Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

Their blades clashed again, the hiss filling the air, heat and light spilling between them. The Sith leaned in close, gaze sharp and unflinching, while Ace held his ground. Sparring with Aris Noble had improved the rebel's isometric strength.

Then Ravoch's armored hand shot forward. Ace saw the motion a fraction too late. He jerked back, but the plated gauntlet still caught him across the throat, the impact felt like he'd been hit by a piston. Breath ripped from his lungs, as he instinctively took one hand off of his hilt, threw his left hand back and wound up for a left cross.

But before he could throw it, he felt his boots leaving the ground as the Force surged behind Ravoch's grip. The corridor snapped into motion, Ace quickly realized he'd been flung.

The door behind him hissed open and he crashed through, hitting the catwalk hard enough to rattle the whole corridor. The clang echoed down into the maintenance shaft below. He rolled once, coughed, hand braced to catch himself against the railing before he could fall through the torn grating.

He dragged in a breath, throat burning where the gauntlet had slammed him. Ace summoned his lightsaber into his palm, humming to life again with a sharp snap-hiss, blue glow cutting through the haze.

The tunnel was tighter, hotter. Pressurized pipes lined the walls, some already hissing under strain. Ravoch stood at the mouth of the corridor, light catching on the gold chain across his chest. He was all poise and power.

Of course the Sith took the moment to talk. Goading him into anger, goading him into tapping into the Dark side... again. For a moment, Ace pondered it. Channelling what he had on Dathomir.

Then he felt the shift. The Force tightened, like the pressure dropping before a storm. The air trembled an instant before the pipes beneath him ruptured with a metallic shriek. Boiling air burst through the deck, jets of heat clawing upward.

Ace moved on instinct. The Force surged through his legs as he vaulted high, clearing the initial burst. Heat clawed at his boots as he flipped, landing in a crouch further down the catwalk where the metal still held. His lungs burned with the heat that chased him, but his eyes stayed locked on the Sith Lord framed in the doorway ahead.

"Ever get tired of hearing your own voice?"

He didn't hesitate. His off-hand snapped out, wrenching a section of railing free with a telekinetic tug. The bolts screamed loose as he swung the length of metal down and across, turning one of the venting jets toward Ravoch. A plume of scalding steam roared through the gap, hissing white across the corridor in a blinding rush.

Ace didn't wait to see if it hit. He moved. His boots hit the wall, then the catwalk above in one smooth Force-aided motion. He landed low, breath steady. The heat warped the air below, hiding him for a heartbeat from view. He could sense Ravoch's power cutting through the haze: steady, deliberate. The Sith Lord didn't waver. But neither would Ace.

He adjusted his grip on the lightsaber, switching stance low guard, left-hand near his chest, the other guiding the blade's angle. Shii-Cho form, Djem So follow-through. It was crude in transition, but lethal if timed right. His dark gaze locked through the haze, hunting for the flicker of crimson that would give Ravoch away.

Kyrothian Ravoch

 

[Matsu Ike]

OBJECTIVES: Clash of Destiny
ALLIES: Jedi
ENEMIES: Death Star

The surface of the station was something else... her interest in seeing it after she had moved through the viewport had accomplished two important things... the soldiers weren't going to be able to follow her and it gave her a direct path to what she could see as an easier means to move into the interior. The feeling in the force shifted as she stood there at the dish looking at it but also into the stations itself. Through the molecules as something appeared... it was dangerous and not someone anymore. She knew it from Tython when they fought the Drengir but here it was showing some of the power while the jedi grandmaster brought a hand up to her chin. Ashin had done something similar to her to appear which was... impressive more so then she thought others might be able to do. She shrugged to herself as she moved along the length of the curved surface. Her body moving quickly through the space when she came to the central area and moved through it into the primary tunnels going down. Her body hovering and moving faster as there was no resistance to her body when it vibrated and slipped through the molecules not disturbing her robes or the air for others. Displacement until she came to a window looking out it and there were firing crews. Her eyes watched as they were moving around and she altered the structure of the molecules and particles around herself. entangling the ones in front of her to show like the ones behind her as a makeshift molecule cloaking field to allow herself to be there watching. Her lungs remaining as the molecules within them pulled from places exotic and a thousand worlds filled her with air to keep her going.

"Hmmm a thousand or more control rooms, not much of a dent but." She said it and floated up and through while looking at the ones walking around inside. The soldiers where there as she focused on them and was touching their minds with the force... slowly slipping, weaving and brushing against the resistances of their minds. Her breathing hitched when she found it and the feeling of darkness was there as it came in ordering them around. Firing crews were prepared and she stayed there on the ceiling looking at the one who was standing there. The woman's form was all angles, ashy white skin with flecks of gray and black veins. Golden rims in her eyes and hair in thick braided tails that were showing red coloring. She was sharply dressed as well with those robes... like she rolled out of her bunk and had them freshly pressed with an iron so they would look sharp. She practically wanted to get some band aids for all the edges of the outfit she was using. She remained there as finally the sith stood and looked at the door. "There was one attacking the control rooms, we will hold it." She was all snarl in her voice and it brought a small giggle from the jedi master like the sound of silver bells jingling that got the attention of the sith who finally looked up at the silver jedis grandmaster. "Intrud..." her voice trailed off as the air around thickened.. the molecules becoming heavier in her mouth as it filled up with the jedi coming down. SOme guards turned to look at her and rifles were raised.

Matsu's grin widened as she floated closer, her head tilted, observing the fuming Sith Lady with an air of clinical fascination."No, no, no, I mean look at you," Matsu said, her voice full of theatrical awe and wonder arms spreading wide, "all sharp angles and brooding. You are the pinnacle of Sith Lord edge. Your masters must see you are the most reliable person in their entire empire. Like a hydrospanner or a hammer... that is it. You are like their ultimate tool." The compliment was delivered with such sincere yet insulting sweetness that the Sith Lady's rage boiled over. MAtsu floated there in front of her as the snap-hiss of a lightsaber came. THe lady slashed with it coming at herr and Matsu moved while the soldiers were taking aim with their rifles. "Jedi... you will die." Matsu's eyes just watched the sith and she spoke with a nod of her head. "Maybe, eventually but it is sith season right now so men you may fire when ready." She said it and looked at the soldiers as she had been working on them and their minds were zealots she had felt the one in the fresher gave her a peek into it and these ones aas well as the others confirmed it before the sith slashed. "No it is clearly jedi season and we are going to destroy your home and everything. Fire on the jedi." Barrels shifted while Matsu stayed there and used her finger to block and deflect the saber. "No no, I saw the date in the galactic calender. It was clearly sith season." SHe could feel the barrels move with her own mental influence on them as they were following the verbal sparring more for targets and their own minds were handling the targeting. THe sith snarled with rage as she was almost frothing from her mouth. Matsu moved back a little more watching her. "It is jedi season, you over-talking thing. It will always be jedi season."

Her voice was laced with so much rage the jedi master suddenly couldn't disagree with her and she was watching her as she floated there and nodded. "Fine jedi season." She said it and the sith looked at her when she screamed in raage. "Sith season fire fools." The jedi masters eyebrows raised as the moments seemed to slow down more and more and the realization came to her face. The sound of blasters firing off into the baack fo the sith while Matsu slipped out the window aand parts of its fell away pulling with vacuum decompression. Allowing her to keep going before she shrugged looking at the form as it went out with several troopers. "Hmm" She said it while she was moving with the force and stayed on task... that was amusing and interesting enough... she would have to see about what could be done next to at least contribute when she was going down the main firing chambers with herself propelled through the force. The trams would have helped but there was always a danger with those... much safe to fly and dodge around with the force while she followed the feeling of darkside energies pouring all around herself. She ran fingers over the surface and allowed it to shift, alter and sever the connections between the molecules where she could but leaving trails of fingers she couldn't compromise the entire things slowly.

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

ABOARD THE IRON EIDOLON, ATRISIA
Across the Stars --> Clash of Destiny

The rift held.

Even as the Eidolon tore free of the Blackwall’s fold, Aether felt the hum of power ripple through every plate and girder of the warship. The air trembled beneath the combined will of Sith and Mandalorian hands, a passage carved through reality by sorcery, science, and stubbornness in equal measure. What began as war games in the shadow of Korriban had become something far greater. A coalition bound by blood, contract, and necessity stood under one roof.

The viewports bloomed with light. Atrisia sprawled ahead, wreathed in chaos. Wrecks drifted like charred leaves on black water while a vast sphere of steel dominated the void. Familiar in design. Arrogant in intent.

A Death Star.

He turned toward the Empress. Srina Talon stood poised, the pale light of the rift tracing ghostly lines across her armor. Her orders came measured and precise, the same calm that had guided them from the storm. Three lanes. Staggered approach. Eidolon first. No heroics. Purpose only.

Aether inclined his head. “Dral’buir’s lanes are set,” he answered, his voice like gravel beneath steel. “We will strike where the blade is sure to cut. Three waves, staggered descent. Death Watch breaches first and carves a corridor for your legions to follow.”

He faced his chosen. Death Watch stood as a wall of beskar and fire. Renn’s remembrance still rang in the marrow, the sort of vow that reaches a man deeper than bone. Domina's runes burned low and blue, Starfang sunk in the deck like a monument. Korda knelt beside her, reborn in purpose, his shame tempered into something cleaner than penitence. This was what Mandalore had needed. Not only strength of arm, but conviction.

“Your rites are heard, Executioner,” Aether said, visor to Domina. “Ha’rangir walks with us this day.” His helm turned slightly toward Korda. “And you, brother. You have carried the fire long enough. Burn proud. The Manda does not waste its heat on the unworthy.”

He lifted his gaze to the Sith command. “King of Korriban,” he said to Caedes with a nod of equal standing. “You will have your breach. My Watch will punch the hole and draw their eyes. Once we are inside, we hold the decks until your strike cuts the heart.” To Srina he gave a smaller truth. “Contract honored. Word kept.”

Movement answered him. Klaxons cut the air. Techs ran lines and released clamps. The first Warclaws rumbled awake in their cradles. Siv’s shadow unit peeled off toward the auxiliary bays to ride the Eidolon’s wake. Domina’s priests took up a low chant that matched the rise and fall of the engines.

Then she moved.

Lina stepped into the stormlight and pulled a glove free with her teeth. Her staff hummed. A cut of red welled in her palm and drifted into the air as a constellation of droplets. She spoke a tongue that bent the sense around its edges. Each bead of blood found a shadow and sank into it. Shapes swelled up from the dark like giants coming awake beneath a frozen lake. Three meters tall, lamp eyes and snarling jaws, they turned as one to their maker and bowed.

Aether’s visor narrowed. The sound that followed was not approval but a low growl that rolled through the vocoder like thunder behind stone.

“That will be far enough.”

His tone carried no anger, only command, the kind that tolerated no misunderstanding. The Death Watch had stiffened, hands brushing weapons, but it was Aether’s voice that stilled them. He stepped forward, the light of Lina’s creations washing over his armor.

“You may keep your specters among your own,” he said, each word deliberate. “My warriors need no shadow to fight beside them. Their armor is their covenant, their fire their faith. The Manda requires no leash, nor will my people bear one.”

The air between them hung taut for a heartbeat. Then, with the faintest incline of his helm, he added, “We honor your craft, Seer, but Mandalorians go to war in the light of their own flame.”

The creatures sank back into the dark, their lamp eyes fading from sight. The tension bled away in silence, leaving only the engines’ hum and the low murmur of Domina’s priests. Aether turned without another word. He had made his boundary clear, and the matter was done.

Renn moved to the center of the bay and began mustering by squads. Domina’s blue fire guttered and steadied as she took her place at the head of the column. Korda passed helm in hand, face bared to the stormlight, set like a blade before the quench. Aselia fell into step at Aether’s flank, cape caught by the vent wind, the quiet promise of family in her gait.

“All Mandalorian elements,” Aether barked over ship-wide. “Mark and execute. Siv, shadow our host and cut the throats of anything that sights her. Death Watch, with me. The Warclaws are our chariots today. We take that station.”

He started for the bay doors, palm finding the frame to ground himself in the roar. For a breath he listened. To hull. To heart. To the raw, unbending will of his people.

Then he felt it.

A flicker in the Force, faint but certain, like a heartbeat against the tide. Familiar. He had felt it once before in another life, when blood and battle had been the same thing. Acier. His brother was here. Somewhere in the fire. Somewhere in the storm.

“I’m coming, Ace.” he muttered beneath his breath, the words lost to the void.

He raised the Darksaber and pointed it into the dark beyond the hangar. “Board and breach,” he thundered. “Take their decks. Break their lines. Make a road for the host. Mandalorians always keep their word.”

The Warclaws kicked free one by one, red throats of flame opening into the black. Each held warriors and engines that had come for games and now found war. And as the Eidolon’s lungs drew a deeper breath, Mandalore fell upon the Death Star.​

Srina Talon , Korda Veydran , Domina Prime , Renn Vizsla , Aselia Verd , Darth Caedes , Revna Marr , Gerwald Lechner , Lina Ovmar (I love you), Velda Nar-Donna , Siv Kryze , Acier Moonbound + If I missed you, no I didn't.

 

[Srina Talon]

[Arriving From Chapter 2 - Across the Stars (XoX)]

Allies: SO + ME
Tag: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Elmindra Xitaar | Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf | Gerwald Lechner | Lina Ovmar | Aether Verd | Renn Vizsla | Domina Prime | Aselia Verd | Naamino Zuukamano | Haro Aven | Korda Veydran | Siv Kryze
Location: Kitel Phard System (Near Atrisia) - [Death Star]

____________________________________________________

They moved like a machine that had already rehearsed this hour.

It felt choreographed—Rehearsed. As if all of this had been done before, a portal created through the will of a half dozen Sith Lords, and then, sluiced from one end of the galaxy to the other without losing their minds. Only to enter a warzone fit for the end of days.

From silence to chaos in the blink of an eye.

Orders slid through the Iron Eidolon and the surrounding warships without friction, surprising, when the turbulent history between them all fell into consideration. It seemed that the past mattered less when the present threatened them all. Mandalorian warriors snapped to the stations they'd been trained for while her Praetorian Guard moved to support them. Srina felt each piece fall into motion, and though she remained still, a quiet current of approval settled, allowing them to work rather than giving orders that might disrupt the flow.

She stared out at Atrisia for a moment that was almost too long. Beneath the glassy surface was a bustling civilization that she had once tried to help through the efforts of the Confederacy. It had turned into a plague-ridden cesspit that had seemingly recovered with a few decades of rest, but things were different now. Maliphant, Darth Empyrean , was not with her. Her former Master Isley Verd was enjoying a well-earned rest… She was alone. And yet, not.

Allies could be found all around the Eidolon and throughout the battlefield. Strength, could be found right beside her. Atrisia was of no concern, an acceptable loss, if need be. She did not hope for it to burn any more than Mother Nature intended to cause a natural disaster. It simply was. Her focus lay on what would come next, for when the Galactic Empire would show its hand. Any Sith, perhaps, any Jedi…Would recognize the current intent. Death, to fuel. Death, for power. Death, for victory.

The difference was, Srina could also use the negative energy that was coalescing in this sector. As the Galactic Empire gorged itself on the dying, on fear, so would the Sith Order. They had begun this cycle, but they didn't solely control where that energy went or who might be able to pull on those threads and utilize a most precious resource for their own designs.

Srina was unmoving, observing the field of battle. Considering the strategy.

She might have given their enemies too much credit, but the pale woman was certain that Quinn Varanin wouldn't have sent for her without reason. No matter what they saw, heard, she held faith that the information from her child was accurate. That the Empire truly was coming for them all.

The space around Atrisia began to glow a deep green as one by one six beams were unsheathed from the fish. All of them protruded from the dish of the Death Star. The air immediately around the lasers began to shimmer as radiation cascaded off of the beams. They were held there, with an almost bulbous tip made when they were United. After a second of energising, they were let go. And a spear was launched into the Mon Mothma with power of a thousand burning suns.

Before her eyes, the space around Atrisia ripened to a noxious, poisonous green. There was nothing to be done but watch while the edges of several unnatural lances fattened into a single, distended point. Even at a distance…The breath of power it emitted shivered against the Eidolon's viewports, and a heartbeat later, the beams let go, one spear, pure and hell-bright, slamming into a Galactic Alliance vessel. There was no sound. Just the visual.

She didn't know the name of the ship that had been attacked; there was no reason she should.

But the swarming death…She felt that. They all—Should have felt that.

"It is fuel for the forge…", she murmured, though, Aether might be the only one to catch the true meaning that settled behind it. One of the very first lessons she had been given as an apprentice was how to make a weapon out of the enemy. How to create power—From their suffering.

This was nothing if not that.

Her gaze remained fixed on the sphere that occluded the stars. The familiar silhouette—Familiar sin. It was the ugliest boast of their predecessors, twice, that in arrogance had failed. Twice…

And yet? While it was briefly discussed?

She did not dismiss it.

"They may have corrected earlier flaws in construction, but the shape alone will yield the desired response from many.", she began, watching, while Darth Caedes began to put together a way to their destination without compromising the Eidolon. It was especially important if Lina Ovmar and Madrona A’Mia were staying behind. "It is a symbol that will bring fear, which many of you have witnessed my use of it on Echnos. If fear is not enough…Death will do."

Her focus was momentarily torn from the battlefield by Aether Verd taking issue with the sorcery Lina Ovmar brought to bear. Srina raised her hand to quell it, regardless, what the Mand'alor spoke. He was bound by their contract, but her people would not so willingly accept being "handled" without question toward what the end goal was. He spoke to the dark-eyed woman in a way that Srina did not. Empress or otherwise—She did not need to. "Surely the Mandalorian Empire does not fear shadows. You've been with me all this time…And I am nothing, if not that."

It was a tongue-in-cheek response that was delivered with the emotional capacity of a teaspoon, but for those who knew her best—It was normal.

"If it is souls that you require Lady Ovmar…I am certain my Praetorian will volunteer. Beyond that…This battle will bring you your fill. The dead are a resource, like any other. I wish you and the Hordemother good hunting."

Her eyes turned toward those assembled, seemingly oblivious to an impatient air. Regardless of how some of the Sith and Mandalorians felt about each other, she was willing to bet that none would risk her wrath on the precipice of war. The soft chanting of the unruly warriors rang in her ears, started by Domina Prime , while Darth Caedes effortlessly corralled his people. Part of her didn't want to leave Lady Ovmar and the Hordemother alone on the Eidolon, but the argument was sound.

Brute force solved a lot of ills. But, there was something more to this Death Star. She could feel it echoing through space, wailing, roiling in the Force. The profound darkness swelled to almost eclipse the monstrosity that had been resurrected from the annals of history. Darth Caedes spoke to her with honorifics, which earned him a slight frown, but it hardly mattered for what they were about to do.

The word "reckless" lifted from his mind to her own, and her head shook softly. Even in this situation, there was some level of…Charm, to his actions. She couldn't read the "signing" motions that he made, but her ability to read body language spilled some of the secret. Especially, when Revna Marr stepped to his side as easily as day turned into twilight. She found herself falling in step just behind the two youths that had been summoned, Haro Aven and Naamino Zuukamano , but not without considering the rest of their complement. Gerwald Lechner hadn't made a move yet, and Velda Nar-Donna had been silent thus far. Aether Verd and his men had already been welcomed—But an explicit invitation couldn't hurt.

"Join us."

It was all she offered before, perhaps, unexpectedly joining the others on the Warclaws. Srina would never ask her people to do something she herself would not.

So—She would let herself be shot into the dark.

__________________________________​

The warclaw did everything it was supposed to do.

The lurch from acceleration punched breath from her chest, and the deck beneath her boots seemed to vibrate from the impact. Outside, the field of war turned into a smear of tracer-light and burning hull, but inside, the craft seemed mostly stable. The Death Star was an obscene durasteel sun, where the warclaws were just drops of clinging rain.

It was one of the few weaknesses immediately available. As large as it was? It made smaller crews much more viable for boarding than bringing entire ships alongside it.

Srina let the Force anchor her, making her steady, despite being jostled about like a credit chit in a tin can. The hit had been like a hammer finding a seam, and inertia played its part…Locking them in place. Alarms were going off distantly, and her jaw set tight while she straightened, a full head shorter than most, but somehow…Holding her own. The phylactery at her throat warmed, and she reflexively touched it, realizing that Darth Carnifex was closer than she initially thought. We are here.

When the seal was complete and the door popped open, she would be one of the first through it, expecting that the Death Star would have extreme internal defenses. Traps and weaponry to the Gods. There was shifting floor space just ahead of them that opened to a dead drop, stuttering from damage, daring someone to walk across it. From there, the pathway split into several branches, which would likely cause them to split up so they could divide and conquer. She moved closer to the edge to see how far down it went…

Srina couldn't see the bottom.

"Watch your step. It's a long, long way down."

Spoiler: Equpiment

Armour Saber Ring Ring Terentatek Body Gloves HG-54 "The Vora" Class Hand Cannon Holding Aces

 

[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

Domina felt the ship answer Aether Verd 's command the way an old drum answers a hand. Deep, inevitable, and true. The hangar breathed around her with the low, holy hum of engines brought to prayer. Her runes flickered, small suns beneath her skin, and Starfang throbbed against the deck as if it, too, remembered the shape of war. Aether's words were iron in the air: "Board and breach. Take their decks." They landed on her chest like a benediction.

She let the chant of the priests curl through the bones of the hull, let it steady the wildness under her ribs. The Warclaws shuddered alive, their throats opening for them to step into the belly of the beast. Domina's tail tightened once, twice, it was the only tempo she trusted. And the old savage in her purred at the promise of violence. But there was more now than hunger. There was purpose braided through it: scripture, oath, and the pressing weight of Ha'rangir's will.

"Heard," she murmured, and the word was a rasp of prayer and steel. "And soon to be felt, as is the way." It left her like a vow, not to be undone. The longer Starfang lay in her hands, the louder its little hymn became. An undernote of cosmic witchfire that wanted only to be let loose. She quieted it with a measured breath, the discipline of a convert rather than the impulse of a foundling. Control was a new worship, and she worshipped it now.

Srina's rift bled into the void and the Eidolon slid free of the Blackwall like some black god tearing its shroud. Atrisia rolled beneath them in a tableau of ruin: charred hulks drifting like drowned leviathans, the great sphere. An obscene echo of ancient arrogance, looming like a spiked sun. Domina let her gaze drink it in without reverence. Symbols frightened lesser men; she saw only targets.

Aether's boundary with Lina Ovmar made the line clear. Specters for Seers, no leash for Mandalorians. Domina's mouth twitched beneath the mask, she agreed silently. Their armor, their fire that was their covenant.

But it was rude to reject gifts of war. And so she looked to Lina, and gestured with a claw. "House Prime will bear the burden of such gifts...bestow them upon those who wear my mark~" She cooed warmly with a dainty wave of her azure claws.

When the ramps dropped and the Warclaws welcomed them with Srina Talon piling inside, she was the first to move. Starfang rose like a comet clenched in iron hands; two of her arms took the blade's weight, She shouldered the greatsword up, feeling its full length an extension of her spine, and planted its tip in the deck as if driving a stake into fate itself. The impact sang, metal, rune, and prayer. And the azure flame licked outward in a little halo of warning.

"First ones in, last one out," she barked to the men pressing at her heels. Her voice did not need to be loud to be heard; it carried as an eldritch bell through helmets. "The gods favor only the boldest of us, O kin of mine!" She struck her chestplate with a fist in salute, the gesture half-martial, half-liturgical. Around her, a hundred hands found their grips.

The Warclaw doors snapped shut and the abyss took them.

Through the void they drifted...the seconds felt like hours as they hurdled towards the Death Star. And when they had collided with it's mass the warclaw dug deep into it's steel and metal. Burrowing itself like an infectious thorn into the guts of the beast as the pod ripped open and Srina peered out into the dark corridors and damaged haul of the massive vessel. Dima was just behind her, peering out as well in a near mimic of the Empress before working up her nerves and stepping out the Warclaw. Domina leapt, a monstrous figure of dark cloth and burning crystal. Her feet hit the Death Star's floor with a soft crunch of abrasive dust, and the corridors swallowed the noise behind them. Her priests' chant thinned to a heartbeat as the boots of Mandalore became the measure.

A Warpriest behind her called for the plan. She didn't deign more than one look. "Keep up, stoke the flame" she purred as she vaulted from the gangway, then an instant later she was gone. Starfang carving a luminous trail through the gloom. The blade's edge shivered with stolen suns; it cut steel as if the universe itself had taught it to be merciless.

They moved like a litany unrolled: rooms, vents, patrol nodes, all yielding to the noise and the faith. Domina's eyes, those many panes of cold light, swept continuously. Security measures tried to whisper at her: alkali traps, sensor nets, ember-fields that pulsed. Her claws traced runic sigils at the edges of them, probing, and Starfang answered in kind, an icicle of holy fire that cauterized and silenced. Her faith became technology and her technology the sermon.

She sought not merely to cleave circuits or topple sentries. She hunted for a shape. Every Mandalorian knows the taste of a worthy victim, one who stands long enough to tell a story when the blade finally bites. The Death Star's bowels stank of billions of small, careless lives and of architects too arrogant to see the knife's reflection in their own steel. That arrogance was luxury; she would strip it away.

A shaft of light tore through a blast-door as a squad of enemies tried to seal them in. Domina swung, and Starfang traced a crescent that left a smoking scar on the hatch. Men who had been sure of their prizes took two steps back and then three. A lower arm reached to wrench a comm-slab from a dead tech; with her other two hands she tore a corpse's plating and fed it into the furnaces of her priests. Nothing wasted. Her faith encompassed both prayer and utility.

At one choke-point a door shuddered under a volley. Her priests' chant swelled to cover it, a chorus that pushed metal and men to the point of yielding. She planted her feet; the greatsword became an altar-pillar. Around its planted edge, embers crawled in obedience, and the attackers' morale cracked like thin glass.

When the first line fell and the decks opened to their host, she lifted Starfang high and let its flaring light wash over the arriving Mandalorians. Her voice rode the surge of boots and prayers.

"Blessed be our Age-Old Bond!" she called, the cry a war-hymn and a prayer both.

They answered with the clack of armor, the stamping of boots, the low roar of a people set aflame.

And as she strode toward the next breach, Starfang carving a swath of starlight in its wake, Domina felt the simplest, truest thing in the universe settle over her like a cloak: the certainty that she would find a worthy victim soon enough. And that when she did, she would make of them an offering.

 

[Darth Avida]

SAOKO​

'Perfection in pursuit of a flaw.'

It was something she'd said to Lira some days ago, when the jealous epicanthix had asked her why she tried so hard to ingratiate herself with so many people. It wasn't just arrogance that propelled her forwards, some in-born feeling of superiority unfounded in reality that kept her head so high in the clouds, rather every decision in life she'd made from the moment she'd stumbled out of the bacta tank on Metalorn was based in the notion that if there was a shortcoming she suffered from it was one she'd find herself through trial and error. There were still tiny spots of color that dotted the periphery of her vision from the sparks that had flown as a result of the shockwave where their sabers had met, and her ears were still ringing, but what had her attention was the Saurton man in front of her; Krasskorr the Maw .

He persisted, moving with the force of the shockwave to keep himself from being staggered too heavily and then rocking back towards her with that conserved momentum to power his thrust, and it was this precise moment that she lived for. He wasn't the Dark Lord of the Sith that he undoubtedly had sworn fealty to and there were doubtlessly others that had either skill or power greater than him, but what he had that the others lacked was the woman standing right in front of him with her saber still held aloft - she wouldn't bat his blade away again, she'd already discarded the tactic out of hand as something that would've made her predictable. As much as she was determined to meet her match she was dead-set on giving him just as much of a challenge as she was hoping for from him. Her lightsaber lowered, as if she were opening herself up to be ran through, but at the last moment she lifted her saber into his blade and angled it off to the side to give her better leverage against his.

Like a spear the easiest point to defend against was, perhaps ironically, the tip of the blade; there was only so much force one could apply to what was effectively a very dangerous stick, and the longer it was the harder it was to control the opposite end when force was applied against it from any side that wasn't pressed up against the narrow point at its tip.

She pushed up.

Unlike an actual spear, a lightsaber's hilt doesn't provide its wielder a forgivably large purchase for grip meaning that the strength of a lengthier blade - its added reach - that was seemingly, on its face, simply superior to the average, and perhaps even smaller, lightsabers was just as much a liability in that the restricted length of the hilt also restricted the distance its wielder could apply force with one hand opposite the other. That is, to say, it was like placing the fulcrum of a see-saw closer to one side than the other - with the wielder on the shorter end - and, as any small child that might've had the unfortunate experience of such an experience might attest to, it took far less force, or weight, applied to the longer end to counterbalance anything on the shorter end. So, while she certainly couldn't hope to best him in a fair contest of strength, it seemed like the reptilian man had unwittingly handicapped himself enough to even the odds just for her to hold him at bay a bit longer.

"Bigger isn't always better."

It wasn't the first time she'd said it, and Amara was rather certain it wouldn't be the last, but at least in this case it wasn't something totally out of the man's control. Luckily for him, too, a saber's length could be changed at will.

 

[Mykel Dawson]

Location: Atrisian Orbit > Death Star
Objective: Sabotage Death Star (Dueling Casi)
Allies: GA + Friends ( Corazona von Ascania )
Opposition: GE ( Dark Forces )
Directly Engaging: Casi Braste

Personal Equipment:
-Shadow Armor (Rocket Pack, Individual Field Disruptor)
-Lightwhip
-Z6 Riot Control Baton
-Blast Shield
-Shatter Pistol
-Glop Grenades

In a surprisingly heartfelt gesture, Cora produced a talisman of her own for exchange when they reached the hangar, explaining its origins as an indigenous production of Ukatian craftsmen. Though she downplayed its appearance, Mykel nonetheless found the ring striking its own way, feeling a steady hum of Light circulating through the ring like a gentle whirlpool against his chest.

By Cora's recollection, the ring had started out as something tarnished but later polished and refined into something splendid.

Not unlike its inspiring owner.

"Thank you…" He said softly, tucking necklace under his armor. "I'll keep it safe and I'll be sure it makes its way back to you."

In the same way his Sigil carried traces of his essence, the ring softly babbled with hers like a spring brook. Even when duty would carry them along separate physical paths, they would not be truly divided.

"We'll be entering the Atrisi system momentarily," The Super AI Hecate announced loudly over both their comlinks so that Cora could also hear her. "You're both needed by your teams. Also, Miss von Ascania, I'll be providing you an uplink to our battle net!"

Mykel nodded at Hecate's words, his focus shifting into a more tactical mindset. "Our interior maps are still incomplete," he explained, "But once the first wave breaches, telemetry will start updating in real time, and you'll have what you need."

With that, it was time to move to the ships. Mykel straightened up, giving her a small bow of respect. Back in public view, the young Jedi Knight was once more all professional in demeanor.

"May the Force be with you."

---

The Spare Fleet reverted into a hotly contested battlespace, armadas of just about every color and stripe converging in a cacophony of light and fire. However, the militia fleet was given some respite as it was able to settle within the defensive envelope of the impressive lattice of Atrisian orbital defenses situated outside of the planetary shields.

Once a defensive posture had been established among the Atrisians, the boarding operation commenced in staggered stages.

First came a saturation attack with a combination of missiles, sabots, and slugs designed to occupy and overwhelm interdiction units and the point defenses of the Death Star along the desired ingress trajectories.

Next, ECM operations began, a sophisticated operation using both projectors and sensor decoys to generate general interference and phantom signatures of imaginary vessels.

Just after EWAR operations started, a flotilla of Kometa ramships, escorted by X-wing drones (anti-ship configuration), peeled off from the main body, drilling forward in a spindle formation. The Kometa sat in an interesting niche of warships: small and nimble enough to dodge the heaviest destroyer batteries, yet armed and armored enough to punch through withering point defenses that would shred starfighters.

The Death Star's defenses, impressive on paper, were fragmented in execution. Turrets guided by computer targeting were still manned and segregated in operation, leaving gaps in real-time coordination. The automated Kometa flotilla, guided by swarm logic directed by Hecate, exploited these gaps to maximize survivability.

Still, the gauntlet of interceptors and defenses took their toll, steadily whittling down drones and ramships as they closed in on the hull, aiming for impact at points near the tributary laser emplacements in troughs just outside the outer ring of the heavily armored conclave dish.

SLAM drives roared to life, flinging the ramships across the final stretch of void at ludicrous speeds. Density projectors and anti-concussion field generators spun up to harden the ships and enhance kinetic potential. Sections of the Death Star's particle shield shimmered where the Kometa's field disruptors terminated the barrier. Shockwave generators in the bows detonated at the point of impact, shearing armor to punch open a path.

However, even where the ramships were successful in breaching, the hull and superstructure of the battle station was quite tough, so they did not penetrate as deeply as they would against other vessels.

Still the breach was deep enough to deposit their payloads on the outer decks: swarms of Inago biots, and YVH-1 combat droids armed with glop dispensers and Famos II rifles linked to back mounted power generators. Special teams of the YVH-1 drones also carried Firebolt repeaters, switched to their secondary jamming mode.

As the lodged ramships opened their bays for their passengers, canisters of coma gas were also rolled out to knock out unprotected personnel as the invaders began to spread out from breach points to prosecute their mission as shock forces.

The Inago and YVH units worked in perfect tandem, the biots, designed for boarding operations just like this, taking the lead as they hurled themselves into clusters of defenders and emplacements, limbs thrashing with calibrated shocks to knock out soldiers and fry electronics alike.

The YVH units were more tactical in approach, sweeping side corridors and rooms to ward off flanking maneuvers with their famos set in a shotgun-stun mode that dispatched both organics and synthetic targets and pinned the incapacitated Imps with glop. They also defended the surviving Kometa, and began pulling telemetry from terminals with computer spikes to feed into the network after being filtered for malware (all until they burned out when intrusions were detected).

---

The first wave was all flash and thunder. A perfect cover for the small fleet of Eidolon stealth shuttles that quietly trailed in their shadow. Consulars gathered in meditation chambers on the Mace Windu weaved cloaks through the Force, further concealing the vessels and their passengers on the metaphysical plane.

All the shuttles were slaved to Mykel's lead ship, Hecate steering them toward the Death Star in perfect concert. In real time she adjusted their vectors, parsing the triggered Imperial interdiction with passive sensors.

While on a more indirect approach to avoid detection, their destination was the same as the first wave: the amplification chambers near the surface.

[Lots of hardware out there - it looks like everyone wants a piece of the Death Star. (｀ε´) ]

Mykel frowned. "Unfortunately, that may suit the Galactic Empire just fine - they excel in the chaos they sew."

[But the chaos suits us as well, the shuttles haven't been spotted! ]

He didn't respond to Hecate, focused on the looming battle station ahead. It wasn't enough that the Death Star was a mechanical monstrosity, like the Sepulchre it was also a roving nexus of Dark Side energies. It felt to the Consular as if some great new violation was being birthed into reality. Yet another in the Siths' torrid string of blasphemies.

The horror just needed to be flung into a black hole.

But first came the gouging of the cyclop's eye.

[We've reached the hull, matching station's velocity for drop.]

Mykel stepped back into the passenger area with Jedi Shadows, the hull port opening, revealing the grey expanse of valleys and peaks of metal paneling and protrusions. He could only imagine the oceans of credits drained in the construction of this behemoth. However, small sections of the neat patterning were now marred by ugly gashes left by the ramships.

Beginning with Mykel, the Jedi stepped to the edge one by one and dived.

While each Jedi Knight wore sealed Shadow Armor equipped with rocket packs, they did not engage the engines, instead manipulating their inertia to guide their fall toward one of the open breaches. An uncomfortable buzz of energy passed over Mykel's body as his individual field disruptor activated and carried him through the great particle barrier of the Death Star. At the last moment, he flipped with a swing of his legs so that he landed on the end of an idle Kometa fuselage with a muted thud. The rest of his team soon followed moments later, their tiny team standing intact.

Just below, he could see skeletal VYH droids prowling the deck. The air had completely leaked out the breach, the obstruction of the Kometa preventing emergency sealing attempts, so it was shuttered off by sealed blast doors far ahead.

[Connection established with droids and biots…updating telemetry now. Hydra protocols coming into effect. Party time. ヽ༼⊙_⊙༽ﾉ ]

They'd made it, but that was just the easy part.

The amplification chamber still lay klicks ahead. Droids and biots were cutting a path, but it was still going to be a grind.

He steeled himself, stepping down off the fuselage onto the deck. Despite the bellows of the darkness pounding against his head, he remained calm.

In Darkness, I become Light.

Under his armor, the ring began to gleam from his resolve as he now stood as a beacon of valor for the rest of his team.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

Allies: Srina Talon | Darth Caedes | Lina Ovmar | Taeli Raaf | Haro Aven | Naamino Zuukamano | Aether Verd | Domina Prime | Korda Veydran | Renn Vizsla | Aselia Verd | Madrona A’Mia | Velda Nar-Donna
​

The Iron Eidolon broke through the Blackwall like a living thing forcing its way out of the abyss. The hull shook under the strain but did not falter. The storm folded in on itself behind them, violet light collapsing to black. Silence followed, brief and heavy, before the galaxy roared back to life.

Atrisia stretched ahead, its skies consumed by war. Fleets tangled in endless knots, bright lines of fire cutting across the void. Destroyers bled out light while smaller craft scattered like ash on dark water. The Force pressed against him, thick with pain. It was a weight he had carried before, but it never grew lighter. Every war sounded the same if one listened long enough.

Gerwald Lechner stood at the forward deck, his gaze locked on the carnage outside. The Iron Eidolon carried Srina Talon's mark in every part of its design. There was no wasted motion or excess. Its precision reflected her nature perfectly. The ship moved the way she breathed, steady and sure. Even in the midst of chaos, her control settled through the walls around her.

He stepped closer to the dais where she stood, the pale light from the viewport tracing the edges of her armor. There was no need for words. His loyalty was an unspoken thing, built through fire and time. He could feel her intent in the rhythm of the ship itself, as if her will guided every motion.

The Death Star dominated the view beyond her. It drifted like a second moon, vast and arrogant, a monument to the Empire's belief that fear could hold the galaxy together. Twice before it had been torn apart, and still they had built it again. That kind of pride deserved an answer.

Across the deck, Caedes directed his forces, his voice cutting through the hum of engines. The King of Korriban wore command like armor, and even from a distance Gerwald could feel the precision of his focus. Their eyes met once across the deck. No gesture, no words, only the silent acknowledgment that this was what they were made for.

The Death Star's shape reflected on the viewport glass, a black sphere devouring the stars. Gerwald's reflection stared back at him, red eyes burning against the dark. Another fortress of ghosts, he thought. The galaxy could never let go of its old sins.

The pulse of the ship shifted beneath his boots, the faint echo of power running through the deck plates. He knew the feel of it. A'Mia's weaving. The rift she had opened still hummed through the Eidolon's core, its stability proof of her mastery. That kind of control took strength and focus that few possessed. He turned his head toward her station, catching her in profile, her attention fixed on the energy web that shimmered along the bulkheads. He gave a slight nod in her direction, wordless acknowledgment from one who understood what it cost to hold something vast in place.

Movement along the upper walkway drew his attention. Velda Nar-Donna stood beneath the soft flicker of emergency lighting, her poise unchanged by the chaos beyond. Gold light lingered across her shoulders from the effort she had given the ritual. The sight of her stirred memory: Echnos City, the broken skyline lit by fire, the two of them surrounded on every side. They had fought until the ground itself gave way. The memory was sharp and alive, and he carried it still.

"Velda," he said as he passed near her station, his voice low but clear over the hum of the deck. "I am glad to have you with us once more."

The beam from the Death Star came without warning. A flare of green light brightened the void, swelling before it loosed. It struck a distant cruiser, and the explosion rippled through the Force like a scream. The vibration hit the Eidolon's hull a moment later, a low tremor that rattled the glass. Gerwald braced his stance and let the shock pass through him. He had felt worse. He had seen worlds break under fire like that.

He watched the light fade and exhaled through his nose. The same arrogance, the same death. Only the names changed.

He glanced toward Srina, who stood unmoving beside the viewport, her gaze fixed on the unfolding battle. Whatever emotion stirred behind her calm expression, he did not try to read it. Her composure was his anchor. It always had been.

Orders spread through the command decks. Aether Verd's voice filled the comm channels, hard and clear as Mandalorian forces formed their assault lanes. The Death Watch prepared their Warclaws, engines rumbling through the hull. Sith and Mandalorian, shadow and flame, different creeds bound to one cause. It was strange how easily they moved together when war demanded it.

Gerwald started toward the hangar. The air thickened with the scent of ozone and oil as launch clamps began to release. The deck shook beneath him, engines screaming to life. Caedes and Revna were already moving toward the dropships, the younger acolytes following close behind. The rhythm of preparation filled the ship, efficient and absolute.

He looked back once toward the command dais, where Srina still watched the field.

"I will take point," he said, his tone even and certain. "You will have a clear path once we breach."

No answer came. None was needed. He knew what she expected of him.

He passed A'Mia again on the way out, pausing only long enough to speak.

"Keep the path open," he told her quietly. "We will send something worth holding."

The Warclaw bay opened to fire and void. The ships ahead were already gone, streaking toward the battle station in tight formation. He climbed aboard the next, the deck vibrating beneath his boots. The clamps released. The sudden drop pressed against his chest as they plunged into the chaos.

The Death Star filled the viewport, its surface alive with battle. His hand rested on the hilt at his side, thumb brushing the familiar metal. Another war. Another hunt.

The Warclaw struck hull with a heavy impact. Metal groaned as magnetic locks bit, and pressure alarms screamed through the cabin. The seal completed with a hiss. When the door released, Srina was the first to step through. The corridor beyond was torn open, the floor shifting under strain. A dead drop waited just beyond the edge, the damaged plating stuttering in and out of place as if daring someone to test it.

Gerwald followed, his stance low and deliberate. The air was thick with heat and static. Beyond the chasm, the passage split into several paths, each leading deeper into the unknown. Srina moved closer to the edge to gauge the fall, her words carrying through the comm:

"Watch your step. It's a long, long way down."

Gerwald stopped beside her, gaze tracing the endless void below.

"I have never feared the fall," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

The ramp behind them locked shut. Smoke rolled along the ceiling. He adjusted his grip on his weapon and looked toward the nearest path.

He could still hear A'Mia's voice in memory from when the portal had opened, one word calm and certain. Onward.

Gerwald's reply came low and final.

"Onward."

The Dread Wolf took his first step into the dark.

​

Spoiler: Loadout

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder

 

[Dark Forces]

NPC Opposition For:
Connel Vanagor
​

Spoiler: tl;dr Action Summary

• The Sovereign Protector parries some of the electric judgement, but is still wounded
• It throws its lightsabers at Connel, using the Force to guide them, as a distraction
• It unleashes a Force Drain against Connel in an effort to heal itself

--------------------------
​

The Houk's face split into a wide, toothy grin as its improvised weapons struck, channeling thousands upon thousands of volts through the Jedi's flesh. It looked forward to watching its foe twitch and shudder, spasming as the energy looked from some exit point from his body. Perhaps an arm would blow off, or a foot would burst. Perhaps the current would continue look enough to cook the Jedi like an engine roasted tip-yip served up for Life Day. How easy it had been to defeat this fool! How simple to distract him with a few simple words...

... but the Houk had misjudged Connel's resilience and power.

Suddenly the spasming stopped. The Jedi's body ceased to be a pained dead end for the electricity, and instead became a willing conduit for it. Golden lightning exploded out of him, lashing toward the Houk. The alien's eyes widened; its grin vanished. Reactions quickened by the Force, it swiftly snapped up its shotos into a cross-shaped guard, absorbing as much of the incoming blast as it could... but its weapons could only do so much against such a powerful surge. Electric judgement surged over its exposed limbs, crackled painfully over its armor.

"Graaaaaaahhhh!" The Sovereign Protector grunt-screamed, pain that even it could not easily withstand wracking its body. Beneath its armor, the upper layers of skin blackened and cracked, leaving tender and aching meat beneath. The blast drove it down to its knees, its wounded leg buckling as muscles spasmed; it was all the alien could do to keep its sabers up, so that the lightning didn't fry its face and head to an utter crisp as well. As the last crackles of electricity faded, and Connel began to advance on the wounded Houk, it managed an agonized grin.

"So much... like us..." it managed, gasping for air, "but too... blind to... see it."

Connel spoke of his anger, unleashed lightning from his fingertips, used the Force to maim and kill again and again. Surely, the Houk believed, he must walk the very edge of the Dark Side. Perhaps, when the Emperor had finished subduing the galaxy and scouring it of Jedi, this was one who could be transformed into a worthy Dark Side Elite; all it would take, he was certain, was the right little push. But though it was wounded, and though it held such hopes, the Sovereign Protector did not give up. Pain was fuel, and the agony surging through it was potent indeed.

It envied Connel, envied the power he had demonstrated. It drew on that envy, that hate.

Drawing back its arms, it hurled both sabers at Connel, spear-like and propelled by a Force push.

But that was only the distraction. Had it been a Jedi, the Houk might have used the moment to draw in the Force and heal its wounds, mending torn and burnt flesh. But the Dark Side is not the path to healing and harmony; it does not soothe, it takes. And so the Sovereign Protector used the moment of distraction to unleash a Force Drain against Connel, seeking to pull his vitality from him, to take his strength and health. Tendrils of dark red energy, visible only through the Force, sought to wrap around the Jedi and tear away scraps of his very essence.

Any vitality the Houk could steal would be channeled into its body to mend its own wounds.

 

[Renn Vizsla]

Allies: Srina Talon | Aether Verd
Opposition: Maera Dren



As soon as their boots hit the floor of the hangar bay, the hail of storm was immediate, beskar’gam deflecting rounds as their blasters rose in return. The regular Stormtroopers fell like flies under the precision of the veteran Death Watch. Renn’s eyes were not focused on those in front of him; his eyes flicked up as he saw accurate fire coming from the rafters. He gestured to his Heavy Infantry, “Get those repeaters suppressing those marksman on the rafters. We don’t have time to slow down.” As soon as the words escaped from his mouth, two Heavy Repeaters were aimed at the rafters, sending a hail of blaster fire towards those still stationed up there.

Each member of Death Watch worked in unison, suppressing fire, holding elements into place, as marksmen set up and began accurate fire into their lines. The Stormtroopers could only do so much to hold up to the intensity of the Mandalorians.

Renn’s voice rose over their comms once more, “Keld, rafters. Vhek, on me. Straight through the heart.”
The squads moved at once. Keld peeled off into the haze, jetpacks biting short bursts as they angled toward the upper struts. Vhek fell in beside Renn, weapons raised, moving low and deliberate through the cover. Renn’s stride carried him straight toward the center of the hangar where the Death Troopers held their ground, the air flashing red with their precision fire.
Bolts screamed past, sparking off racks and durasteel columns. Renn’s head tilted as a stormtrooper squad tried to level a volley at his flank, he let the shots chew against his pauldron before answering with a swift, brutal counter. He pressed forward, carving a path through the disorder, a force of will embodied in steel.

Above, Keld’s fire lit the rafters as they clashed with the Death Troopers entrenched there. The fight was vicious and unrelenting, bursts of smoke and sparks cutting jagged outlines through the girders. Every attempt to press forward was met with disciplined counterfire, forcing Keld to dig in and trade blow for blow. They were locked in, neither side gaining ground, and their firestorm rattled the hangar’s frame. From below, Renn registered the struggle only as shifting shadows overhead, but he knew well enough that Keld was tied down. They would not be breaking free to reinforce him. That task would fall to him and Vhek alone as he pushed toward the hangar’s heart.

Through the haze, his gaze fixed on the woman who had dropped from the rafters to meet the breach. She was steady, cold, her soldiers disciplined around her. Renn’s visor glowed in the shifting smoke.

As blaster fire thickened around him and the hangar roared with alarm, Renn pressed on, ready to meet the Death Troopers and their commander head-on. The squads at his flanks adjusted formation, tightening the noose. The battle’s center was set, and the Warmaster meant to claim it.

The Fight was On.​

 

[Vireth]

---

---

Atrisia, Core Worlds;
The Galactic Empire.
Allies: Darth Vinaze | Da'Razel | Deonis Laythar | Voldran Molf | Darth Solipsis | Ibaris Varanin | Kann
Enemies: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | The Lord of Hunger | Thurion Heavenshield | Darth Carnifex | Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Heinrich Faust

---

Warped by the power of the Dark Side of the Force, the chamber appears an endless chasm-- a void found in the underbelly of a machine set to rid the galaxy of corruption, lies and famine to bring forth an emergent Galactic Empire pre-ordained, and prophesized by Palpatine himself. A thousand-year rule told through the annuals of the Great Core War itself.

The Atrisian Commonwealth, whose civilization joined the failing, decadent Galactic Alliance, would be laid upon the altar of progress, and all that it had to offer to us would be taken for the God-Emperor. Atrisia was the battleground on which the Architect told her sermon to the devout mass congregated before the Prophet Vinaze, but it was just a venue for wider change, for the Commonwealth was not just a world, or a member of a meagre alliance, but that of a settled two-hundred worlds spanning a multitude of lesser star systems dwarfed in superiority to their Atrisian masters.

There is an old maxim told by their people: "The ally of one generation may be the enemy in the next."

Indeed, Vinaze was not just a soothsayer found in the slums of Hutt Space feeding lies into the minds of the weak for a buck of credits, or gold, nor was the Prophet immersed in the fake, lying religious dogma coined by the likes of Carnifex, or Empyrean. Vinaze was the truth, and his words were gospel to the masses convened in this holy divine site to bring all of the galaxy to heel!

Yes, the Atrisian maxim would hold true, and be realized at the beginning of this tenth century, for when the day was done, the Maw would be rid of the pretenders beyond the Blackwall; Ossus would be liberated from the traitors from New Aldera; and Atrisia herself would be claimed as it fell to volleys of neon-green lights, and her people be turned unto those who they had once called ally as it found it's place in the reconsecrated, resurgent GALACTIC EMPIRE!

A new age is upon us.

"Vireth has freed herself of her chains! ... How many more of you will break your chains, I ask?! All of you! I say, all of you!"

VIRETH!
VIRETH!
VIRETH!

As the Prophet proclaimed her freedom, the Architect walked among her vigil and into the seemingly endless dark of the chamber as they chanted her name between Vinaze's verse to bring forth his prophesied vision of the Sith'ari, seated on a throne, which ruled the entire Galaxy!

In her palm Vireth carried the holographic bust of Darth Solipsis himself. Clad in dark garments, which were embroiled in runes and symbols of the Dark Side, she traversed the dark to meet her congregation accompanied by three members of the Church of the Dark Side with each follower carrying in their hands banners of the Brotherhood of the Maw, the New Sith Order, and the Dark Empire.

Rurik Fel churns in his grave. Ignacious Korvan was a grand sacrifice to the cause. Monuments, on which they paved their foundations, for the third coming of the Death Star.

Vireth honoured them in this dark hall.

As the Architect walked through rows, and rows, and rows of the congregation-- served before the Prophet, as he brought forth a ritual set to change the paradigms of a fractured galaxy claimed by chaos-- they each lowered themselves in prostration to the bust of the Galactic Emperor held in her palms, and to the banners of all those who had joined him in the previous campaigns that had served as the preludes to the Great Core Wars itself.

Among them she spotted the weak. The ones warped by despair, and agony. It is as the code states: Through strength I gain power.

"God bless you," Vireth said to the weak, and the marred, as one-by-one she fed them poisoned capsules, and as they died before Vinaze, the Architect continued to give the last blessing to the weak of her congregation, while the strong of her sermon would survive in prostration to the Prophet and his great ritual!

---

 

[CT-312]

//: Allies: Sith Order | Quinn Varanin Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra Eira Dyn Riven //:
//: Enemies: Dark Forces //:
//: Hapan Battleship enroute Death Star III //:
//: Attire //:
//: EQUIPMENT: Halcyon Armour| M.I. 'Sunstroke' jetpack| M.I. 'Halo' jump boots | Contact Lenses | Wrist Mounted APG | Ancile Shield | Navi/Barca //:
//: WEAPONS: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LO-18D | M.I. Model 7 shotgun | LO-22S | Sunshot Pistol | M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol //:
//: 40|40 Active Mag : 2 , 1 Backup Mags x LO-KI/22 Standard Slug Round //:
//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 2x Kushute Grenades | Shiva Knife | S.A.N.D. Powder //:
//: 2x Ion Grenade | 2x Flash Grenade | 2x Incendiary Grenade | 2 x Smoke Grenade //:
//: 1 x Arrow head of Absence | Taozin amulet | LK Spider Slicer Droid //:
//: Azure Shard //:
//: Objective III - Clash of Destiny //:
​

[ Before ]

“Ash.” CT-312 gave a small nod of acknowledgement. As she walked away from the groups, her helmet tilted faintly side to side at Eira’s comment about the armor coming in only one color. Followed by a barely audible short amused huff. “Something like that.” Her right hand lifted in a lazy wave, dismissing the two before retreating to a secluded stretch of the hanger.

Settling among the shadow and the stacked crates, CT-312 ran her final equipment check. Routine. Precise. A soft ping of an incoming message from the Princess cut through. Before reconvening, CT-312 reached into her belt pouch. Taking out a small blue shard. Speaking quietly to it, waiting to see if anything would answer.

Silence.

CT-312’s visor faced toward the groups. The Princess had returned. Sliding the shard back into its pouch, falling into step once more. She positioned herself at the rear. Through the green tint of her visor, eyes met with the Princess’s as she looked at each individual. Listening as the mission was explained. Then Hasuras Na-Gerra spoke. Preaching glory and fame. CT-312 understood the concept of morale before battle, but glory never interested her. Neither fame. Thoughts drifted back to the Princess’s final words: Find a way to take it down.

Both groups advanced toward the super-weapon. CT-312 watched as Hasuras na-Garra cut through the opposition with effortless efficiency. As they passed bodies, the Scout recognized the uniforms. The Galactic Empire. It wasn’t the first time she had fought them. Her eyes swept the security cameras in each corridor, tracking their progress.

Suddenly, a voice. Faint and familiar. Threading through the back of her mind. A normal little blue gem. A small smirk tugged at her lips beneath the helmet at the comment. Her pace slowed, drifting to the back of the groups’ formation. Spacing herself just far enough to fall out of earshot. Placing herself as the caboose.

She was right. The azure shard was Jedi Master Dynas.

“Far from normal.” CT-312 muttered, just loud enough for the shard to hear. “My apologies for the summoning, Master Dynas.” Her mind replayed the Princess’s orders. If there was a chance to tip the scales… CT-312 would take it.

“The enemy from the war fought for Arkania is here.” she continued in a low voice. “This time it isn’t just the Galactic Alliance. They’ve brought something from the Core. Something that threatens everything. We’re aboard a massive super-weapon.The whole galaxy’s at war.”

The Camo Scout paused. Eyes looking ahead to ensure no one noticed her talking to herself. Asking for help wasn’t something she did. She wasn’t even sure how. CT-312 approached it as best as training allowed. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of. That—” exhaling slowly “—that’s needed here. After this is over, you have my word I’ll bring you to whatever destination you choose.” Pausing once more. There was no need for the shard to know more. “CT-312.” Simply stating. But for an alliance and cooperation between the two to work… “You’ve met me as Ashe. Here, I’m CT-312. Call me whichever you prefer.” she added.

Her suit gave a sharp beep. HUD text scrolled across the visor.
[ BARCA ]
[ UNKNOWN ENTITY ]
[ COUNTERMEASURES INITIATED ]

Voice firm, “Override.” CT-312 ordered. “Barca, allow access. Authorization: Jedi Master Dynas.” More beeps followed, softer this time. [ ACCESS GRANTED ]

A faint hum rippled through the armor’s systems. Master Dynas was linked. CT-312’s looked at the groups ahead. Nothing out of the ordinary. None had looked back. The Taozin amulet did its job. It’s quiet safeguard against being sensed through the Force shield, and now confirmed, it shielded Master Dynas too.

—
[ PRESENT ]

The Camo Scout wasn’t a fan of fighting on ships. Aside from the fact she stood out like a flare in her desert camo. She was built for open ground. Made to move. Not to be boxed inside steel corridors that twisted like a maze… But lately, her missions had been anything but by-the-book.

Around them, the corridor pulsed with alarm lights. Red beacons flashed against polished durasteel. Steam vented from fractured pipes. The air smelled of ozone, oil, and heat. As the groups continued to advance, CT-312’s HUD lit up with clusters of unidentified signatures. Converging fast. Heavy footsteps echoed through the decks. Eyes caught sight of another security cam as they passed. Making it to a tram dock, Arris Windrun summoned a transport. Everyone piled in and the tram jolted forward. Gaining speed down the tunnel. Gaining some distance from whatever was coming after them.

Through the narrow rear window slit, CT-312 doubled blinked— her contact lenses zoomed in. A nightmare of metal and flesh surged after them. A crawling mass of machinery, cables, and organic limbs. Double blinking— zoomed out, view returned to normal. Her visor caught another camera in the tram’s corner. The Princess spoke amongst the group and issued orders. CT-312 followed.

Moving to the rear hatch, hand pressing the control. Hiss, the door slid open. Tunnel wind screamed past. CT-312’s body dipped lower as she braced herself, raising the sights of the LO-18D. As she aimed at the horde trying to keep up with the tram, BARCA automatically adjusted and recalibrated the Halcyon’s Armour servos in real time, fine-tuning the strength output.

[ BARCA ]
[ Output: 37% ]
[ Status: Normal ]

Click. Ammo type switched to LO-KI/22 Standard Slug Rounds. The stopping power. CT-312 squeezed the trigger. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Continuous fire roared through the tram’s cabin. Firing into the cluster. Slugs tore through flesh and plating. Each round detonating on impact. Pieces of metal and meat burst apart as molten circuits and tissues scattered in burning fragments. Servos whined inside her suit, compensating for the high recoil. Each volley pressed her backward. Sliding, as her metal boots scraped against the floor. THUD. Mag boots engaged, anchoring CT-312. Thud. Right step forward. Thud. Left. Reactivating. Deactivating. Step by step advancing to the edge of the tram’s open rear. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Continuously firing until the swarm behind was no more.

CT-312 reloaded, the motion automatic. The tunnel behind was clear. For now. “Hmmm.” Turning, she glanced over the others. Noticed Ash ( Riven ) wasn’t particularly armed for this caliber of onslaught. A quiet click of her tongue, tsk , the sound muffled by the helmet. Holstering the LO-18D, she drew a VW 864 Maser Rifle from her back. Visor locked with Ash’s eyes. Through the helmet's voice modulator, CT-312's voice was flat and even. Her tone carried the faintest hint of boredom. “Even a child can use this.” Tossing it toward Ash’s smaller frame.

Her visor shifted from Eira to the Princess. The 'Sunstroke' jetpack primed with a low hungry rumble. “I’ll be back.” She looked once more at Ash. "and for my gun." Then a final nod to the Princess. "Apologies." for defying part of her order. A single step backward. CT-312 dropped out of the open door into the dark.

The Scout landed hard on another tram platform. Overhead a camera tracked left. Perfect. Just what she was looking for. CT-312 extended a gloved hand, one of her LK Spider Slicer Droid scuttled up her arm. Leaping onto the device and vanishing inside the gaps. Multiple camera feeds flared across her HUD. “Stop.” catching the correct image. It was a chamber lined with terminals and consoles. A security office or control room. “Route a path to that camera feed.”

Ping. A small schematic appeared, overlaying CT-312’s vision. Picking up her pace into a run, she unholstered her LO-18D. Switching the ammo back to Tibana rounds. Suddenly, the ship trembled. Lights flickered and blast doors slammed open and shut. Confusion rippled through Imperial squads as the vessel seemed to rebel against itself. CT-312 took advantage of the chaos. Shooting down soldiers with short efficient bursts. The rounds punched through panels. Igniting wiring. The debris and bodies convulsed. Metal re-knitting with flesh to form new horrors. Holding down the trigger until the weapon’s barrel began to glow, reducing the creatures to scrap.

Finally reaching their destination, it was a security control room. Breaching in, CT-312 dropped the guards inside. Walking up to one of the main consoles, another slicer droid skittered off her into the machine. “Barca, download the schematics and any info you can gather.” [ CONFIRMED ]. A few moments later, lines of data streamed into her HUD, visible to both her and Master Dynas. A rotating projection appeared: A massive sphere.
“Master Dynas.” CT-312 murmured. “What is this? What are we looking at?”

Quickly, CT-312 sent out a message. Transmitting the schematics and information of the vessel they were on.

[ INCOMING MSG: CT-312 to Quinn Varanin ]
[ Map. Data. ]

A sudden cascade of warnings filled her visor. [ ALERT ] scrolled repeatedly multiple times across the HUD.

[ BARCA ]
[ UNKNOWN ENTITY IN SYSTEM - FOREIGN ]

Letters appeared, jagged and slow.
[ T - y - p - h - o - j - e - m ]

Whatever this Typhojem was, it had noticed her. CT-312 was unsure if it was part of the Galactic Empire or possibly an ally. If it was, they would need to take it down. BARCA’s capabilities were limited, but maybe Master Dynas could bridge that. “We need to find out if this Typhojem is a threat.” CT-312 reached into her pouch, pulling out the azure shard. If it could inhabit a droid chassis, it could work with her armor. She pressed it into the armor’s cavity over her chest. Within moments, light bled through the seams of her gear. Faint pulses of blue.

CT-312 let Master Dynas channel and weave the Force through her amor. Feeling his awareness thread through the circuits and neural links. Now encased in her proper gear, she felt a pulse of excitement she’d never admit. A quiet urge burned in her. To see how it performed in live combat. Jedi Master Dynas became an extension of CT-312 as CT-312 became an extension of him.

A pressure filled her head. The unmistakable hum of the Force. Calculations scrolled across her HUD. Coordinates, trajectories, energy readouts. Camera feeds cycled instantly. CT-312 felt a surge of massive amounts of Force energy. Then everything blurred for an instant. Then settled.

CT-312 staggered. Coughing. Lungs seizing as breath returned. Body broke out into a sweat as it ached. Confused. “What just happened?” She rasped. Speaking to Master Dynas within the helmet’s confines.

The room around her looked identical. Yet the corpses on the floor were strangers and the console was manned by a smaller droid. CT-312 blinked. Eyes scanning around her surroundings, analyzing. Spread out were different types of units and guards she’d never seen before. “Definitely not the Galactic Empire.” speaking loud enough for Master Dynas to hear. It seems they have not been noticed yet. Whatever just happened, the amulet was still able to conceal the both of them.

Movement on the floor caught her eye. Flesh knitting to durasteel. Another abomination forming. CT-312 reacting instinctively. Holstering the LO-18D, left hand drew the Model 6 hybrid pistol. Her right fist clenched as the wrist twitched. Sshhnnk. A vambrace blade snapped out. The jetpack roared once more, propelling her forward in an amplified lunge. Her right arm came down on the abomination. Blade slicing clean through limbs and head. With each strike, CT-312 followed up with particle beam shots from the pistol. Blasting the sliced off pieces into useless molten smaller fragments. The abomination was incapable of reforming.

If the unknown group didn’t notice her before, they would have now.

As CT-312’s breathing steadied, another weight pressed against her senses. A heavy choking presence she remembered from the Lanupa mission. Her helmet and body turned sharply toward the source.

An armored figure. The height familiar. The aura, worse. A single name scratched at the back of her mind. Daeva. ( Darth Carnifex ). A Sith Lord. But she couldn’t confirm it through the helmet the figure wore.

Her stance dropped low. Weapons ready. Eyes darted to the dead Imperials, then back to the looming figure. Under her breath, for Master Dynas alone and a reminder to herself of the mission. “Not the enemy.” CT-312's posture relaxed only a smidge. "I don't believe Typhojem is a threat. Atleast not to us. Need to move on to the next location. Ideas?" Recalling the Princess’s words.

"Find a way to take it down. That's our goal. If we can find a way to get any added information please do so."

Orders given out came first. CT-312 raised her voice just enough for the armored figure to hear. "I am here under Princess Quinn Varanin's orders." She gave a short, respectful nod. "Pardon for the intrusion. I'll be continuing on."

Spoiler: Others

Hasuras Na-Gerra Meliant Arris Windrun Vestra Tane Aurellia Mercy

 

[Kyrothian Ravoch]

Wrath of God

Acier Moonbound ​

Slow, measured steps carried him into the maintenance corridor. The Rebel had withdrawn deeper to escape the searing heat of the white smoke spreading through the passage. The somber red strip along the ceiling offered little light, and the darkness swallowed the boy’s shape. Behind Ravoch, the brighter hallway outlined the silhouette of his massive frame - almost too tall for the cramped space. Yet as he advanced, the bright light behind him grew distant and the smoke thickened, blurring even his imposing silhouette.

Eventually, Ravoch would close his eyes, extinguish his blade and let his brows furrow: He was reaching for something. Soon, the heat that had been gnawing at his skin seemed to turn elsewhere. While the hot smoke still lay thick, it no longer seemed to affect the Sith Lord who now moved with the purpose and clarity of someone who could sense his surroundings with astonishing detail. That included the piece of railing that was being hurled at him.

Ravoch simply raised his armoured arm in front of his chest to intercept the attack. From deep inside the white smoke, Acier would hear metal plinging harmlessly against metal. Eyes still closed, Ravoch reached for the piece of railing that had embedded itself in the armoured plate and yanked it off effortlessly before gently tossing it in the direction that it came from.

The fact that the Lord was approaching was no secret. Pipes twisted and grates were being bent back down into place as a low rumble sounded off when Ravoch used the force to create a walkable path ahead of him. He even spoke a simple "I like to exhaust all viable options before I resort to violence." His tone was smug and precise - and while his list of 'viable options' may have been a short one, he did contrast himself starkly against the ashen-haired Rebel.

Another little while would go by. While Ravoch did move with silent steps, his presence in the force came nearer by each passing moment. Suddenly, his eyes opened, revealing two yellow-glowing orbs high above Ace's head - just a few feet away from him. A heartbeat later, the crimson red blade hissed to life to block the simple shii-cho attack before quickly pivoting to parry the Djem So follow-up attack. The Lord had to dig deep and lean on his powerful physicality to make it look way easier than it should have been to withstand the second, far more powerful, attack.

The Sith's blade danced with the agility and fluidity of a nexu chasing its prey. After he had fended off Ace's attacks, Ravoch unleashed an unrelenting assault in a sudden burst of action. First a thrust to force his opponent back or into a disadvantageous block, and then careful but aggressive prodding attacks consisting of small slashes and measured thrusts - all purposed to either find an opening to inflict a debilitating wound, or to force his opponent back. Still, he took care not to strain himself: His arm movements were economical and his saber never strayed far enough to strike the railings, beams or pipes. Where the Lord had previously remained somewhat passive, he was now pushing against the Rebel's defences hard.

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

FOOD: Darth Avida

​

Krasskorr had relied on the remaining momentum she had provided him, only to find himself engaged in an unexpected contest of leverage. Darth Avida 's smaller saber was positioned against his lightclub, functioning as the long arm of a lever, while his own grip struggled on the short end. Her mocking tone pierced through the ringing in his ears, yet it did prove a point.

He could not overcome her in the confined corridor with his larger blade. She had much more mobility than he did, placing him at a distinct disadvantage. It was time to adapt to the circumstances of the engagement as he redirected one of his massive claws from his saber to the walls of the corridor boxing them in, breaking through without much effort to target a pipe.

The pipe, running waist-high along the corridor, tore open with a piercing shriek of escaping pressure. Scalding steam erupted in a blinding, hissing cloud, engulfing the space between them and instantly cutting off her visual confirmation of his movement. As the hiss deafened the corridor, Krasskorr didn't wait for the steam to dissipate.

He deactivated his blade with a swift flick of his thumb, cutting the crimson blade and its dangerous leverage liability out of existence.

His body, massive and armored, became a shadow within the blinding mist. He drove forward, no longer a duelist with a cumbersome weapon, but a charging predator using the cover of his own brutal distraction. In the vapor-choked chaos, he was relying on the steam to mask the subtle sound and scent of his closing rush towards her.

He exploded out of the cloud's far side, a dark, dripping silhouette, opening his jaws as the Dark Side of the Force gathered around him to Force bellow.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Leidimas Sith Plate | Disciple's Helm of Devotion
Domina Prime

​

The Jedi’s laughter clung to the durasteel like a sickly fog. Thin and nervous, and without a doubt, cowardly. An echo that betrayed their true nature, a weak and pathetic attempt at levity that only amused the Sith as he let it linger in his helm for a moment longer.. before dismissing it altogether.

Once more he pivoted, the grace of both a dancer and aristocrat, upon the falls of his feet, the crimson blade poised at his side. The corridor stretched like a cursed tunnel, its walls lined with shadows that seemed to slink and writhe in anticipation. His gaze scanned the darkness, taking note of every detail. The rebreather hissed, a pendulum of exhales that marked his advance.. each was a defiant claim upon the air.

But not before he felt something else, another cord beneath the unraveling chaos. Something powerful was thrumming through the marrow of this station. It wasn’t the sparks of soldiers, nor the shallow flickers of Jedi, but something deeper. A gathering of wills, begging for control It pulled at him, a magnetic undertow, daring to consume him whole. Lysander’s helm tilted fractionally, like listening to a hymn that only he could hear.

He returned to the shadows, cloak brushing along the walls like a mournful whisper. His body language became all economy once more. Shoulders angled just so, weight forward.

But even stealthy creatures were not infallible, and twice he gave himself away in the midst of his deadly dance. The first was a careless scuff of his boot against plated flooring, and then with the hissing song of his blade as it tore through the lives of a squad of stormtroopers. Obstacles in his path.

Blasterfire illuminated the corridor, and elegance answered with precision.

Limbs were severed like they were nothing, chestplates split clean by a force that seemed effortless. And in the silence that followed, it hung heavier than any scream that had filled the air moments before.

Lysander wandered deeper into the labyrinth, as though following the scent of Sith liturgy. The laughter had long since faded, replaced only by oppressive drumming of something far greater.

The true hymn was ahead.

And he would not be absent when the verse reached its crescendo.

​

 

[Connel Vanagor]

What is left
UNDISCLOSED
LOCATION - Death Star III

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel, Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

Any other Jedi, and this taunting might have worked.


Any other Jedi, and he may be in control of this confrontation, and make no mistake, this is not a duel, or a fight, merely a confrontation.


Connel? No.


Maybe it was his growing up with the father he had.


Maybe it was coming within a hair of losing his life brutally at the hands of Darth Kizash.


Maybe it was the Special Forces Training.


Maybe even it was the enhancements and implants originally inserted by Sasori Inc. to put him back together…


Of course it could be the fact that he is not emotionally recovered from what happened on Coruscant.


Right now? None of it matters.


Not even the Shotos coming at him, which he swatted aside.


Not even the noticeable draining of his connection to the Force. Connel could feel it…


… none of this mattered.


When Darth Solipsis lead the “previous” assault on Coruscant, Connel was in a Bacta Tank, barely more than his primary organs, and his mind. Everything else was a mangled (or removed) mess of flesh). When he finally was allowed to leave the tank, he was lost. Unable to emotionally reconcile picking up a lightsaber, unable to handle the rigors of standing against the Dark Side. His psyche manifested a personality based off of his fears and buried the Jedi he was.


That is a long story(this taunting could have worked then).


Then it was a conversation with Valery Noble that set him on the path. He would always be a “Guardian”, but he learned to become something else, a Shadow. His father called in a favor to get him a “crash course” in stealth, and operational training (however, he was VERY MUCH a “Guardian” and was worried he was doing Connel a disservice) and arranged some training with Omega Squad.


The rest became history.


They taught Connel discipline, how to compartmentalize, how to work silently, how to put the mission to the forefront because their work required it. He taught them discipline, thinking in a manner that there is “always a way”. To put the one over the many when possible, and most of all, to come together even more than they were. They did not need him to be whole, he just made them that much better, he did not need them to heal, they just added to who he was and made him better as well.


Which is why today? Connel just stood there and waited. You done?


The Elite DID drain from him, but Connel learned to compartmentalize what was available. The Houk didn’t take all of the Force from his opponent, and it was time Connel showed him by no longer hiding it, even reaching out to grab and lift the Elite by the throat to a standing position. Even if the Sith tried to take more, remember those implants? They were not affected, especially the muscle and reflex enhancers.


You think I fight the Dark? I understand it. That’s why it can’t touch me. There is a reason why the taunting doesn’t work. Not just because his father constantly walked the line, and taught him to… his mother was once a Sith Lord and taught him about their flaws and faults as well.


Moving into his traditional stance, Connel just lifted two of his forward hand’s weapon fingers and just waved them as if to say “Grab your weapons, and come at me.”


The Elite was not the only one holding opposition away from more important areas.

Matsu Ike • Dark Forces
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts - Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

His skin was drenched in sweat, and ashen locs stuck to his skin under the heat. He heard it, metal on metal, the dull clang of his thrown railing bouncing off armor like a taunt. Then came the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, closing in through the haze.

Ravoch's voice followed, calm, almost conversational. It was like Ace wasn't even a threat to him. His Mandalorian blood boiled at the lack of respect, but he didn't say anything in response.

Then, before he even saw it, he sensed it: two points of molten gold cutting through the smoke above him. The corridor lit crimson as Ravoch's blade hissed to life. Ace's lightsaber came up just in time to meet it, the impact sending sparks flaring off the walls. His arms jolted under the force, but he rolled with it, letting the momentum bleed into his next motion.

The Djem So follow-through came fast and heavy, a downward slash meant to break through, but Ravoch turned the attack aside with ease. The Sith's precision was surgical, each motion efficient, tight, unhurried. Ace pivoted on his heel, bringing his lightsaber around in a defensive sweep just as the counterthrust came.

Their blades collided once more, with Ravoch pressing forward, a wall of relentless pressure, thrusts and cuts arriving with a rhythm too clean to be random. The Sith's reach, his control of distance, his perfect economy of movement, it all forced Ace backward, step by step, toward the edge of the catwalk.

He matched each strike, but it was effort. Shii-Cho form gave him breadth, Djem So gave him bite, but his transitions were rough, raw, improvised. What he lacked in polish, he made up for in instinct. Sparks exploded around them as blades locked, hissed, and separated again.

The strain showed in Ace's arms, the ache crawling into his shoulders, but his eyes burned steady through the heat. A massive pipe below them ruptured fully, tearing through its housing. The catwalk lurched, metal shrieking as supports snapped loose.

Then the floor gave out. Ace kicked off pure reflex, the Force erupting beneath his feet as the catwalk collapsed into the maintenance pit below. His body launched sideways, slamming shoulder-first through a service conduit that split open in a rain of sparks. He hit a lower level hard, rolled, and came up gasping amid a mess of scattered machinery and debris.

He rose amid the wreckage, Ace found himself inside a lower maintenance foundry, it was a cavernous space, thankfully. The walls curved outward, lined with massive coolant conduits and suspended machinery. Metal walkways crisscrossed the pit at different levels, some half-collapsed, others steady enough to hold a fight.

Somewhere above, the faint echo of the collapsing catwalk still rattled through the structure. There was something else too, another faint rattling but it was the staccato thump of clamps and hull plates as a ship found its mark. The sound was distant, swallowed by steam, but it was there.

Ace felt it in the Force like a finger on his chest. A presence slid into his awareness, familiar, blunt and like iron. Aether Verd was here. A ghost of a grin tugged the corner of his lip. Aether was here, which meant he was alive. He steadied his breath, lightsaber still humming in his grip. He couldn't see Ravoch yet, but he could feel him... that steady, cold discipline cutting through the chaos.

Kyrothian Ravoch​

 

[Lord Creuat]

Xashe Tistya | Bernard
B L A C K G U A R D​

He gained victory from his power.

But his chains were not broken to gain what he desired the most. Freedom from his past; freedom from Rhis Fisto. The Shadow Hand did deliver death to his former brothers and sisters without hesitation and without regret. Nor did he had second thoughts of the carnage the Empire wrought in their conquest of the Galaxy. No, the sinister deeds he committed did not hold him back from the absolute power he craved.

It was all for one individual whose memory haunted him. During peaceful nights her own voice distressed him from resting.

I promised you mercy. You taught me to keep my oaths.

Her.

His Master knew of these distractions and ordered Creuat an ultimatum. Have her embrace the Dark Side, or kill her. Should Creuat fail, he would pay the price for his weakness.

And so he knew what had to be done.

Like a moth to the flame he strode alone to coincide with his former apprentice. She had grown with power a testament to her convictions to continue the mission entrusted to her from her former Master. Sadly, it was also ironic to see the shell of Rhis Fisto grow with power and knowledge only to fight against his original purpose.

Our destinies will be determined today, my old apprentice.

Just as he foretold time ago when they clashed above Ord Mantell.

 

[Sars Sarad]

NPC's: Dark Forces​

---

The Turbolift arrived, its door hissing wide to grant entry.

Sarad looked from one side to the other, all around him he could hear the sound of footsteps.

Troopers rushed to and from posts, answering distress signals and calls for assistance. There was more afoot here than what Hasuras Na-Gerra and the crew he'd brought with him had begun.

Just listening to the ambient background noise and Sarad could hear the chaos.

As an unintended benefit all this chaos made it easier for him to move through the Death Star III though. In a Station this large it would be easy to mistake someone affiliated with the Black Sun as an ally instead of an enemy especially if they weren't actively engaged in combat, etc. Doubtless some security would recognize him for what he'd done, especially on this level which was why he was leaving.

Sarad stepped onto the turbolift, punched a button for an upper level that would take him far from the equatorial belt of the Station and watched as the doors closed behind him.

He was on the move.

His lightsaber deactivated as he stepped onto the lift. He'd make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

 

[Riven]

Objective III - Clash of Destiny
Allies (Squad) - Quinn Varanin CT-312 Eira Dyn
Allies - Hasuras Na-Gerra Meliant Arris Windrun Vestra Tane Aurellia Mercy
Foes - Ashin Cardé Varanin (Maybe?)
Location - Aboard the Death Star
Equipment - LO-22S (ammunition), 3x Shiva Knives, 3x Achlys Grenades, PNCR, Vibroknife.


The short assassin had been quiet for the most part as she followed onto the tram, still wrapped in her hooded feathered cloak. Her ammunition was finite and so she let the strength of those leading them deal with clearing the path, but as they boarded the tram and set away her attention turned to the oncoming technobeasts that gave chase.

"Take out what you two can."

Her crimson gaze shifted towards the Princess and she gave a nod at the command. From beneath her feathered cloak she pulled out her LO-22S with a single hand and followed 312 towards the rear hatch of the tram as she knelt low and took aim with both hands now. When the hatch opened and the rush of air came through she braced herself to begin opening fire.

From upon her back the ever reliable Pincer's main optical scanner peered over her shoulder, the wide lens focused in on the approaching technobeasts as it scanned for structural weaknesses in their forms, looking for where the armor was thinnest, where the joints connected. With a few beeps and whirrs given by the droid Riven squeezed the trigger of her pistol as she fired off a single round, and much like 312 she was using LO-Ki/22 slugs. Her single bullet struck one of the monstrosities in the leg, accurately destroying a structural joint as the creature promptly fell to the ground as it was trampled by the others behind it.

She lacked the more rapid and consistent rate of fire along with the stopping power that 312 displayed with her LO-18D, but what Riven excelled at was unerring accuracy and decisive shots. She didn't disable as many as the trooper and it was unlikely that she could have stemmed the tide of the horde by herself, but every shot that she did make took one of them out, one by one. It was easier for her to merely incapacitate such targets rather than destroy with her current weapon and so she did what she could to assist.

With every beep and whirr of her spotter droid her aim shifted and another calculated shot rang out. When the horde was thinned to nothing she took a moment of pause before slowly standing up and holstering her pistol beneath her cloak.

312 caught the elf's attention with her voice as she turned her crimson gaze to regard the trooper. This was exactly the kind of encounter she feared most on this mission; social ones. Her soul begged that she wasn't about to try and strike up some sort of conversation, but thankfully to her relief it was merely judgement in her choice of firearms.

When the Maser Rifle was tossed to her she caught it, initially buckling under the surprise of its heavy weight as she then held it appropriately in her arms as her studious eyes (as well as the optical scanner of her droid) looked over the weapon curiously. It didn't seem to take long at all for Riven to identify exactly what kind of weapon it was and as she noticed it was more akin to a sort of blaster her eyes seemed to hold a look of disappointment. But regardless she peered back up to 312 and offered a soft and silent nod of thanks.

Riven was now more appropriately armed for dealing with such large targets. When the trooper made her intent clear on taking her own path however she merely regarded her with a silent stare at the comment of coming back for her gun. As far as Riven was concerned this certainly wasn't the type of rifle she'd keep in her arsenal anyway.

When 312 left through the hatch the short elf closed it shut. She maintained a vigilant watch and turned just in time to see a figure ( Ashin Cardé Varanin ) appear and hail the very Dark Lord they were at odds with. At first Riven had taken aim with her rifle but a sort of realization or perhaps even recognition struck her and steadily she lowered her weapon. If there was to be a fight with this individual she wouldn't take part in it, not if she wanted to sincerely upset someone important to her. Her eyes shifted towards Quinn Varanin , she wouldn't help her with this one and she probably knew why.