Compliance (Zenithian Imperium Dominion of Kothlis)

[Ak'lya]

Strask gave a grim smile as Alex wondered about Meneth's arrogance. "She was born into money and has never done a day of hard work in her life." He scoffed, a dry sound that was almost a cough. "What do you expect?" Looking over to the soldier, he tilted his head. They needed to get moving. Alex hadn't needed to cross the room, just tell the man. This was more personal, though

Maybe it was things like that which made him a spy and men like Alex a general.

Stepping towards the door, he tapped his ear and called Nat. "Track all comms and major movements as best you can. Let me know if anything changes."

"Alright. Meneth is headed for the Hall of Vengeance." He cursed, his eyes narrowing.

"Alex, we need to move!" He called as he rushed towards the exit Menith had taken.

[member="Alexander Ontonas"]

 

[Tyberius Fel]

A few thousand credits for the death of a few upjumped warriors of a dead Empire. A fair enough trade. The ancient Sun Guard donned his helmet and adjusted several plugs and hoses that pumped his weapons full of the most holy fluid that his people knew: napalm. Jetpack bursting, Aurelius zoomed across the artillery-shell tilled soil of the planet, coming to the aid of one of the soldiers of his Imperial contractors: A certain.. Laman Ress? A splash of white hot flames dissipated the illusions of Obsidian Knights that attempted to swarm onto the unfortunate man.

Flicking off the jetpack switch, the Sun Guard fell onto his feet with a thud, his golden armor glittering in the dull light of a few errant flames.

"I figured you required some assistance."

 

[Invictus]

Invictus shrugged his shoulders as his commander spoke to him, stretching out every muscle that became stiff from standing around, something the warrior was not used to. "Aye," he replied, though a fight would've suited him better than simply fleeing from a battle, the man would do as his commander had bid him to do, "We shall make haste and escort them back to the ships, Imperator. None shall break through our defenses."

Invictus followed swiftly behind, yanking his heavy bolter up to his chest, holding it out to the side as he made his way down the seemingly narrow hallway. He'd then pull a hand up to his ear, speaking to the rest of his squadron as he'd trail right behind his Imperator, "Men, escort the weak, let none die this day."

[member="Alexander Ontonas"] [member="Strask Ak'lya"]

 

[Damien Zannen]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vPI-K_k_Fs​

Deep within the clutches of Wild Space a event of a seldom nature began to begin. Starting with a hiss of steam a automaton behemoth shifted his Duranium skull to a tilt. Two green photorecptors ignited the area a blaze with eerie light and the unified integrated inner working fell on a single word floating in his mind. Zenith Imperium. Closing his mechanical eye lids the Necropsi deity known as Denoch remained still as he had for almost 1000 years. The species he once taught how to survive and marge with technology were worshiping him as a god and bring religion into a place where it need not be. Technology was a gift and expression of self. His "Friends" were mistaken and misguided to a more controlling direction. Once the necropsi flourished as a species now they were on the verge of extinction. How do you convince a ignorant establishment of its wrongs? By taking action. Organics as a Whole were inferior and rudimentary in their very nature. " Go." a deep reverb-ed word escaped his metal lips before his blazing green eyes fell into darkness. The Single command blasted from below in the Necris Space Station and erupted a chant of Revolution. Swarmer droids rushed into the Junction, A public section within the Space station. They were the care takers of Denoch and with them roaming ment it was time to deploy out into the Galaxy as a whole.

" Deloy to Durzas location!" A Necropsi Purger shouted letting his cybernetic voice rupture into the minds of his peers. Mechanical marching sounds rather loudly. If it where not for Space having no air, the Galaxy might of heard the Necropsi move as a single unit. Telepathic messages shot from Person to person with orders. A steady stream of mental thought unhindered by anything a Necropsi could attempt to muster in Resistance to. Like a cord or circuit the message bounced about till the it was back in a loop and the Inner Council knew what actions to take in regards to the current situation. A holoscreen shifted to a galaxy map and with the press of a button the tracker in Durzas Cybernetics activated. " He be on Kothlis?" A Elder asked raising a brow on his cybernetic face. A telepathic discussion stirred between them all. With a simple snap of the fingers the command was given to move the space station and deploy several warships to the planet. Necris Station was large and would take several months to move to a superior position. A mentally reinforcing humm encouraged the masses to continue in their direction. Denochs fake facade was pleased.

Traffics of information shifted to the lower section of Necris space Station. All info on Zenith that could be found on the Holonet was being categorized and searched through. Denochs advanced mind separating the into specific locations of his mechanical Psyche.

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Alex knew most of the first Chosen; the Praetors that made up the heirarchy of the Imperium's Chosen. Those lower on the metaphorical totem pole, however, were lost to him. He parted his lips to ask the Warsinger's name when Strask spoke. The Imperator's brow furrowed in disdain. He needed to make a decision.

"Half the men in this facility are hers. Getting the ambassadors out is our top priority." Worldbreaker hummed as it was drawn and its energy field whirred to life. "We'll move quickly. With luck, she won't have gotten far by the time we're done."

He allowed the Warsinger to issue standing orders to his squad and walked at the head. They stepped through the great doors and into a cacophony of violence. The surviving guards of the ambassadors' retinues were fighting with their backs to the wall at the doors. A number of Imperial Army soldiers fought at the opposite end of the corner with chainsword and blaster rifle. The officer leading them carried a bolter.

A firing line had been erected on the guards' side of the hall, but the conflict at the Imperials' end was less a battle and more a brutal melee.

Bothans loyal to the traitorous matron fired from walkways above and poured from other entrances on either side of the great hall. To call it a hall was a bit of an understatement: the room was twice as wide as the council chambers.

"It seems Meneth is intent on killing every diplomat here. Charming woman," Alexander noted in grim observation. His shacklebolt rifle coughed as it ripped a traitor-soldier in two and sent the warrior closest to him tumbling from the upper walkways. Worldbreaker hummed at his side, ready to slake its thirst upon those that dared to stand against the Imperator of Zenith Prime.

"We'll cut a path. Chosen, take to the sides. You can take the hits, these soldiers can't!" He thumped a fist to his chest indicating the battle-plate, "The ambassadors in the middle. I'll not hear of any casualties."

The shacklebolt clicked as it was let free to hang from its strap. Alexander took Worldbreaker and held it up high, the phrik of the blade catching the light of stray blaster bolts like a golden beacon.

"For the blood of our fathers!"

[member="Invictus"], [member="Strask Ak'lya"]

 

[Xis]

It was obvious that the Sith Lord was enjoying the thrill of combat once more. He reminisced of the days he’d spent on numerous worlds battling Hutts, Jedi, Fel Knights. All things that formed Iratus into the man he was today. Could the path the hybrid now walked have been planned all along? Was the force simply toying with Iratus and bending the Sith Lord to his will instead of the other way around? There was one thing certain however… That the force had a will and it did act on its own whether with the assistance of the Jedi and Sith or without them. Worst part was there was nothing they could do to stop it.

The thoughts had clouded Iratus’ mind as one of the rakghouls landed upon him, the weight heavy enough to pin the Sith to the ground. It would’ve knocked the breath out of Iratus, but thankfully he didn’t have to breath. The jaws of the Rakghoul opened wide as it wasted no time in trying to feast on Iratus. The head came down in a quick thrust that would’ve torn the man’s throat out but he acted off reflex alone. The index and middle finger on both of Iratus’ hands raised and lightning crackled through the air catching the Rakghoul in the chest. The lightning was strong enough to lift the Rakghoul up a couple feet into the air and threw it at least two meters back where it slid to a halt with a yelp of pain. The partner Rakghoul flew through the air aiming to finish off what its brother had started, but ended up getting the same treatment, this time in the face. The arcing bolts of lightning met the Rakghoul midair where it pinned the creature to the wall. Showing no mercy Iratus rose to his feet Conducting more lightning at the already downed Rakghoul. The time for games was finished.

 

[Laman Ress]

9/20
Laman listened to [member="Thew Vullen"] over the voice comm; they were the knights trainees. This decision would be important to the future of the imperium.

This was an extremely difficult decision. Laman could have them killed, but that would risk looking to cruel. He could bring them into the ranks of the military. That was a better move, but putting them into the imperial army would be a waste of their talents. Something new would need to be created. A group of force users loyal to the imperium military. That is what would need to be done.
Laman turned on his comm.

"Make sure they are safe, once we are done here we will make accommodations for them, those old enough will be trained, and those that are not will prepare to do so. They will fight for the imperium." he said over
the comm

Laman then turned off the comm's microphone. He then turned his attention to the newcomer, a man with a flamethrower.

Laman had put together a contract with this man before the battle. The flamethrower specialist will be useful for burning the building to the ground when they were done, purging all evidence that this place ever existed.

"It is about time. We are not done here yet, but i have a feeling that there is some kind of sorcerous illusions in play. We will need you." Laman said to [member="Aurelius Zhunbil"]

 

[Thew Vullen]

"Yes sir." I step back into the room and rumble, "Stay here." I pull the fallen doors back up and put them back into position. I stand outside and wait. The battle is almost over and there is nothing for me to do now. The children will be sure to grow up into strong knights, and keeping them for the Imperium is a good idea. I grin at the thought of the power of a force sensitive strike team.

 

[Ak'lya]

There was a battle in the hall. The old Bothan was sick of this, sick of everything. There was a scoff from him for a moment, before he pulled out an ascension gun and fired it up to the balcony. "Citizens of Kolthis! Is this what you want?" He cried, dropping the ascension gun and pulling out a Stun gun. "Meneth is using you as nothing more than cannon fodder!" There was a pause as the old Bothan sucked in a breath. He was getting old.

"Fifteen years ago, I made the mistake of declaring Ar'kai. Bothuwai and Kolthis poured resources into fighting an enemy we couldn't reach." He tilted his head, watching the Bothans in the room give a short pause. "We no longer observe that, but if Meneth has her way, much worse will befall all of us! What good is there in killing Diplomats? You will only anger those you once called allies!" He watched them begin to turn around, as if to leave. Honneyed words wouldn't win today, however. A shot rang out. A single slugthrower round flew through the air, striking him in the shoulder. He fell to a knee, clutching the wound. Chaos erupted again.

"Strask!" Nat called to him. He was in deep. Sighing, he pulled the bullet from the Terenterik leather. It hurt, and he was pretty sure the bones underneath were damaged. Still, he was alive. There was that. Picking up the ascension gun, he looked towards the ground. There was a small area of guardsmen who were at his feet. Grabbing the handle, he slowly began to lower himself to the ground.

 

[Dune Rhur]

Dune had been sent to Kothlis for purely diplomatic reasons. The Republic had been asked to send an impartial observer. The Bith was the one chosen and it had been mostly uneventful. Until a faction of Bothans had caused all hell to brake loose.

Now he found himself trying to find a way out of the capital building. The Bith wandered the halls and found himself confronted periodically by pockets of the radical Bothans. They shot at him only the have their own blaster fire reflected back upon them. They were brave but scattered when too many fell.

He turned yet another corner with blade poised. No Bothans awaited him with a hail of energy bolts. There instead were were the power armour clad honour guards of the Zenith Imperium. Beings with heavy blaster rifles leveled towards him.

The Bith's gaze shifted between them over the azure blade. He had no idea if he was considered hostile towards them in this moment. Officially he was neutral but would that hold in this time? He made no move forward nor back.

He considered his options. If he ran, he would be gunned down. He could fend off pockets of Bothans with smaller blasters. He could not do the same with a heavily armed squadron of elite soldiers.

Dune decided to take the most logical risk. The Bith thumbed off his blade and relaxed his stance. He stared down the barrels of their rifles and waited. Running would mean death and trying to fight would mean death.

He could only hope for peace to prevail.

[member="Strask Ak'lya"] [member="Alexander Ontonas"] [member="Invictus"]

 

[Tyberius Fel]

Aurelius Zhunbil readjusted the gas tanks on the multitude of flamethrowers strapped on his body as this 'Laman Ress' persona explained to him the situation. Illusions. The petty sorcery of the weaklings who relied too much on the force while they allowed their bodies to become fat and decadent. The Sun Guard let out a small grunt as he twisted a valve. After a moment of testing the pilot light, craned his head in the direction of Laman. "Intriguing. Give me instructions and I shall follow them to the best of my abilities." Aurelius' base personality instinctively chafed against authority, but long years of soldiery had beaten into him a strict displicine.

In the mean time, Aurelius was quick to point his flamethrower at the doorway and establish a sort of kill-zone if any of these.. what were they called? Ah yes, Obsidian Order fools were bold enough to rush down a chokepoint.

[member="Laman Ress"]

 

[Laman Ress]

10/20
"We must find the source of these illusions, I have a feeling that it is deeper in the building. Come with me." Laman said to [member="Aurelius Zhunbil"]

Laman motioned for two of the soldiers to follow them, they would be needed in the coming combat. It would not be easy getting to the inner sanctum of the base, that Laman knew, bu getting there and killing the source of these illusions would make their mission a whole lot easier.

There was something strange about these illusions, they could affect the physical realm. Laman knew it was extremely hard to do this, so whoever the source of this sorcery was was extremely powerful.

Laman kicked down the door that lead deeper into the base. No longer needing to protect the archives, Laman drew his bolter and prepared to mow down any that got into their way.

 

[Tyberius Fel]

"Lovely, lead the way." Toggling thermal optics in his signature Sun Guard Helmet, Aurelius readjusted his grip on the nozzle of his flamethrower. Sometimes, Aurelius wondered if the fools truly realized how fortunate they were, to be vanquished in the way most favored to the Sun God dancing with the stars in the midnight sky. The warmth on his face, the low cackling embers. Poetic in it's beauty, serene in the screams of the dying.

The Sun Guard fanned out into the room Laman kicked down and immediately upon seeing shapes in the darkness unleashing the scorching, purging flames that was the Sun God's wrath. The militia that defended the room was quickly rendered to ashes in short order by the experienced Sun Guard, their meager weapons failing to do anything beyond inflicting minor bruises against his armor.

Aurelius grunted.

"Clear."

[member="Laman Ress"]

 

[Finger]

Illusions? They were fighting karking illusions? Finger hissed through his teeth, rage rising in his chest at the thought of having lost men fighting an enemy that was not truly there. He looked to his men in the room, motioning them onwards on the trail of [member="Laman Ress"] and [member="Aurelius Zhunbil"] as the latter burns the force users, and their illusions to oblivion.

Hearing that [member="Thew Vullen"] had secured a number of children, he grimaced slightly, turning to two of his men and barking a quick order, "Watch those children." He'd say, drawing a "Yessir" From the pair as they move off to make sure the youths made no rash moves alongside @Threw Vullen though it was likely unecessary. Others may believe them innocent, but Finger knew well that child soldiers could oft be the most dangerous, especially when they were fully absorbed in their beliefs, having known no other way of life. Some might think it cruel, but not his men, for they had seen the lone child standing among corpses that he had once been, back in the gladiatorial rings.

Outside, his men continued to combat the remaining knights, keeping the area as well locked down as they could. With the base defenses disabled, things were coming to be under control out there.

Finger directed his men to watch the flanks, and to burn everything that they did not need, securing the grounds room by room afterwards. However, with the seemingly never-ending tide of knights coming at them, things were not going as smoothly as he would have liked. Anger almost pushes him to rush forwards alone to try and deal with the mystery that was causing their current predicament, but rationality made him decide to watch the backs of the others as they advanced step by step through the facility.

 

[Laman Ress]

Laman watched as the flames danced their way from the man's weapon onto the enemies in the room. There was a grace in the way he did his work, a beauty in the flame. It was a terrible death, burning like that. Even in the heavy power armor, the heat was nearly unbearable, but Lamans training overtook his first instinct to turn away. He kept on firing on the enemy, they must be purged.

Laman continued down a vast foyer that Laman was sure lead to the inner sanctum, and Laman could only assume that is where the illusions were coming from. The Foyer was poorly lit with torches, and what Laman could be make out was that there were vast tall pillars from Lamans end to the other. At the other end of the room were massive doors, larger than any Laman had seen before. Sadly the Knights were waiting for them. They ambushed the group and cut down one of the two men with them. Laman drew his chainsword and started mowing down the opponents, it would be necessary to survive.

Laman pulled up his comm.

"Finger, we need backup in the foyer! There has been an ambush!" Laman shouted through the microphone.

[member="Finger"]
[member="Aurelius Zhunbil"]

 

[Tyberius Fel]

Finger.

A odd name for what would likely prove to be a odd man, knowing this little sect of crusading imperialists. But upon that same coin, this group of fanatical warriors seemed to be nothing short of competent and from Aurelius Zhunbil, that was saying something.

Aurelius dutifully followed Laman into the bowels of the building, whereas they were accosted by a gang of the pitiful 'Obsidian Knights.' While Laman hardly hesitated to engage in close combat with them, the Sun Guard would not risk such a thing. Lifting up his flamer as a duo of Obsidian Knights closed in on what they figured to be a easy target, they realized too late that what Aurelius was pointed to them was no ordinary blaster. Their lightsabers or whatever weapons they wielded were useless to deflect flames as the closet man immediately died with screams of pain choked in his throat.

His comrade had enough distance and reaction time to erect a sort of force barrier to protect from the flames. While Aurelius forced him to keep the barrier up with a unrelenting salvo of flamethrowers -- running out of fuel on his main weapon, only to continue spraying him with hot fire on his wrist-mounted weapon -- he grasped onto a thermal detonator and rolled it behind the Obsidian Knight. He relented for a moment, and the Obsidian Knight dropped his barrier only to be reduced into a smear of viscera on the dimly lit walls in a floor shaking blast. Not quite as good as a holy death by pure flame, but a fiery explosion was a decent enough substitute.

Aurelius took a moment to admire his handiwork.

"Perhaps I should have become an abstract artist."

He said to no one in particular.

[member="Laman Ress"]
[member="Finger"]

 

[Finger]

An armored fist wrapped around a knight's skull, and then clenched, the powered armor lending its assistance as Finger finishes his opponent. He drops the corpse to the ground as his radio sounds off, turning to look off towards the direction in which [member="Laman Ress"] and [member="Aurelius Zhunbil"] had moved. An ambush would mean that they were getting closer to something worth protecting, but that was not the prime concern, the protection of his comrades was currently the main go. Finger grunts, activating his comms.

"Farren, backup to me." He says, turning his head to look over in the man, and his squad's direction through his heads-up display. He doesn't wait for a reply, moving to the other's assistance, cleaving through another knight and opening the path for those with him. As they move, Farren's squad begins to move, leaving their position outside to make their way towards Laman and Aurelius.

As they step into the room, Finger brings about his bolter, taking aim with the assistance of his HUD and the power armor. He had tried firing the weapon without the assistance of the armor once, it was jarring, to say the least, more similar firing a launcher than a rifle, jarring as it was. Donning the armor, however, the act of firing could not be easier. The knight he fires at sees him, turning about and moving to cleave through the incoming round, only for it to explode as soon as it hits the saber, blowing shrapnel into his face and torso, killing him and a man next to him in one instant.

The other men with him move into the room, circling about under Finger's careful direction through means of comms, surrounding the knights as they engage their other comrades in the center of the room. Suddenly, a hole is blown in the nearby wall, Farren and the rest of his armored squad stream into the room, firing bolter rounds. With the crowd thinning out, and the danger of friendly fire increasing, Finger calls out, "Chainswords." Once more. In response, each of his men holster their bolsters, pulling feel their lethal melee instruments and moving in to completely surround, and then crush the knights that were part of the ambush. They cleave through flesh and bone with ease, spraying blood all about the room, and all over their armor.

It was a massacre.

 

[Laman Ress]

Laman continued to fight, the blood spraying everywhere as he eviscerated the knights with his chainsword. The other soldier Laman had brought was cut down, another man that would have to go home in a bodybag, another family that must be informed of their loss. Though this was a part of war, war meant death, and war meant sacrifice.

Laman's entire life had been dedicated to war, since childhood he had been preparing for war, and once he got there he served with dedication. For many years he fought for the Techno Union, and now he fights for the Imperium with the same dedication. There would always be wars to fight, so Laman would never be out of work.

Fingers reinforcements finally arrived, now they would be able to push ahead.

"COME ON BROTHERS! WE PUSH FOR THE SANCTUM!" Laman screamed.

Laman charged the enemy line cleaving the poor knights in twain, this was the final push towards the door.

[member="Finger"]
[member="Aurelius Zhunbil"]

 

[Invictus]

"FOR THE BLOOD OF OUR SONS!" the warsinger screamed back, as he pulled his bolter into both hands, hanging low from his waist as it swayed. He would take his charge in the middle of the hallway, though slowing down as he stood in the center of it, eyes dead set on all that would put themselves in his view. One bullet fired off, then another, and so on and so forth 'til his bolter grew as hot as a sun. Invictus would fire his weapon, regardless of whether or not it hit anything was of little importance, being at the head of the charge filled him with a course of adrenaline which flowed through his system as much as his own blood did. As men fell from his rounds, the human grew more furious, the purging of filthy heretics that would dare besmirch his Imperators plans would have to die.

Thoughts could not enter the towering mans mind in the bloodbath that was battle, only the sweet sight of cleansing the heretics that he so despised could sustain him from growing any less pissed. His golden gloves would've surely melted themselves into his flesh had it not been for the master craftsman of his armor, something he would be thankful for, if only it weren't for the horde of heretics he gazed on in his wake.

[member="Alexander Ontonas"] [member="Strask Ak'lya"]

 

[Placeholder 0133]

Righteous fury burned in Alexander's very soul as he saw Strask go down. He was growing to rather enjoy the Bothan, holding him in a similar light to that of his grandfather. Strask had always seemed to eschew the heavier armor, and now he was paying for it. The Imperator could not be sure just how bad his friend's wound was, only that the spymaster was hit.

Worldbreaker seethed with a power that rivaled his rage. If there had been any sense of mercy within Alexander's heart, it died with the bullet's impact. The cries of his warriors thundered in his ears; the adrenaline flowed through his veins like the sweetest wine. Battle-lust was upon him, and Alexander indulged himself.

With two hands, Alex cleaved upward. Worldbreaker shimmered as it cut through the durasteel walkway like a hot knife through butter. The men atop the makeshift battlement shouted in surprise and scrambled for safety. All were claimed in the murderous strokes of Worldbreaker's swings.

When nothing but corpses remained of the walkway-men, Alex turned toward Invictus. "No pity, no fear, no remorse! Punch through them brother." He gestured toward the massive doors at the end of the hall. Beyond that lay escape.

Turning, the Imperator moved his body so that it might shield Strask. He lowered down to the Bothan, his voice lowering as he fired mass-driver rounds from his shacklebolt rifle. "You alright Strask? Still keen to prod me about poor leadership skills?" He jested, though the concern was barely hidden with his humor.

Strask's wound worried him.

[member="Invictus"], [member="Laman Ress"] [member="Strask Ak'lya"], [member="Dune Rhur"]