Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[Renn Vizsla]

Tag: Srina Talon | Aether Verd
Opposition: Maera Dren




The explosion hit like a hammer. Renn barely had time to register the blinding flash before the shockwave tore through the hangar. The blast caught him mid-stride, throwing his armored frame across the deck in a violent tumble. His visor went white with static as he crashed through a cluster of shattered crates, durasteel splinters, and burning fragments scattering around him. For a moment, there was nothing but noise, alarms howling, fire washing across the walls, the thick taste of ozone and dust in his lungs.

He pushed up through the debris, armor scorched and hissing. The hangar had become a warzone within a warzone: TIE engines screamed overhead, and collapsing struts rained sparks from above. Through the haze, he could just make out Maera’s silhouette retreating into the smoke, her squad dissolving into the chaos. He raised his blaster halfway, but didn’t fire. The structure was coming apart; continuing the fight here would mean dying with it.

“Keld!” Renn’s voice snapped through the comms, rough and static-laced. “Status!”
A burst of interference, then one of his warriors came through, breath ragged. “Rafters are gone, Warmaster, we’re falling back! This whole section’s losing stability. If we don’t move now, we’re done!”

Renn’s jaw tightened beneath the helm. He glanced once toward the spreading flames, then back to the direction Maera had vanished. For a moment, he lingered, weighing the hunter’s instinct to pursue against the commander's duty to survive. The decision came fast. “Copy. Regroup at the breach point,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the static. “No one left behind.”

He launched his jetpack, flame roaring as he vaulted through the collapsing hangar. Smoke and fire clawed at his wake, the floor splitting open beneath him. The Warmaster of Death Watch didn’t look back, not yet. There would be another battle, another reckoning. But for now, he would live to fight it.

This Wasn't Over.​

 

[Mercy]

HYPERSPACE
THE SEVERED SPIRE

Attn: Meliant
CC: Darth Solipsis | Romi Jade

Smashing Meliant into the wall had no effect besides making him even more excited than before. He only redoubled his efforts to drain Mercy's strength from her, and that infuriated her, because strength was earned. Not stolen. Otherwise you were nothing more than a filthy vulture, a mongrel siphoning what you hadn't earned.

The smoke that made up his body felt nothing from her strikes, even as it formed thumbs to gouge at her eyes. It was like trying to break diamonds, doing nothing but annoying her and blinding her for a moment.

The Sith Lord snarled as she felt the core of her being slowly drawn away, her arms weakening, the frost of the void creeping back into her flesh.

You wish for strength, spineless wretch? Her voice crashed through Meliant's mind, raw and furious. Then you will have it… all the strength you can take… and more. Pray you don't choke on it.

Something flickered behind her as shadow slid into reality. Weight followed. The grafted spirits she had torn from the Netherworld unfolded once more, the wings that had never truly left her. In an instant they lunged, punching through armor like paper and through Meliant as smoke. They impaled his shadowed form against the hull as if he were flesh and bone.

From now until the end of time, any power you claim... know that I am its origin.

Meliant would feel the surge of power piercing him. From her, straight into him. A current of might that could invigorate him. But soon enough the intensity increased until it became overwhelming, filling the fabric of his being with liquid fire. Similar to Arris' bullets, but from the inside, where he couldn't escape.

The spire itself trembled under the weight of it. Light bent across the chamber, colors bleeding together as the Force itself recoiled at the profanity. Whatever Mercy forced through that conduit, it was vast enough to make the space around them flinch. For a moment it felt eternal. Then time remembered itself and began again.

The wings pulled out of Meliant, and Mercy watched as they slowly faded back into the background and out of sight.

With that, Meliant lost her interest. Her gaze moved to the throne instead, already bored with the miracle she had forced on the world. Later, she might wonder what the wretch would do with her gift. But for now the shuddering of hyperspace continued as the spire was dragged along, away from the field of battle and into the unknown.

At least they didn't leave empty-handed. It had been boring, but not a total waste of effort.

 

[Casaana]

Mission: Deactivate Shields
Gear: Fighter, Naboo Armor, Blaster Pistol, Satchel of Explosives, Republic Lightsaber W/Stun Crystal

The control room blazed with the red glow of plasma and Brandyn recoiled and went down to his knee as if hit. "No!" Casaana called out from where she crouched, suddenly feeling very much like the young girl she was in the midst of the turbolift despite the weight of her armor, training, and expectations pressing down on her.

Acting on instinct, even as Brandyn pulled himself back to his feet and readied to sacrifice himself to buy her time, Casaana reached out with the Force and yanked her fellow Jedi into the turbolift before punching in the level the force field control was supposedly on. "Frckfrackfrack." She continuously swore under her breath, on the verge of panicking as she examined her companion. Half his face and his eye were badly burned, almost giving him a two-faced appearance. "Okay okay, I've got this. I'm bad, but I've got this," she reassured herself and extended her empty hands towards him and dug deep into her reserves as the turbolift sped towards its destination.

Curato Salva was hardly the most elegant of healing abilities, but it was basic and one Casaana had plenty of experience with, even using it on others despite its intended inward focus. Focusing on Brandyn, she cycled her Force energies through him, closing his wounds and coaxing the serous fluid out of his burns so their healing could begin as she did her best to sooth the nerves screaming out their pain signals.

To her left, the doors hissed open as the turbolift delivered them to their destination as a quartet of sith troopers peered quizzically in before pulling up their weapons. "Oh, errr, we were told to deliver this." Casaana stated, toeing her boot under the combined satchel charges and flinging them out into the sector shield room's anterior before hitting the button for another floor at random. The lift, ever eager to zip along, closed its doors as the first of the blaster bolts screamed between the closing doors and the Jedi to slam into the rear wall as the others hit the closing doors. Reaching back through the Force as they sped away yet again, she told the twin bombs that they didn't have to wait any longer, now was the time to complete their purpose, and they happily exploded with their full fury.

Slumping against the railing circumventing the turbolift as the blast shook the car, Casaana tried to joke, "Does it feel like we're getting paid enough for this?" Giving it a long moment as the turbolift car continued humming along the interior of the battle station to the occasional tremor of the fleet battle raging outside, Casaana realized what one of the things bothering her was. No lift music. She sighed, "Come on, let's try to find our way back to the ships. Think you can fly on your own?"

Drystan Creed Brandyn Sal-Soren​

 

[Matsu Ike]

OBJECTIVE: Jedi Vanish
ALLIES: Jedi Connel Vanagor
ENEMIES: Sith

She could feel a shift not much. The crystals were there and others seemed to be making more explosions. The surface of it was strong for repelling attack.. the interior had power conduits that could cascade and if brendok was anything could cause catastrophic fires.... She was allowing the force to alert her to problems when she was finishing up and looked towards Connel. "I think it will be time to go soon." She said it and was feeling around in the force for the others. She was moving quickly as her hands came out. The movement off the surface of the floor adjusted and she was freely floating now.. Flying with speed when she moved to open a rift into the unbeing for Connel that would get him to the planet and then another one across the station for Mykel Dawson and others. They would be able to get off quickly and head down into the planet. She could feel the solari towers continuing to pulse as Connels team had maintained them. "TIme to go Connel."

 

[Drystan Creed]

DEATH STAR III

"Oh? What's this?"

Drystan raised an eyebrow beneath his visor, the curve of his lips twisting into a smirk. Though pressed onto the defensive by the sudden surge of his opponent's wind and fury, he showed no sign of panic.

His movements—once a tempest of sheer power—now tightened, drawn inward like an ocean collapsing into a single drop. Every motion was stripped to its essence, efficient and minimal, enough only to stave off death.

"Ah, I understand now."

A chuckle escaped him as a saber stroke slipped past his guard, grazing deep enough to carve molten orange through his armor's blackened plate. An inch more and the blow would have ended him, yet he stepped back with calm precision, unshaken. This was getting dangerous. And for Drystan, danger was exhilerating.

"You're fighting for the future," he said, voice smooth, neutral yet observant. "Admirable. But whatever that future holds for you, Jedi… you'll never reach it crossing blades with me."

The contrast between them became stark in that moment. While he assumed his opponent fought for the future. Drystan fought as if he had none. Every strike he made carried the finality of a man with nothing beyond this instant. There was no tomorrow—only now. And his every movement radiated that truth: ferocity tempered by flawless control.

"Watch closely," he murmured. "Blink and it'll all be over for you."

He raised his blade high, both hands steady, body still as midnight.

Before the dawn of language, sentient beings didn't need words to understand danger. A towering krayt dragon needed no label for "large." The snarl of a nexu required no translation for "run." Instinct did the talking—through muscle, posture, and primal fear.

Drystan embodied that instinct. His stance became language—one of muscle and marrow, of silence and stillness. The curve of his spine, the weight in his stance, the tension coiled in every fiber of his being—all of it declared a single word in the ancient tongue of survival.

Those who saw it didn't think "he will kill." They knew.

His very presence spoke the universal language of death—ancient, wordless, and absolute.

And befitting his own creed, for death is always found in the present—ever constant, ever near, waiting to seize the future.

Then, in one thunderous step, he charged. The floor shattered beneath him as he closed the distance in an instant, grip tightening, left arm driving down like a hammer of gods while his right guided the blade toward Brandyn's head—

Only for the strike to freeze mid-swing.

In disbelief, Drystan blinked as the Padawan yanked his opponent backward by the Force, pulled into the turbolift just before his killing blow could land.

"Damn."

He exhaled sharply, visor retracting to reveal the upper half of his face. With a rueful groan, he rubbed his forehead in mild annoyance.

"I didn't get to use my technique," he muttered, sounding more like a disappointed child than a bloodthirsty warrior. "Still… that was a fun little skirmish."

He called after them as the lift doors began to close.

"Hey! Let's cross blades again sometime! Name's Drystan! If you've got more Jedi friends who want a fight, send them my way, alright?"

When they were gone, he sheathed his blade and sighed, scratching his head as his gaze swept the corridor for a way off the station.


"Well," he said with a shrug, "can't be mad at that. A lot more action than I was expecting—but not as much as I was hoping for."

Casaana Brandyn Sal-Soren