Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[Krasskorr the Maw]

FOOD: Darth Avida

​

It all seemed to happen to fast as Darth Avida palm opened, with Krasskorr feeling the pure backlash of Dark Side energy she had been hoarding. It was not lightning nor a gentle telekinetic shove to push him away. It was raw concentrated kinetic power bursting from her hand, slamming into his armored chest with the force of a concussion missile fired from a battlecruiser.

His body was lifted entirely as the blast propelled him backwards down the corridor, slamming through a nearby junction box the already damaged wall giving way with a loud crunch of reinforced durasteel. He tumbled several times, his heavy armor grating painfully against the floor, before finally skidding to a halt amidst the debris of sliced conduits and shredded wall panels.

He struggled to regain balance on the slicked floor, though finally managed to brace himself on his elbow. The damage was evident as deep cauterized gashes scored his chest plate, adorned with fragments of metal where the force blast had been focused. The armor was breached in several places and he could feel the sting of lacerated muscle beneath the gaps.

The force of the strike had jarred every joint and bone in his body, a brutal counter-blow for the tail attack that had scored its own, more conventional wound. He then tasted blood on his teeth and breathed in the acrid ozone and his own sweat. He locked his blurry gaze onto Avida, who was now clutching her wounded shoulder, but still standing, still drawing power from the chaos.

He thought about running head first for another attack but then a tremor in the force occurred not from his opponent but far away in the Emperor's Throneroom. Survival was secondary as the preservation of his master was paramount and he would not help his master by being distracted here.

And so with a final, gargantuan effort, Krasskorr pushed himself upright. He staggered to the nearest intact section of the corridor's ceiling, a heavily reinforced section designed for structural integrity and extended both his massive claws. He poured the last vestige of his will and physical strength into the action, tearing at the durasteel with a frenzied, desperate ferocity.

The metal shrieked in protest, the joints tearing apart as Krasskorr ripped a massive section of the ceiling panels free. With a strained roar, he slammed the debris down, piling it high and deep into the corridor, sealing the path forward with a mountain of wreckage.

"I have your scent....that I will never forget..." Both mouths echoed in unison. The sound of the collapse was deafening, the Maw using the sheer mass of the space station against his foe one last time.

He did not look back. He simply turned and stumbled away, his silhouette disappearing down the open corridor, leaving the sorceress trapped behind a barricade of his own making, his priority shifted from victory to urgent preservation.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Allies: Hasuras Na-Gerra | Mercy | Vestra Tane
Opp: Meliant | Dark Forces | Darth Solipsis | Odria Kaelthron | Open to opposition!
Others: Romi Jade | Inosuke Ashina

“Windrun, you yet again prove invaluable. Would you locate the command overrides my brother spoke of? Vestra and I will not let harm come to you as you work.”

Arris nodded and got to work. She closed her eyes and listened past the harsh static of battle. Past the torment of an entire world under siege, echoing out. The battle station hummed with energy, vibrating with movement and chittering in anticipation. Controls listened for intention, like a soldier awaiting orders.

Her eyes opened. "There's nothing here." She looked at Gerra. "Not like what I felt outside of the overbridge, we need to--"

A twisted feeling bit into the back of her neck and filled her thoughts with unconceivable dread. Even her stomach dropped, a sensation she hadn't experienced in a long, long time... not since replacing those internals with cybernetics. Cyber eyes glanced sidelong at the wall as if it weren't opaque. She could sense the unavoidable danger that approached, but not before it struck.

The ground began to shake violently along with the deafening sound of metal being torn. The unexpected quake threw Arris to the ground with a hard thud. Between the fear and unexpected assault by a rogue Star Destroyer, her systems began to flush with stimulants as all hormonal regulators fired as if she were at the edge of death. Her co-processor rapidly hijacked multiple higher functions.

When she stood, the Dark Side emanated outward, rippling with her fear.

"Gerra!"

It was subtle, but she could tell the Throne Room was now slowly drifting free from the rest of the station.

She grabbed his shoulder and screamed, "We need to get the fuck out of here, now!"

Her gaze shot towards Mercy, but the response was immediate in the champion's body language. She wasn't coming with. Arris cursed under her breath and looked back at the Vahlan.

"Now!"

 

[Maera Dren]

Location: Hangar - Death Star III
Tags: Renn Vizsla

The elbow came fast, too close and too heavy to fully evade. Maera caught the motion in her periphery, twisting just enough that it didn't shatter her visor, but the blow still smashed across her pauldron with a brutal crack. The impact jarred her down to one knee, her gauntlet dragging sparks as she steadied herself. Her ribs burned where the armor had compressed, breath rasping through the modulator. She didn't let go of the knife.

Renn's gauntlet was still clamped over her wrist. The vibroblade hissed between their locked grips, its hum crawling up her arm. She wrenched her weight sideways, muscles straining against the Warmaster's hold, using the torque of her lower body to break the bind. The sudden shift freed her just enough to twist her hand, dragging the vibrating edge across his gauntlet seam. It was not a clean strike, but it forced the distance she needed.

Her HUD flickered red with damage alerts, but she ignored them. Pain grounded her; it always had. She surged upward, using the recoil of his earlier shove to launch herself forward. Maera's blade came up in a tight arc, the hum cutting through the smoke as she aimed for the side of his helm, then dropped low at the last instant, driving the strike beneath his breastplate.

Sparks trailed each motion, her precision sharpened to pure instinct. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the chaos of the hangar fading to a tunnel of movement and impact. He was faster than anyone his size should be. Every counter she made, he met with brutal efficiency. It didn't matter. She pressed closer, inside his reach, her knife a black blur as she struck again, short and merciless.

Her breathing came harsh and steady through the modulator. Whatever pain burned in her chest, whatever damage her armor screamed about, she didn't care. She was still moving. Still fighting. And until he stopped her cold, she would not yield.

 

[Srina Talon]

Allies: SO + ME
Direct Tag Because I'm Gonna Hit You In The Face: Subject 1503
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 The Lord of Hunger | Onrai
Location: Kitel Phard System (Near Atrisia) - [Death Star III]

____________________________________________________

<<He is here.>>

An image of Aryn Teth accompanied the telepathic words from the Dread Queen to Gerwald Lechner . <<Or something of him. Working, for the Faithless.>>

Her wolf to call would more than comprehend the information she relayed. He was one of the few that had known her then, who had ben with her, when the sky fell in and her world had been torn away. He was one of the few who knew the lengths she had gone to in order to avenge the death of her child. This…This shadow of him. This sliver, this facsimile of life, was an insult and an abomination.

Impact reverberated through the hull again as something hit the battle station from outside and she had to adjust her footing. The thuds of shipfire hitting the shielding echoed in the halls like gongs, deafening, and it made one thing evident. Atrisia or perhaps the Alliance—Did not want to go down without a fight. Where others may have perceived this sudden battle as pure chaos, mayhem, the Echani warrior found a pattern in the chain of events. Logic, that caused the insanity to settle. It was a familiar cadence of ruin, a perfect truth, that had followed her across a hundred worlds.

There would always be war.

The shards of metal that her opponent had thrown back at her ricocheted through the corridor like angry wasps. Several struck the invisible film of energy that rippled faintly around frame and fell, clattering to the floor. The masked man advanced, stubborn, despite the reality of whom he faced. If he knew anything of truth to her person, he would know that between herself and the Corpse King—She was the better fighter. She was not some weak, waffling royal, who had never held a sword.

Srina had been born to combat, bred for war, and had spent decades learning to become the paragon of what her people might call a weapon. The longer this man moved against her the more he would discover his mistake. There was no fear in her movements, only calculation, and exactness. The reflection of his crimson laser sword flashed once against the gold of her irises and the corridor would seem to breathe. The already metallic air grew denser still, a tightening of reality, while the Force pooled and folded at her command. His next swing, so heavy it could have cleaved durasteel, once again found not flesh—But resistance.

It was the same thing she'd done before when struck head on, only this time, she moved out of the way to let the strength behind his inertia carry him forward. Her stance was guarded, waiting, for him to do an about face and strike again.

"…Then perhaps you are no man at all.", she murmured, as if, they weren't currently hedging the line of killing one another. Srina, for the sake of her people. This creature, for his own ambition. Her voice was light but there was a certain weight to it that wouldn't necessarily make sense. She was a full head shorter than he was and slight of frame—Should she not be afraid of this soldier, this thing, who hid his face and carried the bearing of her former lover? "Only…The echo of one."

He could hurt her, physically. He could even impress her if the circumstances were correct…He might even force her to exert herself before everything was said and done. But, Srina was the center of any storm. Precision over fury. "Do you understand that if your master sent you to me…"

"You were sent to die? Again?"

From anyone else, those words, would have been considered pure hubris. Her hand fell to the side and the hilt of her saber dropped from the harness along her spine and landed in her palm. His best hope wasn't to win. It was to die well enough, so that she might once more retain his memory. Her left hand opened and the energy that she had been gathering inverted. The air exploded with a bone rattling thrum that pulled at his center mass, dragging at the plating of his armor, trying to wrench the breath away while putting pressure on his lungs. It was not a push this time—But a draw.

The debris in the room responded, with fragments of glass, metal, and torn conduits spiraling toward the epicenter where they stood, driving him back. Through the haze her mind flickered against that of the Sith she had arrived to the Death Star with. Listening, for their secret words. Plans. Madrona A’Mia and Lina Ovmar were quick to deduce what was happening and she could feel a certain pressure while their machinations began to take shape. To Darth Caedes and Revna Marr she sent a short burst. No doubt they would also feel her power swelling and wonder what it was that drove her into action so swiftly, especially, since her legendary calm typically pervaded. It was…Out of character.

<<Engaging with opposition on the same level—Don't let it distract you.>>

The shadows moved with her, flaring, while her presence unleashed and swept through the room like a tide of midnight black. It was enough to blot out everything else…Not in mercy, nor anger, only the relentless need to finish what had begun. For her people.

She moved.

In a blur of white and black, she passed through his guard, her own blade igniting with a sharp, crystalline hiss. Crimson light spilled through the corridor as she moved, no wasted motion, no hesitation. Her saber swept up in a diagonal arc meant to shear through his defenses, red meeting red, in a blinding clash. The impact of weapons colliding was not something she felt in her sword arm, but something that vibrated and echoed through her entire body. "No matter what you are…"

"You are in my way."

Srina broke the blade lock in a spill of sparks, turning her wrist, before striking again—a lightning-fast thrust aimed for the area beneath his breastplate. Even an armored revenant of Aryn Teth might remember himself, what pain was, if she struck him deep enough.

<<I am here when you have need of me. Dirtsarias ao tutzara.>>

Spoiler: Equpiment

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

 

[Renn Vizsla]

Tag: Srina Talon | Aether Verd
Opposition: Maera Dren




Renn felt the blade scrape along the seam of his gauntlet as she tore free, not deep enough to cripple the joint, but enough to bite through the leather underlayer. Pain crackled up his forearm, sharp and electric, but he bore it without flinching. She was fast back to her feet, faster than most would have recovered after taking that hit, and he gave her that ground, but only for the space of a breath.

The next strike came high, aimed at his helm. Renn brought his forearm up to meet it, beskar grinding against the vibroedge in a shower of sparks. The resonance rattled his elbow to the bone. Before he could fully lock the bind, she dropped low, smart, driving for the seam beneath his breastplate. The point found purchase, skidding off the reinforced plating with a shriek of metal and scoring his cuirass. The hit wasn’t lethal, but it was precise, punishing, the kind only a soldier who studied an opponent delivered.

He stepped into her instead of away, stealing her angle and collapsing the space. His gauntlet snapped out to shove the knife arm wide, and his opposite hand came up like a piston, aiming a crushing backfist toward the side of her helm. The blow wasn’t meant to finish her, but to rattle her footing and buy space for the next opening.

Renn followed through with his momentum, twisting his hips and driving his knee forward, angling for her midsection. It was a brutal strike, close-range and armored, meant to force her backward or knock the air from her lungs if it landed clean.

The Warmaster breathed in slow, controlled draws through the modulator, visor burning through the haze. She was still pressing, still advancing, still refusing to break, exactly the kind of opponent Death Watch measured themselves against. He shifted his footing again, ready for another exchange, giving her the room to strike or evade, but not an inch more. The duel wasn’t decided yet, and he invited her to try and tilt the balance again.

It Had Only Just Begun.​

 

[Helix]

Objective III
Equipment: Himself
Tags: Lirka Ka / Phaelissia / Da'Razel ​

Helix halted abruptly as Kandora was thrown past him, partly-dispersing his structure to remain difficult to see amidst the chaos.

He crept closer with feline grace, noting the fire-cultist's distraction. He wasn't sure what manner of life form those robes concealed, but he planned to find out if it bled all the same.

A tiny rent appeared in the colony's head, splitting downwards to reveal a row of rapidly-growing needle-teeth. Additional legs extended from his structure as he stealthily plodded towards Kandora.

The colony gradually shed the illusion of a fixed structure. New blade-limbs formed, jagged teeth sprouted, nightmarish new photoreceptor-clusters burst from his metallic skin like fungi. He wanted to see, to taste, to experience this kill from as many angles as possible. The more detail he could capture this moment in, the sweeter it would be on future re-watches.

One needle-pointed arm of many was lifted silently, then rammed forward toward the fire-cultist's left shoulder while her back was turned to him. A decidedly non-lethal strike, should it manage to connect. He didn't want his dinner to die too quickly.

Helix just wanted it to be appropriately afraid, in those last few moments.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

THRONE ROOM...
​

The ground and walls shook and a scream of tearing metal unlike any Gerra had heard before resounded.

She grabbed his shoulder and screamed, "We need to get the fuck out of here, now!"

Gerra's head whipped to the forward viewport behind the throne. Outside, in space, he could see that they were moving. Impossible. The Death Star could not move at such a speed... unless. He saw the shape of the battle station itself as the isolated spire swung 'round and 'round, detached from the surface of the artificial moon.

The Vahlan took action. Swift as thought, he took up his blade and brought it back nearly to his ear, then with a lunging step he hurled the sword with all his strength. The blade hummed well and struck true, ensorceled tip spearing through a shatterpoint in the surface of the reinforced viewscreen behind the throne.

It burst asunder into a thousand pieces.

The air within the throne room howled out through the cavity, sucked out into the vacuum of space. The force of it pulled Gerra and - seizing Arris Windrun by one arm and Vestra Tane with his other hand - he went with it, ejecting out past Mercy, past Darth Solipsis and his Jedi opponents, out into the black void of space.

Into the vacuum, he floated. Frost appeared on his skin and the liquids in his body began to boil. Only application of the Force kept his body intact and whole. A telepathic voice spoke in his mind.

"It seems fate ensures our paths are separate, Warlord."

…a pause, his left arm raising so that he could lay a palm against the entry to the turbolift…

"I wish you well in your future endeavors."

"Indeed. I am in the vacuum."

Gerra's thoughts rang upon the Dark Jedi's mind, projecting an image of their predicament - floating in the void of space. Mercy could handle herself. She had her wish - alone on the throne room with the Corpse Emperor. Gerra and the other two Sith still had business to attend. Capturing this battle station seemed a distant goal now.

A screaming (and perfectly inaudible) Meliant was soon among the shower of corpses and debris sent hurtling into the void.

The Vahlan felt the presence of his brother drifting among the debris, as Meliant surely felt his. He would ask no more of him. Meliant must make his own path, his own choice. He will realize his folly.... or he will perish.

Drifting through space, it took most of Gerra's concentration to prevent himself, Arris, and Vestra from simply dying from their blood boiling and their eyes bursting. His mind raced - they had little time.

Tags: Darth Solipsis Mercy Romi Jade Inosuke Ashina Meliant Arris Windrun Vestra Tane Sars Sarad

 

[Sars Sarad]

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

---

Sarad was ready venture further into the Death Star or to depart but something drew him back, kept him from carrying on.

Hasuras Na-Gerra 's mind connected with his, projecting images of the Vahlan trapped in the vacuum after the Star Destroy had scraped off the Emperor's Tower. There were other faces in the images that Gerra projected, Arris Windrun and Vestra Tane . They were all equally trapped out in the void where only death awaited.

An exhaled of breath, his chest deflated.

The Ochre in his eyes flashed, the power he channeled through his core expanded outwards until he became a blur.

Invigorated by the force he moved with a swiftness inherent to the unnatural, muscles and tissue fortified against the kinetic resistance encountered.

Moving through the corridors of the Death Star he reappeared in the 'Tractor Beam Control Room' for the subsector. The impact from the Freighter wreckage had created a minor breach in the shell of the Battle Station alongside destroying the tractor beams that Sarad has used.

Eyes scanned the console he'd originally used, flashes of red indicated the inoperable equipment however it appeared as though a single tractor beam had survived.

Laying a hand on the console Sarad channeled a fragment of the force through his palm, letting it guide him as he turned dials and operated the beam. It was difficult. The Tractor Beam showed signs of a loss of power, likely due to damage that had occurred near its projector but it was still alive and Sarad was in command of it.

The Tractor Beam extended, it reached out into the vastness of space to engulf Gerra, Arris and Vestra before the vacuum siphoned the life from them and left them husks.

Sarad reversed the beam, pulling the trio towards the Death Star but where to put them?

As the beam pulled them closer Sarad, his hands working the control console would angle it so that it arced around to throw the Vahlan and the others towards the breach in the shell of the Death Star. The Beam flickered, losing power then it was deactivate entirely having been drained of energy. When it finally phased out Gerra and the others would find themselves hurled towards the opening, minuscule and barely noticeable on the shell of the station but enormous to beings that were little more than ants thrown towards it...