Dead Hulks

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Gromas Sixteen was all too far from Zenith Prime. The phrik shipment that had been ordered was massive, and even with the great distance between the two worlds, it should have arrived by now.

Why then had the ship it was carried upon suddenly appeared in orbit of Arami after it had gone unseen for days?

The situation reeked of foul play. Alexander had set out personally to see to the issue alongside a retinue of guardsmen who had proven themselves in the defense of the homeworld. The phrik was far too valuable to the Zenithian cause to be allowed to fall into the hands of those that might do the world harm. It was still reeling from the attempted genocide of the Geonosian extremist fleet -- a shortage of the valuable mineral required for the world's ascension simply could not happen.

The massive cargo ship drifted like a bloated steel carcass through the void. There were no signs of the ship having any sort of power; the engines had long since died and the bridge was dark and quiet. The question of whether anyone was alive on the ship seemed obvious, but the vessel was too massive for the sensors of the small Zenithian gunboats to single out any heat signatures accurately.

Probe droids had been sent into the silent ship, but interference had made it difficult to understand the data they filtered back. None of the droids that were recalled for a physical examination had returned.

The possible risk was great, but there was truly only one option if the Zenithians wished to secure the mass of phrik aboard: men had to go in on foot.

Several guardsmen stood alongside Alexander as he clean his shacklebolt rifle. His gunboat would arrive within the hanger soon alongside its twin. The men would scour the ship for signs of the phrik, and return the vessel to the Zenithian docks for salvage if it proved capable of moving under its own power.

He wore the bulky experimental armor that the engineers had been working on. It weighed half a ton and added two feet to his height, and moving around in the suit had proven troubling at first. The limbs were powered, though Alex knew naught with what. Despite its large size, it did little to hinder his movement -- something the Zenithian warriors would need if the armor was to be widely fielded. His guardsmen wore simpler war-gear of a more common variety. When the men donned their helmets, they became one of a hundred. Alex envied that unity.

"How are we?" Alex keyed in to the second ship. Aboard was [member="Skrekkor"], the Barabel that had fought alongside the Zenithians on the homeworld. He had been given leadership over the other Barabel mercenaries that had sworn themselves to the cause. "No problems in transit?"

 

[Skrekkor]

The lizard-man would adorn his normal clothing, his pistol still at his side, sword in the hilt. He had no need nor use for the extreme armor that the human wore, prefering to stay light on his feet in the middle of a fight, rather than being a walking tank. Not that Skrekkor was offered any to begin with, but he'd turn it down nonetheless. Thoughts of armor and weaponry clouded his mind as the ringing from the intercoms went off, and Skrekkor made his way over to respond.

"No, no problems as of yet. We're sitting at about seventy five percent fuel, but still fine", he'd reply, though it would come out as mostly grunting and roaring that would blare through the mic. Skrekkor began thinking that he should learn the common tongue quietly to himself, but quickly dismissed it. What use would learning a language that he'd barely use in battle be? Aside from the simple words he needed to communicate with his newfound unit, 'kill', 'don't', and 'attack' were really the only words the Barabel needed or found any use for.

Idleness began to contort his thoughts away from his normal thought process, the man was normally plotting how to capture prey in a dark alley, or the best way to gut a man. Not today, nor any days in the foreseeable future. Just plundering an old ship, and command duties, something Skrekkor was growing into, but still disliked immensely. He would learn though. If he could become a hunter and keep himself alive for days on his home planet, evading the scorching sun that would turn him to a pile of ash in mere seconds, he could learn to command.

 

[Tyberius Fel]

What was the Republic? A gigantic, sprawling, vestigal entity thoroughly infested with corruption and crippled by bureaucracy. Once, he served the Silver Sanctum coalition. Once he served the Galactic Republic. The truth that he had tried to shy away from stared him in the face: they were both nothing but meatbags that lacked the commitment to do what was truly necessary to save the galaxy. He couldn't fight for such governments. A waste of time, effort. Vorian's lightsaber and mind would dedicate itself to freeing the galaxy. But how? That was the one question. Perhaps he should simply give up, retire to some estate on Arkania and spend his days, feet propped up by a fire as the galaxy tore itself into a bloody pulp.

But he couldn't do that. He was a Jedi. Sworn to protect the galaxy and it's inhabitants. But how could he do that if the Galaxy wasn't willing to protect itself?

Vorian contemplated this all as he hitched a ride on a cargo ship. He had been doing a geological survey on Gromas Sixteen, but the primarily mining-based planet had few civilian transports, so he managed to convince a captain to let him tag along. A decision that he would soon regret. Like the flash of a strike of lightning, the ship was consumed in a frenzy of screaming and carnage, hordes of.. creatures escaping from cargo boxes in the holds. The oxygen supply was soon cut off as Vorian along with a stream began rushing towards the safety of the hangers, only to see the majority of the smaller spacecraft were either disabled or already used to flee. With little other option, Vorian used the force to place himself in a state of suspended animation. Hiding away in a little nook and passing away into the darkness as the ship drifted aimlessly through the vast abyss of space...

 

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Alexander had taken great pains to try and understand the Barabel. The series of grunts and screeches registered through his comm system as words in basic. Things were as he'd expected them to be -- nothing was a miss as of yet. Even still, the warrior felt a chill run down his spine as the gangplank hissed open. He stepped ahead of his guardsmen as his armor could more than take whatever might have awaited them in the silent darkness.

When nothing happened, he allowed himself to ease up. His rifle lowered somewhat and his head perked up; his visor whirring as it zoomed from one corner of the hanger to the next looking for life.

"Tighten your warriors up Skrekkor," he snapped into the comm, "Rein them in until there's something to let them loose upon. I don't want them breaking anything."

The moment the words had left his mouth, he felt that uncomfortable shiver once again. Instinctively, his gaze fell to one corner of the room -- more importantly, to the figure occupying it.

"I'm reading no oxygen in this room Is that correct?"

One of the men nodded, "Nothing but the void, my lord."

Satisfied with that, Alexander strode up to the figure. It still lived, if his HUD was operating as it should have. His rifle trained upon the platinum-haired man.

"A witch. I've seen them do this before; he's in some kind of stasis. Jeckeron, give him your extra mask."

Jeckeron did not hesitate to follow the order. He unclipped his spare rebreather from his belt and fastened it upon the Arkanian's face. Alexander waited for a reaction.

"Skrekkor, have your men secure the perimeter. We've found something of interest."

A lovely star to the day this was.

[member="Vorian Adasca"], [member="Skrekkor"]

 

[Thew Vullen]

I was inspecting one of the cargo rooms admiring my new cape that a friend had fashioned for me again. A bloodred cape that went well with my armor and skin. It looked so nice, and I couldn't help but feel attached to it. Sadly, that thought was interrupted by an alarm or warning cry sounding off and I stepped out of the dusty cargo room my group of soldiers were inspecting, swinging the cape over my shoulder and fastening it. The hallway was dark and I squinted down it. The walls echoed with the sound of screeching and screams. I began to see lights come down the curving hallway and I greeted them.

"What's going on? What's that terrible noise?" I asked, but with no response. I repeated myself again with no response.

"Sir? What should we do?" A nervous soldier asked.

"Their communicators are probably broken. I don't think it's a problem or anything." I say reassuring myself more than them.

Little did I know how big that problem would be. Those very lights I was staring at were the glowing eyes of the creatures that started this fiasco. It was beginning to look like a very interesting trip.

 

[Laman Ress]

Laman stepped out of one of the vessels wearing a similar armor to the Grand Marshall, the armor was extremely bulky, and an extremely early prototype, hopefully it would do its job, it seemed to be doing the job, as the suit had not rapidly depressurized at this point. Laman got out of the ship and looked at the force user as it was pointed out.

"I would be careful around force users, you dont know if they are good or bad till they wake up, and if they're bad, your probably already dead." He said

[member="Alexander Ontonas"]
[member="Skrekkor"]
[member="Vorian Adasca"]

 

[Skrekkor]

Skrekkor shrugged, and made his way to the piloting station of his ship, a grand crew of Barabel sat in various chairs, with the occasional human, though rare. He strode down to the command center, snatching the mic up from its position on the table, causing the man sitting in the middle desk to jump slightly. With a slight hiss, he began, "Men, gather your arms. Adorn your armor. Drink your ale. We dock shortly, absolutely NO shooting the human allies, but destroy all those who do not work with us. Rend their flesh, and tear their armor. If you find anything of worth, it's yours. For the Imperium," Skrekkor would finish, leaving most of the humans in the room anxious, as only 'rend' and 'tear' had come out in basic.

With that, Skrekkor made his way to his room as his ship slowly soared behind commander Alexanders. His wardrobe was strewn across the floor in a messy fashion, but the lizard prefered it that way. He lifted a black, gold, and blue shirt up to the air, sliding it over his combat attire. Then came the matching pants, and boots that had covered his feet up to his talons, which tore holes through, as they normally did with any pairs of shoes the Barabel had. The black mass that fit over his chest had looked nice, he thought, against his red skin. Skrekkor wasn't a man of fashion, but even he could admire his newly attained shirt he'd stolen from a nearby shop in the panic of the invasion. Nice indeed. Skrekkor tied his sword to his belt, tightly fashioned it upon himself, and set his pistol in its place. It was to be a good battle.

[member="Laman Ress"] [member="Alexander Ontonas"]

 

[Tyberius Fel]

A ripple of oxygen flooded into the Arkanian's lungs. The cogs and gears of his brain slowly pulsed back to life as his body registered that there was no longer any need to remain in stasis. Vorian awakened with a jolt, the total white of his eyes rapidly flickering about, scanning his surroundings. Immediately, he noticed a variety of heavily armed and armored men surrounding him, including the tail end of a reptilian looking creature as it disappeared into the confines of a ship.

Raiders? His muscles tensed as the first thought pierced his skull, before being refuted. No, far too organized. Too disciplined. Then.. he remembered. An aching pain crept up through the base of his skull as he recalled the hordes, legions of surging creatures, relentless, savage as they cut a bloody swath through the unprepared passengers.

He had to warn them.

Vorian opened his mouth to speak. "T-..t-t..he..r-.." A shaky stutter pulled itself from the usually well-spoken, articulate Arkanian's lungs. The Jedi Knight was no master of stasis, and it was possible that his body was still adjusting to being reawakened. Grunting to himself, the Jedi gave the man a odd expression and nudged him, trying his best to warn him, but Vorian feared that he would likely be dismissed as some sort of shell shocked civilian.

 

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One of the warriors that had more or less joined the legions during the battle for the homeworld had gone ahead with a team of men. Comms had gone out shortly thereafter, though the attempts of the comm specialists in the marine teams had made the channels somewhat useful. When Alexander heard the racket from further within the ship, he keyed the comm.

"Vullen," his tone was even, "If you can hear me, return to the hanger. We've found a sorcerer here. Nothing good can be waiting for us inside -- no going to play the hero this time." He brooked no dissension as he cut off the comm. Hopefully [member="Thew Vullen"] proved a valuable asset. The Gen'dai had been more than useful on Zenith Prime, at the very least.

"Thank you Laman. To think, here I was about to hug him," he snorted, "The man is subdued. He'll do us no harm as he is. Even so...[member="Skrekkor"], get your warriors on the doors leading to the rest of the ship. I did not like that sound."

The iron warrior's blue eyeslits fell to the silver-haired sorcerer. "You've spent all your strength keeping yourself alive. Take a moment to breath," his voice might have had the slightest hint of reassurance in it, tempered by a steely caution. "What happened to this ship's crew? Why have the engines ceased to function?"

Alex had barely managed to speak the words when the Rakghoul fell upon him. It was hairless and white as a corpse. Tiny black eyes peered through the din of the darkened hanger, and its claws were outstretched to tear out his neck. He raised a plate-bound hand and swatted the creature away. It screamed its outrage, only falling silent when it hit the nearby wall and found a mass-accelerated round in its chest.

"Rakghouls," he snarled, "The ship is infested. We need to regroup. The phrik is too important to leave behind, but the beasts are dangerous. They infect you if they break the skin, and they adapt to their enviroment. Dozens of different variants." He gestured to the child sized corpse. "This one was a juvenile."

[member="Vorian Adasca"], [member="Laman Ress"]

 

[Thew Vullen]

The beasts overwhelm the soldiers as they try and fight. They become infected and charge the comrades that they fought along side with not a minute ago. One by one Zenith Prime's best are killed, and I feel a sense of growing dread.

"Fall back! Get out of the ship!" I say, starting to backtrack down the hall. The soldiers didn't hear my cry and they keep on fighting. I realize our comms must be down so I grab the nearest soldier and throw him down the hallway.

"Run!" I mouth and point away from the rakghouls. These rakghouls can't be defeated easily and we weren't going to do it. I sprint away from the rakghouls to our waiting ship. I burst through the hangar and find the soldier. He's stopped and is staring at something. I look where he's looking and am shocked. Our ship was wrecked. There were claw marks over the armor and the engines were ripped apart. I hear rakghouls behind us and nearby, they're practically all over the place! I need to think of something fast or we're toast.

 

[Laman Ress]

Rakghouls.... it could have been anything from pirates to asteroid impacts, but it turns out it was the contagious, highly deadly rakghouls. At the very least this would be a difficult fight. At the very most it would be deadly. Laman had fought Rakghouls before, it was one of the worst experiences of his military career, a lot of good men were lost that day, Laman did not want to relive it. Luckily for Laman, he was in a tough suit of armor that covered the whole body, but it was a different story for the other soliders. If they got attacked and they broke the skin, at best they would be dead, at worst they would be transformed into hideous rakghouls, loosing all semblance of intelligence, all that would be left would be a primal husk of their former selves.

"Sir i think we should send back the unarmored men to guard the shuttles, this might be too dangerous for them, i would hate to have any of these men turned into these horrible creatures." Laman said to [member="Alexander Ontonas"].

Laman readied his weapons immedietly, the fight ahead to get the phrik would be long and brutal, but if they survived this the rewards would be huge, and failure was not an option.
[member="Vorian Adasca"]
[member="Skrekkor"]

 

[Skrekkor]

Skrekkors ship had finally caught up, docking beside Alexanders. The engines softly hummed as the door opened, Skrekkor made his way to the docks as he set a breathing device into his mouth, nodding at his warriors as he made his way down, each soldier stepping to the side.

"Warriors of the Imperium, we're here today for one purpose, and one purpose only.. and I forgot what that was. But Alexander knows, yes, he does, naughty little secrets inside the humans head," he'd trail off, "Naughty, naughty little thoughts.. hrm. Secure the station. Destroy all not wearing our colors, rend the flesh of the enemies and dine on their flesh! Now warriors, storm!"

The humans were left scratching their heads as they marched in, whereas the Barabels were.. slightly rallied, motivated that they might kill. Skrekkors unit was made to be brutal, to know war, to hunt down those that would oppose them. The red lizard raised a clawed hand to his chin, scratching slightly as he admired his speech, primitive as it may have been, it was at least something. He'd then march in from behind the last of his regiment, drawing sword and pistol as they entered the front door of a possible army.

 

[Tyberius Fel]

Vorian's vision faded in and out of focus, centered on the man in his massive armor, speaking into his radio. In a flash, a hairless beast leaped at him and was soon struck down. What did he say... Rakghouls? Again? The Jedi Knight grunted, hands groping out for a surface to latch onto. Grasping onto a exposed pipe on the ship's walls, he hefted himself to his feet and shakily shifted his lightsaber hilt into his hand. Revitalizing oxygen flew throughout his body and his legs felt a little less shaky for every moment he stood upright. Hid condition was improving, but he doubted he would be as much good in a fight as he would be in optimal condition.

Still silent, the Jedi Knight waited for the armored strangers to make their next move.

 

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The monstrosities fell upon them in a great wave of pulsing white flesh. The first had been a vanguard -- a beast of great curiosity and little regard for its own life. It had been a runt, and died like a runt. Its brothers and sisters were not so thoughtless. They were large beasts with monstrous teeth and wicked claws. They fell from the ceiling and surged through holes in the great hanger bulkheads.

Alexander switched on the floodlights of his armor, bathing the milky-white monstrosities in blindingly pale light.

"Agreed," he gestured toward the more lightly armored warriors, "Soldiers, to the ships. They must not fall!" Alexander's voice boomed through the din, "[member="Skrekkor"], your Barabels have been brought their battle. Cleave through these mutants!" A plate-bound hand rose to swat away one of the closer Rakghouls. The creature squealed as it was crushed into the floor, the sounds of its bones snapping and its blood spurting from the holes created by the shattered marrow carrying over the creatures' cries. The shacklebolt in Alexander's free hand thundered as it ripped the Rakghouls asunder, their bodies popping like gruesome balloons when the mass accelerated rounds met flesh.

Through the doors came [member="Thew Vullen"] and the soldiers assigned to his command. Alexander held up a hand, the Zenithians forming a firing line alongside him. "Vullen, with us! We cannot abandon the phrik."

Some would have questioned Alexander's decision to hold glorified rocks over the lives of his warriors. In the commander's mind, this was far more than simply acquiring resources. The armor these materials were required to make would be the salvation of this fledgling Imperium.

They could not withdraw.

"Laman, push from their flank. We'll run them into the halls," the piercing blue eye-slits of Alexander's visor peered down at the Jedi. "Stand and fight sorcerer. You are no use to us dead."

[member="Vorian Adasca"], [member="Laman Ress"],

 

[Laman Ress]

Laman immedietly got to work corralling the beasts into the corridor. Laman was equipped with a heavy machine gun, this gun would rip and tear through the rakghouls with large amounts of rounds coming out of the barrel. The beasts were somewhat difficult to kill but they went down easily under the hail of bullets. With his men supporting him they were able to corral the beasts into the corridor, and they would continue to do this until the order was given to continue.

"Fight like you never have before men!" Laman shouted

 

[Thew Vullen]

I see the line of men fighting the hordes of rakghouls. I join with them, unleashing a war cry and letting my guns rip through the flesh of the vile insane beasts that fall upon us. A mound of bodies grows before the line and I climb it. The rakghouls are quickly learning that a full on assault won't work and have retreated to the walls whimpering and growing. Soon, the rakghouls all but disappear. However I can hear them with my natural enhanced hearing.

"They're not gone yet! I can hear them." I say to the cheering soldiers who think it's over. "Something worse is yet to come."

 

[Tyberius Fel]

"Stand and fight, Sorcerer. You are no use to us dead."

Sorcerer. What part of the galaxy was this man from, that he referred to Jedi with such mysticism? Regardless, there was something commanding within the armored man's booming voice, something that shook him and made him stand a little bit more steadier on his feet. Certainly, he was a leader among these men. Rakghouls raced down the dark corridors of the derelict space vessel, but the soldiers expertly established a firing line, corralling them to keep them in the hallways to utilize them as a chokepoint to rapidly gun down the creatures. With a flick of his wrist, Vorian ignited his lightsaber and with a few force pulls, dismembered any stragglers that managed to escape from the grand killzone of carnage that the soldiers managed to establish. Soon, the corridor fell silent, a haze from smoking blaster wounds gathering over the massacre.

"They're not gone yet, I can hear them. Something is worse to come." Warned one of the men.

Vorian grinded his teeth and craned his neck to the man who gave him the oxygen man. "Vorian.. Adasca.. Jedi Knight.. yourself?" He managed to choke out.

 

[Skrekkor]

The metal began to creak as the majority of his force ran through the tunnels of the ship, the opposite of Alexanders path. Skrekkor held himself in the back with the humans who weren't too keen on charging in head first like their comrades, prefering safer combat tactics. Skrekkors talons banged and prodded the tiles as they marched their way through.

The red leader and his men hadn't heard the battle cries of the lizards who had charged in, causing them to become suspicious of the situation at hand. Skrekkor ordered the humans the stay back, and patrol the area, he was going to find out what happened personally.
Sword drawn, and pistol ready, the lizard had began his stalking, his back firmly pressed against the wall, his snout flared to gain any scent of what was to come. Trekking through the cold, silent tunnels wasn't the hard part, far from it, it was what was to come next.

Stealthily, Skrekkor made his way down a long tunnel, one that looked like it hadn't seen life in ages. Blood stained the walls, and a greyish finger could be found on the floor down the tube. He pressed on until he came upon a door, one that had seemingly been opened by his own men. Skrekkor knew what was to come next, and he prepared himself for the worst. The door opened, and ghoulish creatures sat squatting, an entire platoon of his own men sprawled across the floor. Before he knew it, they began charging him, and Skrekkor put himself to the test, his sword sung as he began slashing and shooting, mindlessly losing himself in combat.

The guards had realized something was wrong, but they knew better than to blindly charge in with him. They charged back, posthaste, and made their way to Alexander.

 

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"Alexander Ontonas," the Imperator boomed, "I know of your family, but we do not recognize the Jedi here You are a warrior today."

Without any further explanation, Alexander pressed on. His power armor provided more than enough protection from the Rakghouls, and he eagerly strode to the front of his men, rifle raised. Floodlights built into his shoulder-plates came to life and doused the inky corridors in a blinding white light. Nothing in the mass of bloodied white corpses moved.

"Keep the doors secured," he said, gesturing toward one of the army sergeants, "The rest of you, onward. We've a ship to secure."

As if waiting for the words, [member="Skrekkor"] charged on ahead down one of the adjacent corridors. Alexander spat a curse at the Barabel's recklessness, but then that was why the Imperium had welcomed the Barabels with open arms. They would do things other races would never do.

"Skrekkor," He shouted over the ensuing chaos, "Don't run ahead!"

The Rakhgouls fell upon them again: this time from the ceiling, the air ducts, and from behind. Alex let his rifle hang from its leather strap and drew his sword. The massive blade shimmered as its protective energy field came to life. He cut a bloody swathe through the closest of the horde, cutting down the monsters like a farmer reaping his wheat. Those that came too close for a sword swing were met with the stomp of a foot, or a steel-bound fist.

Slowly, Alexander made his way closer to the Barabel. "Skrekkor!" He shouted over the violence as he peered into the din. He looked for the patch of scaly red skin over the sea of white bodies and the dull gray of the corridor walls, but he could not find him.

Where had the Barabel gone?

[member="Skrekkor"], [member="Vorian Adasca"], [member="Thew Vullen"], [member="Laman Ress"],

 

[Laman Ress]

Laman was in his element, the team was vastly outnumbered, but the rakghouls were outgunned. Putting his machine gun on his back, and drew a chain-sword and an experimental bolt pistol in its place. Laman used these weapons to tear through the rakghoul hordes. They flooded out of every crevice, they were surrounded on all sides. Laman tore through the beasts with his chainsword, and those too far away or too close to hit with the sword were shot with the bolt pistol.

The beasts fell like butter, and they would continue to fight through the beasts. Laman watched as one of the soliders was pounced on and eviscerated by one of the beasts, and Laman repayed what had been given. The chainsword ripped a massive whole in the chest of the beast, and within a few seconds, the beast was rendered in half. As a sign of respect Laman took the man's dog tags, any family of his would want to know of his death.

There was not much time for mourning however, as the beasts would continue to flow, it was bloody, brutal combat, there was no other way to describe it, and this is how it would be till the phrik was secured.

[member="Alexander Ontonas"]
[member="Skrekkor"]
[member="Vorian Adasca"]
[member="Thew Vullen"]