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Helix's photoreceptor-nests flickered over the display readout as he took a sip of his beverage.
His participation in the Sith's invasion of Abregado-Rae had been fairly last-minute, and part of an ongoing bargain between himself and their ruler. He didn't have any particular investment in it beyond selfish interest, but for him, that was enough.
The warlord was perched in a comfortable command chair on the spacious command bridge of the supercrawler, which lumbered slowly but unstoppably into position.
The vehicle in question had almost single-handedly blunted an entire Imperial front during the first defense of Brosi, and Helix had little doubt that it would prove just as deadly on the offensive. It had taken a while to get it up and running, as expected, but better late than never.
Today's mission was, on its face, a simple enough one. His new friend wanted the area's manufacturing capacity demolished, and he was more than happy to oblige. A simple, straightforward task like this was a pleasant hiatus from the usual politicking and double-dealing he'd had to deal with lately.
Helix looked up from his display screen, and took in the command deck. An all-droid crew. He'd been informed that a biological agent would be deployed ahead of their arrival, and if the crimson mist that filled the outside air was any indication, that information had been accurate.
Carpets of undulating fungal matter were already spreading across the landscape here and there. Part of him wondered if the planet would be salvageable when all was said and done, or if it would become another jungle hellscape like Brosi.
The crawler was sealed against outside contamination, but even so, Helix was never one to be satisfied with only one contingency. Not one living thing drew breath inside the massive vehicle's confines.
His attention returned to his readouts. He'd already chosen an ideal spot for the crawler to lock down, one that would give the maximum artillery coverage of the maximum area of the battlefield. He would provide support where it could be managed, but his true objectives were the factories. As it was, he could only reach a limited few of them.
"Estimated time of arrival to gridpoint six-seven-eight-six-oh-four, ten minutes." He announced. "Primary artillery implements charged and ready. Support fire available, but try to keep it within reason, over."
"Initial bombardments commencing in..." he was interrupted by the chatter of one of the massive flak batteries perched atop the vehicle. A rapid buzzing roar that spoke of hundreds of bolts being fired in the space of a few moments. Even senses such as his own could barely distinguish the sounds of individual launches.
"T-minus two minutes." He switched off the comms and spoke directly to the crew, filling their minds with rapid binary chatter.
"And try not to destroy the... growths, please. I'll never hear the end of it if the wretched things are burned."
"Indeed it does alor, and shall I fall this day I'll fall like my father before me, fighting to the end and taking sith with me." korar said. His father was on fangol a few years ago, killed by a sith that he took out with him.
As BrazeBraze
coughed from the drink korar let out a deep rumble of a laugh, taking the flask from him korar almost drank the entire thing before forgetting he should probably share, if the little guy can handle more. "It is, then again when is it not. Also good choice in drink."
Braze smiled at Korar Murrak
, "Well said, vode." He shifted his attention to Romul Saxon
next.
"There's something comforting about an enemy who never disappoints your expectations, ey Alor?" Braze asked looking up at Romul before offering him a sip of the flask next. "Let them gather, let them sprawl~ When the storm breaks, none withdraw~"
The three Star Destroyers steadily held their course while the Cruisers and Frigates moved to intercept the rest of the enemy fleet. The rest maintained their orbital support, allowing fighters and gunships to maintain their steady screen over the city’s skies. Whatever civilian ships could get out, were promptly escorted and flown to safer space on the farther side of the planet. Air superiority was quickly being contested by the Sith ships, but they wouldn’t break the Mandalorian shield so easily.
Yuri watched the battle unfold from the tactical map with a frown slowly turning into a snarl. On the ground, their forces were firing on the populace of the planet throughout the infected areas. He was by no means a saint, he had done despicable acts over the years, but even this sat wrong with him. Regardless, it had to be done.
The Sith felt content with dooming the planet with a sickening biohazard. Those who became infected had to be culled, it was simply a necessary evil.
No, he had more pressing matters to take care of.
The solar cannons rattled the three Destroyers, tearing through the enemy dreadnought’s shields to punch into its hull. Any normal ship would have been annihilated by such impacts, torn in half by a single hit. This was no normal ship. They would have to get more creative if they hoped to even dent it.
Frustration grew in the Hound’s heart. A heated rage began to brew, a sickening bloodlust was curling around his mind. A feeling he hadn’t felt in years, ever since he began his crusade against the Jedi. It seemed he wasn’t the only one, the whole bridge seemed to indulge in their hatred of the Enemy and the rest of the attacking fleet were slowly shifting their trajectory.
It was beautiful. It was bloody, explosive and awe inspiring. Darasuum Kote. Eternal Glory. Golden eyes closed and a deep breath passed through his nose, taking in the scent of hatred and malice. It was...
Wrong.
His eyes snapped open, taking note of the captain speaking to the comms officer. ”Prepare boarding parties. We’re going to bleed the Darjetii today. Move our forces to focus on that-”
”No!” The Hound barked, grabbing hold of the captain’s cuirass to yank him back. A fist smashed along his muzzle before he could shake the man back to reality. ”This is wrong! They’re playin’ tricks!” He spat with a bloodied maw. The bridge crew looked on with confusion and disgust. ”Focus! Whatever it is they’re doin’, it’s screwin’ with our minds.” He explained, letting the captain go as he took a step back.
Slowly the crew shook themselves back to reality. The weight of it began to set in, an eerie heat filled the bridge.
No doubt the rest of the fleet was feeling the same.
He motioned for the comms officer to target their comms lasers and send a direct signal to the rest of the fleet. ”Channel’s open, Alor.” The man spoke with a mixture of shame and worry.
:: All ships, this is Yuri Maji of the Haran’s Call. Wake up, focus on what’s happening. They’re karkin’ with our minds. If ya gotta smack each other, do it! Don’t let them enter your thoughts. ::
The message was sent. A few moments later, the ships began to regain their cohesion and focus their fire. The battle had become a lot more pressing, having to worry about their thoughts while also fighting a war was a brutal combination in a fight like this. To make matters worse, the rift in space was messing with their ability to communicate with the rest of their people. Hails for reinforcements went unanswered, or simply couldn’t get out of the system.
They were alone.
And their Enemy was on their doorstep.
Yuri watched as the dreadnought encroached, its supporting fleet moving to intercept the Mandalorian ships. He focused on the ships, taking note of how they behaved. ”You see that, sir? Molecular shields.” The captain echoed his thoughts, a healthy layer of embarrassment coated every word. Yuri couldn’t fault the man for the invasion on his mind. They were all vulnerable without the help of their Shamans.
”We’re gonna have to get crafty, Haggan.” The Hound muttered, sparing a glance at the man. He was quiet for a few seconds, weighing the options of what to do. They couldn’t fight with just their guns, they had to get past the shields while the solars charged up again.
He made up his mind. ”Order the cruisers to focus on the smaller ships, they can handle those destroyers. Order the Silence and Lament to flank us, all ahead-full.” He ordered. There was a moment of hesitation as the bridge wrapped their weathering minds around what he was suggesting.
”Toward the dreadnought, sir?” The helmsman asked with widened eyes. Yuri nodded slowly, a fiercely daring grin slowly clawing through the suppressed rage and darkness. This was as sober a plan as he could come up with. ”Yes. All ahead-full, dorsal spine. Reinforce our shields, start leechin’ theirs. We’re gonna need all the power we can get.” He added. The bridge got to work, ordering the other two Destroyers to link up, form an arrowhead and follow the Haran’s Call in.
At full speed ahead, the three Star Destroyers braved the storm of cannons, ions and missiles from the behemoth ahead of them. Their cap drains locked onto the massive vessel while mass drivers and ion cannons fired with everything they had to disrupt the shields… until finally the three Mandalorian vessels lowered at a steady pace to press their sheer, accelerated weight against the Tyranny’s shields.
An incredibly dangerous gamble, one that would very much strain their own defenses. But all they needed was a few gaps to fire salvos and launch Basilisks inside of the behemoth’s shields. The ship itself might be able to take a beating, but its weapons and systems were far more vulnerable. They would try their hardest to force a hole as they skidded towards the aft section of the massive ship.
While the largest vessels fought at naval melee distance. The rest of the Mandalorian ships fought just as much to focus on the objective. They were fewer than the enemy ships, and smaller in many aspects, but they were more than capable to hold their own.
Heavy cannons shifted between the larger Star Destroyers and smaller vessels while the rest of the armament whittled them down. The cruisers bristled and shook as they opened fire with everything they had. Missiles, cannons and scramblers worked overtime to pepper the Enemy while devastating blasts strained their shields.
The Frigates stuck close, flanking their larger brethren as the ships dispersed. The glassmaker and an accompanying frigate, coincidentally flanking underneath the enormous dreadnought, took note of a few Siege ships moving to target the carriers still in low orbit.
They wasted little time to open fire on the massive guns of the Heavy Destroyers. A warning was sent to the other ships for evasive maneuvers, but it came too late. One of the carriers rocked, debris scattered and the shields momentarily died under the sheer might of the hit sustained.
A gaping hole in the side of the carrier created a powerful breach in the pressurized hallways, sending dozens of unsuspecting crewmen flying out. There was no saving them, at least not all. The few gunships around would not be able to grab all of them, only a few would be spared the grim fate their vode would suffer.
An ugly death. Undignified, cruel and incapable of preventing. Their families would never receive their armour. Never be able to give them a burial fit for a warrior.
Onboard the stricken carrier, fires erupted and claxons blared. Ships had to be evacuated and crews redirected to safer areas. Dozens more were rushed to the suddenly crowded infirmary, with deadly wounds and burns. Many would not survive. What remained of the surviving crew were ordered to abandon ship and link up with the remaining carrier before it could retreat to safety. Orbital superiority was quickly contested and slipping.
A number of Basilisks and fighters were redirected to assist the Glassmaker and her accompanying frigate, their new orders guiding them to drill, shoot and hammer at the deadly enemy ships.
But the stricken ship was not lost yet. The captain of the Bur’cya and a few willing volunteers stayed behind to maintain order while they brought the ship around. The hyperdrive was gone, its hangar bays emptied, its mass still very much present. Quickly plotting a collision course, the ship blasted forward with what remained of its power to intercept the ship that shot them.
They were more than willing to take one engine down with them before their time among the living was up.
SD’s gather and intercept the Tyranny, forcing down on its shields
All crews are actively fighting to maintain cohesion and deny the Nether’s effects.
Cruisers and frigates disperse and engage enemy ships all around them.
Stricken carrier evacuates personnel and moves to collide with heavy destroyer.
Remaining fighters and gunships split forces to fight in orbit and maintain air superiority.
Enemy starfighters and bombers are engaged by Mandalorian forces.
Her ambush had indeed caught these interlopers off guard; her blast sent them off their feet and scattered them, if only for a moment. In that moment, she made her first kill, her saber cutting deep through armor, flesh and bone. She felt that life extinguish, but she could not stop to ponder that moment of transference from life to death. Already the rats were scurrying around, trying to surround her. No doubt, they thought they could do so, then they could overwhelm her with their firepower and cut her down.
The thought made her smile behind her mask. Not because she thought it was impossible - but because she was no stranger to tactics like this. She had been involved in many ground conflicts in service to her Master, and the Order of Wonosa. Most of those she had fought against had used ranged weapons on her. This…was like old times, except these were supposed ‘Mandalorians’ and not simple criminals or Outer Rim scum.
The glowing red slits of her helm tracked her main target, her prey, as he drew a pistol and began to back away from the fight, likely intent on fleeing while his protective entourage sacrificed themselves to distract her or keep her at bay.
Oh no, you don’t - Revna growled to herself as she pressed forward, seemingly undaunted by the attempted flanking movements of the others around her.
Revna took a moment to briefly study her target; he did not strike her as a warrior…not like these other intruders. He was collecting samples of the plague, which meant he served a different purpose within the ranks of their enemies.
That did not mean he would be an easy kill.
There was something else about him too that struck her as…odd. Or rather, noteworthy. He seemed almost absent in the Force, as if a bubble of nothingness surrounded him. It made her eyes narrow behind the glowing red slits of her helm. She would proceed with caution, at least until she knew better the extent of what was going on with him.
Revna would block or otherwise redirect any shots fired on her in the immediately moments of her revealing her presence to her enemies, her reaction time honed by years of combat and by awareness. She did not stay still or in one spot for more than a heartbeat, for that was simply foolish for her to do. So she picked another enemy target who was closest to her, and with her free hand made a fist - willing the Force around that particular individual’s skull to collapse into a tiny point in a Force crush. She aimed to thin the numbers of her target’s attachment, and strip away whatever layer of protection he had, until it was just the two of them.
Objective: 2 - Chomba's very bad, absolutely no good, terribly ruined day!
Chomba was in the race of his life, well, it was less of a race but more of a marathon. Rushing around through the alleys of this port, Chomba was seeing monstrous chaos from all directions. Shots fired in all directions, Sith and Mandalorians seemed to be on a quest to garner the larger number of civilian deaths from what Chomba could see. All he understood was that there was no one who was going to be willing to redirect him to his ship, the poor vessel must be terrified that Chomba was not around. He did worry that the ship would be in a bad mood that he got lost once again and seemingly abandoned it.
As Chomba raced down a street that he felt sure was going to get him safely into the spaceport once again to hangar his ship was at. Chomba paused as he saw fleshy figured huddled over each other on the ground. There was snarls, crunching and grotesque raw flesh eating sounds that make Chomba very queasy and terrified. "Urmmmm... Chomba does not think this is the right way..." He spoke aloud, not realising that he needed to be using an internal voice in this moment.
The huddled beings rose and began standing upright, much taller than poor little Chomba who tilted his head to get a better look at the pair of giant flesh beings that looked vaguely humanoid but also something looked very wrong about them. Tilting his head to look up at the beings, Chomba had been completely distracted and unaware enough to notice that there was a dead body that had been partially devoured, partially infected. Instead, he was attempting to figure out this new race that he was seeing. "Chomba don't know your race, are you hairless Wookiees?" Chomba asked in a panicked innocence.
Fires of an explosion illuminated the darker areas of the street that these beings were heavily enveloped in the shadows of. Flesh mixed with fungal elements erupting from their skin. If Chomba had seen this horror in a holovid film, he would have screamed until he fainted. Unfortunately, or rather for his survival fortunately, adrenaline and his desperate survival desires prevented Chomba from fainting, but he was sure it was close. "NOOOOOOO!!! NOOOOO!!! CHOMBA IS DONE WITH PLANET! CHOMBA SEEN SITH EMPRESSES, FIRE PEOPLE, MANDALORIANS AND NOW ZOMBIES!! CHOMBA SAYS NO!!" Tears erupting from Chomba's eyes as he screamed at the top of his lungs and raced in any direction he could.
"ZOMBIES! ZOMBIES ARE REAL!! CHOMBA HATES ZOMBIES MOST OF ALL!!!" Chomba shrieked with deep fear causing his voice to go high pitched. The fungal horrors did not have difficulty in chasing the poor Chomba as he did not try being silent at all. "IT IS WALKING DEATH! CHOMBA HATES ZOMBIES TO THE VERY LAST OF THEM! THIS IS A PLANET OF THE LIVING DEAD! CHOMBA IS GIVING IT A ZERO REVIEW!" Chomba was crying out as he continued to run down the streets.
Until fortune finally decided to grace Chomba with a sight he had been searching for. The dock bay doors that housed his beloved ship. "CHOMBA HAS BEEN FREED! S.S. STARSHIP! CHOMBA IS COMING!!" The S.S. Starship had been the name that Chomba gave his ship because he was told it was called Starship, or at least, Chomba had believed the name was Starship. He raced through the bay doors towards his ship, the two fungal zombies still very much on his tail.
There it was, the S.S. Starship. Crooked because the landing gear was uneven and not entirely functional. There were several missing panels and one of the engines also operated as a gun, though Chomba had never figured out how to use the guns on the ship. He assumed it was decoration. Entering the S.S. Starship from the rear ramp, Chomba helped the ship lift the ramp up since that was usually a process that took 5 minutes for the ship to do on it's own. However, with the fungal zombies nearby, Chomba did not have time to waste. Once the ramp was closed, Chomba raced to the cockpit and started to hear that the zombies were now climbing and crawling around on his small starfighter. Chomba screamed in fear since he knew that they were attempting to break in and he needed to go through his safety pre-flight checks.
It was totally necessary and only took an hour or 3 to do thoroughly. But as the zombies bashed against the ship's hull more. Chomba's fear overtook his desire to be safe and he banged on the control panel to get the ship awake and operating. "Chomba needs to get in sky. Space is safe. Can spend the hour or two to create flashy jump to new world!" The navicomputer was a little wonky and broken so Chomba could not make the speediest of escapes when he needed to. It was why as a smuggler, he was awful and got caught by authority all the time, he just had no way of fleeing. Chomba flicked the usual random assortment of switches, never able to tell which ones actually activated the ship.
Then there was a god awful boom, a plume of toxic black smoke blew right out of the two engines that Chomba had and he excitedly kicked his legs. It was waking up, the S.S. Starship had yet to fail him. Chomba flicked the switches again and the engines whined, protested and puttered into life. "Zombies be terrified now!" Chomba grinned pleased with himself as he took controls of the ship. The S.S. Starship was not a fast vessel. In fact it took far too long for the ship it garner the energy needed to create lift and get moving out of the dock. However, in Chomba's mind, this was lightning fast and he was going to live.
Unbeknownst to poor Chomba was that the plague zombies were not just trying to break into the ship, they had begun to infect the ship with spores. Chomba would be leaving the area of the spaceport, directly over a very large crowd of the civilians attempting to flee, Chomba jolted his controls. "Zombies no come with Chomba!" He grumbled as Chomba continued to cause his ship to tilt and violently shake about until he shook off the zombies and unwittingly spent thousands of spore eggs scattering across in the air. Infecting thousands more.
All Chomba could do was grin and push the tiny, fragile, barely space compatible ship up and out of the world.
Like lightning after a crash of thunder, Varin’s battle brother acted without hesitation. The assault that Naamino laid upon their foe was nothing short of spectacular as Varin knew would happen. Naamino in many ways was similar to Varin, but also vastly different. They both relished the front lines with their men. Fighting alongside them, but their approaches differed.
The end result being shock and awe. To spread fear and panic and to make them question themselves. It all came. Varin could sense death and intent all around him, from the Sith spreading malicious and deadly influence upon the surface, to the feeling of the mandalorians firing upon the civilians. It was chaos, and the Sith Covenant thrived upon it.
TIE hunters screeched through the skies as payloads shook the ground dropped from their hulls. As the battle continued on, the drive for conquest and blood only drew him further towards the end goal. War had called his name and he would gladly answer it.
His Nagai force was not far behind them. Moving with swift and deadly precision with their rifles and finishing close combat with their blades. The carnage only [ushed them further into the complex.
The call to Varin came in the form of a pull, as if the Force itself were leading him. A vision of the top of the factory. Open air begging for his presence.
Varin drew his mace as another guard fired upon him with his rifle to no avail. The mace swung with such momentum it seemed to whistle before impacting the man's ribcage. All he could let out was a sharp pained yell before the air was driven from his lungs.
Varin’s other hand came up pointing towards another group of civilians and guards attempting to protect them.
A massive ball of flame erupted from his palm, a streaming tail followed behind it. The initial impact caused an explosion that blasted the very walls behind them and then engulfed their bodies in dark fire. It did not merely stand upon their bodies, it latched on like napalm.
The telepathic link had kept him informed of the happenings where he could not see. It fed him fear and misery. It fueled him further.
The bodies that were once screaming laid on the ground as blackened husks, then smoke arose from their corpses. Smoke that took form of these very people. The runes that had burned into his armor from his flesh flared as the smoke spectres scurried to pull themselves from Varin, but his body called them home. Back to his embrace.
The would claw among the floor, they would echo their screams. But in the end, they became one with him. Nourishing his body and empowering it with their fear.
His heart thudded as he took a deep inhale. The rage and bloodlust building within his body that traveled along the telepathic link would share his influence in battle lust.
Finally after a moment, a beastly roar ripped from his throat. The soundwaves battered another squadron of guards. Their bodies broken and the wall behind them sundered, leading further into the factory.
The blacked out helmet hid the pinch brow worn on Astra's face as she stood still, helmet turned in the direction of Empress Mercy. If it wouldn't so clearly make evident even someone like her had their limit, her hands would have been massaging her temples at that moment. First, Mercy
shouted for them to be the 'end of this planet' through the link; to paint with blood and bone a world of desolation. That her presence snapped out just as suddenly did nothing for the headache that'd already manifested. For Cruelty
then sought to fulfill the desire quite literally. An arcane spell that Astra could both appreciate in its intricacy and loathe for its madness -- an effort to literally drive the people mad with bloodlust. Worse, it was a response to the magicks of Akira Twice-Slain
and Tytos Saxon
. A tempest of power and hunger that yearned to devour them all in a single bite; to be drug down into the Abyss. And at last Varin Mortifer
contributed his dues to this waking travesty; he stoked the fires of wanton destruction in those whose minds were open to influence in telepathic chains like the one they'd joined. A touch that drew a sharp hiss from the Woman in Red before the spaceport.
Leontis Antalis
drew near and began to speak. As her helmet hid her face from view, the man had no reason to think she wasn't listening as he'd planted himself in front of her. In truth, she heard what he had said, but her lack of conversation was not a result of any sense regarding the man's demeanor. One of the staff sent themselves off to collect the man's equipment, however, as it had already been catalogued and set aside for his arrival.
Meanwhile, Astra's focus was... elsewhere. Hear me, her voice slid into the minds of those that prowled the world apart from the link Mercy and Varin plied to cajole the rest. Direct the Chosen. Find the spirit-speakers. Destroy them. Sever their link to this world and to their precious ancestors. If they are to become one of us they will see this done. Her Children would understand the imperative given to them. Astra expected the inhuman strength and agility of their reborn selves -- people of this world cursed to obey Their will -- to be put to good use... or that they would perish and relieve her of their uselessness. Astra's helmet slowly rotated upward toward the sky. Akira Twice-Slain
's contribution to this Nightmare needed to be put at an end.
Leontis Antalis
's voice then returned to the fore and her chin fell in order to meet the man's eyes. "The Tower." Of course. The ion cannon certainly would continue to operate regardless of state of the surrounding region. It would operate until either the Mandalorians destroyed it, or Abregado-rae ceased to exist. As for the state of the ships it operated against? They had their orders. Leontis' people might become irrate and how those orders didn't mesh with the General's own. No one left the planet's surface from the surrounding area -- at any cost. If they got up high enough being disabled turned them into an impact crater on their unceremonious return to the planet then so be it.
But his attention swiftly swung to the equipment a technician brought forth, which did not suit his tasted over much. "They will know your presence on the field of battle by how you sculpt it, General. Most die long before they ever have a chance to glimpse your features, and you will have that chance again someday soon." A minor inconvenience in order to live. Astra had managed to found some of her lognsuffering once more for his sake, but wasn't one to worry about trivilities when they were all-in.
"Do you require any assistance, General?" A polite askance, but one she hoped would encourage him to get on with it rather than stare at the thing as if it were a viper.
If Gel had been concerned for Tytos Saxon
before, now he was just downright worried about him. Gel could see that something was clearly wrong, for the man's eyes and talisman across his chest were starting to glow. Then he started screaming. It was a frightening sound for Gel, one that reminded him of the cries of anguish he had heard from those he knew when he was still enslaved. Whatever Tytos was going through, it couldn't have been pleasant, and Gel had decided that enough was enough: he was going to help Tytos whether he wanted it or not by taking control of the ship they were on and turning them back around so that Gel could get Tytos some form of medical attention. But before Gel could even attempt to stand up, Tytos seemingly came back to his senses, and whatever it was that had had a hold of him was gone...at least for the moment.
"Apologies. Smith, it is time.", was all that he said to Gel.
"Vod", Gel exclaimed, "I do not know what the hell you are talking about! You need rest, perhaps even medical attention! It would be wise for us to turn back", he added as he rose to meet Tytos.
If Tytos had heard Gel, he didn't show it, and instead ignored his plea, using some sort of force power to open a portal to the bridge of another's ship! All Gel could do was stand in awe of what he was seeing, his mouth agape in wonder and his eyes barely registering what was happening directly in front of him.
"Bring your tools, they will be needed. The time has come. The ancestors watch us."
"Oh, for the love of-!", Gel yelled as he scrambled to grab whatever tools he could carry with him. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with these mystic types? Just casually opening a portal to an entirely different part of time and space with no prior warning? No one thought that telling Gel about that was a good idea? Seriously, Gel would never quite understand what the thought presence behind these mystics were! Not that he had much time to dwell on it, because he could see that Tytos was looking to travel onto the bridge of Akira Twice-Slain
's ship, apparently with or without him.
"Wait! I'm coming, slow your pace!", Gel called out to Tytos as he ran up behind him. Despite his misgivings, he was prepared to follow Tytos to wherever it was that he was leading Gel too, regardless of the consequences that Gel might face when he got to their mysterious destination...
I feel it too, sestra. Her voice rampaged through their shared current link. These Mandalorians aren’t brain dead like some of them. They are plotting something.
"Command, Fett. The drop site is the source of the plague. They're feeding live captives into the biomass to expand it. Mark this grid for orbital bombardment the moment ground forces pull back."
Feydrik's eyes scanned, watching, waiting, unchallenged, unfettered, unattacked. The reports of the Sith had ceased, either his teams did not engage them, or were engaging or had been engaged. He would wait for a follow up. Scattered reports of Sith Legionnaires attacking in small pockets of fortified positions. Urban warfare experts or not, attacking an enemy's entrenched position in small teams was fool-hardy, especially with a lack of air support, indirect fire, armor, or specialized troops at all. The enemy was cut down with minimal losses to the Mandalorian's positions. The Mandalorians responded with requests and call-for-fires from their aerial dominance above-
War droids and orbital strikes made short work of the brave soldiers the Sith sent to their dooms. They did not lack ferocity or tenacity, grit or bravery. That much Feydrik became aware of. However, bravery and all the rest, when tested against Supercommandos, fell short. They were feared across the galaxy for a reason. Every great Empire tested their mettle on the Mandalorians, the Sith attempted to purge them, in fear. The Sith operated on fear. They wanted people to fear them. The Mandalorians had no such fear. They had no fear of death, of war, of battle. They were without equal and without end. Feydrik watched as the Sith Legionnaires were essentially led to damnation. An encircling, interlocked web of fire. The Sith had given them too much ground, too much time.
The factories remained untarnished, even with the advancing armor column. They would be marked for orbital bombardment.
And they paid the price when their assault was initially repelled, brutally, efficiently.
Feydrik turned to one of his Lieutenants, as he used his jetpack to come up to the rooftop where Feydrik was, still uncontested and unchallenged. Feydrik turned his head.
"Sir. The troops are in position."
Feydrik rolled two fingers under his helmet, walking towards the holographic map of the battlespace. The destruction of civilian infrastructure and civilians themselves was a brutal choice, one of the many choices you had to make in the ruthless calculus of warfare.
Reports came in that the Disruptor weapons were effective against the spores and infected, and the bio-mass that they were attempting to create. It was a shame, that the Mandalorians had been forced to enact such cruelty to prevent the spread of the plague the Sith unleashed on the planet. The victims of it would not even be able to be buried, but they would be remembered. The airborne nature of it meant that every person even near the outbreak was infected, as he understood. A shame. The Sith used the innocent as tools, as a shield. He pursed his lips and moved on- it was war, the musings could come later.
Cryo weapons were also largely effective, as well as the aerial bombardment. The Sith released the plague, the Mandalorians simply had to contain it. If the world lay in ruins to contain the plague, so be it. It was not a Mandalorian world, it was not Mandalorians suffering. Feydrik felt pity and guilt, but not much more than that.
"All of them?" He said after breaking his own train of thought.
"Yes, Alor."
Feydrik looked up at the sky once more, then his helmet shifted ever so slightly.
"Give the signal."
The Lieutenant gave a nod, and smiled under her helmet. "Yes, Alor." She exited the rooftop quickly, speeding back down to her positions.
Along the way, shouts of "NOW!" and "DO IT!" echoed across the Mandalorian lines. And across the entire battle space-
Blue flares.
They cut through the smoke, the fires, the burning pyres of ash, past the mounds of burnt-flesh and biomass that erupted from the spores. And all across the planet, even to the atmosphere with how high they went- the call came. The flares burned high in the atmosphere. A signal. A burning blue path through the fear and noise of combat.
Blue for the Mandalorians to reveal their true plan.
Feydrik watched as the Sith Legionnaires were essentially led to damnation with a frontal attack and a flanking element on an entrenched position- supported only by infantry. An encircling, interlocked web of fire. The Sith had given them too much ground, too much time. The Mandalorians stood firm.
Feydrik watched the ambush initiate across the battlespace. He smiled again.
Mando’ade draar digu.
War droids, engines, and other things he could only passively comprehend entered the field.
“COME VODE, YOU ARE CALLED! YOU ARE CHOSEN!”
He screamed, raising his arms as the true strength of the Mandalorians was revealed to the Sith.
Time had always been the friend of the Rekalis. The Tyus Cluster, the Maw, the Netherworld, the Chiloon Rift, the Aing-Tii Monks - every strange place where time ran wrong had a place in the family story.
What is the Netherworld but the hells for lost spirits?
How many Mandalorians perished in the century of conflict with the Sith? Where did they go when the Sith sacrificed them in foul rituals? Where did those who fell amid the choking influence of the Dark Side get dragged to, to spend the afterlife restless and angry?
The Netherworld.
Full of them, cursed to endless conflict on the Field of Blades.
he'd let himself become a new combination, a new syncretism, and when he died years later he'd carried implacable cold and his family's faded spirits to a stone house on the Field of Blades, there to slaughter Sith ghosts for pleasant eternities.
Stretching out his mind, He Who Walks Between could feel them now.
A host of the dead.
A host of the damned.
A host of the Manda.
And now they marshaled upon the edges of the Field and poured forth, unleashing retribution against a hundred years of suffering at Sith hands, beneath the Sith yoke, tortured and enslaved and nearly eradicated.
The presence was arrogant, brazen, but the Lord of the Sith did not disregard him. For even an arrogant fool could do much harm, to themselves, but also to those around them.
It perceived him. The Thing. And he perceived it back. A being that reeked of raw, obese egotism and putrid carnality seeking to pass itself off as more than the sum of its parts. One Who Were Two. Two Who Were One.
The path drive activated. The CGT defeating HIMS came online. The single heavily modified Kandosii-class vessel lurched.
Time warped.
Distance became a concept. An abstraction.
Two holes connected by folding the halves together.
Then the maw above Abregado-Rae spat out the ship called Pathwalker, He Who Walks at the helm.
And pouring from the maw, following in his wake, were the ghosts of conflicts past.
Spectral ships, which still seemed to leak their mortal wounds of atmosphere and debris, spilled from the Netherworld. Dead Mandalorian ships, with dead Mandalorian crews long since perished in the conflicts of the years.
***
Kade Kol-Rekali had journeyed far, for years. For decades after what Strider Garon and the rest did to Dathomir. In the far reaches of the galaxy, he had learned the art of flow-walking from the Aing-Tii. And when he went searching for answers to his heritage, he found the answers in the Netherworld itself.
And he became He Who Walks Between.
For nearly a hundred years now, Sith had been ever a bane unto the Mandalorians. Massacre after massacre. Atrocity after atrocity. Culminating in the genocide of Mandalore itself.
Others may have forgotten, too busy idling away their time enjoying drinking Sith wine at Sith banquets in Sith fortresses.
Kade named them Dar’manda.
Kade named them Oathbreakers.
Kade named them Soulless.
They would not dine in halls of glory or join the Manda in the afterlife.
Not while so many of their kindred lingered in the Netherworld, born and tied down there by the weight of the hatred which had slain them.
Oh yes.
For the foolish Sith forgot what had been built in the Field of Blades.
Forgot the souls that resided there, battling the spirits of the Dark Side.
The Spirits of Clan Rekali waging unending war from their fortress.
Kade knew he cursed himself now for what he did, for how he exposed his clan in seeking to right this ancient wrong.
“Forgive me, grandfather,” he whispered a prayer to Ember, knowing the Old Man still waited in that fortress and expecting he would look upon these actions with disapproval.
But now the hour was at hand.
One man could not control this many ghosts. And Kade did not. He did not summon them. Did not control them. Held no real power over them. Their vessels would perish beneath energy weapons like any other. Their ghostly warriors could be cut apart by Sith sorcery and alchemized weapons.
He only pointed toward the Way.
The Way the Sith had made Open.
Kade Kol-Rekali, He Who Walks Between, led a score of Mandalorian cruisers and frigates - these spiritships - from the jaws of hell and they charged directly toward the greatest ship in sight: the Tyranny.
Careena's host from Hoylin exited hyperspace at the appointed time, a fleet of daggers poised at the enemy. While not as grand as the main fleet, they still had a considerable advantage blindsiding the enemy.
The Alor of Clan Fett gestured with one hand towards the Whispering Matron currently locked in battle with the Kar'ta Kelborn, approaching the Matron at an angle from the rear. She stood aboard the bridge of the Iron Fang with the captain next to her, helmet tucked under her other arm. She turned to look at him, <"Do not let them run."> she said sternly.
The captain nodded <"Yes my Alor!"> before barking his order to the rest of the crew. <"All batteries open fire on their engines.">
Turrets rotated to take aim at the rear of Rauaki's ship, before opening fire. They came at an opportune time, catching them while their power wasn't being fully diverted to their defensive systems. They had overcommitted themselves in favor of going on the offensive and left themselves vulnerable. Careena's fleet fanned out to engage the enemy's fleet whilst simultaneously bolstering the Iron Covenant's numbers.
<"Hail the Kar'ta Kelborn.">
<"The channel is open my Alor.">
A holographic image of Careena would appear before Zavar as the matriarch addressed the younger alor, <"Alor Kelborn, this is Alor Fett - We have come to honor our promise and join you in the fray.">
Careena's vessel surged forward to aid the Kar'ta Kelborn, turbolasers continuing to hammer the Whispering Matron's engines and strain their defensive systems in an attempt to split the enemy's focus. The matriarch lifted her helmet above her head before sliding it on, making sure it was snug, her scarred visage giving her comrade a nod.
<"Let us remind the Sith of what it means to bleed.">
She raised a hand to beat her chestplate, fist rapping against the bloodied hand print on its surface, before she switched her communications to link to the helmets of all the other Mandalorians that arrived with her, <"Brothers and sisters - Prepare for battle!"> A wave of warcries and shouts reverberated through the decks of the ships, the simple statement setting their hearts ablaze with vigor and anticipation for battle.
The Hammer-Hand’s gaze had fallen upon the tactical readouts of the unfolding situation on Abregado-Rae. The Devil Dog’s defensive action had yielded much by way of intel, including the presence of a Super Star Destroyer from the Sith Covenant, and a large host of ships in support. A formidable fleet to be sure, yet Kjartan doubted that they grasped the storm that was about to descend upon them.
Humbarine was but a portion of the strength the Mythos Fleet could marshall - a hasty action to rescue those caught in a failed infiltration mission. They probably assumed that the Iron Covenant was a rag-tag band of extremists, launching a campaign of dash and haste for fear of attritional losses. Yet they would soon realize that the Iron Covenant did not need to hold territory - they simply needed to take resources. Their massive ships were not just titans of firepower, but mineral processing facilities, warforges, munitions factories. The Mythos Fleet was built and bred for a singular purpose...
To fight a war that the Sith did not expect, and did not immediately hold an upper hand on.
For millennia, the practitioners of the Dark and Light sides of the force possessed an advantage that few among the Mando’ade could claim for themselves. The Force was a great boon that carried with it both fear and dread among the warriors of the Creed; whether they admitted to it or not. But in space, amidst the warships of the stars - turbolaser fire cared not if you wielded a lightsaber. T’was a merciless fact that in and of itself stood the test of time, down to today.
For today, the Sith would know fear.
Today, the Sith would burn.
Judgement had come.
The Voidbrand turned to his bridge crew, meeting their gaze one and all as the hour drew forth. He keyed his comm unit, connecting to the ship-wide band, which was then broadcast across the Armada. “Vode...” His voice was firm, as though reinforced with the iron resolve of a Commander of a hundred battles. “Today is the day we avenge our fallen brothers on Humbarine. They mock us; sacrifice thousands on Abregado-Rae at this very moment to instill fear in those who rally to our cause.”
His voice began rising in strength with his statement, his gaze shifting again between each of those present before him - as though he were simply addressing a dozen, even though he was truly heard by many more. “We were tested on Humbarine, and were found wanting. Our resolve was shaken, yet it endured. WE RISE AGAIN! NOW WE FIGHT! NOW, WE SHALL LET THE STEEL-SONG OF OUR WEAPONS DEAFEN THE EARS OF OUR ENEMIES AS WE CAST THEM INTO THE FLAMES OF HARAN.”
Nearly all aboard the bridge cheered at the Warlord’s words, echoed by multiple thousands upon thousands of voices throughout the host. Kjartan’s gaze shifted outward through the viewport of his flagship, at the hundreds of vessels aligned in formation. In the not so distant past, he would have avoided such a force like the plague - a scruffy-looking nerf-herder who made his bones preying upon poorly defended hyperlanes and frontier outposts of the Empire. His lips creased into a smirk, revealing a row of teeth both natural and gold-enameled. He was no mere brigand anymore, but rather a respected Alor among his people. Yet even still...
It dwarfed the modest fleet of the Mandalorians several times over. Taking initiative, the comms officer broadcasted the enemy fleet’s arrival to the other ship as well as any friendly channels.
At first, scattered signatures would appear upon the sensor readouts of those ships in position to detect them throughout the battlespace of Abregado-Rae.
Three... Five... Eight... Twenty...
The signatures kept multiplying, rising to a number likely beyond the expectations of those present. Soon, Hundreds of signatures turned into very real ships of varying size as they all emerged from lightspeed in three distinct, tight formations. It was no mere flotilla, squadron or fleet - but an Armada of truly outstanding proportions, closing the proverbial gate upon the trap so carefully laid by the Iron Covenant.
The Mythos Fleet had arrived.
While not the full balance of the Iron Covenant’s navy was present, one could be forgiven for believing so. The holo-terminal of each ship, as well as any Iron Covenant display tuned into the secure frequency, would see the image of Kjartan Hammer-Hand sat upon his command chair, adorned in his full kit. His distinctive runic beskar’gam dominated the visage, with his horned helmet set upon a perch to the side, and his hammers secured upon his lap within their straps. His hands were clasped together in front of his chin, giving him the full appearance of a chieftain of old sizing up the battlespace in a matter of moments.
”Make sure whatever info they get is passed on immediately. The more we know of this, the better.” Yuri stepped back to the holotable as he spoke, smoke pouring from his nostrils.
In truth, the defense fleet had linked their tactical readouts to the Armada - streamlining the process of acquiring target acquisitions and firing solutions from a matter of minutes, to that of moments. Tactical officers throughout the fleet all pinged their confirmations to the Buurenaar’gam, all in time for the full effect of the order to be given - a single word spoken by the Voidbrand that would unleash the storms of wrath upon the Sith Covenant fleet.
“FIRE!”
*****
A veritable wall of superheated plasma, mass-driver munitions, and guided ordnance surged through the void between the Mythos Fleet and the Sith Covenant forces - so much so that even a truly gargantuan ship would be hard pressed to weather it unaffected. Yet after the first volley flew, the warships of the Iron Covenant did not remain in place to rest upon their celebrated wakes. The Hammer-Hand’s voice echoed through his command bridge. “Surround the enemy fleet and press in - deny them freedom of movement. Launch our fighter screen - secure a path to the surface.”
An angry swarm of fighters began coiling amidst the three battlegroups, before surging through the void to engage within the moshpit of a battle already taking place in orbit over the planet - scores of daggers driving themselves deep into the enemy formation. A vigor filled the actions of each pilot, each weapons tech, each warrior within the fleet as they pressed their advantage.
The Hammer-stroke was nigh.
The massive armada of Mandalorian warships has arrived, and fired an opening salvo into the Sith Covenant Fleet upon entry via telemetry data shared by the defense fleet.
The Mythos Fleet, arrayed in three large battlegroups, have spread out to try and hem the Sith Covenant force into a trap.
An opening swarm of fighters has launched in a fighter screen against the Sith Covenant host to reinforce the defenders.
"Indeed it does alor, and shall I fall this day I'll fall like my father before me, fighting to the end and taking sith with me." korar said. His father was on fangol a few years ago, killed by a sith that he took out with him.
As BrazeBraze
coughed from the drink korar let out a deep rumble of a laugh, taking the flask from him korar almost drank the entire thing before forgetting he should probably share, if the little guy can handle more. "It is, then again when is it not. Also good choice in drink."
"There's something comforting about an enemy who never disappoints your expectations, ey Alor?" Braze asked looking up at Romul before offering him a sip of the flask next. "Let them gather, let them sprawl~ When the storm breaks, none withdraw~"
Romul laughed heartily, accepting the flask and draining its contents in one swig, then discarding it on the floor. "You're more Mandalorian than I thought," he rumbled, patting the slender Braze on the shoulder with enough careless force that it might leave a dent in the beskar. "Today will be a day to be remembered in the sagas."
In the short time span that they'd spent sharing the flask of tihaar, Gallius had returned. "Our cryoban stores have been retrieved, Alor," he reported, handing Saxon a light repeating blaster. Romul felt the weapon, noticing that it was considerably lighter than a blaster. The memory of watching Sikayha commandos training with these prototypes decades ago on the snow-covered peaks of Kestri washed over him as he held the weapon. Winter had shaped the Kestran Mandalorians.
They cut through the smoke, the fires, the burning pyres of ash, past the mounds of burnt-flesh and biomass that erupted from the spores. And all across the planet, even to the atmosphere with how high they went- the call came. The flares burned high in the atmosphere. A signal. A burning blue path through the fear and noise of combat.
Blue for the Mandalorians to reveal their true plan.
Suddenly, klaxons blared. "The flares!" He could hear a commando shouting in the crowd. The hangar, once filled mainly with the noise of moving vehicles and personnel, now exploded with a frenzy of tension. Mandalorians began to rush to their transports. The Gados were being marshalled by their own chiefs; civilian leaders, though in wartime they had assumed the command. A fight for survival turns every being a soldier, and the Gados certainly were no different.
"Ready your men, Gallius," Romul rumbled in return as he stowed the weapon at his side, hefting his warhammer once more. He turned to Murrak and Braze. "Watch over each other," he commanded them. "You are battle brothers now. There is no closer kin." He lifted his warhammer so that it would rest on his shoulder. "Vode," he bade them farewell. With a swirl of his cloak, Romul advanced towards the head of the hangar where the Gados were assembled. He would not sit behind their charge, nor would his Mandalorians. Shoulder to shoulder they would stand against the Sith calamity.
Across the safeport, the canopy was ripped open, revealing the massive scar below. The collective exhaust of the Saxon fleet's thrusters kicked up dust and smoke so high that it began to climb in a billowing plume as if it were a volcanic eruption. From the outside, nothing but the smoke would be observed, until through the ashes came the full might of the Saxon warfleet. Five Ha'rangir-class Star Destroyers with the Gra'tua Dral at the fore, flanked on all sides by the fleet's two strike carriers and five heavy assault cruisers. Quickly they ascended, no more than the upper edges of the troposphere, maintaining an altitude of around ten kilometers. Defenses ready, the hangar bay doors of the starships opened to the bright blue skies of Abregado-Rae, though they were polluted in the distance by the Sith's assault.
In the opposite direction, the escort frigates and corvettes launched, playing the role of transports, evacuating the civilian populations rounded up before the spread of the contagion. The Akior led them, using its advanced sensor countermeasures and stealth systems to obscure the movement of the evacuation fleet, making for the far side of the planet before daring to rise above the atmosphere. The Sith fleet had entangled itself with Maji's, Romul knew, and the Mythos Fleet's arrival would spell their doom. By all accounts, the Mandalorian gamble would succeed. Once Abregado-Rae was cleansed of this infection of Sith, then it would be resettled and rebeautified. Romul would personally see to it; his honor demanded it.
The Lord of the Sith showed them images, confirming their worst fears, of Mandalorian armor and Mandalorian arms... killing them all. Their brothers and sisters. Their family on the surface. He fed them the worst instincts the Iron Covenant felt in these moments and set their passions aflame.
Romul could not know it; he likely couldn't guess why, all of a sudden, the Gados had become so agitated. Their chittering and restlessness had multiplied tenfold, and Romul could sense the tension; old warrior's instinct. In reality, they had all collectively -- though every individual did not know it was collective -- experienced a flash that seemed like a nightmare. The destruction of their home, Mandalorians murdering them, their loved ones. The Gado people were characterized by their amenability, their willingness to overlook, to please, to cooperate. Against this vision, their fear of the Mandalorians arbitrarily betraying them at their worst hour struck fear into their hearts.
They feared because their world burned at the Sith's hands. They feared because of the nightmare shown them by the manipulations of the same sorcery. And they feared that now, they weren't warriors, and they were surrounded by Mandalorians that would massacre them at the slightest touch.
The Old Boar turned. "What is the matter?" He demanded. He did not, could not know what was happening in their mind. And most of the Gado did not understand it as well. But their chief spoke anyway.
"Our people are being slaughtered. Have you hidden us away, only to die as well?" The chieftain rasped.
Romul turned further, taking a step forward. The Gado chieftain instinctively stepped back. Romul could see fear, palpable, plastered across their furred, alien face. He stopped, perplexed, then remembered that these beings were not battle-hardened Mandalorians. The fight for their people and planet awaited them, and they had not yet conquered their fear. The same fear the Sith hoped to exploit, as they always did.
"I am ferrying away your children, your people who cannot fight," Romul rumbled. He took another step towards the chieftain. "I have armed you with all the weapons I have." A step more. "Mandalorians are dying and will die to fight the Sith massacring your world." He stopped, face to face with the chieftain. Their eyes locked. Then Romul put his hand on the Gado's shoulder; a gesture of friendship, camaraderie, trust. "I will die for you." The Alor of Clan Saxon promised solemnly. "The Sith ruined my home. I will not let them ruin yours."
The chieftain breathed heavily, visibly swallowed, and straightened. Steel had crept into the once-timid creature. "Then we will fight alongside you." The Gados, emboldened by the courage of their leader, began to chitter; not out of anxiety or fear, but out of determination. Overhead, a lumbering droid flew down to settle beside Romul; a basilisk wardroid, tusked like the boars of Clan Saxon's signet. Tusk, Yuri Maji
had named it when the warrior and engineer had presented the droid as a gift to Romul. The droid-beast rumbled animalistically, attempting to nuzzle its head against Romul. He was pushed awkwardly by it and, in return, rubbed its left tusk. Maji had overtuned the droid's personality matrix, he suspected.
"Then LET US FIGHT!" Romul replied, raising his hammer with his other hand, and the Gados and Mandalorians roared with him as one. Courage, as it turned out, was not the absence of fear. Fear was natural. It was what one did despite their fear that made true courage.
Through the cloud and smoke they came. Their warships hovered over the city, above the plumes of smoke, so that to the attackers below the Mandalorian presence was unnoticed, but perhaps to the most attuned to the Force, or watchful sensor systems. With the chaos that had gripped the surface below, it was highly unlikely.
Then they descended, like avenging angels through the gates of hell. Dropships and basilisk droids, Mandalorians and Gados, and at the forefront of them all.
ROMUL SAXON. THE OLD BOAR.
The Iron Covenant arrived with the fury of the storm, slamming into the mob of parasitic reavers and Sith troopers in a barrage of heavy ordnance and blaster fire. A reaver shrieked as Tusk landed on the monster, goring it and ripping it apart before letting out a scream of heavy laser cannon and particle cannon fire. Romul leapt from his mount as it landed, brandishing his hammer. In front of him stood a Sith, red lightsaber ignited. The Old Boar pointed his hammer straight at the Sith. "A trophy for the horde! LET'S SEE HOW THE SITH BLEED!" Romul roared maniacally as Mandalorians in dropships and basilisks, the Gados brave against a power well out of their range, landed behind and began adding to the carnage.
His eyes widened slightly as he realized Rekali's plan. Arcane arts beyond what the Shaman had dreamed possible? The Manda being summoned in such a way. . . fate really had concentrated over Abregado-Rae. "I will be listening, vod." Tytos promised. He could feel the weight of a million damned spirits on the other side of the oh-so-thin veil.
The netherportal over Dathomir loomed before the ship. Then Rekali gave the command, and the ship lurched into its impossible path through hyperspace.
A maw, a rift opened over Abregado-Rae. Tytos did not have time to watch it. He would be listening.
"Come, Smith," He beckoned as Akira Twice-Slain
entered through the portal. "Our own destiny awaits." Tytos closed his eyes and felt into the web, along the cosmic ley lines. The Manda whispered in his mind. The Manda was the Force; the Force was the Manda. He opened his eyes, tinged with green. He knew where he must go. Another rift opened, beckoning them into its maw, where on the other side there waited. . .
Soot rained down from the skies; massive dark clouds of ash sparked by the firestorms raging through the urban core of Abregado-Rae. Screams punctuated the blaze, but the pitch of battle had decidedly shifted. Tytos looked up overhead to see the lights of thousands of ships and vessels descending through the dark. He closed his eyes, reaching out.
Vode.
He turned back towards where he had been summoned, what he had only caught a glimpse of in his visions. The Force churned here, concentrating, dark, sickened, as if the eye of a hurricane. The center of the plague, of the Sith's dark hold on Abregado-Rae -- dark, but tenuous -- was here. "Stay close, Karn," Tytos ordered, raising his hands as arcane mist began to spool at his fingertips. The amulet hanging around his neck began to glow, a faint green.
Braze smiled at those words before the taller man's pat sent him stumbling a few steps forwards from the force. Thankfully, he didn't fall flat on his face as he caught his balance again. He'd become used to the rough physical 'affection' from spending time with other Mandalorians.
The little snowy haired Echani snapped his helmet into place, and the chaotic world narrowed beneath the wash of his HUD. Friendly markers populated one after another. Various checks flashed green, and his CryoBan reserves registered as ready and full.
Then the hidden safeport splayed open to the sky above as the long-anticipated moment finally arrived, its concealed mechanisms unlocking in a deliberate, cascading sequence, with each layer of buried architecture answering the next in a resonant, grinding harmony of machinery. Panels and reinforced seals retracted in slow, unfolding motion like the shields of some colossal, dormant construct awakening after centuries of silence, revealing the vast expanse overhead as though the world itself had been peeled back to admit destiny. The air shifted at once with the sudden exposure, wind and light rushing into the newly opened aperture in a single, unbroken surge, and the boundary between concealment and the heavens above was at last broken.
Braze stared upwards, marveling in awe at the sight of it all for but half a moment as rays of golden daylight poured into what had moments before been their concealed little corner. Warships rose through smoke and dust, with engines thundering hard enough to rattle through the soles of his boots and shake his bones. All around him, Mandalorians surged towards their transports while the Gados rallied beside them.
A small, devious little grin graced his delicate features beneath the helmet in response to Romul's encouragement, a heady rush of exhilaration welled within the pit of his chest, leaving him almost electric with anticipation, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Well…"
His gaze shifted towards the towering figure of Korar Murrak
.
"Guess we're related now~"
Braze drew the Chill Out rifle onto his shoulder, pulling the strap taut before he moved to climb up the towering yet imposing fellow. Latching onto the massive slabs of the large lad's armored figure, he scaled upwards, treating his armored frame like that of a sheer mountainside.
"Come on, big brother.... It's about time the Stormborn went to war~"
They would be boarding one of the dropships with enough room allotted for Korar and Kovita before securing themselves for departure. The moment the transport cleared the Gra'tua Dral, the violence below unfolded across his HUD in layers of tactical markers, distress signals, friendly positions, and burning sections of Abregado-Rae...
The petite princeling reached overhead catching a restraint as the transport banked away from the larger formation, and the factory district rolled into view beneath them.
Smoke boiled between industrial towers as warning lights strobed through the blurry haze, while the flash of scattered weapons fire winked between the industrial structures below. Reports from the district crawled rapidly across one side of his visor: Sith forces were pushing deeper into the complex...
Beyond the reports and machinery, and even beyond the alarms and all the confusion of hundreds of lives pressed against his senses, there was something else.... Something darker in the distance. It was familiar... so much so that he found the sensation almost amusing as he recognized the familiar weight of a known set of Force signatures settling behind his eyes.
His helmet turned towards one particular breached structure and marked the life signatures ahead.
"Found them." He relayed to his partner Korar Murrak
through their linked encrypted comms.
As the dropship swept lower, a gremlin-kin grin returned beneath the helmet.
"Let's go introduce ourselves."
As the dropship cut its final approach and the ramp began to lower, it became clear that Kovita had no intention of waiting for permission. The moment the transport touched down near the factory perimeter, Braze was carried along, perched on Korar Murrak
's shoulder as Kovita surged forward with brutal momentum, driving straight through the nearest wall as if it were built of nothing more than rice paper and brittle twigs.
The impact echoed outward in a concussive blast, large chunks of debris scattering in a widening bloom as the breach opened their path into the complex, heralding their entry with a thunderous arrival.
An eerie silence followed the deafening crash of their impact, the sound collapsing into a hollow aftershock that rolled through the air like a dying sigh of release. It came accompanied by an unsettling sensation, as though the very air pressure around them had shifted... subtly at first, then with a growing, oppressive weight that pressed against the senses. Across the factory district, that unnatural stillness began to spread as the constant mechanical churn of industry faltered, stuttering into a slowing, creaking halt before it died outright.
Flames that had been roaring moments before guttered low as though the very air itself was being stripped away, heat bleeding from them in an instant as their violent orange brilliance dimmed into sickly, hesitant embers. Oxygen thinned and vanished in invisible waves, starving combustion until it could no longer sustain itself, while what little warmth remained was pulled from the environment as though siphoned away by an unseen hand. Metal chilled, as breath caught sharply in throats, and one by one the crackling embers collapsed entirely, snuffed out by the sudden, suffocating absence of the very elements that had allowed them to burn.
A frigid wind rolled through the structures, sending forth a whispering wail between the metal ribs of the buildings as though some unseen force dragged the immense weight of its presence through the hollowed corridors below. It hadn't behaved like a natural gust in the slightest, for the creeping sweep of that snowy shroud moved with murderous intent, leaving temperatures to plummet in its wake as crystals of frost began to creep along exposed metal and cracked stone. The pressure in the atmosphere shifted with it, the weight of something terrifyingly vast seeming to press inward from all directions at once.
And beneath it all, Braze reached outward through the Force, siphoning the raw, unfiltered energy of the battlefield before them and pulling from its breadth: engines straining, machinery grinding towards a halt, burning fuel, the crackle of fire and electrical arcs... drawing it all inward and converting the ambient power of the war itself into a tightly controlled current that coiled within his core. Every tremor of engines, every distant scream of metal, every last flicker of searing flame was gathered and held fast before the lightning could fall.
The Force answered his will as a merciless hymn that rang through the very marrow of his bones.
Cryokinesis readily bled outward through his presence, twisting the air itself beneath a tightening spiral of fierce control as the blanketing presence of frosty wind passed through the factory, claiming dominion. Heat, motion, energy… all of it was drawn inward through invisible currents as though the world itself had begun to bend directly into him. The dying fires were consumed in total; their remaining heat, their residual energy, their last desperate flickers of combustion drawn into Braze's field to be absorbed, converted, and repurposed as the glacial cold deepened in equal measure, plunging the surrounding complex into a state of near-cryogenic severity.
The Sith had already committed themselves to the battle before the terrible truth revealed itself: what they had fought thus far had never been the full measure of the Iron Covenant. Now that hidden weight descended upon them in force.
Beside him came Korar Murrak
, a towering mass of armor, weaponry, and brute strength accompanied by Kovita, while behind them came the greater violence of the Stormborn host. For all the sheer difference in their stature, there was something almost more unsettling about the smaller figure perched amongst them.
Braze had arrived with a storm of vengeance at his back; And now, somewhere beyond the frost and smoke, that storm had found Varin Mortifer
and Naamino Zuukamano
.
"So this is what passes for terrifying Sith these days~?"
It was for Gel to describe all of the sensations he was feeling at the present moment.
One minute, he had been aboard a ship with the enigmatic Tytos Saxon
, drifting throughout the cold and unforgiving void of space. The next thing he knew, he was suddenly on Abregado-Rae with Tytos, standing underneath the full might of the Mythos Fleet. It was an inspiring sight, and despite the desperateness of their situation, Gel couldn't help but feel heartened by the though of so many Mandalorian brothers and sisters working together to defeat their common foe: the Sith!
Yet the reality of the situation was still clear, and Gel was in quite a large amount of danger.
"Stay close, Karn, Tytos ordered Gel, though Gel wouldn't have gone anywhere without Tytos even if he hadn't said anything to him.
"You don't need to tell me twice", Gel replied as he readied himself for the impending battle. In his right hand, he grabbed Akalenedat, and on his left arm his Variable Plasma Shield Gauntlet activated to its middle setting, not overly large nor overly small. His Mandalorian Lanvarok was fully loaded and ready to fire at the first sign of trouble, and Gel could feel the weight of his tools from the Bandolier strapped across his chest. He flicked down the Macrobinoculars attached to his Recon Helmet so that he could begin feeding information to Tytos and the Mandalorian battle net at large, though he wasn't entirely sure what Tytos would do with such information. In fact, he couldn't tell exactly what Tytos was doing at all, though he did notice that some sort of green mist was starting to leak from Tytos's fingers, wisping away into the atmosphere of the planet they were on.
"Tell me Vod, how can I best assist you? I am...unfamiliar with your arcane arts, but I will do my best to support you in any way that I can. Where shall I start?", Gel asked of Tytos as the expectation of violence gripped at his heart. It was only a matter of time before the Sith responded in kind, and Gel was more than ready to start smashing heads in with his hammer...
As Braze
put his helmet on, Korar did the same, the slits in the helmet letting his tusks fit perfectly. His display turned on, showing the basics of everything going on, the important stuff.
The final preparation was to place his cryo-band rifle and slugthrower minigun on Kovita's saddle. Strapping them in firmly, Korar gave them a few tugs to make sure they wouldn't come off when they dropped. He opened and closed his right prosthetic hand, moving it at the elbow and shoulder to make sure it was loose and ready. He also made sure his hammer was secured on his back, as well as his pistol in the holster at his hip.
Korar squinted a bit when the light came pouring in through the bay doors. It was beautiful in a way, all the ships rising into the air, full of Mandalorians and Gados. All heading to one place for one purpose: combat. Who knew how many would fall in combat, giving their lives for one shared cause? How many would be honored in death? How many would take Sith with them? How many would come home and tell stories of their victories, brutal victories?
Then the little Jetii was suddenly climbing up his fur cloak and armor. Korar didn't even notice the weight, only realizing Braze was there when he said something.
"Guess we are, aren't we? From here on, you're my vod, and I'm yours. I'm glad to call you so. Let us bring haran to the Sith together," Korar said with a large smile beneath his mask.
Climbing onto Kovita's saddle, he gave her a small pat on the head…well, small to him. To her, it was a heavy pat, but she gave a low rumble of happiness.
The battle was well underway below them: smoke, plasma, fire, and blaster bolts everywhere. It was almost hard to decide where they wanted to drop, though really, anywhere would work. That was until two Sith were highlighted on his HUD in a nearby factory. He turned his head at the same time as Braze did.
"Let's make a good first impression, shall we, vod?" he said, looking up at the small Jetii on his shoulder.
Below him, Kovita was antsy, her front paws lifting and dropping again and again. Korar knew what would happen the moment the ramp lowered. She was as ready as he was, if not more.
Korar leaned forward slightly just before the ramp opened, holding onto the reins with force. Once it did, Kovita took off like a slug being shot off. The nearby wall didn't slow her down; her four tusks smashed into it first, followed by her armored head and body. The sudden crash made the few civilians inside scream. Some ran the other way, though most rushed past them and through the new hole once they saw the Mandalorian atop the armored beast.
What was it that forged his path? Fate? Determination? Or, was it all some big coincidence? Despite it all, he was a ruler. Though he was reluctant to accept such a title for his failures, so many still held faith that he was the one to lead a people out of the darkness. Out from stagnation. If he didn't at least aid in such, who will? Faith was a scarce resource amongst Mandalorian, for their will had been tried and tested and wearied through the eons. Others squandered it. He refused to.
For that faith fueled him, as well. He believed that his people would understand their wants and wishes better than he ever could- despite his winding knowledge of their culture. It was for that reason his weapon swung with such tempered ease. It was why, despite his fervor, he was never truly consumed by it. It was just that- fuel.
For if he was believed to be Mandalore by some yet still, he would not allow that belief to die until his last breath. Not like this. How ironic, to be slated against those who ruled the opposing end of such vile machinations.
“I forget it's not your ilk's way to really think of anything beyond their next place to terrorize.” The irony was palpable with such a statement. Even so, he was convicted in his beliefs. “Still, I beg to differ. All I see now is another parasite among many, hopelessly grasping for satiation that will never come. I can only lament for what was squandered, and put what remains out of its rabid misery.”
Trained movements met sustained ones. Despite all the talking, the long-spoken monologue that ignored his compatriote’s requests, the Crusader seemed quite adept at weaving it amidst his blows without so much as being winded. As Mercy parried away the weapon’s initial strike, a beskar-woven gauntlet rose to block the slap with the back of the hand—and with a resounding cry of metal against metal, he was sent skidding aback. ‘Hff-’ Came a harsh grunt through gritted teeth from the, miraculously, still standing Crusader. Dust trailed as feet dragged across the ground, and a foot placed backwards to halt his slide. The arm beneath ached, that much was for certain. Armor was all he had to be able to withstand against the brutal onslaught the other could no doubt unleash.
His footing adjusted, as the woman attempted to seize one of the hounds for herself. They were more well-trained than they seemed, thankfully- he would have to inquire Haran about such later. For a moment, he paced.
“Intent on taking as much as they can before they depart, for the sake of wishing to take.”
Was the assertion as his wrist-shot fired just in tune. In the way the Sith stepped, and so the heavy blaster bolt met a different mark- but one all the same. The bark across earned almost a touch of amusement. If only this was not a being so wretched, it would’ve been humorous. “Is this not the battle you wished?” Came a coy remark in turn, head tilting ever-so-slightly. “You should enjoy any sort of battle while it lasts, Sith. I thought that was what you all took pride in?”
With that, he had motioned forwards once again with a hasten of motion unbefitting the armored frame. Another lance forwards- aiming high towards the left shoulder initially in his motion. Yet, t’was feinted immediately upon encroaching, and footwork saw himself instead redirect his momentum in a weave-
Wheezing, the Arkanian activated his jetpack and roared passed the dueling Carduul and Behemoth, unclipping a grenade from his belt as he did and tossing it to his Alor, into the null field projected by the two reptomonsters. The Glop grenade could immobilize the oversized sithspawn so Carduul could finish it off with a proper chop.
-To wordlessly catch a grenade that had been tossed to him in that same motion. In so doing, he had attempted to stick it directly against the armor- perhaps whatever retaliating limb was closest. Immediately it was clicked-reeet’d into priming, so that the resulting detonation would leave the Sith rendered hampered from such. Failing that, a sudden press of motion backwards had seen him closely attempt to toss it directly at Mercy’s feet, where it would implode similarly if not halted.
“For I could ask the same thing. Every time I fight your ilk, it’s some freakshow that has to be cleaned up rather than the conquests of yore once lived by your ancestors. There's hardly much drive beyond the most base and plain of desires.”
“We were tested on Humbarine, and were found wanting. Our resolve was shaken, yet it endured. WE RISE AGAIN! NOW WE FIGHT! NOW, WE SHALL LET THE STEEL-SONG OF OUR WEAPONS DEAFEN THE EARS OF OUR ENEMIES AS WE CAST THEM INTO THE FLAMES OF HARAN.”
"A trophy for the horde! LET'S SEE HOW THE SITH BLEED!" Romul roared maniacally as Mandalorians in dropships and basilisks, the Gados brave against a power well out of their range, landed behind and began adding to the carnage.
With the heavy thooms of a panoply of ships entering orbit overhead, and that battle far above in the stars intensifying as payload rained elsewhere below, there had been a harsh breath exhaled. Not far from here, stormtrooper and cultist formations were being disrupted by incoming air support, and more rained down upon the wretched droves turned by the plague. The calls, the rallying cries that blared across the Mandalorians' helmets- it was all...heartening. Even if it all was for naught, he would relish this moment. And thus, his assault would continue as the earlier question was now given its answer. The Crusader’s weapon braced once again, and in a graceful step of distance, it was again swung directly towards the left arm’s elbow with the spiked end. Though his blows may not pierce the armor, if he could just injure them beyond their regeneration's rate...perhaps?
“...I must accept how many must bleed. I will mourn for them, for they will not be able to rejoice in your destruction.”
Location: Spaceport, Abregado-Rae
Objective: Mandalorian Beatdown, Compromise Spaceport
Allies: Xan Atropus
Opposition: Vara Maji
Engaging: Fenn Stag
Too much mayhem, too much chaos for Veyla to consciously process everything that happened around her.
First came the fire, then an explosion, and now the Smog was overwhelming, clouding her vision even as it tried to bring her clarity.
She leapt back, away from the flame and the chaos, and she lashed out; first with a shriek, and then with a clumsy, grasping power that reached out for everything metal within her sight. Armor plates and combat knives quivered, then ripped themselves from the corpses of their previous owners. Rivets in the walls and floor shook and flew towards the acolyte, stripped of their threading by the sheering force of their exit. The floor and walls themselves gave and buckled just a bit under the crushing pull of Veyla's will.
Now she was draped in a cloak of scrap metal and jagged blades, armor and weapon all in one. It was a technique she'd first picked up in what passed for training at the Academy on Thrantin, and she liked it. It didn't need much patience, much precision with the Force...just a hell of a lot of willpower to keep the metal field coherent, and she had willpower in spades.
Fenn drew the Beskad's blade across his armored vambrace, a light spark, but to test the blade's sharpness. A light cut in his Beskar showed him that it was still sharp, and the action even sharpened the blade somewhat. He sneered beneath his helmet. He wanted that Sith's heart.
Lazily, she aimed her shattergun at the bloodthirsty Mandalorian, and took a shot; the Smog cloaked his most vulnerable points in oily darkness, but she wasn't aiming to kill, or even wound.
No, she just wanted his attention.
"Hey."
Her voice came out modulated, slightly metallic, from behind her respirator.
"Gonna crack you open like a bilge-lobster, 'kay?"
There was something animal in her voice, halfway to a snarl.
Theme: I'm Noboby TAGS: JUST CALL MY NAME AND I WILL ARRIVE!
"I'm the Demon inside Tamsin Graves; I made her from own flesh. You ask who I am, who is the demon? I will tell you this I was born on a world of no consequence until it was. A world that would matter until it didn't. A moment in time a brief whisper in time forgotten long ago. A world divided by clans and gang wars for dominance. A world that fought the galactic conflict on a planetary scale. A world torn between empires and republics. and absolute freedom.
I saw it as a child the truth vs the lie. We tell ourselves we fight for truth, justice, and the way. The way, being the vision we all see through our own thoughts. All that is true is whatever truth we tell ourselves and is different from person to person no one knowns the truth and never will. Justice is the same as vengeance and revenge, even an innocent can be hanged for the crime you committed. The way is doesn't work for everyone, your vision is not my own.
As a child I saw my truth and your truth. I saw it was broken and fractured. That you and I would never see eye to eye. I saw that your perception would never see the same as I saw it. Broken, unfixable, and with no compromise. This is why I grew to hate and despise you; I grew to see you as unchangeable, unwilling, and unbreakable.
You were the cause of the hate that grew in me as a slave child that new not her parents or lineage. I hate you all for empires, republics, and ideals of freedom. You all didn't see what I saw, a cycle unbroken, a never-ending loop. One that keeps us entertain by truth, justice and vision. It's all a lie and your gods all told you, but you didn't listen.
There is only one way forward, it is not the easy path. I cannot tell you it but except in my own words, my own truth. So here it is, I saw the cruelness we all brought upon each other. the unwillingness to see that the way could be different. Through this I found there was only one wait out. One where you sacrifice what is, what you are, and what you could make. Accept there is no truth, Justice is a lie, and the vision is clouded. A total destruction of existence and self.
An ideal that destruction of everything so that all can rebuild itself better without the influence of the tainted past. A new cycle instead of a broken one. There is no guarantee it will be better than the last cycle but there is a chance they will do something we never could.
Accept I am nobody a moment in time, same as you. Let go of your legacy, heroism, and fantasy. Realize we all fade, let go and accept the end. It comes, that end to us all. Just accept nothing you did mattered and changed nothing. Accept your destruction and the destruction of everything. We are all nobody at the end of that one moment.
I may be that demon in Tasmin Starfall, but I once lived like you. I saw it for what it is was. I saw it all needed to end. When it comes, in that moment where you see it is hopeless like I did. Call to me, I will come to your salvation and complete destruction. Scream my name and I will arrive not an angel of mercy but a being of your annihilation. Tamsin is now the vessel of my destruction, the end that we must all accept. Together we can make something greater through our destruction. "
"CALL MY NAME!!!I WILL BE YOUR DEMON OF SALVATION AND YOUR GOD OF DESTRUCTION. "
(OOC: This just my Statement that I am back from LOA to call me out if you want a fight)
