in time for his fingers to lose their strength, a troubling sign - though much-less so with Tancred's healing abilities considered.

'Old man does his duty, so that the boy may earn - his - spurs.... Job done.'

​

 

[Darth Vinaze]

THEME
​

The Prophet grinned wickedly as the overwhelming fear and anxiety took a hold of his enemy. But as Eina began to cry, tortured by chagrin, he could hear now that the chanting had subsided, lost its vigor. If they were to dominate the galaxy, the Emperor's plan had to work as intended. There was no affording for the weak and the slacking. Looking around the room, he saw that several of the cultists were in shock, perhaps even fear, at the sight of the Avatar of Ashla. Vinaze pointed a gnarled finger down at Voldran Molf, sensing the overcoming strength within the man, whose aura fought back against the invading light of the Ashla. He'd always liked this one, as much as he could like any of the tools that were the Dark Side Elite. This one would do his bidding well, in the absence of his Church acolytes who had taken to the defense against the encroaching horde of Jedi rats.

"YOU! Emperor's Chosen! This intruder will not hamper our divine winds! I will deal with her, but them..." he cast his hand in a wide arc around the room at the cohort of ritualists "... you will make them sing, or you will make them fear. Fuel for our fire either way!" he cackled. At his mere words, the chanting became more insistent, the cultists knowing the severity of the Sith Lord's threat.

Darth Vinaze began to channel his power once more, his own power, not that which he had been a conduit for in the ritual. He needed to summon from his well to defeat the Avatar, lest he waste more of Atrisia's doom that was meant for the growing Storm.

Yet, as he drew on the power deep within, he felt a knocking at the door of his mind, the grinding of steel against steel, two mental masters who had long sought to overcome one another's' psyches. It seemed no matter how hard he pushed, Eina always pushed back, something she had no doubt learned from the bull-headed and obstinate Geiseric . Though the two men had never met, he had heard of the woman's late husband from Mandalore the Unchained.

As she pushed back against him, he realized it felt different from before, not like how they had fought on Coruscant. She was not trying to banish him as before... but to connect, it seemed. The Sith Lord's entire body revolted at the attempt, and he immediately recognized what she was trying to do. Vinaze was a specter in this world, haunting, possessing. His body was not his own. The corpse that had been born naturally to the world of Dathomir was long buried in the rubble of Malachor V, but Vinaze had desire a new corporeal form. With the knowledge he had been passed down from the Palpatinian Monks of Exegol, he had begun to spawn Strandcasts, like Darth Sidious had once done. These malformed clones, withered and gaunt, born crippled by the dark side, were grown from the DNA of his father, whom he had tracked down to the grave on Umbara, a grave which the Sith Lord promptly defiled.

The Strandcast, for a brief moment felt the soul being torn away from it, both host and parasite experiencing an agonizing mental trauma. The body with no soul of its own was waking from possession, its newborn consciousness screaming with primal fear, the misunderstanding of its visceral awakening to the world. The soul with no body of its own was being force back into that otherworldly sleep, the dream-state of that sojourn to the nethers of the Dark Side that it had long fought to escape. The body convulsed violently and spoke in tongues, an ancient form of the Sith language, in an explosive schizophrenic burst.

And then the two snapped back together, the entirety of the Prophet's consciousness laser focused on Eina for a fleeting moment., locked-in.

"No... NO!" Vinaze stomped his foot in tantrum, "you will NOT take me back to that place!" the was a strain in his high-pitched, raspy voice. Genuine fear in his words? It was unbecoming of the Darth who thought himself above fear, but something had visibly shaken the man.

"You will never understand, creature! That this realm is where true strength lies! You... you creature of the beyond, I will never again suffer the torture of the hell that you come from! Here, in this corpse I have found living IMMORTALITY!" his voice boomed, as if projected around the room by the Force in his anger. the rage swelling at the thought of being cast back into undeath, into the horrors he had seen deep in the Dark Side of the Force... true fear.

TAGS
Writing opposite Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
Darth Solipsis / Voldran Molf / Da'Razel / Ibaris Varanin
Kann / Heinrich Faust / Vireth / Deonis Laythar​

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The world narrowed to the hiss of sabers and the beat of his heart.

Drystan moved first. His was an eruption of motion and violence compressed into a single instant. Brandyn felt the pressure in the air change before the sound reached him. He dropped his weight, turning the blade with the flow of the Force, not against it.

He had thought himself prepared for the worst, but the impact was still greater.

Green contained plasma met blade in a burst of white light that filled the control room, the shockwave slamming into walls already half-melted from blaster fire. Sparks cascaded from the ceiling. Brandyn's boots scraped backward, ferrocrete groaning beneath him as his defence redirected the eruption of energy from his opponent.

Pain jolted down his left side. His shoulder screamed in protest. He gritted his teeth, digging in, letting the energy roll through him rather than resist it. There is no storm the wall cannot weather.

The mantra steadied his heart. His blade traced tight circles, guiding Drystan's momentum aside instead of contesting it. Every motion economical. There was no flourish. There was no fear. Only calm control of a storm that could so easily overwhelm.

Smoke and heat swirled around them, the confined space magnifying every strike into thunder. The control consoles exploded in a spray of molten plastic and light. He spared one breath to glance over his shoulder.

"Make that damn lift go a bit faster..." he whispered, voice clinging to his calm.

For a moment, he released one hand form his saber, and pushed through the Force in an attempt to send his opponent crashing into the wall to the left, and away from Casaana and the elevator.

Be the wall. Be the calm. Be the end of the storm.

And then, in that moment...a thought...

"Does that lift go straight to shield control room?" He asked, still lacking the knowledge of the stations shield format, but clinging to a fool's hope as usual, "if so, I got an idea."

| MISSION: Deactivate Shields |
| TAG: Casaana Drystan Creed |
| EQUIPMENT: Green-bladed saber, data-spike |

​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

ABOARD THE DEATH STAR...

​

The Dark Side coalesced in a palm of the Vahlan giant. He thrust out his hand and a blast of withering hate erupted forth, ripping into the junk golem and evaporating a boulder-sized hole through the center of it. As the technobeast crumbled, Gerra smote off its head with a single blow, then kicked the remnant corpse aside as it fell into a shamble of bits of flesh and circuitry.

"Push forward."

With more blasts of unbridled aphotic power in the Dark Side and sundering strikes of his Sith sword, now heedless for he no longer sought to capture the Death Star but to inflict maximum damage, Gerra, Vestra, and Arris pushed deeper into the Death Star until they arrived at a communications node. Gerra clove the technician within in twain and the two halves slid apart. The Vahlan frowned as Sarad's voice rang in his mind.

"This station moves, albeit slowly. Perhaps you could overload one of its ion engines."

"Do it," he nodded to Arris.

Then, closing his eyes, Gerra reached out to his elements within the Syndicate's Crimson Fleet - which ostensibly fought for the Empire. Wielding Sith battle meditation, he pressed his thoughts upon the minds of his captains. Several Sabaoth destroyers broke off from the main group and accelerated toward the spinning spire of the detached throne room.

Reaching out, he sent to Mercy.

"Reinforcements."

They might not be able to capture the Death Star, but the throne room... now detached and floating off listlessly in space? Another matter entirely.

Mercy Arris Windrun Sars Sarad Darth Solipsis Vestra Tane

@Open to Combat