Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Atlas Kane]

This Page Claimed for the Sith Apostate Gang™
Pour one out for the boys

Operation: Kyber Dark

​

"Allies": the New Imperial Order;
Enemies: The Sith Empire;
Secure the Datacluster, take the info
Unnamed Sith Datacluster
Actors: Hunter Blackburn
Begin

Crius' silence spoke volumes about his disposition.

Atlas rolled his eyes. Working alongside New Imperials always proved to be quite the drag. They consistently lacked the flair for the theatrical he sought in his usual associates.

A lone legionnaire burst through the doorway just ahead, blaster blazing. Red bolts went wide as he yelled a half-hearted battle cry in a desperate gamble for his life, breaking the silence which had settled between Atlas and the Senate Guard in the corridor. Before the Sith trooper could make it more than three paces from the door, a combat knife lodged itself into his throat, misappropriated from one of his fallen comrades and propelled by an invisible hand. The trooper's last roar was replaced by an ugly gurgling noise as his dying body barrelled to the floor, carried forward by the momentum of his dynamic entrance.

Atlas strode forward, opened his fist, and walked past Crius, towards the dying soldier. He knelt beside the legionnaire and turned the dying man over, so he lay on his back.

The man's life was slipping away quickly. One of his hands held the wound in his throat, from which blood poured to stain the black armour-weave covering it the same colour as his armour. There was a mixture of fear and confusion in his thoughts as he stared at the cloaked Sith kneeling beside him. Weakly he tried to raise his blaster with the last reserves of strength he could muster, but Atlas pushed his arm gently away.

"No need for that," he whispered, voice soft.

Uncertainty still hung heavy in the air down on Bastion's surface. It refused to let go of Atlas' thoughts, even as he stood above the dying man whose death was anything but ambiguous. He placed an open palm on the crimson plastoid carapace with the delicacy reserved for a fine work of art.

The man squirmed, his breathing erratic and faint, but Atlas paid it no mind as he held him still, making sure to not inadvertently bring about the man's demise. He'd be of no use dead.

Atlas turned to Crius and, with something approaching genuine concern, said, "Senate Guard, some privacy for the last rites of a dying man, if you would?"

His gaze didn't linger long enough to make sure the guard honoured the request. The legionnaire was already too close to the brink of oblivion for any further delay. Moreover, Atlas could feel the anticipation of an answer waiting just beyond this man's consciousness. Without another thought wasted on his companion, he set to work on the legionnaire's carapace.

Below Atlas' armoured hand, tiny fissures began to spread across the pristine legionnaire carapace. Black lines marred the perfect crimson gloss as cracks formed slowly all over the soldier's armoured chest plate. Atlas lifted his hand, and the material proceeded to break apart into countless shards in a methodical manner that stripped off layer by layer until the gentle rise and fall of the legionnaire's chest, wrapped in a red-stained black undersuit, was revealed. It was barely noticeable at this point. Losing the legionnaire now wouldn't do. Atlas set his hand down on the man's chest again and let some energy flow from his self to reinvigorate the dying man's heart.

With his other hand, he reached into the shadows beneath his cloak and retrieved a small vial, filled with several colourful compounds each separated by a thin, yellow membrane. He popped the cap off with his thumb and held it out above the legionnaire, pointed sideways. The contents didn't spill out, rather, meticulously controlled, they were drawn out by the same invisible hand that had held the knife still lodged in the legionnaire's throat moments prior. The vials' contents began to swirl and coalesce in the air, following a seemingly random pattern as they mixed and separated, transitioning from one colour to another suddenly and gradually at the same time. The display continued for a few moments until the fluid, settled on a bright green, lowered onto the armour weave covering the legionnaire's chest and disappeared through it. Moments later, the legionnaire let out a wail that was downright startling in its severity, coming from a dying man.

This was the part Atlas disliked the most. He balled his hand into a fist.

The man's wail died down to a muted scream.

"Tsk, tsk, can't have your last peace be disturbed while I work, now can we?" He chided. The legionnaire didn't protest. "Now, if we could-"

Atlas cut off his own words as a sudden surge of fear gripped his own thoughts. All the uncertainty he had felt before suddenly evaporated and was replaced by a deep sense of urgency. An urgency for what he could not tell, but the Force was trying to warn him of something. He reached out again to the edge of his power, prodding and probing the liminal space where fate itself had seemed to be held barely balanced on the edge of a sword, only to find in its place the outcome of fate. A fate that now held him in its clutches.

The die had been cast, the stage was set. Atlas cast his glance back, towards Crius.

 

[Jain]

Theme: Führe Mich (Instrumental)
Main Objective: Gotterdamerung
Present Location: Fortress Carnifex
Coordinated Allies: None
Umbrella Allies: TSE
Coordinated Enemies: Lyra Voi'kryt | Avernus
Umbrella Enemies: NIO
The Conduit of Despair vs The Vindicated Commander - Part Four

The slaughter that followed the destruction of the tank was not quick nor was it painless for those involved. The increasing dullness of the ax as it carved through durable armor with increasing difficulty only meant more suffering for the attacked. The Conduit roared with each swing, spittle - and hemorrhaging blood - spewing from her mouth. Her vital organs strained to keep up with the increased activity and unleashed Force power, yet her body would refuse to let her fall into unconsciousness until something - anything impactful or meaningful calmed her senses and laid to rest once again the vile horror that lay waste to the streets of Bastion. But that rarely happened and it was always Him that calmed her through the Force - knocked her unconscious with manipulation of the mind.

Not today.

Perhaps never again.

A soldier screamed in protest and dying defiance as he was lifted into the air by his leg, his assailant standing triumphantly atop a ruined civilian transport with a sharp grin on her face. His weapon had been dropped after the Conduit seized him with haste, leaving him defenseless save for his vitriolic diatribe, and none of his comrade's attempts to save him seemed to even affect the terror - unknowingly shooting the subconsciously formed barrier of Tutaminis, a byproduct of the conditioning. The Conduit merely crowed - a horrendously jubilant sound - as the bolts pelted her body like darts or missed due to the haze and increasing panic. She dropped her Arg'garok onto the soot coated concrete and watched as it tumbled from the transport and thudded in the black powdery substance below - a preluding pause before the exclamation of total violence.

The unfortunate soldier was immediately flung at his comrades like an ironclad baton, grunting and yelling with each impact, as the woman jumped down from the wreckage. The sixth hit rendered him silent forever as his neck gave off a subtle - almost silent - crack. His remains were subsequently tossed at a crowd just as another involuntary screech of dark rage escape the Conduit's throat. The accompanying shockwave sent many tumbling to the ground, dead and injured - contorted and fractured.

“Who are you really?”
​

The question came without warning and was unexplainably clear in her head, causing the Conduit to turn towards the source. Voi'kryt. Still alive and relatively unharmed from their previous contest save for some scrapes and bruises and trickles of blood dripping from the base of her helm. That was only more infuriating. Only minor injuries compared to all that she had suffered. The price for underestimating the Commander in a time of chaotic war.

A mistake the Conduit did not desire to duplicate.

The winged beast sprinted towards her foe near the wreckage of the tank, rearing back a bloodied hand with lightning quickness, intent on crushing the Commander's head and be rid of the nuisance that caused all of this. Yet, as she stepped near the tank she had crushed, she felt something - something worming its way into her mind, her memories. Towards...her. She did not realize it then, but would come to understand that a connection had been made with such fundamental exactness even in a situation as dire as this - an innate, primal nexus - that the Conduit was instinctually forced to stop her attack towards the Commander.

As Voi'kryt flung herself over the battlefield to stand between the beast and the Red Riders, memories flashed throughout the Conduit's cerebellum and played before her eyes like a holonet broadcast.

Remembrances of a dark room with green devices, foaming oozes, and far too many hypodermics and flasks. Four chairs, metallic and sturdy to withstand thrashing. A single light that was so dim that it made them hate the sun for so months. And Him, a horned and hooved creature in leather robes tinkering with his instruments. His words were soft and kind, but his intentions were vile and grotesque. Modifications amongst the Sith were commonplace, indeed, but what He did to them every night with the injections and the scalpels made those look like Jedi meditations. And he had the gall to say that he loved them and he would care for them...after some changes were made.

“You’re trapped - Why should you be afraid - I understand - caged, I was too. I am, the Punished? And you-of course no one would willingly submit...wouldn’t you like to be free - to be in control?”

​

The words registered in her mind late - too late to do much of what they could have - but it was still enough to bring tears to the eyes of the ravenous demon. This person, this enemy who only moments ago she was ready to destroy seemingly understood her on some base level. The link that she felt in her mind was proof that this was not another lie, another fallacy to bend and break under. The burning magenta produced by the symbol on her forehead dimmed and her broad shoulders slouched - almost to the point of passivity - and her eyes fell upon the soldiers ready to fight if their leader so wished it.

What came next could have been avoided had the powers that be not felt that the extremes were necessary to win a pointless war.

Without warning or a given command, the Commander's forces opened fire on the Conduit's position. The fire within her sparked back to life from its dying embers, only to be nearly snuffed out instantly by the rapid pelting upon her body from the armored heathens. She was flung back against the wreckage by the repeated impacts, only saved from harm by the barrier her mind created out of survival. It would not last much longer, yet the Conduit could not accept that in her renewed wrath - nor could she even comprehend it. She could only fight now. Kill. Main. Hurt. Make them feel as she felt.

​

A flap of her semi-corporeal wings flew her into the air against the storm of blasters, a snarl cracking her face in twain as the black fire within surged forth from her hands towards the wall of traitorous bastards.

"DIE!" she wailed with red tears streaming from her vibrant eyes as chaotic burning fumes scorched the men and women inside their white coffins. Screams echoed through the threads of the Force into the Conduit's ears, spurring her on to increase her efforts. The fumes quickly morphed into lightning, a pure red color that streaked in waves across the streets. Soldiers old and young fell in charred heaps, withered and broken. Blaster fire bounced off of her barrier like foam darts. She was the storm incarnate, unleashing years of rage upon an infinite number of victims.

Once a significant amount had been dealt with to allow her to rest on the street once again, the Conduit slumped to her hands and knees. Far too much energy had been expended in that burst. The fire within flickered, laboring to remain alive and keep its host fighting. Her eyes - vision blurred and spots running all over - began scanning for the one who had almost quelled the beast with mere words and a sliver of a bond.

The Conduit found her quickly enough being engaged by her own forces, barely holding back the tide with a crimson blade. Her own soldiers, whom she had surely invested too much into for this, were attacking her as if she had been their adversary from the start. This was wrong. This was corrupt. This was...treason. Treason against themselves. But most terribly - horrifically - this was a threat to the only outside bond the Conduit had ever had, even if she was a rival this day to her and Him.

She wanted to leave the Commander to her fate and continue the slaughter with mindless abandon. Yet, a part of her wanted to help. An animalistic desire to assist, like a wolf attending a member of the pack during a hunt. Save Voi'kryt from herself and these cretins that called themselves loyal soldiers. She could not figure out why this desire was so strong - for the link itself was only a thorn. A splinter of wood in the thumb that could be removed with a simple pluck. Why did it matter if she understood some level of the Conduit? The Commander was not an ally, nor a friend.

But she had...to protect her.

Protect her.

"No...honor...curs...sicken," the Conduit shuddered through her teeth, her legs shaking as they struggled to carry her to her goal. Interestingly enough, none of the Riders seemed willing to attack her as she slugged forward, as all of them - or at least most - were focused on Voi'kryt, whose attention was now centered on a figure in the distance that radiated the dark. The Conduit knew not who this person was nor why the Commander was so intently focused on him with enough hatred to sustain a Sith spirit. All she knew was that this man had to die. All of those that betrayed the Commander and wished death upon the Conduit had to die. "Traitor...enemies...all...enemies...corrupted...villains...they...kill...them...all."

The fire sparked anew one last time.

 

[Nida Perl]

Gotterdammerung | Imperial Capital Complex | Datacenter
Allies | Cara Dorniarn
Enemies | Seydou of Thyrsus | Tulan Kor
Engaging | Meshla Detta

Amon’s words reverberated throughout the chamber, and Nida broke into a cold sweat. Even when he was her ally, she found the staunch Mandalorian intimidating. Even though he wasn’t addressing her directly, Nida felt as if he were looming large above her. “I’m sorry,” She muttered softly to the Sith knight who’d come to her aid before, the woman who had engaged Vizsla without a second thought.

Nida hustled herself into the hallway, sweating profusely with exertion and ashamed of her abject cowardice. Had she ever been this spinless as a Jedi?

Rounding the corner, Nida stopped suddenly when an armored figure came into view. Her eyes did not need to search as frantically for an insignia of loyalty, as the female figure’s armor marked her unmistakably as a Mandalorian. Today, the Mandalorians were their enemy. Who knows what they would be tomorrow.

Nida’s danger sense flared the moment her adversary lifted her wrist, conjuring a bubble of Force around her person as the weapon was launched. Her efforts had deflected the rocket to the side and upwards, causing it to detonate in the ceiling. The resulting explosion had launched the small Zeltron forward, crashing smack dab into Meshla as if she were a projectile of her own.

The ceiling began to crumble around them from the impact, and flames licked at what remained of the ceiling from where the rocket had discharged. The smoke from the resulting fire would reach the miraculously intact smoke detector, triggering the activation of the fire retardant.

Shortly after the explosion, a slippery green gel-like substance sprayed along the length of the hall with intentions to snuff any flames, inadvertently covering anything and anyone who remained in the hall.

 

[Lunafreya Solidor]

O B J E C T I V E | Ravelin
L O C A T I O N | Bastion Academy
T A G S | Telis Taharin-Zambrano
T H E M E | Here.
G E A R | Armor, lightsaber, pistol,
Lightwhip, ring, gloves, necklace.


BACK | ACADEMY​

The female elf could see that very well on that planet, especially in her little dance with the Academy warriors. Had it been on his planet, or even his fellow citizens, Aelirenn would have made a point of honoring them for their bravery and courage, as well as for their resilient deeds in that battle. But for better or worse that was not the case, and she had a duty to do as best she could, or she would face dishonor before her mistress.

"The droids are failing to reach the hill and are dropping fewer soldiers than we imagined.", Her brother made a point of standing beside her and she offered a nod in agreement with his words. She agreed with him, watching small groups of her robotic forces being blown to pieces was not a pleasant thing, although a part of herself was beginning to ask how many grenades they still had to go on with it? Probably many. "We have to do something, Trea."

"I know.", she replied in a calm voice as she started to type in the control panel the new orders for the machines in range. She started by moving one of the missile platforms, ordering the ranks to make way for her to accelerate at maximum speed towards the entrance, to run over the defenders in front of her and shoot all the remaining fire missiles. Aelirenn chose this tactic because she knew that the damage caused by those missiles would be minimal in the structure of the Academy but too dangerous against its organic defenders, not to mention the fact that the platform was too thick for the grenades to do immediate damage to their armor in this endeavor. "Get ready, Omer and may the gods be with you.", Was all she felt comfortable explaining to her brother the moment he was riding at the forefront of the platform accelerating towards the back entrance.

With a lava cannon in hand and his shrewd eyes he would easily hit anyone in range, only to jump out of the tank when the grenades were impossible to stop from hitting him. A good and old force jump backwards would most likely save his life, as he had learned in his training years ago. She envied him for a moment, though she wanted to join him on the front lines but it wasn't the time to do that yet. She would leave her brother armed with his lava cannon, carrying a sword and shield on his back to have the pleasure of usurping the glory of the battle for now.

By typing more commands into the control panel, heavy droids should use their grenade launchers on the current lines to make way. While the others were to retreat and line up until the fully mechanized platform followed their orders, to fire torrents with their heavy repeating blasters and their grenade launchers, alongside the smaller units, the Southstar armed with their DC-15S and their Z- 6 rotary blasters were ordered to raid quickly after the tank's incursion.

For him, Aelirenn expressed disgust with his own strategy. A dirty tactic in his eyes, with little honor and little appreciation for his instinct bathed in justice.

EASTWALL | ACADEMY
​

If hell really existed, Abin was pretty sure he would like to spend his next vacation there, especially after seeing the drones and those drone-shaped droids falling from the skies, ignoring commands and orders. At first, he thought it might be some electromagnetic damage caused by soldiers in the Academy's defense, but after he bent his elongated neck to get a better look, he can see how the machines started to come together, mixing their metal parts taking a new shape and making horrible creaky sounds.

"I have a bad feeling about this.", The reptile snarled, watching as small tentacles began to sneak out of that strange thing, almost announcing to him what it was really about that thing he was looking at. 'Sith magic ... It was just what I needed today.', The reptile tried to sigh loudly until it noticed the tentacles rising faster, grabbing the nearest xerxikeen and crushing it completely. The albino lizard let out a dry howl at that. "PULL ME UP! BY ASK-ARS SAKE, PULL ME UP!", He started howling at the first xerxikeen that were starting to approach the roof of the academy.

Beside him, the trandoshan imbecility known as Elgar seemed to notice what was happening at the foot of the Academy for the first time. He started to struggle and despair, trying to pull the line that pulled him so that he started to climb faster.
"Palescales! Oy, Palescales!", Abin struggled to turn his head to give him an almost cranky look. "What do we do now?"

The albino creature drew the comlink again from its garments.
"To all troops climbing, open fire on the thing on the ground. Remaining drones proceed with the rooftop invasion, sweeping the skies of the Academy with their firepowerrr!", He was almost proud to give useful orders to those creatures that the Duchess had appointed to join them. Turning downwards while the autorope was still being pulled upwards, he aimed his rifle downwards, starting to unload his bullets at the creature, laughing out loud as he did so.

Beside him, Elgar laughed like a fool as he tried to climb faster, he tried to bring his forearm closer to his mouth and almost roared at the communicator.
"WE NEED HELP DUCHESS, THERE IS SOMETHING MADE OF TENTACLES TRYING TO CATCH US!", As soon as he had finished speaking and one of the tentacles was grabbing the soldier at his side, splitting his flesh and torso in half with his absurd brute force. The trandoshan lifted the maser pistol from his waist with a flickering wrist and started firing madly in the direction of the tentacle, making small holes melted by the impact of his bullets but the tentacle just shook and kept coming at him as if it were nothing more than mosquito bites. Elgar began to scream like a madman, until that tentacle began to be torn apart by a torrent of metallic shots, undoing its formation and forcing it to retreat, the trandoshan looked to the side and noticed Palescales handling the weapon. He could almost cry with joy at that. "Thanks, Palescales!", Was all he said to his colleague and what he got back were the snarls of the albino creature that was wondering why he didn’t shoot Elgar’s line instead.

FRONT | ACADEMY
​

In the midst of all that destructive chaos, Lunafreya laughed with pleasure. A loud and genuine taste of her harmonious voice, bathed in pleasure and joy. While his hands moved like those of a person who conducted a symphony orchestra in the largest opera house in Coruscant, only instead of instruments his fingers conducted flaming flames in several new ways. Among the few domains of the Force that she had mastered, pyrokinesis was one of them, and it was certainly something she exercised with evident favoritism.

Exercising what many might consider an art, she hurled fireballs with her index finger, exploding small groups of soldiers in groups of charred bodies, launching serpentine flames in the shape of creatures to chase others, creating fire birds to take down snipers and traverse the parts high in the area she entered in the Academy. But nothing brought him greater pleasure than to raise his palm and fire a hellish fire at three poor soldiers who were thinking of having their names remembered in the annals of the Battle of Bastion.

She stood in the doorway and rolled her head sideways, letting her gaze capture the entire scene before her. On one side the brave Sith soldiers fought for their existence, while on the other her forces howled her entrance to the Academy, with the corner of her eye she watched with satisfaction as Diabolico sank his sharp pike in a soldier's chest before pulling out his lightsaber and start her killing, on the other she saw Darkonda knocking down everything and everyone who appeared in front of her. Lunafreya allowed herself to smile again and walked in front of Ecliptor, passing the group of human torches she had recently incinerated, opening both arms and embracing a volley of gunshots from five soldiers. Laughing loudly and with pleasure, while the energy of the shots only fueled his Song of Feathers, but nothing was more pleasurable than seeing his soldiers return the affront to their mistress with shots of their own. ‘Blood will be spilled, like a red river he will run through the streets of Ravelin’, he said to her when they spoke and now she could feel it.

The female stopped abruptly, as if struck by something at the last minute.
"I sense ...", her lips almost whispered to herself. Raising his hand to cover half the face exposed by her helmet, the violet eye cut through the ranks of enemy soldiers in front of her in search of the source of what she felt. At hr side, Ecliptor tore a soldier in half with a clean stroke of his deadly sword, bathing his black bodywork with blood and turning to face his lady.
"Your Grace, are you feeling unwell?", She removed her hand from the top of her face and gave a taciturn wave with her gloved fingers in the direction of the black droid. Which gave her a nod. "Crush them.", The machine blew hot steam into the air and turned to take control of its troops as it turned its head as slowly as a cobra.

”You come for this place, and you will only find desolation as your harvest. Let this hand be the harbinger of such a fate.”

Her lips twisted in an almost sardonic smile. No words were needed to answer his taunting, blood cried out for blood and steel cried out for steel. His feet danced on the asphalt of the gym, sliding with grace and speed in the direction of the unknown Sith Lord, using the force speed of his armor and the strength of his gloves to lift both empty hands towards him and pull with both the Force lightsabers from her waist, snarling between her thin lips a curse as she ignited both golden royal blades crossing them as she delivered a single blow against her enemy in the shape an 'X' as she swinged both blades with her fists standing up as she striked her blow, her eyes shone in their violet color, showing all her willpower and all of her determination, for she had found her prey and would not let it slip through her fangs even after it was dead. In the midst of fire and blood, she felt every hair on her back of pristine skin bristling with ecstasy. How many decades had it been since she'd felt it? How long since she had liked it? Everything else seemed like a long and tedious dance. The words prophesied by Iedolas finally became true, she was bold, she was bloody, she was resolute and she was going to scorn the powers of men. For Lady Death had arrived to watch while the two mighty heroes were tattered apart in a glorious battlefield.

OUTSIDE THE ACADEMY​

The young shapeshifter rested his face over the palms of both hands, also resting on his elbows on the dashboard. He was bored with it all, watching that death spectacle was more exciting in his head if viewed from close up instead of so far, managing soldiers behind the princess elzeri's forces.

He sighed ruefully, if there was someone with him to grumble maybe that situation would be more pleasant but the loneliness was even worse to bear. Tedious and slow, he dragged his gaze to a blinking light on the panel, pressing the button and rising with the sound of Elgar's voice.
"WE NEED HELP DUCHESS, THERE IS SOMETHING MADE OF TENTACLES TRYING TO CATCH US!", Belias almost let himself get excited about it, the idea of imagining the two reptiles fleeing onto the roof of the Academy in search of shelter was too much fun for them. don't laugh at that.
"Aye, aye Elgar... don't worry about it, I'll take care of it.", The young shapeshifter started to press the command buttons passing the orders for the walkers to move a safe distance to aim at the threat of Elgar with destructive shots. He figured he was probably one of the infamous sithspawn the Sith were famous for, but will you know? Perhaps it was just a very large terrestrial octopus, or a loose handle.

Another light began to flash on the panel, one that could be traced to the High Command. His face stopped showing any animation, especially when he pressed the button and the image of Irveric Tavlar, the Sovereign Imperator appeared before him, foreshadowing words of ruin and betrayal.
"Oh sh**t... Lunafreya is not gonna like this at all.", Belias muttered to himself, regretting again that he had no company with him.

 

[FN-999]

OPERATION KYBER DARK - THE SITH PURGE​

LOCATION: FORTRESS CARNIFEX | IMPERIAL BOULEVARD
ALLIES IN VICINITY: NIO | The 19th Assault Company
ENEMIES: Caulder Dune (Kyber Dark) | TSE | Ingrid L'lerim (engaging) AMCO | Aren D'Shade
FN-999 EQUIPMENT: IN SIGNATURE + SBR-60x Particle Rifle (empty mag) + Devestator Particle Magcannon (currently equipped, 6/10 charges remaining)

CAPTAIN FN-999 OF THE 19TH

The woman vanished as FN-999 fired his cannon. Then, she emerged amidst the 19th unit and exploded.

At least, that was what it seemed like to the troopers at the receiving end of her Force-enhanced scream.
​

Her cry stunned FN-999 and the fifteen troopers with him instantly as the unit rushed frantically to muffle their helmets and cover their ears before they were deafened. The scream seemed to wield kinetic force, shattering already cracked armor plates and sending several troopers flying meters backwards. FN-999 barely remained standing, using his magcannon as a walking stick to hold him upright.

In his stunned condition, with his focus centered on muffling his helmet, the captain didn't notice that his magcannon had been struck until its core exploded under his fingers. Or rather, the stumps where his fingers used to be. The two lightsabers had sliced all the way through the magcannon, leaving two massive holes and detonating the charge that FN-999 had inserted seconds earlier. As a result, seven of his ten fingers that had been holding the magcannon had been incinerated. The captain had fought in many intense battlefields and duels prior, but he had never lost a limb. As such, the pain of such a significant loss threatened to pull the captain into unconsciousness.

Yet by allowing hatred for the woman he fought and vengeance directed at the Sith to fuel him, the captain rose up from a kneeling position and stood. With only three fingers, there were few weapons that he could hold. Yet there was still one, even among the heavy weaponry of the 19th Assault Company. A pistol lay on the ground half a meter away, discarded as the trooper carrying it was flung back by the woman's cry. He grabbed it with both of his hands, the stumps of fingers crying out in further agony as the grip scraped them. Still, he raised the weapon.

His aim was wobbly at best, but FN-999 pointed the pistol at the Sith woman.

However, before he could pull the trigger, a shockwave flowed through him. But not the physical type.

Suddenly, the captain felt his hate and vengeance sapped from him, exiting his body as if it were a leaky bucket. With his adrenaline rapidly fading, the captain began to notice the damage that he himself had taken. His armor had been reduced to twisted scraps and leather strands, with only the resilient Iustitia showing no signs of significant damage. Nearly all his muscles were stretched to their limit, and any further exertion would cause injury severe enough to make his finger dismemberment a secondary concern.

Losing the will to continue the fight, FN-999 slumped to the ground and fell unconscious.

19TH ASSAULT COMPANY MAIN-2
LOCATION: IMPERIAL BOULEVARD/CONDUIT
ENEMIES: Caulder Dune (Kyber Dark, engaging) | Shade of Decay | TSE units

9/40

"-What the..."
​

As the twenty-five troopers of the 19th descended deeper into the Conduit, they felt an unknown force tugging at their bodies, as if the air themselves was acting on them. At the same time, twenty troopers with unknown HUD readings became visible. The stormtroopers became excited - perhaps these unknown soldiers and the force in the air indicated the presence of the Sith scum. But before they could push forwards, the unit began to fall apart.

The bodies of the troopers began to melt, with their armor serving as cooking pots for a buckethead stew. The desperate stormtroopers yelled, cried, and desperately called for the unknown troopers to save them, allies and enemies forgotten amidst their mass suffering. The unknown units did not come to the aid of the 19th, at least not in the way they expected. Instead of relieving their incurable ailment, they finished the job the bodies of the stormtroopers started, mowing them all down in seconds.

Later, when New Imperial cleanup crews would investigate the scene, they would likely realize that the gunning down of the decaying stormtroopers was a mercy operation. They would see that the corpses with bullets through their heads appeared to be in better condition than those that piled up in blobs in the floor, the cause of such a death unknown without any witnesses to produce a report. But what they could discern was that even in the face of triumph and defeat, one side had honored another's right to die in a proper fashion.

UPDATE: 69/40

19TH ASSAULT COMPANY MAIN + MAIN-2
​

Dozens of stormtroopers rushed into the boulevard, weapons raised and pointed at the woman who had caused so much trouble for the 19th. Two troopers rushed ahead and grabbed FN-999's unconscious body, carrying him back towards the end of the plaza and away from the frontlines. Then, the sixty troopers who retained functional weapons all pointed them at the Sith woman and the approaching Sentinels.

A withering hail of machine gun fire, flamethrower-produced infernos, and anti-tank rockets were launched in the direction of the woman and her guards in an instant. The 19th would take their time ending the life of the Sith agent, and her death would not be a pleasant one. Not after witnessing the irreversible damage she had inflicted upon their captain.

Under the cover of the barrage, the bruised and beaten Captain Nines was escorted away from the front. In a tower far above, the flag of the New Order was raised, establishing its presence in the former Sith stronghold. If the captain had been conscious for a few additional seconds, he might have seen the final victory of the New Imperials. But for now, what mattered was that he was alive. Regardless of how unstable his condition was, Captain FN-999 was alive.

So, with seven fewer fingers than he entered Bastion with, the captain was carried out of the front.

 

[Darth Daiara]

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider

Spoiler: Post archive for our story

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider
​

The din of battle rang around her-- shots, explosions, screams. Screams of fear. They were the one thing the training room hadn't prepared her for. The Bastion Academy stood between the city and the Fortress, close to the center. All the best, Aradia resigned, she wouldn't have to go far to make her mark. It was all the other people standing in the way that shocked her senseless.

The civilians.

The families.

Aradia stood in the Academy's court yard, her lips parted as he ground quaked against an unseen attack. In a window beyond a gate, another child stood gaping, their vision set on the street leading toward them. Aradia's attention peeled off the child as a man tore them back, the curtains flapping in their wake. Men in white suits approached down the streets, blasters in hand as they pushed to break in deeper.

All the while they shot. They exploded. They ran over flower pots. She stood frozen as she peered out the gate, watching the swath of trained warriors push deeper into the city that made up her home. She gasped as the outside table of her favorite coffee shop became crushed under the wheels of an approaching tank. The city was falling to the invaders as they destroyed to conquer. And why? They marched on, so close she could see the dirt smeared across a helm.

Anger churned in her gut. She might not understand war, but she did know loss. She would not lose this place too.

A cry pulled from her throat as she left the safety of the courtyard, the teen jumping over a hedge and flying liking a monkey into the nearest solider as they marched on by. It was the shock alone that took him down, the girl small and frail despite how heartily she could now eat at each and every meal. There was nothing to note about her, the girl clad in simple black as she wrestled against the soldier's back. The march halted, all guns swirling onto her and the comrade that served as a shield.

You know she hadn't thought this through.

Her features contorted up at the white helmets that stared her down, her palm raising. "Get out of my home!" Fire exploded out at them all.

​

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Darth Daiara

War, the thing Oceiros had once feared most. He’d feared war more than he feared the Sith, for it was in war where he’d lost his family. Where he’d lost his famed cousin. Yet no matter where Oceiros hid war always found him in one way or another. War had come to Brentaal, bringing with it death and destruction the likes of which the Jedi had never seen. It was also on Brentaal that Oceiros learned that he could no longer run, that he couldn’t hide, that there was something beyond simply himself. Arcanus wouldn’t have hid, no true Sunstrider would continue to bury their face in the sand while injustice and tyranny reigned around them. No longer was the Epicanthix running from war, now he marched in it.

Alongside the Jedi there were numerous Galactic Alliance soldiers and stormtroopers that moved through the streets. Standing atop a tank, Oceiros kept an eye out across the streets. Smoke and flames billowed to the sky, above the skies taking on the appearance of death. Oceiros could feel it as he looked across the cityscape, the force in turmoil, an odd sensation filling his being. This wasn’t a fight between light and dark, the Jedi weren’t the true reason behind this fight against the Sith. It went beyond that, it was a fight about reclaiming what was once lost. Those who’d once served the Sith returned to claim the home they’d fought for, bled for, and had sought to protect, many willing to do whatever necessary to reclaim it. This world wasn’t the Sith, it showed how little the Sith overlords cared for the planet by not evacuating it, by leaving civilians behind in the midst of a battle they knew was soon to come.

Oceiros’ heart was heavy as they approached the Bastion Academy, he could feel the presence of those within, all those that had been tainted by the dark. Those who’d had their thoughts clouded and manipulated by the Sith believing that it was the true way to live. “Watch your fire, when possible use stun rounds, glop grenades and sonic weapons. We will not be killing children today. Those who resist-” Oceiros stopped, the words he knew he had to say caught in his throat. Never did he think he’d have to do such a thing.


“Those who resist, do what you must.” With the order given, the troops descended upon the Academy, pushing into the courtyard. Legionnaires and Sith alike rushed out to meet the hail of blaster and sonic rounds. Hopping from his position above the tank, Oceiros came down in a cleave that freed a legionnaire of their arm before spinning and thrusting through the shoulder of another.

Making his way through the crowd the epicanthix, did what he could to defend his soldiers as well as incapacitate their enemies. Each slash a regret, and then it came from nowhere. A banshee of the night came flying out landing upon one of the troopers.

“Get her off me, get this queen the fuck off me!” The soldier screeched trying to fight the Sith acolyte off his allies, turning and raising their weapons towards them both.

“Noooo!” Oceiros shouted over the melee charging towards them but it was too late as a bloom of flame came to life. The inferno stretched out swallowing the entire squad including the one being used as a shield, white plastoid armor charred and turned black, the screams of the troopers filled the Jedi’s ears as he could do nothing but watch them fall to the ground and cease moving.

Staring through the carnage and fire to the lone figure who did this Oceiros’ cobalt eyes reflected the flames, and within those eyes was nothing but pity. Raising a hand and shoving it out, a concussive wave escaped the epicanthix’s palm, the flames shunted aside in its wake as it sought to fling the witch back.

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider

Who wouldn't resist? This was their home.

The storm troopers fell dead in the courtyard they had invaded, their once pristine bodies charred and contorted as death boiled them alive. Aradia laid splayed in the center of it all, a look of shock rippling through her soot-stained features. She hurriedly shoved off the storm trooper she had tackled, blisters bubbling across the skin that remained in contact with his still simmering form.

She was not invulnerable to flames, nor the reality of deaths around her.

She had never killed someone before. A subtle quake rippled from her core, a horrified noise catching in her chest. She hadn't meant to do that. They were just-- and she- A sudden shock wave sent her flying backwards, her cry hitting the air as she tumbled like a rag-doll to a stop. Pain knocked her breathless, the burns singing the most poignant song across her nerve endings. She looked up between strands of red to find the lone remaining threat-- a man, his hand extended as he used the force against her. Her blurry vision cleared to a spike of fear.

Oh yes. She had been warned about this. Force users always had it out for each other, that was why this war was here. People with power always came to take what they wanted. She had heard the stories. She knew the truth.

He was here to kill her.

Her fear turned cold, self-preservation kicking in.

A shove of the force sent Aradia flying off the ground, onto her feet. Her clothing hung off her in charred strips, revealing a thin frame marred with scars and puckering burns. The pain of it all fell to the back of her thoughts, her training kicking in.

Her fingers slid to her belt line, where a saber laid in wait.

"Get. Off. My. Lawn!" She yelled, finding courage and strength inside each consecutive word. A snap hiss punctuated her final syllable, the dark red length of her saber sparking to life. It held raised before her in a wordless threat. He was not passing into the Academy without first going through her.

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Darth Daiara



Standing amidst the chaos, and destruction, Oceiros looked through the fire and black smoke that rose from the freshly roasted corpses. The Jedi looked down at them, out of his peripherals he still saw the banshee that had so ruthlessly snatched the brave men from the land of the living. Men that wanted nothing more than to fight for their home, to once more regain what was theirs. The Sith forcefully conscripted soldiers, used them as cannon fodder, the men and women who served in the NIO knew of this, had experienced this. That was why they fought, why they’d gladly give their lives in perhaps what could be considered the turnabout of the decade.

Kneeling near one of the corpses, Oceiros simply looked at them, their breathing having ceased moments before, their presences in the force having faded away. “Rest in peace brother, I failed to protect you, but I will not let your sacrifice be for not.”

"Get. Off. My. Lawn!"

As the words pierced the air, Oceiros blinked rapidly, tears having begun to well up in the epicanthix’s eyes. “This was never your land, this was never your or any other Siths planet. You've deluded yourself!” Rising from where he kneeled the Jedi turned fully towards the acolyte. Looking upon her Oceiros could see so many things, fear, rage, angst. Someone so young, so twisted and corrupted in their thinking.

“You stole this world from them, they fought for this world, they defended this world and many others. They had families! Mothers, wives, children! And all you can think about is what you wrongly believe to be yours.”

The crackling red blade of the Sith’s caught Oceiros’ attention, he’d come to Bastion knowing a fight was inevitable, that he would eventually be forced to draw his own weapon. Reaching down to his waist Oceiros unclipped the silver hilt from his belt, raising it up and over his head. With a snap-hiss the sapphire blade came to life, to come down tip pointed towards the ground between the two.

“I do not wish for this to devolve into violence but if you leave me know choice I will do what I must.”

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider


Aradia's brows furrowed as he leveled accusations her way.

You stole this world from them. ...They had families! --wrongly believe this world to be yours!

The young teen swayed in place, not a single word making sense. "You're crazy," she breathed, and looked at him as such. The big, bulking jedi lit up their saber. She took a sudden step back. The determination crumbled to a sudden jolt a fear, the girl facing the reality of what she had engaged. There was nothing more unsettling than realizing your fight with death would be against a crazed Zealot coming to storm your school... For the first time since Kaalia Pavanos had bought her freedom, Aradia considered running. It was a primal thought, but it consumed her.

Remember that fear. It will save your life. Her Master's final words were a balm. Aradia struggled to pump air through her through her lungs, the stand off stretching between the two. What felt like hours was actually mere seconds. The jedi's ultimatum was left in the air, the girl wavering against the heat of the smoldering courtyard. It wasn't that she didn't want to face the big, bad, crazy invader, it was just...

A bite of pain pulled at her-- the token coin that had been in her waistband had seared into her flesh, burned in there like a brand. It brought with it the reminder of the owners words, Allyson Locke oddly needed advice reaching her again.

You are strong. Have faith in yourself. Somehow it meant more coming from a stranger. Aradia faced down Oceiros and his bulking form, her fear reminding her what she was here for: Survival. ...And a test of merit. But still! Survival. She took a deep breath, breaking the silence.

"I will not stand down. You will not come into this Academy. Did you not hear me?" The red of her saber reflected against her features, raised higher as she found her resolve. You strike down your foes. You do not hesitate. Came the words of Kaalia Pavanos .

Yes, Master.

She burst forward in a flurry of speed, hair and clothing alike streaming into the wind. She collapsed in on him,empowered by the force as she aimed for a clean decapitation. Don't think. Just do.

"I said get off my lawn!"

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Darth Daiara


When faced with the wrong-doings of her kind, when given the chance to stand aside, she stood stalwart. Oceiros had heard much about the Sith it only tormented the Jedi so to see how deep the seeds of malevolence had embedded themselves into the young woman. She could’ve been so much, she could’ve perhaps been a politician, perhaps a fighter pilot, or even a Jedi, yet it seemed Fate and the Force had conspired together to place her firmly within the clasps of the Sith.

Escaping the Epicanthix's mouth was a heavy sigh as he resigned himself to a fight he did not wish for. “So be it, I only hope you can forgive me for what comes next.” Oceiros offered. Raising his blade to defend himself he stared onwards at the acolyte the world, no the force itself seemed to recoil away from his touch. The air grew cold around him, his heart seized and time seemed to slow.

From all across Bastion, Oceiros could feel it, the rage, the sorrow, the agony all coming out at once, formed and harnessed in an instant. It all concentrated and focused on one single thing. Death! Whatever was taking place the Jedi did not like the feeling of it. So caught in the currents of the force the neophyte barely had time to register his opponents attack.

Gasping inwards as time returned to normal, his body once more under his control, Oceiros kicked off the ground with his leading foot much like a fencer skipping a step back. The crimson blade of the acolyte skirted mere centimeters from the warrior’s neck, what would’ve been a near instant fatality. If Oceiros had been even a millisecond slower his legacy would’ve come to a definite end.

Azure blade rising its lethal song penetrating the air, the tip pointed towards the exposed woman and thrust towards her right shoulder. When taught to fight one is told to do what one must to survive and bring the encounter to an end. For Oceiros it wasn’t that simple, it would never be that simple. There were Jedi out there who would go to death as the first solution, that would have no issue bearing down upon the acolyte and leaving nothing but a corpse in their wake. Those weren’t the actions a Jedi should take, they wouldn’t be the actions Oceiros would take. He couldn’t bring himself to strike down one so young, so misguided, and with so much room left to find her path back to the light.

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider




She had been so sure, so confident in her training that she didn't expect him to dodge. As she swept in to strike him down, he had stood frozen, distracted... Yet it had changed so abruptly, her blade a millisecond away from passing through his throat... Within just that millisecond left, she had expected success.

It was an assumption that cost.

His sudden twist of his saber struck its mark, her own momentum spearing her to its hilt. Her flesh sizzled against the heat, her blood boiling where it struck.

The shock of it all was so profound, she did not feel as she clattered into him. Her small frame, barely covered by the rags of her burnt clothing, slid down to her knees.

No, came the terrified thought, her body coiling for his killing blow. But he wasn't given the chance.

Energy exploded from her, twisted and driven by her fear as she tried to throw him back. A shield would catch any immediate blow, the light quickly corrupting to black mist. She couldn't die here, she was expected- She didn't-- Instinct drove her, her features wild and panicked as she reached out to the force for strength.

Yet all around them, a sudden betrayal had occurred, NIO men turning on each other and murdering their fellow force users without hesitation. The disturbance in the force could likely be felt all, the balanced tipped to something dark. Aradia was not experienced enough to understand what it meant, she only knew she was moments from being outmatched and killed. And that couldn't happen.

Kaalia Pavanos face came to mind as the acolyete breathed in the power surging around her. The woman was the only kind face in all of the galaxy. Aradia would see her again. She welcomed the darkness, its power frightening yet necessary as the young one leaned into it for the first time.

Her limbs strengthened, slick and shining in sweat, as she found her way to her feet. Her fear over the power diminished as vitality returned to her. There. This wasn't so bad. The crazed pain of the injury fled her, leaving space to think beyond the primal concept of survival. She had a hole in her. She needed to heal. It was a task that had been inaccessible to her before, on Gree. But she hadn't been this strong then-- the city's air ran red with the darkness of the murders-- They continued, the corruption growing stronger. She had never felt anything like it before, the power burning through her veins was so poignant she could-

Her shrill scream hit the air, instinct driving her. The souls of the freshly dead troopers ripped from their bodies, ghostly aspects that were dragged to their beckoner against their will. They stood no chance. With the balance of the force tipped, she was too strong. Aradia's head tilted back, the darkness growing around her as the Valkyrie summoned her first souls into her...

And consumed them.

Their minds flickered against her own, countless voices, thoughts, pleasure, pain, grief-- tearing through her faster than she could comprehend. Her feet left the ground, the girl's mind lost to the terrible power she had tapped into. The skin around her shoulder knit shut. A life for a life. There was only one way a sith could heal, and she had discovered it. The burns left her body, the marred skin drifting from a puckered red to a soft cream. There was no fear. There was nothing but the darkness she had welcomed into her. Anything to survive.

Her feet found the ground as the last of the energy burned through her. The dark lashing of energy slowly calmed, then left her, the courtyard slowly falling to calm. Aradia stood still, unresponsive for the barest moment as the young mind struggled to adjust.

Her eyes snapped open, blood red. Her saber jumped back to her. She met Oceiros Sunstrider gaze with a smile. Gone was the fear. Gone was the girl.

"Apology. Not. Accepted." A vicious yank of the force pulled on him, attempting to impale him onto her saber in turn.

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Darth Daiara


The blade of the Jedi had found its mark, the scent of burning flesh, muscle and fat reminiscent of a fresh Bantha steak. Face grimacing, Oceiros caught the diminutive woman with his left arm steadying her. Looking down to the woman, Oceiros simply shook his head, he’d rid her of her fighting arm, the fight was over. Or at least Oceiros thought it was.

A jolt of electricity went from the crown of Oceiros’ skull down to his feet, the jedi’s body beginning to move on its own accord. It was too late. An invisible blow slammed into Oceiros’ body with strength enough to shatter stone and bend metal. The concussive force lifted the Jedi off his feet, flinging him up and back into a statue within the academy’s courtyard.

Mouth agape the Epicanthix felt the air flee his lungs from the impact. The duracrete statue giving way and crumbling down with the Jedi atop it. Laying upon the now pile of rubble Oceiros’ entire body ached. A stream of crimson retreated down the right side of the Jedi’s head, and his right arm lay limp along the ground. Looking over to the misshapen appendage the padawan willed it to move, only for nothing to happen.

Sapphire eyes turning to focus back on the acolyte, Oceiros could do nothing but watch as what could’ve once been an innocent turned into an abyss. All light in the area seemed to blot out, even the lumas of the street had gone dark. The epicanthix could even see his breath as he looked at the thing before him. No longer could the acolyte be seen as some simple Sith, or some meager acolyte, she was an all consuming darkness now, lost to the force.

Her scream chilled the Epicanthix’s blood, the Jedi stuck in his position, frozen to the spot and simply watching, sensing as those he’d just fought alongside were consumed. The sight brought back memories, memories of when Aeris had come to Brentaal, of staring into the heart of the Netherworld. This was how the descent started, how one became corrupted and gave themselves over.

Searching for his saber Oceiros saw the silver hilt on the ground between him and the Sith. “In the search for power, in your fear of defeat you’ve allowed yourself to be consumed, assimilated. The Sith accuse the Jedi of being weak, of allowing their generosity, their kindness, and rules to guide them. Yet here you are allowing yourself to be bound and controlled.”

Rising to his feet the Epicanthix stared at the woman with still soft eyes, a look of utter disappointment. So when the force pulled him, Oceiros didn’t fight it, he went with it. The strength of the woman tugged on the Epicanthix’s body drawing him near and at the same time the Jedi summoned his blade to his left hand.

Once more the plasmatic blade came to life, this time it hummed with a purpose, with conviction as Oceiros brought it up to clash with the crimson blade, locking the two weapons together. Staring across the blades that spat sparks, Oceiros met the gaze of the woman full on. “Is this truly what you wish to be? Is this what anyone would’ve wished for you to become? This isn't what you have to become.”

“Is this truly what you wish to be? Is this what anyone would’ve wished for you to become? This isn't what you have to become.”

She recoiled, his words once again ringing as crazy to child that only knew one reality. "And what would you have me be?" She exclaimed, moving to kick him backwards and gain them both space. "Ensalved again, or just dead so you can come take my chit? I am free." Passion fueled her tone, the old scars of restraints puckered and white against her neck and wrists. He spoke of her bounding herself here.

She didn't see it.

For the first time in her life, she owned her body. Her actions were hers to chose, what about any of this took her control away? Their perspectives clashed, his points missing their mark. She found her voice, a thrill running through her as she told the larger man off.

"You can't stop me. You don't own me," she taunted, reaching out her hand towards the statue behind him. The metal crunched as her fingers bent, her knuckles going white as she explored the new power for the first time. The force responded with surprising ease; the task of rending the metal to her will easier than any lesson before.

She fell still for a breath and stared, engrossed by her own strength. Nothing could stop her like this. The power ran hot her veins, poignant and demanding its release. The fallen statue creaked as it slowly rose into the air, dust and rubble slipping off it. If she had only been able to do this five years ago... Old pain lashed at her chest, the forbidden memory bubbling up for air. She look to Oceiros Sunstrider again, her crimson eyes swirling with a sudden burst of that childlike fear.

"I know what real monsters look like." She confessed abruptly, leaning in as the sounds of battle rattled her skull.

"They don't have horns. Or fangs, no, that's silly. They have words and they have fists- They believe that things are theirs by right. They come in and they take. They beat and they force themselves-- and it doesn't matter what you say. It doesn't matter what you want. Their believe they are owed, and if you resist-" A loud explosion rocked the block, shaking the ground under their feet and throwing dust into the air. Her expression crumbled, a vulnerable quiver passing over her lips ... before twisting into a snarl.

"You are the monster here. You are not welcome. This is my home, and you can't have it." She wrenched her hand forward. The statue came flying towards him, trying to crush him where he stood.

 

[Detritus Ren]

Location: Within the Malevolence
Allies: Hans Rennagen Hiram Voss NIO
Enemies: Grand Moff Aut-X
Gear: Crossguard Lightsaber, Imperial Knight Battle Armor


The young Kyrel gave Han's a reassuring smirk, his silver blade still ignited as he relayed his transmission to any New Imperial on board the super weapon. After all a Knight's duty was to the Order, and most of all to the mission that was demanded of them. Even if it costs them their lives no less. Looking at Hans who seemed skeptical of his tactic of transmitting to the New Imperials on board, when he heard a voice call out, although a scrambled tone came through the comm was one of Hiram Voss, through by some insane means managed to crash into the very same Ion weapon that had fired on them from before. In the comm he could hear men calling out, and blaster fire in between the chatter of Voss's comm. Jin replied in earnest. "Right, we will hurry as fast as we can, we've crashed within the hanger bay. We will use what little time there is to get to you. Remain and hold out as long as you can. Help is on the way." He said with a determination creeping into his tone.

Looking back to Han's he said to his fellow Knight. "I know, I don't seem to have the best of plans here buddy. But way I see it sooner we help out our brother and sister Imperials. The better. Now c'mon!" And as he finished his words a wave of immense emotion came over him, it was like a mind splitting headache had come over the man. As he placed his fingers to his temple trying to ease the pain by gently rubbing his forehead. As he elt great pain through the Force, as if hundreds of cries came forth screaming into the very back of his mind. He almost collapsed to the ground from the intensity of it all. Waves of pain surged through the Force itself, as he slowly started to recover. Figuring out what had just happened moments after opening his eyes. The pieces all started to come together. "The moment is upon us." He gasped out in surprise. Before Bastion there were talks of a Sith Purge to be taken in effect upon the Invasion, this order would be in effect for all troopers that have fought alongside the Sith. The New Imperials learned well from the lessons of the Clone Wars, and it's ending. It had only seemed fitting, and one would say ironic that the same would come of the Sith.

The waves of pain, and anger caused a surge within the dark side come forth inside him. As his eyes flashed yellow for the moment. Waves of darkness overcoming the young Knight for the briefest of instants. In that moment, it caused the Imperial Knight to see what looked to be old Super Battle Droids come forth, along with a squad of security droids. "Really? Cheap tricks. I won't need my saber for all of you!" He said, the tone of his voice slowly took on the approach to show his immense anger, as with both hands reached out, his saber deactivated and on the ground from the mental overload that happened moments earlier, reaching out with the Force. He brought several droid fighters down upon his enemies, crushing the droids underneath. "Obsolete scrap metal!" He said gritting his teeth at his own handiwork, before reminding himself to let go of the darkness. Breathing calmly, as he picked up his saber. Igniting it once more with a hiss. Down the hall he heard blaster fire come forth. It sounded as if it was the firefight between the droids and New Imperials that boarded.

"Hurry we must move quickly if we can save lives, and bring this monster of a ship down!" He said with the utmost urgency, wondering if Han's was aware of the dark influence that took hold of him in that moment, or if the intense waves of pain and death had taken hold of him in that moment as well. Seeing as how they didn't have the time to discuss such things, he began his sprint towards the sounds of blaster fire, hoping to make it in time to aid the New Imperials, regroup, and bring down this ship once and for all.

 

[Auteme]

Aerarii Tithe ​

Auteme did her best to find her own thoughts through the head-splitting pain. She'd dived too deep and was caught in the undertow. Get out. Get out. Find the flow. The flow was disrupted. Accept the outcome. The outcome was horrid. She'd slipped, looked away from where she was. She wasn't in the present. What was going on here? Death of the Sith, a deep betrayal-

No. No. Tithe was talking. Talking to who? Guards. There were guards here. Why were there guards here? Right. Bastion. There were troopers everywhere. She was in the middle of a war. What if she died? What about the others? No. No. Focus. Presence. Flow. She was there. They were talking. The soldiers were leaving. Was someone else talking? Yes. Yes. No. Not someone close. Focus. Here. Now. Presence. Tithe was talking again.

“We, ah, need to keep moving my dear.”

"Yeah. Yeah. We need to move." She started to push herself to her feet, struggling for every inch. Was this what everyone else was feeling? Did Ryv, Loske, Maynard, and Kir suffer in the same way? The Sith? The Imperial Knights? Didn't matter. Presence. Here. Now. Focus. Get up. Get up. Keep going. Find the voice.

The pain subsided long enough for her to realize the soldiers were coming back down towards them. She pushed herself to her feet, the agony still etched across her face. Her brow furrowed further with concentration as they came closer. They were guards, not frontline soldiers. They didn't have the same equipment, training, focus. Focus. She brought her hand up, raising it above her head like a student flagging their teacher for a question. The guards didn't stop.

"Close your eyes," she said to Tithe. One, two...

A blinding flash of light exploded from Auteme's palm, blinding the Imperials for a moment. Their thoughts seemed to merge for that moment (something along the lines of "AH!") and she reached out to take that thought from them. The trio of guards missed their steps, tumbling to the ground at the feet of the padawan.

Her hands came back up to her head. She'd seen a shattered psyche before in the form of Zaavik Dagoth; he served ever as a reminder of her own strength and need for focus. Instead of relinquishing herself to the Force, she took control, pulling on the strength in her heart and being. "Yes. Let's go."

She set out forward again, headed towards the vault.

 

[Ryv]

Maynard Treicolt | Ellie Mors | Loske Treicolt


"To plunder, to slaughter, to steal, these things they misname empire; and where they make a wilderness, they call it peace."​

- Tacitus, Roman Historian
​

Vesta's immediate counterstrike saw Ryv's blade knocked up. His gaze snapped to the Sith Lord's weapons, expecting a quick follow-up. Instead, he was met with what appeared to be an utterly pointless flourish of skill. Both of the Sith's weapons traded hands as the Shi'ido's form shifted from female to male. Rather than stand there and gawk, Ryv just backpedaled, putting space between him and his attacker as the crimson saber reactivated. Unable to altogether avoid the weapon, he spun in a swift circle, his jacket turning the tip of the lightsaber away. The Jedi silently thanked his father for leaving behind his most trusted defense.

"Cool trick, I guess," Ryv shot back. "Kinda dumb, giving your enemy the chance to retreat though," Resolve shifted in his hand, flipped to a reverse grip meant to parrot the Sith's earlier stance. "Not a bad touch with your choice of defense, though. Lot of leverage in that uppercut," he looked to Maynard as his fellow Jedi Knight pushed against their opponent's position. Ryv wanted to warn him of the danger, but he knew it would only waste time. Their link shared such sentiments for him. So, he fell behind the Concordian, scanning the Lord's stance and form, seeking some means to exploit Vesta.

In the place of weakness, the Jedi Knight found only trauma hurtling towards them all. He looked away from the fight, his gaze was drawn further into the city, towards Fortress Carnifex. Towards Irveric Tavlar, Sovereign-Imperator, and architect of this heinous surprise.

Thinking quickly, Ryv cut his mind off from Loske and Maynard. Pain crashed down on all of them as thousands of lives disappeared in an instant. The Stormtroopers of the New Imperial Order, commanded by countless officers, spearheaded by dozens of Imperial Knights, all turned their weapons on the Sith simultaneously. It wasn't enough to just kill those who ruled from atop the obsidian castle corrupting Bastion. No, those who turned on the Sith-Imperial Loyalists would die beside their distant kin. Their intentions were assumed, their lives now forfeit in the face of Tavlar's cold-blooded judgment. The Kiffar's jaw dropped in disbelief. His stomach turned, trembling set into his already tense body. He stumbled away from the dueling Jedi Knight and Sith Lord, falling over a corpse to slam into the rubble with a loud thud. His mind swam as he tried to make sense of everything. Where did they go wrong? How did he let this happen?

"General..." Ryv muttered. "Why?" he allowed his question to fall away from his quivering lips. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The world blurred as he struggled to make sense of the betrayal. "This isn't the way we fight this war..." he forced himself back up, scraping Resolve from the dirt as he went. He dragged his attention back to the duel, just in time to see the Sith's vile weapon pierce Maynard's abdomen.

"No!" Ryv screamed. "Get away from him!" he charged forward, both hands thrust out as if to physically push Vesta away. A wall of telekinetic energy erupted from the Jedi. It rolled towards Vesta with enough force to lift broken bodies, ruined stone, and discarded weapons from the corridor. They shot towards the Sith erratically. Most whipped past him, harmless, but half a Sith Legionnaire and a decent chunk of duracrete flew true.

Ryv ran toward his fallen brother as the artificial storm collided with his intended target. He positioned himself over Maynard protectively, Resolve in hand, eyes momentarily trained on Vesta as if challenging the Sith. "You son of a queen," he growled. He looked down, hoping to see the Concordian stirring from his stupor, only to find the man struggling to stay alive. Blood leaked from where the blade pierced his flesh. It stained Maynard's garb, rolling in little rivulets down the Jedi General's armor.

Trapped between a rock and a hard place, Ryv could do nothing as his attack ceased.

Man, we're screwed, he thought. I can't save us both, his mind wandered at that, drifting to a much darker place.

Ryv saw a future without Maynard, his brother, at his side. It be hard for a long time, on all of them, he knew. Loske would grieve for her fallen lover. The New Jedi Order would struggle to bounce back from losing such a prominent Jedi at the Battle of Bastion. Ryv couldn't imagine forgiving himself for failing to protect him, but he probably could with time. And if he could, Loske could. The Order would pull through. They'd have one another. Ryv and Loske, just like old times, together, but maybe more? Maybe he'd be able to hold her as he always wanted. To love her, build a life with her, do all the things Maynard was already doing. All Ryv had to do was step away. Leave his friend, helpless, at the Sith Lord's mercy. It be easy.

Silently, he shook his head.

Not my style, Ryv thought. He took a deep breath, his grip on the lightsaber flipped back to normal as he waited.

"You know," he called out. "Darth Mori, Darth Morbid, Darth Motem, Darth Mortus... its all the same, man. You're all just a slightly different flavor of the same shit sandwich. Get over here so I can kick your ass already," he remained on the defensive, unmoving, the challenge spoken with absolute certainty. Not a soul would get to Maynard while he lived.

​

Nearby, the Force stirred.

It slowly took shape, drifting closer to Maynard's sheltered form. They stood invisible to those around them, opting not to reveal themselves to the Jedi or Sith. An ethereal foot stopped beside the Concordian's waist.

Looking down at the Jedi Knight, the apparition frowned. Visible only to the fading life, Vyrin Karis dropped to a knee and reached for the bloody wound. As his ghostly digits pressed against the ruined flesh, the pain slowly faded away, replaced by a sensation akin to a cold bath after a long day out in the sun. Vyrin took a deep breath and focused on wounds hidden to the naked eye. His power coursed through Maynard's prone body, slowly healing the damage caused by Vesta's craven blade. The ghost rested his other hand on Maynard's forehead carefully, eyes closing as he pierced the veil between their spirits, appearing in the Concordian's mind.

"Hmm," Vyrin hummed as he stepped up behind what appeared to be a child no older than twelve. A pair of chubby cheeks trembled as tears dripped from a troubled, hazel gaze.

Looking past the youth, the apparition's attention focused on what Maynard's subconscious could still see. A blurry image presented the scene to the Jedi Knight. On the outside, Ryv's voice could be heard, somewhat garbled, but enough to make out the youth's brazen challenge. A fire raged behind the distant Sith Lord. Screams echoed as people died. It was absolute chaos, the worst Vyrin had ever seen. For a moment, he felt his chest tighten. His son stood between life and death, refusing to give in, regardless of the odds. That fear evaporated. Replaced by a sense of pride for the man his son had become.

"I won't let you down, Corin," Vyrin muttered, his spectral hand finding Maynard's shoulder. "Hey there, kid. You got a minute?"

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Melee | Grenades
H A N G ' E M _ A L L

​

<"Keep the heat on these fucking traitors!"> The 501st Sergeant barked out with that characteristic inflection of tempered harshness as the Stormtroopers brandished in cobalt markings continued to move and envelop the Dragoons encircling the last stand of Kor Vexen, the Warmaster.

They'd all seen war, but it was never anything like this. Surely there had to be a better way than any of this. To look down the sights at men and women who you'd die for any day and pull the trigger in anger...it was gut wrenching.

But they did their duty.

Killing those Sith were different, with the rhetoric knocked between themselves they'd all but dehumanized those who'd followed the Dark Creed. The COMPNOR machine at work against the Sith Empire certainly helped making that pull of the trigger a bit easier when the time came. The Dragoons sworn to protect and act as the means of destruction to the Anzati warmaster were a far more peculiar matter.

That might've been where the rhetoric sprung from. That poisonous hatred sourcing from the need to dehumanize more than anything. The second they thought the same as their former comrades as they did themselves, that trigger would get a lot heavier.

Though in the end, they'd left, vanished into the rift opened by their commander. With a rally of one of the 501st's officers, the Imperator's Fist was honed in once more and battering down the gates and burying into Fortress Carnifex, the very castle of despicable tyranny deemed impregnable by any assailing foreign force.

Until today.

Be it in ignorance or their forthright obligation to follow their orders to the end, the 501st fought alongside the Dragoons isolated by the immediate consequences of the Order as they took control of the War Droid to continue the siege, all the while artillery and armor know freshly scraped of their surrounding traitors would continue to unfurl their panoplies of war unto the fortress proper.

It was a foolish pursuit, to charge so brazenly into the fray with him, the Warmaster. Yet Irveric charged forward anyway. Always forward. If the Anzati knew anything of his once subordinate, it'd be that he knew no fear. He was one of the first to see him bloodied and maimed after the initial assault unto New Kalandra, the first to hear his voice as he keep unfettered and dutiful communication in the field all the while he clutched at a phantom limb.

But that didn't now.

He was here, in the fires, ready to strike him down. The very man who'd empowered Irveric to deal death easier than he could ever imagine and broke him down as a human, a man all the same.

What was he to do? Good soldiers follow orders.

The clash of metal against plasma paved way for the official beginning of this exchange before Irveric was nearly forced from his footing when the Warmaster slammed his shoulder against the Imperator, drawing a grunt of pain as he absorbed the blow. The armor and nanogene enhanced muscle structure was enough to bare the brunt and keep him upright.

Then he spoke-

" So you finally bare your fangs at me. I always wondered when such a day would come... Tell me...How long have you been planning this for... Since the formation of our new order? Or perhaps...Kintan. "

Of course, he'd known. Perhaps not of the machinations that stirred within Irveric's mind.

The conspiracy. This was no abrupt yearning, this was brewing far before the command had been fatefully granted here in the broken and burning streets of Ravelin, so welled with the blood and suffering of the sons of the Empire.

"You are an enigma, Irveric Tavlar. You have built for yourself a power base capable of challenging the likes of a Sith Lord. That is reason enough to feel some sense of pride, but I do not see it within your gaze. Instead, I see a man painfully aware of the target on his back. I see a man who seeks to strengthen this empire in the most treasonous ways,"

Today, that target had been scraped clean. And those insolent marauders would be put to the blade.

<"You know when. You know why. And now, you and the rest of this parasitic creed will learn the taste of your own blood and the feeling of a boot at the back of your neck."> Irveric said, reeling one hand from the hilt of his sword before he activated the vibroblade fixed into the knuckle of the vambrace and thrust it up to stab into the exposed inner bicep of the Anzati's right arm as his left foot came to bare down unto the Warmaster's right knee all the same. To send him to the earth beneath.

To make him kneel.

<"You'd thought me to be a scared sheep. Chattel mean't to fall in line to be herded to my death. You...and the rest of the jackals droned on with your provocation, your indulgence in the control you had. I am the lion, Kor Vexen. And what you...and the rest of the Sith had failed to understand...is that the lion was resting in waiting, waiting to rip all of you apart. Because you all have to know who truly dictates the course of this Galaxy. It isn't the gods like you...it's men like me."> Irveric says, breaking the clash of the blades, pulling back to grasp ahold of the width of his own blade half away up the flat of the sword and dips his shoulder to bare into the chest of the Anzati just as he moves to plunge the tip of the longsword into the exposed abdomen of the Warmaster and send him impaled into the broken ground beneath. Behind gritted teeth, he'd unfurl a roar of rage he'd finally let run free and unfettered.

If that blade made purchase, he'd wrench it from the armor and the flesh beneath before plunging it into Vexen again...and again.

THE WARMASTER
Kor Vexen
THE REDEEMED
Djorn Bline | Anden Fancelo ​

// ALLIES | NIO //: Agrippa | Ravraa Vyshraal | Djorn Bline | FN-999 | Asharo Madar | Sion Alar | Lord Halketh | Marshal Zovesa
// ENEMIES | TSE/THE SITH //: The Sith Empire | Kyber Dark | Kor Vexen

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Valeria Ragal (Ingrid L’lerim)
The Red Witch; sorcerer, master spy, agent, assassin, sniper, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Location: Thaumaturgic Tower in Fortress Carnifex, Bastion
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | 2x red blade lightsaber shoto | Tactical Turtleneck with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | Stealth field generator | Holographic disguise matrix | G1 OmniLink | Actual look under the armour: link |
Allies: AMCO | Aren D'Shade | Shade of Decay | Caulder Dune
Enemies: FN-999

Background music:
Sabaton – Angels calling​

The power of the Force scream surprised even Ingrid, noticing that she was able to use the absorbed emotions and energies more and more effectively. And what was great was seeing the two Darksworns fight as well, but exceptionally the scream was more effective than them. And with her sword, she smashed the gun, which exploded a few moments later. As she was close enough to suffer further injuries, the abdominal wound became even wider and deeper. A wave of pain slammed down her body and caught her nausea. Even though she dimmed the pain with Force. However, the scream did not stop, her pain mingled with it.

Then it was over, she stepped back with trembling legs, heard the roof over their heads sigh with a loud crack because of a scream, the columns exploding and shattering. Now, thankfully, part of her helmet was just torn off, it couldn't explode like before. Due to the explosion of the weapon, the holographic disguise matrix was destroyed. Part of her hood was still pretty much covering her face, but her red hair was already visible. A few steps away, her opponent collapsed with bleeding hands. The soldiers turned to the woman, raising her swords in front of her to defend herself.

~ Call the Darksworn back, I'll collapse the roof, I'll seal the hall. From here no one will be able to come towards you or reach our escape route. ~

Her belly ached more and more a second, she could feel the blood under her clothes as it flowed. One of the two Darksworns stood in front of her to protect Ingrid, and the other grabbed its exploded companion and pulled it back. Ingrid began to concentrate, drawing even more strength from negative emotions and forces. Using the shatterpoint ability, she detected where the ceiling was weakest overhead. Concentrated her telekinetic power there. Meanwhile, the other Darksworn also arrived to protect her. The roof shook. Concentrated with all her strength, she had to exert more strengths than she had in this state.

Her pain also grew stronger as her injury worsened due to exertion. The roof eventually “cried out in pain” and collapsed. As far as she could see, no one was hit, but from it the whole thing surrendered and closed the hall from the floor to the roof. Neither side could go to the other anymore. She gasped frequently and stumbled. Back to Adrian!

~ Task done, I'm going back to you, I'll be right there. The escape route is safe, the roof has collapsed, no one can go in your direc… ~

Her voice was very weak and tired throughout, but in the end she had no more strength left, the telepathic connection between her and Adrian shattered. There was silence and emptiness left. Ingrid fell to her knees in pain. A few seconds later, she fell to the ground. She's cold. Was perfectly aware that this was very not good. Felt and was aware that she was not in shock, her mind was clear, she was dying. She leaned on the ground with her hand to push herself up, reaching into her own blood that flowed to the floor from her wound. She tried to squeeze it with her hand, but the wound hurt a damn thing.

That’s when she felt something, Adrian, he was far away, but she felt very weak and different than before. Ingrid felt that the man was healthy and unharmed, that the telepathic connection was between them again, but it was different now than before. Now she somehow felt more without having to do anything. It was as if it existed on its own, as if something had connected them much better now than before, this time with some unbroken bond. After all, she had never had a Force bond with anyone before, so she didn't know it would be in this situation yet. Nor did she know that because of this, Adrian could feel perfectly that she was cold and dying.

”Adrian!” she whispered.

Her wound was still very bleeding and getting more and more cold and she was getting sleepy. There was only one thing she could do to save herself. She crawled away in her own blood to her lightsaber, which had fallen out of her hands earlier. She knew it would hurt a lot if she lost consciousness her lightsaber would kill her sooner than she would bleeding out. Tore off a piece of her torn armour so she could bite on it. Her hand trembled, but she activated the lightsaber. If she manages to stop the bleeding, she can survive, and could burn the wound with nothing but that.

She took a few quick breaths, then touched the lightsaber blade to the wound for a few moments. She screamed in pain that surpassed all imagination. The world turned around her, if she hadn't just bitten a piece of her armour, she would probably have bitten her tongue apart. Once done, the lightsaber deactivated and fell out of her hand. Sobbing in pain, she lay on the ground in her own blood, but at least the wound performed much less. Cold sweat appeared on her skin, now she will get a shock. Tried to control her breathing to make sure it didn't happen.

There was only one thought in her mind now, to get back to Adrian. Nothing else mattered in this situation. She tried to stand up, but she was too weak for now and she didn't ease her situation. She was dizzy and everything on the ground slipped from her blood…

”When the bullet hits it’s mark
Know your time in hell has been served
You won’t return to home”​

​

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

Market: Great Sith-Imperial Library, Ravelin City, Bastion
Investment: Objective I - Gotterdammerung
Portfolio: Skystas Rieve iv Tave Daboti Dvasi | Vokti Mekn iv Siarbras Naudot | Vaizdas iv Auksas | Sith-Imperial Military Uniform
Assets: TSE
Liabilities: Auteme | NIO
Stocks: VII

---

After the loss at Mygeeto, Tithe turned his attention away from trying to be a general to something he was more suited to - galactic economies.

He had travelled to the frontier world of Ord Tiddell to investigate opportunities for foreign investment. Upon finding the world desolate and infested with stone-mites, had recommended that the contract be awarded to a non-Sith company. There was too much that could go wrong on the project, and besides, if they succeeded, the Sith Empire could always seize the successful project. During the battle of PL-40112-CE-021105 against the previously-allied Eternal Empire, Tithe negotiated a lucrative shipping contact. He continued in this vein during the naval engagement over Dubrillion, where his application of economic theory had almost seen his fleet defeat an experience New Imperial Order commodore.

Aerarii’s skills at finance had taken him far in the Sith Empire, and were continuing to serve him well during his flight from Bastion.

---

But first, he needed to flee, his aptitude for which was rivalled only by his banking prowess.

The Moff managed to rouse Auteme just in time. Drawing on the mystical Force, the young woman did… something, and the guards went down. The bureaucrat had limited exposure to the Force, and was tempted to ask her what she had done. However, he was much more tempted by the opportunity to escape Bastion with his life. There would be plenty of time for little chat if he managed to escape.

They hurried down the dark and twisted hallways of the Great Library, passing terrifying holos of long-dead Sith Lords and Ladies. The glowpanels become fewer and further between as they approached the Force artefacts wing. Flickering reds candles illuminated darkened archways leading off the main hall to rooms lined with shelves of holocubes and twisted furniture. The sounds of the battle died out as they descended further into the library; the only noises that filled the hallways were their footfalls on the stone floor and their panting breath.

Tithe stopped before an incredibly archaic vault door. The Moff inserted his code cylinder into the locking mechanism, which elicited an error message. “I, ah, I think this call for your aberrant skills.”

The bureaucrat stood to the side with Auteme worked her magic. Once the door was dealt with, the two entered the dimly lit vault.

“Is this, er, what you were seeking?”

The exact size of the vault was difficult to determine - the furthest walls could not be seen through the darkness. Piles of aged flimsiplast scrolls were stashed into grottos carved out of the stone walls, while pedestals were scattered around the vault holding innumerable weapons, armour pieces and relics. Tithe set his data googles to begin scanning the objects as he walked by them. He didn’t have time to understand their historical value, and he didn’t particularly care - instead, he was looking for objects with the greatest resell values.

“I must say, so far this plan is actually going…”

A deafening siren began ringing out through the vault. They had tripped an alarm, either through either breaking into the vault or Tithe’s searching for data on the ancient Force objects. The distant voices of guards could be heard as they hurried toward the comprised vault.

“…about as well as envisioned.”

 

[Constantine Oliva]

OBJECTIVE: BATTLE OVER BASTION
Galactic Alliance 3rd fleet, corvette line 253
Allies: Dracken Pryce Olen Halcorr Hugot Tyvek VII Hiram Voss Var Koon
Enemies: Thaelius Ordo Vanessa Vantai Grand Moff Aut-X

Spoiler: Corvette Line 253

20 warrior-IIs
7 Avalon Corvettes
3 Nagata- class gunships

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The chaos of battle was all-enveloping. turbolasers, blaster cannons, and ion guns filled the space between the ships. The Galactic Alliance corvette fleet was in a precarious situation. The Sith Star Destroyers were sure to devastate the far smaller ships should they begin to fire on them. Still the small ships of the Alliance plunged onward to the enemy fleet. Constantine knew they only had one real chance to escape the fire of the Sith vessels, even if they were focused on the larger New Imperial and Alliance ships. They needed to be so close to the Star destroyers that the Sith were more likely to hit their own than the Alliance corvettes.

"Sir, Canary is reporting heavy shield loss!"
"Order them into the center of the line!" The Corvette would be doomed without shields. The best way to protect it was to have other ships draw fire for it.

"Captain Raine is trying to contact you sir!"

"Put her through," moments later, the hologram of another Alliance officer--captain of ANS Viper--appeared before him.
"Sir, this is suicide! our ships don't stand a chance against those Star Destroyers!"
"Captain, charging those Destroyers is our only chance. Stay here in the open and we will be torn apart. We can regroup once we're too close for them to risk firing at us."

"I want that last bit relayed to the entire line. The captains need to know why I'm charging ships with guns bigger than our ships."
"yes sir."

The Corvette line had done their job, of distracting many of the smaller Sith vessels. Already most of the corvettes they'd encountered had been destroyed or heavily damaged by the more heavily armed Warrior-IIs. They'd even managed to knock out of the Sith frigates. These victories hadn't been without their cost, however. Two of the Avalon corvettes had been destroyed already, and three warrior-IIs had been damaged.

"Sir! Canary is up in flames with all hands!"

Constantine gritted his teeth. They'd have time to mourn later. Now, they had to fight.


___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Spoiler: Corvette Line 253

20 Warrior-IIs, two moderately damaged, one burning
7 Avalon Corvettes- 3 destroyed
Nagata Gunships

All moving to between Thaelius Ordo's Star Destoyers

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Aboard the Malevolence
Allies: Detritus Ren Hiram Voss
Enemies: Grand Moff Aut-X
​

Jin was absolutely right. Despite Hans' cynicism and self-doubt about his skills in a situation like this, he had pledged himself as a Knight. And a Knight's job was to give themselves to the Order. They had saved his life. Now it was time to save a few of their lives if he could.

"Alright let's go." he said following his wingman. As they made their way across the hangar of the gargantuan ship Hans could feel the darkness that gripped bastion begin to fade ever so slightly, yet noticeably. Hans remained quiet as his commlink announced the beginning of Operation Kyber Dark. Through the force it was like he could hear the battle down below, both cheers of victory and screams of death radiating up from the planet's surface. Jin could clearly feel it too as he fell to the ground, although he didn't say much either. Hans clutched his temples as the feeling got stronger. When it subsided he simply sighed in relief, knowing that the defeat of the Sith truly was at hand. Jin seemed to have taken the disturbance in the force a lot harder. Hans' lack of understanding in the force couldn't tell him why.

"Don't give any pause to the Sith. Plus, we have company." Hans said Jin as they both recovered and Sith-Imperial droids began to approach, blasters raised. With one fell swoop Jin destroyed both the droids and the S-Imp starfighters he rolled into them. Hans was stunned by the kid's impressive use of the force, but snapped out of his shocked gaze when Jin began to run towards the sound of more fighting. As Hans began to run his ankle was grabbed by the cold metal hands of a battle droid, half crushed. Hans tumbled to the floor and his lightsaber flew from his hand, deactivating as it hit the floor. Hans kicked at the droid a few times to no avail before his hand landed on his sidearm. Hans frantically un-clipped the DC/04 sidearm from his belt and fired three hasty shots into the droid. They weren't accurate, but at close range they did the job.

Hans kicked the dead droids arm and its grip released from around his ankle. He got up and continued to run after Jin, barely stopping when he bent down to pick up his saber.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

BASTION // IMPERIAL CAPITAL COMPLEX //
ENEMIES//SITH: Grrwunhoooll Agaburry // Ellie Mors // Quinn Varanin
ALLIES//JEDI: Maynard Treicolt // Ryv // Kir Dantos
10 d E A T h b R E a s T ⚄ ⚄​

While the arrest was made, Loske redonned her amour. The pair of soldiers had the unprompted decency to turn their backs while the captain restored the suit to her frame. If the Strike platform was graciously contoured, the armour weave beneath was entirely unforgiving.

In reprieve, the captor stole a moment to watch the glow Allyson’s transport engines take to the skies. The toll of emotional exhaustion threatened at the back of her mind, and she forced herself to look away and back to the battlefield.

Collections of corpses greeted her around the takeoff zone. Dreadful discard of allies and enemies, all vanquished. The ranger at her side lingered, waiting to escort her back to the fray. Despite the triumph in her personal mission, everything else was far from over. Loske was twisted up inside. Hurt, betrayed. Anywhere trust had lived, fear dwelled.

“We’ve got to make it back to General Treicolt and Commander Karis.” She reasoned, wiping the back of her hand against her eyes and setting in the direction they’d originated from. The ranger agreed, falling in step with the light jog.

The knot within tightened unexpectedly. Out of nowhere, the anxiety in the parameters of her psyche intensified. Augmented pain bloomed in her stomach, amplifying and darkening into something much harsher. More desperate. More final. Her blood congealed and she faltered, stumbling forward.

<Captain!>

The captain’s non-response was answer enough, picking up speed again and focusing only on the target of the residual ache in her abdomen.

Everything blurred around her, buildings, weapons and people melted into indistinguishable masses as she willed herself forward. Seeking to defy the barriers of weight and aerodynamics and leaning into each step as if with enough intensity and speed, she might atomize and transcend space and time and transport to where she needed to be right now. All she could feel was the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the earth and the stretch of vulnerability and helplessness that pulsed in her empathetic fibres.

“I’m here!” she announced raspily, partly in answer to the question she hadn’t heard from Kir and for whatever level of reassurance the sound of her voice would be to her other half.

Sliding into the fray with little regard for anyone’s presence but the general’s, she vaulted to him. He was propped against the wall, crutched and limp but not in the same devastated position where the earth’s surface clung to his hair and neck as it had been on Harnadian. When she hadn’t been there.

The tarry blood of Allyson still stained her skin beneath, and now Maynard’s pooled over her gloved fingers as she slid her hand over his. The underside of her hands grazing over his knuckles and filling the spaces between his fingers. A gesture of comfort and additional pressure to aid the efforts of his armour.

There was a sense of calm here, balanced between the aggression and struggle. The knight was largely ignorant to it.

“Take care of him, yeah? I’ll see you both when this is over.”

Despite the mission objectives, Maynard and Loske were his friends, and he wouldn't hear the end of it from Maynard if anything happened to her.

"I'll keep an eye on Maynard for you,"

All those who had sworn to protect and oversee shouldn’t have had to join in the unrealistic covenant the lovers had made for themselves, but so many did. Theirs was a love others fought to protect because if Maynard and Loske couldn’t make it work, who stood a chance? So many played a role in prolonging the tragic balance of their love.

Ryv had done it, he was still doing it, barking at the Sith that had done this. Protecting Maynard and, by extension, her from slipping down the slope of revenge. She’d owe him eternally. If the meld had remained, he'd have felt a swell of her appreciation.

Still...even though their friends volunteered to shoulder the burden of preservation, it was always the same guilt that took over in the end. Her absence and mistreatment of her promise was something no proxy could quell. Knowing this prompted a swell of remorse to gather around her eyes, salty and loose down her cheeks.

She wanted to apologize, let him know the culpability she felt for putting duty before their promise to one another.

Reality, the harpist, played a song of inevitability on the strings of her heart and she clung to him.

"You don't need to apologize, it wasn't any of your fault just-."

He knew. He had to by now. He needn’t expend energy reassuring her, she needed to focus on her impact in the present, and future. It was always about those two stringents of time.

“I’m here, May. I’m here.” Her gaze raked over his torso, assessing the damage beyond the flex and wane of their ethereal bond and the warm liquid that saturated her palm. Her free hand reached up, the suit dissolving around her fingers so he might feel the warmth of her skin’s touch against his cheek. His hazel eyes, normally bright and observant, looked cloudy. Like he wasn’t completely there.

"Please May, c'mon. I need you." She closed her eyes and pressed into him while his Padawan stood guard, and Ryv goaded the dark master responsible. Normally, she would have cackled at his banter. Not now. Everything within her that composed her care poured from her touch against the wound, it’s healing intent saturating the torn flesh to encourage it to mend. It was deep and gross. Deeper than Allyson’s had been, but...it was also...less..of a concern than she thought. It was infinitely less draining to share the energy with Maynard than others she’d tried to heal, the familiarity of his life force was more reciprocal to her desires, but the shock she discovered was from the recovery process itself. The wound was emanating remedial energies on its own, operating on a plane she couldn’t comprehend. Her efforts were unnecessary here and she pulled her hand away to watch the response without her influence.

A grandness that, honestly, only made sense based on the collection of heroes in the area.

"Jedi stuff..."

Despite the dread that purveyed through the proximity, setting a grim scenario, there was something poetic about the trio being together again. The heart, mind and soul of the New Jedi Order with the growing courage and patience of Kir alongside.

It was unrealistic to believe their passive presence was enough to draw a stalemate, and equally unlikely she could drag everyone from this fight. They lived and breathed for this, and for them to retreat was something they wouldn’t let her do to them. Ryv was in his element. Maynard would have been. Kir seemed to do what was necessary, within boundaries set by his conscience. Even if she was kicking and screaming the whole way through, such inclinations were for heathens and deserters on the battlefield. Her eyes stung with the hurt of that knowledge, and she pressed against Maynard in a hold that enwrapped him that nurturing, lingering admission. As much as she wanted to stay, or go, or be wherever it was safe wrapped up with him to resolve the pain he was feeling, Bastion demanded otherwise. Responsibility needed an answer.

A roar pulled her from the world of her whimsical mind.

" You dare attack me? Do you know who you face? That they would send you? YOU! Who issued the order the karking order.."

“Friends of yours?” She murmured with a level of jest she didn’t feel, pointing with her chin in the direction of the onward pressing Gen’dai and blonde-bobbed girl. Half of the battle wasn’t acknowledging the paplability of loss.

She’d been too late for prevention, and thus the priority shifted to protection. Denying the opportunity of any further damages.

Her hand hovered above her saber, drawing out the seconds of assessment to their foes. There were… many. One was covered in responsibility for the wound of her partner, and retribution seduced Loske’s intentions. Ryv prevented that dangerous manifestation. Another slunk from the distance, seeking sanctuary alongside the dark master.

Slowly, she peeled from the Concordian and squared in a stance just a pace or so in front of him, alongside his student. Ryv had challenged the Sith that had undone Outrider, which left a ratio for Loske and Kir to split evenly.

The creature that had bellowed out of confusion received an unhelpful response from her: “Not us.” coupled with the ball of her foot grinding into the ground for stability before she made any decisive move. It was burly and giant, not unlike the Draelvesar the trio had faced on Honoghr. Shorter, even. A stark juxtaposition to the petite Sithling in the dress. Both were audacious in their own presentation. Both organic killing machines.

As long as someone had a weapon here that could reach further than keeping tangles in close quarters, they’d be on the defensive. Pacification became an objective. Without further assessment, she darted forward at the looming oppression. Ataru and her agility a parallel to the size discrepancy she’d felt when they’d been fighting Tathra. Heavy footfalls closed the space until one planted, and she sprang from the trajectory to find temporary footing in the gut of the creature and her golden blade snapped to life in time to pierce the shoulder that connected to the arm with the fun, her other hand on the other side of his head. The momentum gave her little room to pause, and soon she was over his head, the blade out of whatever it had been able to pierce or effect. Loske landed with her back to him and quickly rotating to see the outcome of her strike, blade aloft for defensive posturing.

 

[Vella Forte]

These violent delights have violent ends
BASTION // RAVELIN // THE GARDENS OF PELLAEON
ENEMIES: Bastard
THE JOKE'S ON YOU

​

The Imperator’s edict evidenced that he’d blindly weighed and measured all Sith. And found them all wanting.

In a blur, the Knight she’d just saved snapped into action. The retribution he’d been handing out to the Empire’s best was evidenced against the Imperial ilk he commanded.

Slack jawed, the woman’s face became a canvas of disbelief. The youthful knight burdened the responsibility of treason with each swift, intentional and powerful strike of his silver blade. The men that fell to his hand crumpled in the defeat of their inability.

Cooly, she matched his look. The moon shone amidst the whiteness of his gaze, and wordlessly he pleaded with her. They glimmered and glittered, imploring her to harness that thankfulness she should have felt. To crawl into the sanctuary of the warrior’s arms and disappear from here.

The Sith looked unseeing without pupils, irises, whites. The anatomy of vision lost to the glow of flame behind her eyes. Unceremoniously, she disengaged both of her blades and clipped the pair of hilts to her hips, as if to demonstrate defeat.

Appreciation should have been at the fore of her mind. His actions were vindicated in a righteousness dedicated to her.

Perhaps, in a world where she’d met Errant before becoming undone at the hands of Evelynn Zambrano, she’d have the humanity left to acknowledge passion. Friendship. Care. How long could he keep it up? He could take her away from here, preserve any semblance of what the Knight’s life evaluated to. At the end of today, he could preserve her and she could slink away to the shadows to live and feed on the desire for revenge but..he was not one of hers.

There was a war within her mind. He was not a Keeper. That didn’t mean he couldn’t learn, couldn’t be taught. Couldn’t be a subservient to the greater cause. She could control him, he’d just proven how much influence she had over him. Without hesitation, he’d enacted on her behalf.

A cool, disembodied, dark whisper bloomed from the bottom of her brain to the fore and evaporated all rationality, replacing it with a single, factual reality.

He was not an Ember.
He was an unreliable liability. An enemy.

She remained unblinkingly transfixed with his stare.

There was no mind left within the vessel of destruction. Everything was primal now, with no objective more animal than survival. Nothing more obvious and alluring than the call of the darkness.

That’s all there was: The siren’s call of Vahl and her eternal flame.

Vella, a vessel of the goddess’ ire would not be curbed. A ferocity that was starving and ravenous to all the wretchedness that drenched the scene. It raced through the buffet of emotions, drawing nutrients from each to feed itself and grow into something that took over the shape of the bladeborn Knight. Hatred. Anger. Pain.

The menace relinquished the tension in her muscles that were poised to strike. Rolling her shoulders, she arched her back, stretched her neck and closed her eyes to face the sky and murmured in an undertone and inaudible string of sacrosanct supplications.

Years of worship atomized, catching the oxygen around her hands and igniting the flesh that stretched over her bones. The ground beneath her feet charred, dirt turning to dust and black ash as the fire stretched up her legs, hips, waist, chest, neck, down her shoulders and arms to meet the build of heat that pulsed in her palms until she was no longer anything but a silhouette of zealous vengeance.

Terrifying and beautiful, the womanly pillar of flames stretched out a hand and a stream of fire followed. It elongated, stretching out with her manipulation in a series of lashes, extending the orb in front of her for a veil of heat, before a single tendril lashed out at the knees of the Knight. Simultaneously, a twin whip lashed out to curl around the wrist or hilt of his dominant hand. The hand wielding the blade she needed to pacify.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

Sparta

​

Location: Outside of Fortress Carnifex
Task: Bring Down The Sith Empire | Purge the Sith Order - Objective One
RP Partners: Dorn-2 PCs, OPEN
Faction: New Imperial Order
Narrative NPCs: Dorn-2
Ammo Count: --- BUSTED | STOLEN LIGHTSABER | STOLEN JUDICATOR
TAGS: Agrippa FN-999 Irveric Tavlar Kor Vexen Asharo Madar Sion Alar Lord Halketh

Noxwalda was left smoldering from far too many blaster marks to count, his saber freed from the carcase, now hanging from the hip of the squad lead of Dorn-2. He had no clue on how to use it, of course, but he knew how to use a knife. He assumed that it was plenty enough the same.

Was it destiny that saved Dorn-2 during the ascendant? Was it the cost of a single life worth all of theirs? In contrast to that of Gladius, as they pressed through the breach, clawing, begging to inch further and further into the light that asked so kindly for their presence at the top of the structure, Dorn-2 kept strong. Formed, they stacked up at every corner and raged around with hellfire and pomp, demanding the desolation of whoever would dare stand against their unwavering hope. Though, inches away, the Heroes of Gladius, the sons and daughters of the Company, found themselves falling light fodder. Over and over, as they moved, rose, and fought through every last defense that the Sith dared to throw their way, Dorn-2 found themselves standing tall compared to Gladius. Were they using up all of the luck? What else could the explanation be. They had just as much right to live as any other member of Gladius.

Though, there was the rumor that spread through the ranks about the Legendary Company. They were already dead men walking, it was said. They were semi-mythical to the average infantryman, and still Legend to those stormtroopers that served alongside with them. It was rumored that they all had made their peace long ago, and that Gladius was more or less an overbloated death legion to be used when the chances of survival were minimal.

Or at least, that was what the rumors had said. They couldn’t pretend to actually know the company.

They were sentient, they were prime examples of humanity, Ravraa had come to learn, as they brought themselves through each new form of resistance, as Dorn-2 fought shoulder to shoulder with their brethren, they learned that there was very little that separated them from the brave souls of Gladius.

Besides, from what it seems, to be Fate’s blessing.

Everything has a purpose.

Why should Dorn-2 survive as they fall?

They breached the top, blasters raised, as the black silhouettes of the last stand of the Sith Empire, the last battle that Dorn-2 would see against the hands of these nightmares of flesh and steel.

He slung the blaster around his shoulder.

He crouched onto himself, ever so slightly, and reached to his hip.

He unclasped the saber, brought it to life, the blade brimming in his grasp.

He looked more akin to a Corellian knife fighter than a proper duelist.

“For G’hecran.”

He threw himself against the endless abyss.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Everdream //:
//: The Songs of Your Heart Betray You //:
//: Close Allies //: Ellie Mors //: Grrwunhoooll Agaburry
//: Enemies //: Loske Treicolt (focus) //: Kir Dantos //:
//: Equipment //: Lightsaber //: Lightsaber //: Gildenweave Dress //: Locket //:

​

Quinn couldn't stop the tears pouring from her eyes as she looked up and saw the Jedi; he had managed to avoid harm from her darkshear attack. It frustrated her, she wanted him gone, but he was like a cockroach as a typical Jedi. His pity fell on deaf ears. Quinn wanted to be like Ashin. She wanted to be the powerful Master the woman was. It was her legacy to grasp, and no one was going to tell her otherwise. Amber-colored eyes narrowed at the Jedi's assumption that he was better than her and could be her judge and executioner. Lips curled in anger, "You're no better than the Sith, Jedi - your pride is masked behind the charity your founders did. You think you're better than others, better than the Sith, better than other Jedi who refuses to follow your code. There's a reason you're constantly rebuilding - its because you Jedi can't let go of your self serving pride."​

He was already running away, but she said her piece. Even if Quinn would find this so-called redemption and see her embracing the light her mother spoke so carefully about, she would never have the selfish charity the current Jedi tried to impose. The Demon beside her towered over her, and she slowly stood up standing by his side. It was true, the Imperials were turning on those that helped them build their empire. She could feel his confusion through her empathy, and she exhaled softly. "I'll cover your back, brother." She felt better knowing that she wasn't fighting the behemoth. He knew Ashin, maybe she could after everything was done, speak to him on the woman's behalf - see what crimes she committed against him.​

Quinn noticed another enter their vicinity. The turmoil that rolled off the woman's aura was thick. The young mentalist could feel every emotion that made up the Blonde's mind. Watching, Quinn took stock of how she was with the fallen Knight. Feelings that were associated with the man were the same she felt with Vesta, her Master. There were other emotions. Quinn focused on the Blonde, who was now moving towards her and the red Demon. Raising her eyebrow, the sithling felt her lips curl into a sinister smirk. Hands rose as the girl reached out through the Force, searching for the tendrils of emotion that she could play. Each strand on the ethereal plane of the Force became her instrument of eloquence. ​

Like a skilled musician, Quinn plucked and pulled each string, creating a vibration that would make a symphony of illusions based on the woman's fears of the future and what she had done. ​

As Loske moved forward, static would chime in her ear, the Alliance soldier's voice she had spoken to earlier when handing off the prisoner Allyson Locke echoed with a somber tone. <Captian.> he started, doing his best to remain neutral in the news he needed to share. <Captain, the prisoner, Allyson Locke.> Another pause as he gathered his own resolve. <The prisoner didn't make it, Captain. She lost too much blood,--> The transmission would fade, and Loske would hear Allyson's voice. ​

I'm sorry, none of this was your fault. Thank you - for not giving up on me.
​

Loske's attention would be drawn towards a cry of pain and the sound of flesh being ripped through by a blade of pure hate. The Sith Lord, Vesta Zambrano weapon, would drive through the Jedi Knight. The edge of the sword bathed in the crimson life source, cutting down the warrior of Light where he stood. The infectious life that burned behind the fallen Jedi's amber eyes faded, staring at the woman meant to help them protect the Light. His lips moved, "Loske, r-run." His blood stained the surface of Bastion, like his brother beside him. ​

​

Another roar from the Behemoth Kezeroth echoed, drawing the attention of the woman. His massive hand grasped the young Jedi Padawan and held him high into the hair. Tears stained Kir's face as he looked to the Knight. His hand stretched out, hoping to reach Loske, to find comfort in her grasp. A scream of pure terror echoed as the demon's ion blade waved, burning through the tender flesh that held the boy together. A thud followed by another echoed in the depths of Loske's mind as the boy slumped at the red Gen' dai's feet, his head rolling till it stared up at Loske - the terror still on his face.​

The battlefield would fade away, playing out like a montage that Loske would find herself unable to control. Images of explosions, cries of death and destruction, and a wooden box, covered with a leather jacket and the Galactic Alliance Saber Squadron's insignia. The shuttle would touch down on Coruscant, and the scene would slowly fade as others from their squadron, faceless, would carry the box away. ​

The hanger would glow slightly from Coruscant's sun, several wooden boxes would line the emptied out hanger. Upon each wooden casket, a name, a picture, and an Alliance flag folded in the ceremonial funeral fashion. Loske would find herself glancing, seeing the nameplates of those that died on Bastion. Ryv Karis, Kir Dantos, Allyson Locke, and finally Maynard Treicolt. People walked the hanger, touching each box, and crying at the loss of their loved ones. People would pass Loske and whisper, knowing her ties with the man laid in the casket, who gave the ultimate sacrifice for the peace they fought for. A hand would wander to her shoulder and give it a soft squeeze, an offer of comfort.​

"He died a hero. There was nothing we could have done more for him. There's no need to be sad. His sacrifice will be remembered. We might have lost the battle, but we won't lose the war - their deaths will not be in vain."

"You can go rest. Maynard, would have wanted that." ​

Quinn continued to play the illusions in the woman's mind. Attacking her with horrible images of the netherworld was something she wanted to do, but to make her watch the people she loved perish was far more sinister and compelling. She figured the way they were all connected, several memories and emotions were tied with the Blonde, the General, and the Jedi - she would feel the pain knowing that they both died and the one she tried to bring home. ​

The Echani used her own emotions to influence the ones she was trying to make the Jedi feel. She knew if she lost Vesta, there would be no reason to go on. Her heart and soul belonged to the Sith Lord, and Quinn hoped her own emotions could help fuel the pain she wanted the Jedi to feel.​

 

[Hunter Blackburn]

OBJECTIVE // Secure Sith Data
LOCATION // Imperial Capital Complex
ALLIES // NIO
ENEMIES // Darth Ophidia | Atlas Kane

Spoiler: [FONT=Courier New]Equipment[/FONT]

Imperial Knight Armor
Vibrosword
Hybrid Pistol
Void Grenade
Double Vibroblade
Magnetic Disruption Device

The silence and tension in the air between Atlas and Crius was so thick that it could’ve been sliced through with the Guards sword. Atlas was no different from the others of his ilk, he still saw himself as being above others, saw himself as a god while everyone else were mere bantha for him to do with as he pleased. Crius’ grip tightened on the vibroblade, the black visor following Atlas’ form as he moved past.

The Guard didn’t even have time to react to the lone legionnaire, nor the death that swiftly followed. It all happened in an instant with the S-imp laying upon the ground, blood beginning to pool beneath them, the specter of death that was Atlas moving towards the body. The Sith loomed over the body doing exactly as Crius thought, exerting their influence on the soldier, on someone who was no different from any other in the NIO. Just someone who had been doing what they saw as their duty, many of which having been forced into their predicaments by the Sith.

Moving forward Crius reached out intending to stop Atlas only for his communicator inside a secret compartment of his armor to vibrate. “Fine do what you will, the Imperator will hear of this.” Crius said coldly looking passed the Sith and to the dying soldier. Their wails filled and reverberated off the walls, the agony they suffered obvious as their form fought against the influence overtaking them.

Teeth gritting Crius looked away taking a few steps back away from the scene to withdraw the small holodisk. The device activated with no sound, it was a line meant only for certain commands from the Imperator himself, the audio connected directly with the Imperial Guards helmet.

<"The Sith...they are our enemy. In whatever form they come. None of them leave Bastion alive. We'll hunt these parasites down to the last.">

Crius froze as the command was issued, one that signified the end of the Siths influence. No longer would the NIO be bound, no longer would they work alongside the vile creatures that sought nothing but death and destruction. A hand flew down to his left side seizing the hybrid pistol and raising it up to face what should’ve been the back of Atlas’ skull but now the Sith looked directly at him.

There were no words, no mercy, just the soldier pulling the trigger a sonic blast escaping the barrel of the pistol.

 

[Anden Fancelo]

Allies: The Sovereignty
Enemies: Kor Vexen
Assets: What is left of the Gravewalkers.​

---

[Fever Dream - 300 OST]

---

​

"Get those shields broken you karks!" The Lieutenant yelled, the repetitive rhythm of his repeater going off simply stomped on the Lieutenant's words. But the very few Gravewalkers left did what they were told. Focusing fire on the Dragoons that were protecting their Warmaster. A flurry of bolts in addition to the bolts from the Imperial Order. An orchestra of violence that brought forth the death of a common foe.

As the technologically advanced dragoons fell one by one. The Gravewalkers rose with their fury, the very same that was unleashed in Ession and Concord. A plea to be granted death to reunite with the consumed from Eadu, or perhaps a chance to bring retribution onto the very creed that has perverted the ways of what remains of the Sovereignty's power.

The silence held by the Gravewalkers was no more. Their rage on the unjust treatment of the defenseless was revealed, and the darkness that had enveloped them was no more.

For they have risen.

However, as the carbon scoring cooled and the smoke cleared out. There were none. For the rift had taken them from their deaths, a gift from their Warmaster. And the pocket of Gravewalkers watched their Captain stand mere meters away from the clashing leaders.

---

Anden Fancelo, stood by in the concealment of the shadows. Witnessing the clash between an aspect of war and turmoil and a man. Irveric Tavlar , a mere man facing against someone leagues above. One may deem it a suicide, but Fancelo understood. Tavlar was loyal to a cause and in his loyalty, he faced down against the mighty lord even if it killed him.

The Captain dropped his pulse rifle, letting it embed itself into the dirt. As the two began their clash, the mortal man's fearlessness reminded him of something. Someone. One that was taken by the very pact of parasites that Anden has so defected from just minutes ago. And so, a hand reached over to a hilt in crimson red and with a pull. The weapon was unsheathed and it was the corrupted songsteel blade that was the last of his Commander.
Vestille Thumahra.

The Executor, the weapon of his mentor now held by him. He pointed the blade forth at Vexen and not a second after, he charged forth with a roar filled with vengeance and hate.

A swipe of the blade would follow, intent to kill was present.