Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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Invasion Double Tap | TSC Invasion of COV-held Abregado-rae
- Thread starter Mercy
- Start date
Darth X'aviera
Revna knew that war was chaos, and it only invited more chaos. As a Sith, she thrived in that turmoil. She was able to take and manipulate the energy that moved all around them, and utilize it for her own purposes and gain.
But she couldn’t control when forces outside her direct influence spiraled out of control.
Everything was going relatively well, at least she thought it was, until it decidedly was not. In the blink of an eye, the so called Mandalorians seemed to spring a trap that had been laid for the Sith. Even as the little Sith woman blocked and redirected plasma bolts fired her way, she watched the skies above her head split open as a battle truly began to wage in orbit above the besieged planet. Worse yet was the thinning veil between reality and the Nether…and then that veil shredded and undiluted dread poured over the war-torn and plague infested landscape.
On top of that, the telepathic connection she shared to A’Mia and to all those who carried her boon, began to ripple with powerful emotions and then visions were forcibly interjected into her mind - its source stemming from Mercy who seemed, far too excited and eager over the outright slaughter and destruction being wrought.
All of it combined, and then the overwhelming raw keening of her Soul-Sister that tore into her own mind and spirit - slammed into Darth X’aviera all at once.
In the middle of her fight, she stuttered and stumbled. She failed to block several incoming rifle shots and they slammed directly into her armor. It shrugged off most of the impacts - but she could not sustain much more directed fire. One or two would eventually get through.
Bogan DAMMIT - Revna felt and heard herself scream in frustration and with the sudden spike of fear that stabbed through her. What the actual feth is going on?! What just happened?!
She was disoriented, nearly overwhelmed by everything being forced through her bond, into her mind.
And then came a heavy impact close by to her, then another. Her entire body lit up with a ripple of warning, and she moved without thinking, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a crate that seemed to fall out of the sky.
Anger and frustration bubbled up and boiled over and flooded into the connection that bound her with everyone else, as she was forced to pull away from her target, from her fight. A message was delivered through her comm, indicating that Sith forces needed to regroup and rally around the heart site.
Then somewhere in the city beyond her came a massive explosion, the shockwave ripping across the landscape, toppling towers and buildings. The force of the blast, though not fatal to Revna, was enough to send her off her feet, and slam her against some rubble a short distance away.
High above the surface, in orbit, a great battle waged. The Mandalorian fleet was firing on the Sith Covenant fleet, pouring everything they had into their enemy. Some of their shots hit their target, but some missed and rained down fiery hell upon the surface of Abregado-rae.
Revna hadn’t moved from where she had collapsed in the rubble after the blast from the explosion had caught her off guard. She was still alive, though dazed and disoriented. She registered pain from somewhere, but the sheer amount of adrenaline that dumped through her veins dulled its edges. She subconsciously registered that she was in grave danger; she had been in a fight, and she now had no idea where her enemies were in relation to her current position.
That moment of weakness, when her guard was let down or fractured, was the moment her Void Hunger had been oh so patiently waiting for. She felt it surge up and through her a fraction too late.
No…N-NO! - Revna internally screamed - before her vision turned utterly red and she lost almost all awareness of herself.
Violent hunger, the overwhelming need to utterly consume everything - would tear through the bond that connected Revna to A’Mia, to Lily, to Alisteri, to everyone. Mercy would feel it too - a monster trying to crawl through, and rip them asunder, without care or concern for familial bonds or the threads that bound allies together. Buried beneath, however, was Revna’s presence - fighting with everything she had within her to keep control of the Hunger that sought to overcome her will with its own.
She was a sitting duck for any Mandalorian foes nearby, or so it might appear to them.
But even with the chaos and utter destruction that was raining down on Sith, civilian, and Mandalorian forces alike - the red ash continued to drift and fall, spreading the plague further as it went - undeterred by the carnage being wrought across the surface of Abregado-rae.
But she couldn’t control when forces outside her direct influence spiraled out of control.
Everything was going relatively well, at least she thought it was, until it decidedly was not. In the blink of an eye, the so called Mandalorians seemed to spring a trap that had been laid for the Sith. Even as the little Sith woman blocked and redirected plasma bolts fired her way, she watched the skies above her head split open as a battle truly began to wage in orbit above the besieged planet. Worse yet was the thinning veil between reality and the Nether…and then that veil shredded and undiluted dread poured over the war-torn and plague infested landscape.
On top of that, the telepathic connection she shared to A’Mia and to all those who carried her boon, began to ripple with powerful emotions and then visions were forcibly interjected into her mind - its source stemming from Mercy who seemed, far too excited and eager over the outright slaughter and destruction being wrought.
All of it combined, and then the overwhelming raw keening of her Soul-Sister that tore into her own mind and spirit - slammed into Darth X’aviera all at once.
In the middle of her fight, she stuttered and stumbled. She failed to block several incoming rifle shots and they slammed directly into her armor. It shrugged off most of the impacts - but she could not sustain much more directed fire. One or two would eventually get through.
Bogan DAMMIT - Revna felt and heard herself scream in frustration and with the sudden spike of fear that stabbed through her. What the actual feth is going on?! What just happened?!
She was disoriented, nearly overwhelmed by everything being forced through her bond, into her mind.
And then came a heavy impact close by to her, then another. Her entire body lit up with a ripple of warning, and she moved without thinking, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a crate that seemed to fall out of the sky.
Anger and frustration bubbled up and boiled over and flooded into the connection that bound her with everyone else, as she was forced to pull away from her target, from her fight. A message was delivered through her comm, indicating that Sith forces needed to regroup and rally around the heart site.
Then somewhere in the city beyond her came a massive explosion, the shockwave ripping across the landscape, toppling towers and buildings. The force of the blast, though not fatal to Revna, was enough to send her off her feet, and slam her against some rubble a short distance away.
High above the surface, in orbit, a great battle waged. The Mandalorian fleet was firing on the Sith Covenant fleet, pouring everything they had into their enemy. Some of their shots hit their target, but some missed and rained down fiery hell upon the surface of Abregado-rae.
Revna hadn’t moved from where she had collapsed in the rubble after the blast from the explosion had caught her off guard. She was still alive, though dazed and disoriented. She registered pain from somewhere, but the sheer amount of adrenaline that dumped through her veins dulled its edges. She subconsciously registered that she was in grave danger; she had been in a fight, and she now had no idea where her enemies were in relation to her current position.
That moment of weakness, when her guard was let down or fractured, was the moment her Void Hunger had been oh so patiently waiting for. She felt it surge up and through her a fraction too late.
No…N-NO! - Revna internally screamed - before her vision turned utterly red and she lost almost all awareness of herself.
Violent hunger, the overwhelming need to utterly consume everything - would tear through the bond that connected Revna to A’Mia, to Lily, to Alisteri, to everyone. Mercy would feel it too - a monster trying to crawl through, and rip them asunder, without care or concern for familial bonds or the threads that bound allies together. Buried beneath, however, was Revna’s presence - fighting with everything she had within her to keep control of the Hunger that sought to overcome her will with its own.
She was a sitting duck for any Mandalorian foes nearby, or so it might appear to them.
But even with the chaos and utter destruction that was raining down on Sith, civilian, and Mandalorian forces alike - the red ash continued to drift and fall, spreading the plague further as it went - undeterred by the carnage being wrought across the surface of Abregado-rae.
Direct Tag:
Sindel Krymer
Others:
Madrona A’Mia
||
Darth Strosius
||
Lily Rhodes
||
Mercy
- and anyone else who might be connected to the Telepathic Weave
The Red Crown of Eshan
The wind burned cold against her skin, sinking into her spine as she felt everything change. Her hand pulled back, the other tightening on the shaft of the silver spear, its weight suddenly apparent. Each blow of the breeze carried death, decay, and the poison bleeding into the planet.
It made her sick.
Was this what it meant to be a Sith? To not care for the balance of life, to see sentients as fuel for the machine? Was this what she was to inherit when her Mother chose to step down, or worse, perish? Was this the legacy that she was to continue?
None of it made sense anymore. A seed of doubt weighed heavily in the Echani's heart, her mind remembering the beauty of Eshan and how life there was easy. But within the Empire of the Sith Order, pain and suffering were par for the course. She had seen the worlds beyond the wall and while they were no better, ruled at times by even more monstrous creatures — was this the best?
What if they didn't have to fight anymore? Was that even a choice?
Quinn shook her head. She knew the answer, and if she could, she would force her will to stop all of this when she became Empress. She would make a change; until then — this was her life, this was her job, this was the power of the Dark Side.
The surge of confidence was suddenly cut down. She could feel Arris; the woman was as much a part of her as the Phobis Core in her chest. Having the dark influence she possessed only made their hearts beat as one, so when the sudden panic bled through their connection, it was all Quinn could think of.
Arris.
She shouldn't have sent her away. Her precious Arris…
Stepping back, the crown atop the Echani's head grew into a grotesque shape, elongating and covering her eyes and nose. It allowed her a bit more clarity with everything that was happening and Arris' surging emotions. Quinn needed to find her quickly. There was a sense of responsibility for the Triumvirate; she had given her the power, she had made her go away, and now Arris was in trouble.
There was no waiting to see what impact she had done to the men she was fighting; Arris was far more important.
Her heel turned; the Force around her swelled as time and space ripped open. In a blink, the Echani had disappeared into the folds of the Force; she was spit out near where she had last felt Arris. Looking back, it wasn't too far from their drop site, but far enough that she would have had to carve her way through the plagued bodies.
But even then, she wasn't safe.
The first civilian lunged before Quinn could think.
There had been a woman beneath the plague. Quinn could still see her beneath the blackened veins and blood-stained teeth. A blue scarf remained twisted around her neck, and a wedding band clung to one ruined hand.
But there was nothing human left in her eyes.
Asarsi, her blessed spear, moved before Quinn's thoughts could catch up. The silver blade slipped beneath the woman's ribs. Quinn twisted once, then withdrew the spear before the body could collapse around it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
A blaster bolt suddenly struck the stone beside her.
Iron Covenant Mandalorians descended into the street, their jetpacks scattering ash across the bodies. One fired into the infected crowd without concern for what he hit.
Somewhere beyond them was Arris, her Arris.
Quinn had last seen the Triumvir disappear into the smoke before a rocket struck the building beside her. Since then, there had been nothing. She took a second, one that she would eventually regret, to look for Arris's raven head.
"Arris?" Quinn called.
Silence answered her.
Suddenly, a blast from the sky rained upon them. Quinn shielded herself, bringing her arms crossed in front as her head ducked behind. Everything- bodies, ichor, and debris was kicked up as the kinetic wave pulsed through the air. Where the heat should have burned the stench, it only made it worse.
Quinn grounded herself in the Force, making herself stable as she was pushed back. Silence breathed for just a second, but the chaos soon returned. Heavenly fire rained down on them, causing more havoc.
Her eyes widened at the sight of hell around her, but she didn't have time…
More civilians spilled from the surrounding buildings, clawing at each other and anything living. Some turned toward the Mandalorians; the rest rushed Quinn.
Arris could take care of herself. She had survived worse than this. She was made of metal, stubbornness, and more violence than Quinn cared to consider. But was that because of the darkness she fed her? Or was Arris' true nature that of the darker side of the Force?
The reassurance did nothing to comfort the young Echani.
Quinn adjusted her grip, and Asarsi became an extension of her.
The spearhead darted between grasping hands and snapping jaws, piercing throats and the soft spaces beneath ribs. When the infected came too close, Quinn shortened her grip and fought with the reinforced shaft instead.
A thrust.
A turn.
A sharp pull as she tore the blade free.
Every movement carried her closer to where she had last seen Arris.
A Mandalorian met her with a beskad. He was stronger, and his beskar protected most of what her spear could reach.
Most of it.
Quinn yielded until he committed to the attack. She twisted Asarsi, guiding his blade away before striking the gap beside his knee. His stance buckled. The spearhead found the seam beneath his arm, and Quinn pushed until the resistance disappeared.
A whipcord wrapped around Asarsi before she could withdraw it.
Instead of resisting, Quinn allowed the second Kestrian to pull her forward. She closed the distance, winding the cord around the spear as she moved. One turn exposed the space beneath his helmet.
The silver blade slipped through it.
"Die." Quinn whispered as she felt his life slip from his lips.
Once more she fed upon the Mandalorian, drawing his life, his soul into her own. She felt the resurgence of energy, the sweat on her brow cooling as she breathed with less resistance. His life fed hers; his soul would serve her in battle.
Flames erupted across the street.
Quinn froze as a Mandalorian vambrace poured fire through the infected. Burning bodies stumbled forward, still reaching for anything alive. For one terrible moment, Quinn was small again, listening to the roar of a flamethrower while the heat crawled across her skin.
Then she saw the flames spreading toward the street where Arris had disappeared.
Her fear changed.
She saw the Mandalorian in gold armor burning her room, her life on Eshan, claiming it was a cleansing. She was to die; she was to bleed and burn like the Monster she was.
But she wasn't that child again; she had become the Monster they all wanted.
Quinn drove Asarsi into the ground. Cold answered through the weapon, spreading across the stones in a violent wave. Frost swallowed the flames beneath a cloud of white vapor.
The Mandalorian hesitated.
Quinn didn't.
She pulled Asarsi free and advanced.
A wrist rocket flew toward her. Quinn swept the spear outward, bending its path with the Force. The rocket struck a nearby building, throwing civilians and Iron Covenant Mandalorians from their feet.
Another Mandalorian launched himself at her with his jetpack. Quinn waited, reading the angle of his shoulders and the turn of his hips. At the last moment, she stepped aside and drove Asarsi's shaft across his chest. She redirected his momentum rather than fighting it; the spearhead followed, piercing his jetpack.
He struck the ground hard enough to crack the stone.
Quinn reversed her grip and drove the blade through the seam beneath his breastplate.
There was no wasted movement.
She fought like an Echani, a woman with the legacy of the women before her. Each movement screamed of her teacher, her master — Her Mother.
Memories of her Mother's teachings, the gentle but stern words that turned into action that would protect her. She hadn't grown up on Eshan, but she was their Queen. The daughter of Queens and Empresses.
Nothing would ever take that from her.
Their Beskar armor couldn't hide their weakness from her. Every twitch betrayed a lunge; every turn warned her where the next weapon would fall.
Still, her attention remained divided.
Every explosion made her search the smoke.
Every burst of blaster fire tightened something inside her chest.
Quinn told herself her concern was practical. Arris was valuable. Losing the Triumvir would weaken everything they were trying to accomplish. The Sith Covenant had already lost one; to lose another would create a power vacuum. One that Quinn could see them surviving, but at what cost. Her mind thought quietly to Mercy and how the woman often bayed about her paperwork.
It was easier than acknowledging the truth.
The last Mandalorian fired over the body of an infected woman. Quinn caught his rifle beneath Asarsi's crossguard and forced the barrel down. Her spear slid across his breastplate until its point found the narrow space beneath his chin.
One thrust silenced him.
Quinn barely watched him fall.
She pulled Asarsi free and continued toward the smoke, her pace quickening as the silence stretched between them.
"Arris!"
Nothing.
Quinn stepped over the dead, holding the bloodied spear ready before her.
Suddenly, as she was prepared to face the truth, she felt Arris. The surge of emotion wavered as if there was a semblance of doubt or something more plaguing her. Was this death? Could she die? Again Quinn was left with questions as she walked, stepping through and over the dead that scattered around her. She had seen for just a moment the Cyborg's raven hair flowing in the rancid air.
Not only did Arris's emotions call to her, but the darkness that swelled inside of her. It fed and flourished, twisting everything the woman was into something it wanted to feel. Quinn felt hot tears gathering, flowing from the corners of her eyes.
Had she plagued Arris with something that she couldn't handle? Was this all of her fault? She watched in the distance as Arris seemingly looked to be talking to someone. Quinn didn't understand, but she felt guilty.
Why did she ruin everyone around her?
"Arris?"
She called out again. The gun fired off, and Quinn's eyes widened. Instantly, her feet moved, the tip of the spear dragging for just a moment until she picked up her pace. As she drew closer, the spear shifted, transforming into a bloody brooch on the girl's chest, and she ran.
Lungs burned with the poisonous air, her body channeling the Force to purge it from her body. She could feel and hear the sound of blood on the pavement as her boots stuck to the ground. It didn't matter; she needed to get to Arris. She needed to reclaim the horrible thing she had poisoned her with.
A hand reached out, grabbing at the Cyborg as she looked at Arris, her own features, her once white blonde hair now covered in the blood of the hundreds she had just murdered to get to her.
"Arris! You don't have to do this…"
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Unseen
There was so much noise.
So many minds tangled in her web and she couldn’t quiet them. She couldn’t find Vess, or Revna. She couldn’t see anything through the thickening fog as panic rose. What had she done? She had to stop it, she had to do something. Her amber blade deactivated with a hiss as she turned back towards the tree, towards the source of it all.
She didn’t need to see A’Mia to know where she was, their connection had been the first in the web so she focused on the creaking bark and rustle of leaves, taking one step towards it when blue light cut through the fog. One. Two. Three. A dozen of them rose high into the sky, casting sickly shadows over the burning pyres.
For one blissful moment, there was silence.
Then something mechanical screamed over her head, and all hell broke loose. Ordnance began to rain down around her, chunks of metal came hurtling through the air as a TIE was taken down, its body bouncing once, twice, before slamming into the base of a pyre where it exploded, the fire feeding the blood red fungus as it blossomed, devouring the ship and whoever had been left in it.
She had to move. She had to find Vess. She had to find Arris. She needed to know if Arris had known, if she felt as sick as she did. Her boots slid across slick flesh masses as she ran, scanning every break in the fog to find her. Vess had been towards the front line, but that front line was gone. Lily caught a glimpse of purple, to her left, pivoting hard to move towards it when a dropship slammed into the earth in front of her, the slide to stop herself landing her on her backside, she twisted immediately scrambling back to her feet as the door exploded outwards, heavy boots stepping out as she reignited her blade.
Then her mind exploded, Mercy was tearing through the web, pouring what she could already see back through it. The destruction the Mandalorians were wreaking, in their desperation to eradicate the Covenant. Death upon death, pain over pain, so much that she couldn’t see what was and wasn’t her eyes, that here and there became one place.
The drop pod exploded, heavy ordnance slammed into it from above, the mandalorian was obliterated and the shock wave slammed into Lily, sending her flying. Her lightsaber slipped from her fingers as she hit the ground, sliding several meters before coming to a stop.
Pain was everywhere and for a moment, Lily wanted to do nothing more than close her eyes, to wake from the nightmare she had been thrust into. With a grown she rolled onto her side, and then to all fours as Arris’ voice cracked over the comms calling for a regroup. Her hand extended, recalling her falling saber as she managed to shift upright onto one knee.
Something hot slammed into her shoulder, pain screaming through the limb as it knocked her backwards, three more bolts skimming over where her head had just been. As a single thought struck her.
She was going to die here.
Here on a fucking planet she didn’t even care about, because she dared to follow a woman who offered her a path no one else had bothered, who didn’t try to force her into one mould or another.
Fuck that.
She reached into her pocket, fingers curling around the injector Arris had given her before they dropped. Just in case. She didn’t bother pulling it out, checking the dose. She pressed in against the fabric of her pocket and clicked it, just as a mandalorians boot landed on her chest, the barrel of his weapon moving to level with her head.
Lily’s sense came alive, pain vanished into a mere thought as a buzz began at the base of her skull. She grabbed the foot, heaving it off of her as the mandalorian fired, his shot slamming into the earth by her ear, surprised by the sudden strength as she rolled out from under him. Anger rose in her, fury like nothing else, cold unrelenting fury.
It wasn’t hers. It came with the scent of jasmine and rain and with the scream of the Hordemother. All that mattered was that she had to survive. He shot again, Lily ducked underneath it surging upwards to catch him around the middle, folding the force around both of them. She teleported them up and for a few sickening moments, gravity was dragging them towards the earth. Lily let him go, kicking him away from her and teleported again, lightsaber snapping to life as it scored a line along his jet pack.
Again, the world folded around her, her feet settling on hard ground once more as she started to walk, behind her, the mandalorian dropped, his body crumpling against the earth with a sickening crunch.
Her hands were shaking, not with fear of fury, but because the stims were taking a minute to settle. She didn’t have time to breathe, couldn’t take a second to let them…
The two aspects collided as another mandalorian, overwhelming hunger and rage and Lily doubled over and screamed, reaching violently through the web for the one that wasn’t Mercy.
<< “Help. Me”>>
A Frog out of Water
Chomba wiped at the front window, this was not real. Chomba was in dream land. Chomba must be dreaming. "First Sith. Then apocalypse. Then Mandalorans. Then Zombies. Now GHOSTS!" Chomba was devastated, what was next? Demons? Kajius? Mythological monstrosities? Chomba shuddered at the thoughts and squirmed in his peeling leather seat in all different ways. His hands chaotically slapping around, pushing random buttons and flicking all switches that he could, poor Chomba was afraid that his heart could not handle any more jump scares or new horrors wishing him dead. He at least knew that zombies were no longer going to plague him, or at least Chomba believed this to be the case, unaware that his ship was potentially still contaminated with spores.
As Chomba was frantically flying his ship that made the vessel lurch and jump around erratically and to outsiders, they could falsely assume someone incredibly drunk was behind the wheel of the ship. Chomba was also having to draw the hyperspace jump that would get him out of this hellhole. "Chomba don't care where pooter, just not here. Here is bad!" Chomba shouted at the navicomputer, believing that the navicomputer could understand him as long as he was shouting loudly.
There was a buffer loading on the barely functional navicomputer, Chomba stared at the screen as it buffered. Chomba believed to that the buffering would take longer if he looked away for even a second. So Chomba was very unaware where his ship was flying or heading towards. He did not realise that he was flying directly in between two capital ships' line of fire. As the buffer continued to spin, Chomba impatiently tapped his foot on the floor of the cockpit. "Pooter! This is too long! Don't make Chomba look away! Chomba will!" Chomba threatened.
As he said this, the navicomputer pinged with a rough jump and estimated it would take 10 minutes to get the damaged hyperdrive ready to jump. "Chomba knew the threat would work! 10 minutes though?! Chomba not sure he can expert fly that long!" Chomba sighed, feeling the weight of the challenge resting on his shoulders, he would have to persevere and demonstrate why Chomba was a great smuggler like he always told people he was. Looking back out the front window of the ship, Chomba took a couple minutes to soak in what he was seeing. Then the loudest, most terrified scream since he saw the zombies for the first time.
"CHOMBA DID NOT WANT TO BE HERE! CHOMBA REALLY NEEDS TO FLY NOW!" Going back to the frantic flying, Chomba was slapping away at the controls, desperately trying to figure out the best way to avoid being blown to smithereens. "nononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono!" Chomba mumbled in fearful chanting as he grips the main controller, "time for the impenetrable shield!" Chomba shouted as he hard twisted the controller in one direction.
The whole S.S. Starship began to spin, flying erratically and spinning in space. "Spinning trick, Chomba knows this makes ship impossible to hit!" Chomba proudly stated as he held onto the controls. "Just need to keep spinning till Chomba is safe! Chomba can handle this!" Chomba was already feeling queasy and it had only been a few seconds. There was still another nine minutes till the ship was ready to jump.
Naniti
Character
One Togruta Against The World
Anet Raine
|
Calyx Sundrift
|
Feydrik Munin
Varin Mortifer
|
Naamino Zuukamano
|
Braze
|
Korar Murrak
Vrirrig Awaud
|
Darth Carnifex
Helix
|
Iris Beroya
Lysander von Ascania
would have hated this.Naniti sat atop an external scaffolding of one of the factories with her legs dangling beneath her. It had afforded her a view of the surrounding area and even that of the horizon where A'Mia worked. Her eyes shone blue as the day enveloped in darkness; whether that was from the sun having set or the plumes of black smoke that sought to choke out life before the fungus had a chance she couldn't tell any longer. Concussive waves brought on by bombs dropped over the air pounded against her ears and montrals alike. The screech of metal torn, bent, and broken were little daggers in the mind. The air was acrid and foul and touched by a warmth not of the hearth, but of rage.
Was this how it had been on Humbarine? Lysander had spoken of it afterward. Spoken of storms and afflictions, enormous creatures and ruin. Perhaps there would have been something to connect it to Jakku as well, but that world was already devoid of civilization -- no one could tell the difference before and after the Sith's arrival to harry the Jedi.
He hadn't said anything about Mercy using the telepathic network to share sights and sounds of war, however. Was that different this time? Had something changed? Perhaps it was just the Empress's prerogative this time. The woman had a fierce temper. Naniti empathized.
A sigh escaped her dark lips as she tilted her head back to gaze up at the sky. One couldn't even find something familiar or comforting there. Not with the Mandalorians -- or a cosmic joke of a coincidence -- having torn open a rift to the Netherworld and brought forth ships and armies through its gaping maw churning above. If it were not so transparent it might be mistaken for a singularity. Strange beauty.
The Togruta had chosen this spot because her talent said it was safe. Bits and pieces of shrapnel littered the area from Mandalorian aerial bombardment. Meanwhile, Helix's molten hellscape terraforming found different structures to raze. Most importantly? It had given her a brief respite. A place to reflect on how best to serve. What service meant.
Suffering and death were familiar sensations. Mercy might not think Naniti as toughened as she should be from a lack of leading wave after wave of butchery, but fear had not stayed her hand. Lysander had needed more than a blunt instrument. He had plenty of those he could coax into action. So, she'd chosen a subtler form of influence and control. Not one your traditional Sith Lord would appreciate. Not even Naniti's old Master. So, there she was, getting served visions of suffering and death, hearing the lamentations of the living and soon departed, and feeling the very planet she was on cry out as all life might soon perish from its surface.
Another sigh. Naniti snorted. She craned her head to one side to both feel and hear the pop. Well, enough recouperating from the long dash from the dropship to the factories. Time to get back to it then. Lysander might have hated this scene, but it was all too comfortable for Naniti. Worse, Lysander wasn't there to distract her from the work.
With a shove off the platform, the violet woman sailed out into the open air and let gravity guide her back down in a leisurely arch. Foot and hand lighted upon the side of a building for a faction of a second before she shoved back the way she'd came. It only took a few such leaps to bound down from the lofty heights and to the broken, obsctructed roads below between factories. Large transports lay in ruin with their battieries exposed and burning in the air. Cargo containers were strewn all about. Even entire sides of buildings had collapsed from the onslaught and formed a tangled web of duracret and durasteel.
A broken city. A dying world. And the twisted visages of life that stalked it still. Life driven by the singular purpose
Madrona A’Mia
drove into their very being.Naniti didn't look back at them, her soles scraped against the ground as she bolted forward toward the wreckage and fire. Flesh reveaers had picked up the scent once more. She could literally feel them at a distance. Their own means of tracking prey mimicked her own. Two species capable of echolocation, each aware of the other with no where to hide so long as you were in range.
Little did they know that their prey, however, had other plans for them.
Open
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Myth
Allies:
He-Who-Walks-Between
|@Gel Karn | MANDALORIANS
ENGAGING:
Madrona A’Mia
Associated:
Darth Strosius
|
Revna Marr
|
Lily Rhodes
|
Vess Sadragen
| SITHAs the arcane began to spool from his fingers, thick green energy coalesced around his hand, spiralling upwards past his forearms, Tytos took stock of his surroundings. The virus seemed to be airborne; he could ascertain as a summarized readout of comm interactions played through his helmet feed. Though his companion wore a helmet that was likely filtered enough, Tytos had foregone his in the rush to arrive in combat. No matter; he wove an adiabatic shield around himself and Karn, a standard Kadir'litr spell that would ward off any sort of airborne contamination. The two were surrounded by a mass of pulsating red flesh -- the virus -- and legions of Sith troopers that were beginning to take stock of the two Mandalorians that had just warped into their fold.
Immediately before he could respond, a volley of blasterfire erupted around them on all sides. "Get down!" Tytos shouted, throwing out his hands and summoning a Force barrier that coalesced in an iridescent lavender-blue bubble around the two. The blaster bolts collided violently with the shield, creating sparks of energy that danced off of the half-translucent dome. Tytos maintained the shield for a moment, then when he could see the cadence of blaster fire had dropped, he released the pent-up energy in a violent, obliterating wave of dark side power in all directions, creating a wide crater where they had stood. The Sith troopers that had fired on them, the pulsating flesh that had surrounded them -- all destroyed. Tytos raised himself higher to grimly survey the carnage, though he felt little empathy for the tools of the Sith.
"Stand," he commanded the Smith. "We are deep within the foes' territory. Ready your weapons and follow my lead. Trust in the Manda." He smiled warmly at Karn; Tytos could empathize if Gel was feeling overwhelmed by the sudden carnage of battle. The shaman would not let his charge die here today on Abregado-Rae.
The city was burning, but Tytos could feel the tide turning. The swarm of Mandalorian forces was like a massive boulder that had entered a serene lake; ripples like waves that now extended through the Force. Against the iron tide he could sense another web; one emanating from further on, the center of the Sith horde; another from up above. Both emanated fear, and he could feel spindly tangles in the Force attempting to smother the Mandalorian horde, the attempt to subvert the natives defending their own homes. . .
Even now, the Mandalorian alliance threatened to waver.
"Ancestors," Tytos intoned deeply, invoking the presence of the Manda who watched carefully over this battle. He could feel their presence like never before as
He-Who-Walks-Between
led the hordes of the Fields of Blade into battle above. The true Mando'ade were neither Jedi nor Sith, but the Force did not belong to any religion. Fingers reached up towards his talisman that had begun to glow brighter and brighter, the ancient spirit trapped inside its kyr'lyatr crystal being called upon for strength.Then Tytos's eyes opened, taken over by a bright green glow; a burst of air shot from him like a shockwave as his mind left the simple confines of his mortal frame, expanding across the entire battlescape. The Force flowed through him as a conduit, and the spirits of the Manda entered into perfect communion with him. Their past experiences, their knowledge, their instinct all melding with his. . . his soul in perfect harmony with them.
"Stop. . ." He could see Sith's attempt to break the Gados' minds. A sentient's mind naturally resisted such manipulations, reacting with hostility to such psychic intrusions. And truth and courage would always dispel lies and fear. Tytos emanated such courage, dispelling the miasma from the host, erecting mental barriers to fortify those fighting for their home. Nightmares of families being slaughtered were turned into the memory of family that drove the Gados to fight harder.
The Mandalorian host protected, the glow in Tytos's eyes faded as his spell took hold, but his communion with the Manda remained, his talisman glowing white on his chest. He looked at the Smith once more and smiled. "The Manda favors us today, Karn. Be glad." Then, calling upon the power of his talisman and the Manda, he began to work the spells of a tempest. Incantations in Mando'a were muttered as memories of the coldest blizzards of Kestri began to flow through his soul.
A noticeably cold wind began to blow across the entire city. Winter had forged the Mandalorians of Kestri, the home of the Iron Covenant. Today it would be their ally.
"This blizzard will grow," Tytos murmured, his spell unfolding. "We must make haste towards the center of the Sith's ritual." The shaman began briskly walking towards the center of the Sith forces, ready for whatever the Sith would throw the Mandalorian's way to stop the two.
Autolycus
MERCY'S TYRANT SQUADRON
IN ORBIT // THE BRIDGE // ABREGADO-RAE
Attn:
Cruelty
Ceria Kesyk
He-Who-Walks-Between
There were now Mandalorians on the bridge. Dead Mandalorians and living Mandalorians, yes, but there was hardly any point in distinguishing when one would soon join the other.
Hasuras Na-Amoun slid his gaudy blade from its gaudy scabbard and went forward to the edge of the narrow platform that divided the command pit in two. He was effectively alone against the horde.
But, being alone in most things already, Meliant thought little of it.
Meliant screamed, "We can fucking tell!" and from there battle was joined.
He slew the first of the supercommandos with single stroke: it passed through the beskar'gam as if it were foil, decraniating its occupant cleanly from the nose up. Then came some friend of his, who had as fine a blade of pure beskar as could be made - which had rendered excellent service to his father, and his father's father, and that man's father, and so-on for some time. This was shattered into many thousands of pieces when he attempted to parry some blow from Meliant, and he was subsequently ran through so thoroughly that the Emperor had to kick him off the end of his sword.
There are certain ways of cutting against which no mundane element can stand firm. It is a Dark Side technique, known only to the most depraved of Sith Lords and needing a proper metal blade. Mastery required not merely the rejection of humanity and all physical comfort, but an inability to experience (or even comprehend) such things. The creatures who scraped to such depths were, in better times, hunted down and eradicated even by other Sith. In distant places alien to this galaxy, their bones were entombed in great mausoleum-citadels. Generations of knights were assigned to keep them sealed away and their practices forgotten.
But these were not better times, for now a Sith Lord had come once again to these vile techniques - not by meticulous study, but by way of idiot first principle. He fought now with profound fury on this very bridge.
Meliant shrieked out something in the language of the Ancient Sith, which the Mandalorians would take to be a meaningless war cry but Cruelty would recognize as a profound insult against their parentage and a promise to sell their spouses to the Kainate as concubines. Either way, he incited the boarders against him, and a great slaughter followed.
Of the spirits, where the Blade of the Heron King hacked them, it severed the bonds of the Force-energy particles that kept them in-place, and so even the brave ancestors were reduced to wisps of off-color vapor or pools of bubbling ectoplasm. Not much more need be said for the supercommandos, whose greatest defense was now of little consequence. The Emperor delighted in their physicality, electing to fling some and crush others as if they were no more than ragdolls.
Not all of the crew could be saved.
The bridge became a bloody mess.
But the Golden Emperor's enemies were numerous, and brought him to ruin by their combined and gradual effort. His armor was rent and gouged and blown apart, and his helmet was battered so severely as to leave his visaged warped, deformed, and frowning. His fine baldric and cloak were reduced to tattered rags, still clinging to his person only by virtue of the blood they incidentally absorbed.
It had to now be observed by He-Who-Walks-Between that his escort was quickly thinning.
By the start of Meliant's next post, he would, like the Emperor, be very alone.
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Storm Seer
Greetings
Ceria Kesyk
|
Meliant
|
Cruelty
Farewell
Tytos Saxon
|
Gel Karn
Gear: Mandalorian Beskar'gam | Beskad | Alchemized Helmet | Baradium Bomb | Sonic Blaster
G̶̰̮̈́h̶̢̏͒͠ọ̵̧̿͒͂s̵̖̭̆̔t̸͈̮͊s̸̪̒̎̕ ̸̻̮͇̀o̵͈̜̍f̷͓̈́̈́ ̵̤͐͜t̴͓͂͌h̶͍̿͐̊e̴̫͑ ̶̡̭̣̽M̷̤̓͂̈́ḁ̵̡́͘n̸̗͉͉̒̇̔d̴̬̖̽a̴͉̻̲͒
The first thing Astra drew in blood was a six-foot diameter circle on the wall. Then she started adding rings within rings of symbols. (
"I think not."
Having flow-walked past this point and feeling the distant, gathering Dark Side will, He Who Walks Between began a chant in Dathomiri low under his breath, an old counter-spell to Sith blood sorcery.
The living supercommandos and the dead alike wasted no time with words.
They just started shooting.
And cutting.
Troopers. Bridge crew. Console systems.
All of it. Anything. Everything. Utterly indiscriminate, like a typhoon of razored beskar, searing plasma, and spectral blades.
Ironic, or so Kade might have thought as he stood aboard a ship powered by a drive that took such jaunts with frequence. If only they knew the ways of the Rekali as he did, then they would have understood.
He Who Walks Between's head tilted, studying the Thing. He did not perceive it as flesh and blood, but as a web of flaws and intentions and spidering relationships. A golem of manufactured ego: weak at the ankles as it supported the rest of its inflated sense of self.
Kade finished his chanting and his form shimmered in the Force, incandescent, for a moment. Then he spoke.
"Quiet."
The Mandalorian warlock leveled his sonic blaster and discharged an orb of bone shattering, organ pulping hard sound toward Its chest.
While the Thing barked and wagged its tail for its masters, the supercommandos and the dead went about their butchery until at last stopped by the might of the bearer of the Heron blade, who carved many apart like so much chattel.
Thinned. But not gone. Not nearly.
Was this Plagueis reborn? Was it Bane? Perhaps they might have killed every single living and unliving intruder on the bridge in an instant. But then again no. Such feats would surpass even what was told of them in history.
One minute He Who Walks Between stood there, the next space folded around him and he stood behind the Swordsman.
He fired another blast from his sonic cannon, and closed to meet the Swordsman head on.
Anointed
The Sith were all relentless, soulless wretches. Though at one point their philosophies may have even been considered similar, their definitions of the purpose of war were vastly different. This one did not understand the grand goal- the rapturous wish to turn an enemy into something more, so that they may ignite their own fire one day. The Sith only took for themselves such strength, and used it to lord over others. Mandalorians- they took that strength to spread it for as many as they could. Others could not see the beauty in their actions- the necessity in them. Such was the purpose of the Neo-Crusaders, of his Crusade. T’was as it was meant to be, for such was his conviction.
With each blow, she had taken each better than most would. Befitting of the abominations he had seen the Sith twist their bodies into. Yet, amidst it all- there was a retort to his dialogue. At first, he was expecting some nonsensical, typical dismissal. There was not. Instead it drawled on about the state of the galaxy as he knew it. ‘Bad copies of the real thing,’ could be felt quite tangibly.
And when she had gone on to say that one cannot stop worshipping the past… there had been a pointed stare, in a momentary disbelief. “Hah..!” An incredulous, barely-audible chuckle escaped the helm. “Ah-hahahah-! You, understand then! You know the terrible, and wretched cycle the galaxy and the wicked Force has placed us unto.” Laughter echoed hollowly from the helm, only for the expression to twist into upset beneath. “...And yet you clearly must have realized another fact, else you would have ceased dragging along your corpse long ago.”
They were a plague. No different from the one they inflicted upon this planet. It all needed to be rooted and stamped out for the galaxy to have any hope for better times. Not one of them was redeemable to partake in this mindness. Not one of them were capable of anything aside from their single-minded yearning to see everything laid low before them. Any success would be, ultimately, thwarted- whether the Mandalorians triumphed or failed. This was the truth he understood from countless millenia of history.
It all smoldered into dismay. Oh, how cruel the galaxy must've been to once again place another who understood its state upon the opposing side. To place such thought he held in the heart of one so wretched, so vile. Who took that same mentality and used it to commit such abhorrent acts. Perhaps a reflection of how his rule could've been, gone on long and desperate enough. The grenade landed, and the woman remained stuck in place- not just by the adhesive’s effects, but seemingly by other matters as well. It mattered not.
Well. It wouldn’t be the first time he would cross blades with such a figure.
Above, the other pair battled it out. Sith and Mandalorian. One of many locked in battle across the city- yet Haran was one who fought with determination. His gaze briefly flitted to that battle; he could only pray they knew what they were doing. “He is my brother. They all are my kin- that kinship is something you all care little about.” Came a biting reply back.
“You see them all struggling. Fighting. You see this petty squabble, and know none of it matters…despite such…you’re still here. Still doing as much damage as you possibly can muster. So you must know the truth of the matter behind such. It is merely life and death.”
Steps begin to start forwards in a pace from the distance he had made in his leap backwards, slow at first. His weapon began to slowly tilt behind him in a tail guard.
“...If nothing matters, then what matters is only what I decide. If there is no point to anything, I shall spend my all to whatever I may wish.”
Then it had motioned into a sprint. The weapon wound behind him.
“Because when all is said and done, I will be gone, just as you, and the cycle shall start anew. Thus, every moment I spend is the only meaningful thing! And I have decided, of many things, that making sure you're out of the cycle for a long time is a worthy undertaking, for that memory will last eons!”
In the declaration, he had launched forwards back to that tempest of motion. The poleaxe's spiked end whirled directly towards the head- in a motion that took less than a blink of an eye, for it had seemingly been entirely behind his back but a moment before. A blow that, for most normal individuals, would’ve cloven it clean off their shoulders. Armor would no doubt prevent such- but the devastation that could have been felt in spite would be noticeable.
Had it hit, it could’ve been a devastating blow- perhaps capable of even sending the goliath of a Sith flying, incidentally freeing her legs from their entrapped confines with crackles and breaks in texture.
“For others will continue my cause just the same. They will be strong enough to do so, because of our actions now! They will forever remember our fight!” Hands clenched tightly around his ever-trusted weapon as he regained his footing , an exhalation of breath from the prior exertion escaping him. Only to then immediately begin towards the woman, wishing not to halt carrying all the momentum of the prior blow forwards.
A golden age of Mandalorians may forever be out of his reach. If even the Ultimate could not do so, how could he hope to? Yet, that would not cease him from trying with all his might. That would not stop him from nurturing those who he could. For if he at least ensured there would be some hint of himself when the cycle began anew...would he ever truly die? Could that really be called hopeless?
For if nothing mattered, everything did.
“So go on, Sith! If you wish to end the path of all who you dare lay eyes upon, know that I, Carduul Akahl, shall stand in your path unto eternity!”
“So go on, Sith! If you wish to end the path of all who you dare lay eyes upon, know that I, Carduul Akahl, shall stand in your path unto eternity!”
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The Old Boar
Allies:
Tytos Saxon
|
Gel Karn
|
Yuri Maji
|
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
|
Feydrik Munin
|
Siv Dragr
|
Kamon Hourn
|
Vreegan Fett
ENGAGING:
Darth Strosius
Adjacent:
Madrona A’Mia
|
Revna Marr
|
Lily Rhodes
|
Vess Sadragen
Purple lightning streamed from the fingertips of the Sith. Without a second to strategize, instinct took over Romul, and he moved the head of the already-raised hammer to block the burst of lightning. The lightning crawled and spat across the metal, hunting for purchase, before the beskar turned it aside in a spray of blue sparks that scattered across the rubble like burning rain. "RAGH!" Romul cried as the current raced up through the haft, a jolt that rattled his teeth and set his arm buzzing; sharp, but largely deflected, gone as quickly as it came. The hammer's head glowed faint where the arc had grounded out, metal ticking as it cooled.
Romul planted his feet and laughed, a booming, delighted sound that cut through the smoke and carnage.
"HA!" He raised the hammer high, sparks still dancing off the beskar. "WILL THAT BE ALL, DAR'JETII?" Pure euphoric joy seeped through his soul, the adrenaline of battle, and though he did not know it, the battle meditation of
Tytos Saxon
was lending extra courage to the Warmaster's bones. Behind him, Tusk howled fiercely, leaping into the air to fire all weapons at the ranks of soldiers behind the Sith. Several squads of well-trained Clan Saxon commandos had landed behind Romul; blasters focused on the Sith, they all concordantly fired on the Sith from well-chosen positions of cover. Overhead, more basilisk wardroids soared into battle. Explosions covered the battlefield.A cold wind had begun to blow. Impossibly, Romul saw a snowflake fall, one, then another. It reminded him of Kestri, her winter winds, her blizzards frigid and inhospitable. Had it begun to snow? The Warmaster laughed, rolled his shoulder, working the last of the tingle from his arm, and closed the distance with his foe at a run.
Gallius Saxon and the Gado chieftain fought side by side, landing with a company of Saxon commandos and hordes of native Gados. The Akan'alor wielded a cryoban repeating blaster, freezing and shattering both Sith soldiers and the fungal plague alike. The Gados, uninstructed in warfare and armed and armored poorly compared to the Mandalorians -- out of simple lack of such resources to quickly arm an entire population, not by design -- were falling much quicker than the Mandalorians. "Take the front!" Gallius ordered to his commandos, then aside to the chieftain, "Instruct your people to use cover. Do not let them die needlessly." The commandos began to methodically move upwards, covering the positions of the Gados and simultaneously pushing back the lines of the Sith. Against the cold discipline of the Mandalorians, the Sith soldiers were breaking; only fear of their masters propelled them forwards, and that fear exponentially multiplied at their existential plight when facing Mandalorian combined arms.
The Gado chieftain remained resolute abreast of Gallius. "We die defending our homes. It is not needless." The chieftain hissed solemnly as he raised a much-older blaster and fired in the direction of the Sith front. The spell of
Tytos Saxon
had begun to fully envelop the Gado and Mandalorian forces, making any Sith attempt to incite mutiny or sow dissent ineffective. The Gados were face-to-face with the destruction of their home, and it was too late for the Sith to spin any other tale. The natives knew well that there was only one way to save Abregado-Rae; the Mandalorians and Gados held strong. If the Sith wanted to defeat them, they would have to kill them.
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
and
Yuri Maji
. Though separated by space, the entire Mythos Fleet moved and fought as one, entrapping the Sith in orbit above and on the planet below. The five massive Star Destroyers hung above the city, watching as weather patterns moved and shifted as the wintry spell of
Tytos Saxon
began to grow. Starfighter squadrons such as those of
Iris Beroya
helped claim air superiority.The evacuee fleet continued its breakneck pace as it fled the world, its one charge simple: escape with the civilian cargo aboard its holds, the most precious cargo, the manifestation of Romul's promise made to the people of Abregado-Rae before hell had closed her burning maw over the world. Time was the fleet's ally, and the Sith's slow response her greatest weapon.
- x5 Ha'rangir-class Star Destroyers
- Gra'tua Dral - Flagship
- Haran
- Kalden
- Kestri Cyare
- Ramorla
- x2 Dalab-class Strike Carriers
- Havey'ir
- Aay'han
- Ka'yatr-class Suppressive Cruiser
- Akior
- x5 Brokur-class Heavy Assault Cruisers
- Stri'liir
- Sur'ar
- Aarikir
- Cuyanir
- Mavan
- Aranar-class Escort Frigates
- Numerous, mainly used as transports for civilians.
- Ram'or-class Corvettes
- Numerous, mainly used as transports for civilians.
Sithbane
Allies:
Kamon Hourn
|
Yuri Maji
|
Vreegan Fett
Targeting:
Quinn Varanin
|
Arris Windrun
Siv's bolts all found their mark -- he was a seasoned veteran; were they going to miss? -- but they seemed to be absorbed rather than impact. Interesting. With ample experience of fighting and taking down Sith, he knew that the most cowardly of them would rather use shields than actually fight. "Not some Sith mir'sheb saying I'm not Mandalorian," Siv muttered as he switched the ammunition feed from the blaster's powercell to its eight-cylinder slug chamber with an audible click. The rest of the Sith's taunts meant nothing; in his eyes, she was no longer redeemable if she even had been. She'd made her choice of where to stand.
Varanin raised a hand, and Siv, despite his better instincts to never take an eye off his target, followed her. He saw the dropship circling above and sudden sparks as it began to shake impossibly, deviating sharply from its course. "Hourn, status!" Siv barked into comms. He spun back to face Varanin, blaster raised to put a couple of slugs in her skull and stop this sorcery madness -- but she'd vanished. How? "Feth," Siv muttered under his breath as he cast his eyes around the battlefield, but she'd slipped entirely from the vicinity; so complete was her flight that his scanners did not indicate her at all.
Where had she flitted off to?
In the background, the Mandalorian's battlecomms had suddenly surged. So their gambit had worked... the ambush carefully planned, executed. And amidst it all, lost was his prey. A parasitic reaver descended on him shrieking; Siv, disinterested, raised his slug and emptied the cylinder into the beast; it fell torn to shreds. He was disengaged from the present setting, intent on hunting his cowardly prey. Radio chatter complete with broadcast locations grabbed his attention.
<< Hostile Sith identified, ident-tags identify as Echani Queen. . . >>
<< Squad down, requesting immediate backup! She is-krrk >>
<< Do we have eyes on the target? >>
<< Engaging, over. >>
<< She's freezing my flames, I-- KRRSH >>
<< Disengage, I repeat, disengage. We need heavy backup, over! >>
A stream of comms of slaughtered and dying men, a line drawn through comms. With some effort, he was able to parse a direction through the broadcasts, honing in on where she'd disappeared to and where Varanin was going. "I'm going after the target," he radioed to Hourn, seeing the ship right its course. "Don't wait up." His jetpack ignited once more as Siv took to the sky to close the distance.
The trail led to a collapsed Sith walker.
Siv dropped from the sky, hitting the ground hard, rolling to dissipate the kinetic force of the impact. He came to his feet, blaster-now-slugthrower already in his hands, stalking low to the ground. His biomarker had a signature, now two. . . he closed the gap, came around the upstretched leg, and the scene before him unfolded.
Varanin. Her cyborg companion, blaster upright. A woman's corpse on the ground, a baby dead in his arms.
"Shabuir. . ." Siv hissed, hatred welling up. The boy who had also been orphaned by the Sith raised his blaster and pointed it at the cyborg, slamming the trigger and sending a full cylinder of tracyntium slugs at her as snow began to fall.
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Sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ Lᴏʀᴅ
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
Careena Fett
Zavar Kelborn
Vrirrig Awaud
He-Who-Walks-Between
Tytos Saxon
Gel Karn
Feydrik Munin
Romul Saxon
Battle Buddy:
Korar Murrak
Foes:
Varin Mortifer
Naamino Zuukamano
-
FIELD ARSENAL ☰ ACCESS EQUIPMENT RECORD
Unfortunately for
Varin Mortifer
, he would find that a far greater presence had already laid claim to the battlefield's energy.Braze had already reached across the breadth of the industrial quarter, drawing upon burning fuel, ruptured conduits, grinding machinery, straining engines, and the thermal violence of war. He had gathered it into himself, converted it, and returned its absence as merciless cold.
Flames had collapsed into blackened embers. Molten runoff hardened in mid-spill, leaving frozen waves of metal clinging to fractured walls. Frost sealed machinery beneath pale armor, while durasteel contracted with sharp, deafening fractures throughout the hollow factory. The air had grown painfully thin and dry; every breath emerged white before crystallizing across masks, weapons, and armored plates.
When Varin reached toward the burning column, his will met another already fastened around it.
Braze's presence tightened at the intrusion, closing around the remaining heat and destructive energy with jealous force. What Varin sought had already been claimed, stripped from flame and ruin, then drawn beneath the young Echani's dominion. The pressure of Braze's will bore down through the Force, staunch and unyielding, contesting every current Varin attempted to seize and refusing to surrender so much as a thread without struggle.
Opposing currents strained through the Force, each seeking dominion over the same dwindling reservoir of heat and destructive power. Braze held staunchly to what he had claimed, refusing to surrender so much as a thread without contest. The brat who constantly sought power beyond his own would find little to nothing left to steal, forced to contend with the paltry sum of his own reserves.
Nor had the Sith found the factory defenseless or easy to dominate. This simply just wasn't the case.
The Mandalorians hadn't arrived as a disordered rabble chasing glory into the smoke. Seasoned warriors occupied a defense in depth throughout the industrial complex, arranging overlapping firing positions along corridors, gantries, loading floors, and ruined assembly lines. Each barricade supported the next, turning every apparent opening into a route already measured by waiting weapons.
Slugthrowers denied the Sith the ease of conventional deflection; disruptors threatened flesh and Sithspawn alike, while cryogenic weapons robbed the plague of the heat it required to spread. Mines, grenades, and heavy emplacements transformed every approach into another obstacle beneath sustained fire.
When the defenders relinquished ground, they did so deliberately. Squads withdrew by measured intervals, drawing the Sith away from secure exits and deeper between reinforced positions. What might have appeared to an overeager attacker as progress was merely the closing geometry of a prepared kill zone. Sealed armor guarded the Mandalorians against poisoned air and hostile terrain, while disciplined units divided the attention of Force-users and punished each and every exposed flank.
More CryoBan weapons were already being distributed throughout the city. Above and beyond the factory, unnatural cold continued to gather as
Tytos Saxon
worked to drag a blizzard across Abregado-Rae itself. The plague was being frozen from the streets, Sith formations were losing momentum, and the Mandalorian counteroffensive pressed steadily forward.
Varin Mortifer
and
Naamino Zuukamano
weren't carving through the factory as effortlessly as they might have imagined. They had been permitted to advance along a path chosen for them, each apparent victory drawing them farther into the defenders' reach. Minds clouded by delusions of grandeur were seldom reliable witnesses to their own failures… and the trap had been tightening long before Braze and Korar breached the wall.And now the terrifying renegade Jedi had come for them… an Echani prodigy raised amid wars waged beneath the Sith's shadow, carrying death in hands far too practiced for his years.
The difference between youth and inexperience had been paid for across far too many battlefields to count. Braze wouldn't charge blindly through the falling debris, nor answer the collapsing ceiling with the panic expected of an untested Padawan. He had survived this lesson too many times to mistake destruction for danger without purpose.
Somber jade-green eyes traveled once across the room, measuring load-bearing supports, lines of fire, failing machinery, the Graug pressing upon the reinforcements, and the two retreating Sith beyond them.
Every moving piece found its place within his sphere of awareness: each faltering machine, strained support, shifting combatant, and current of energy resolving into a single, intricate field beneath his attention. Nothing moved within that vast reach without entering his calculations.
One hand rose toward the descending wreckage.
Telekinetic pressure met the falling durasteel and broken ferrocrete, seeking to wrench the collapse aside and drive it into the Graug formations crowding the breach.
Nothing belonging to his enemies within the vast reach of his influence escaped his attention. Braze's awareness expanded across nearly half a kilometer of frozen industry, passing through fractured walls and ruined machinery to locate every concentrated source of power still burning against the cold.
He consumed all he could with naked greed, feeding every stolen current into the frozen reservoir gathering within him. Heat, charge, and mechanical power vanished into that ravenous depth, converted into strength for whatever his will demanded next.
Mechu-deru carried his will into the mechanical architecture surrounding him. It sought the sophisticated armor of their enemies first: power cells, shield projectors, energized underlay, sensor networks, strength-enhancing systems, and any scrap of metal that drew upon energy.
The Technomancer was a distant cry from the image of a slicer fumbling with foreign code. He pressed upon it through the Force, testing connections and command pathways while attempting to force its many systems to compete for dwindling power.
The cold surrounding
Naamino Zuukamano
offered another avenue. Cryokinesis pressed against the armor's vulnerabilities, seeking to stiffen articulated joints, burden climate controls, and force its heaters to consume more of the energy Braze intended to take for himself. His influence reached for their lightsaber power cells and communications equipment as well, tracing regulators, conduits, switches, and containment systems through Mechu-deru.Whatever energy those devices surrendered was drawn away through Tutaminis, their electrical charge and lingering heat consumed into Braze's waiting grasp.
He did not presume their personal equipment would yield without resistance. His will pressed against shielding, reinforced systems, and whatever countermeasures their makers had devised, testing each defense with the practiced patience of a lockpick turning within a stubborn mechanism.
Every bit of power they protected demanded their attention, just as every bit they failed to protect became his~
Beyond them, Braze's awareness ascended toward the Glaivewings prowling above the factory. Their ion engines, solar arrays, laser cannons, sensors, and shared combat intelligence opened beneath his mechanical perception.
Mechu-deru entered their network and fractured its coordination, severing each autonomous predator from the collective intelligence guiding the swarm. Contradictory commands flooded their systems as targeting solutions collapsed and flight paths dissolved into disorder. Tutaminis seized the energy held within their engines and weapon capacitors, drawing it down into the frozen reservoir within him.
The Graug themselves offered little to consume, but their equipment readily fed the voracious appetite of the renegade Jedi. Braze pressed into jump packs, shield generators, flamethrower ignition systems, and powered weapons, draining their reserves until Carnifex's advancing forces found themselves burdened with dead machinery.
The Hyal'Sethi remained creatures of flesh and alchemy, so they received no such careful consideration.
Braze gathered the Force into a host of invisible spears. Nothing marked their formation within the frozen air; no shadow betrayed their alignment, nor did any visible point offer warning of where they had been aimed. Only those capable of perceiving the currents of the Force might recognize the lethal shapes assembling around him.
He held the Darkshears suspended for one measured breath, his open hand reaching toward the advancing horde. Then his fingers curled inward, slowly at first, before closing into a merciless fist.
The unseen spears surged forward in staggered succession, each following a separate trajectory to envelop the formation from every angle. Some descended from above; others curved around shields and intervening bodies, while the remainder drove low through the crowded formation. Invisible points tore into flesh and alchemical bone, punching a ruthless path through the Hyal'Sethi screening the Sith's retreat.
Braze advanced behind them, small beneath the frozen architecture yet commanding a presence that pressed through every corridor he had claimed.
"Look how they run, Vod... Cowering behind the Butcher King like children beneath their mother's skirts… Carrion crawlers, no better than worms."
"I already knew you were dumb~ But deaf and blind too? Or is that little shoulder dragon doing all the talking and heavy lifting for you?"
Braze glanced toward
Korar Murrak
before adding another barbed little remark."What's the matter...? Can't devise your own maneuvers, Varin? I know imitation is flattering, but copying the ~LEGENDARY~ Braze will do little to impress your fleeing boy toy~ Relying upon your betters will only carry you so far, little Sithlings."
The feeble imitation had not escaped his notice~ If Varin and Naamino wished to flee rather than face him, Braze would waste no strength begging cowards to remain. He would merely send them running without their teeth.
"If we're going to be copying each other…"
Braze's jade gaze settled upon
Varin Mortifer
briefly before his attention dipped toward the rubble scattered across the frozen factory floor.A fist-sized chunk of ferrocrete rose from the debris beneath an invisible telekinetic grasp. It hovered beside Braze's shoulder, turning slowly in the frigid air as he recalled what
Saram Kote
had once mentioned of the pair... He plucked the stone from the air with a gauntlet clad hand and the stone snapped forward.
It cut through the factory air in a hard, direct line toward Varin, not thrown with enough force to end the fight, but with more than enough to make the point clear.
"…then I suppose I should honor tradition~"
"Go on, then…" Braze called after them. "Run whilst you can~"
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Fleet Commander
MERCY'S TYRANT SQUADRON
IN ORBIT // ABREGADO-RAE
Cruelty
|
Meliant
|
He-Who-Walks-Between
|
Romul Saxon
|
Yuri Maji
|
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
The Vice Admiral waved Cruelty away when he leaned in. Baffled by the casual delivery of his question. The resemblance to Mercy seemed to stop at the physical, she thought. But still, he was far from useless.
Kesyk and her bridge staff had renewed focus, despite the carnage on the bridge. Supercommandoes had carved some ensigns, and even destroyed a substation or two.
The acolytes had, of course, joined the fray - needing something to do ever since their job was made moot by Cruelty’s weaving. They were pushed back, lightsabers swishing, clashing; deflecting bolts and parrying beskad. The Vice Admiral had placed so much faith (or delusion) into theirs and the Sith Lords’ hands that she didn’t even steal a glance. Her attention remained steadfast on the battle that was now hers to win or lose.
The enemy had committed to another bold attack, no doubt emboldened by their massive reinforcements and concentrated fire. So much attention had been drawn to the Tyranny that it created gaps elsewhere in the Kestran lines. Most importantly, the way down.
Pilots scrambled to their TIEs. Hunters and advanced kin alike. A few more bombers, too. They scrambled from the bays, two-thirds of the Tyranny’s total complement committed. Half of which broke for orbit, then the clouds below. Those groundside would find a second wind of air support - even if the Tyranny was unable to commit its landing craft, and the Night Legion trapped aboard. The remaining squadrons stayed orbital, joining the Tyranny's defense.
Mandalorian ships - their solar cannons - had breached a new hole. This time near the rear. It seemed the Kestran gambit would pay off, and in a way it had. However, the seismic charges would not make their way into any breach of the ship; the laser-reflective armor may've had layers peeled away, but it wasn't so vulnerable. Point-defense lasers were expertly placed, guided by the warship’s advanced targeting systems to pick off each charge. Of course, they detonated, close enough to decimate one of the smaller thrusters, tearing more of the armor to shreds, and a few TIE Hunters sent to intercept. Their squadmates were fueled by the fury of seeing their brethren, those they flew with, simulated with, die in an instant. Fueled by that rage, heightened by the Nether, they fought like crazed beasts, recklessly pursuing the enemy smallcraft with reckless abandon.
A collapsing carrier was on an unavoidable course towards one of the siege destroyers. Those Sith ships, in particular, were slow to thrust forward, but had enough maneuvering thrusters. Of course, the captain was an utter fool and tried to go forward anyway instead of up or down. The collision was ugly and the siege vessel doomed.
Three Mandalorian star destroyers meant to seize an advantage by attacking the Tyranny’s rear, as seemed their common strategy now. A single heavy Sith destroyer intercepted, quick with its massive thrusters. It unleashed its heavy guns, but it was only a distraction. Two Thrantin-class corvettes charged in, flanking the enemy’s rear with a barrage of heavy turbolasers and a rapid thwap from the pulse cannons.
All the while, the Vice Admiral remained locked on her viewscreen. On the readouts from the God’s Eye. On the evacuation fleet that rushed headlong on their escape route, just as the Tyranny moved into its final position.
In that moment, Kesyk realized something: this evacuation was everything that Mercy could have hoped for. By attempting to save the natives this way, the Kestrans had utterly doomed them instead. Every evacuation ship might as well have been a charge to toss into the plague. Bodies packed tightly, she suspected, as why wouldn’t they have tried to evacuate as many as possible, overstuffing the ships?
Tyrant Squadron could sacrifice - buy time for the Tyranny to unleash half its firepower, concentrated entirely on the retreating ships. They’d pummel Romul’s fleet, too, because naturally that was unavoidable. But did it matter? The Vice Admiral grinned; she cackled; she gripped the command console so tightly that her nails clawed against the brushed metal, splitting at the tips. The enemy should have committed as she had, Kesyk thought. If they were to be butchers, then be butchers. If they were to be saviors, then be saviors. Trying to have it both ways? Well, that just won the Sith the battlefield of resolve in her eyes.
Tyranny’s main guns - all of them that could face planetside, anyway (about half) - opened fire on the evacuation as it made a daring attempt at escape. Turbolasers, ion cannons, heavy and contemporary, fired by the battery en masse, joined by swarms of proton torpedoes unleashed from their projectors.
Kesyk was so enamored by the opportunity that even when a Mandalorian bolt struck her side, she did little more than stumble and laugh, holding her side as her eyes couldn’t peel away from the screen.
- Tyranny is scrambling fighters and bombers towards the planet. Some stay behind to defend.
- One siege destroyer was knocked out.
- A heavy destroyer and two corvettes are flanking the Mando ships attempting to attack the aft.
- The Seismic charges were intercepted, but erupted nonetheless, doing some damage to the Tyranny and a few TIE squads.
- Tyranny has opened fire on the evacuation.
- Kesyk was wounded on the bridge by intruders.
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The Golden Dragon
At some point over the last several days, the workshop aboard the Ironclad had ceased to resemble a place where a sane engineer worked and become an archaeological record of one man's increasingly questionable relationship with sleep. Fleet Fuel wrappers occupied whichever corners of the workbench were not already claimed by tools or components. Empty Crews-ade bottles stood among them, joined by the remains of enough Mythos Mix to suggest that proper meals had become more theoretical than habitual.
Sahan himself looked worse. Dark hair sat wherever his hands had most recently pushed it, stubble shadowed a face gone slightly paler than usual beneath the workshop lights, and his eyes looked downright unhealthy. The normally white sclera were webbed so thoroughly with angry red vessels that the distinction between them and his blood-red irises had become increasingly academic.
None of that mattered. The code had compiled.
He leaned forward, elbows braced against the workstation, and initiated the final diagnostic sequence. Flight-control architecture, nanolattice coordination, Ironheart synchronization, environmental systems, sensor fusion, weapons integration, power distribution, Dragonflight, DRAHR—one subsystem after another populated the display while Sahan waited for the inevitable warning. A timing discrepancy. A failed handshake. Some microscopic incompatibility that had survived simulation and would demand another six hours of tracing through code.
Nothing did.
URE'DRAHR // SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC
FLIGHT CONTROL ............... 100%
NANOLATTICE .................. 100%
IRONHEART .................... 100%
ENVIRONMENTAL ................ 100%
SENSOR FUSION ................ 100%
WEAPON INTEGRATION ........... 100%
POWER DISTRIBUTION ........... 100%
DRAGONFLIGHT ................. 100%
DRAHR ........................ 100%
SYSTEM INTEGRITY: 100%
STATUS: OPERATIONAL
Sahan did not move. He blinked once, then again, but the numbers remained stubbornly unchanged.
For the first time since he had begun dismantling the battered remains of the armor that preceded it, there was nothing demanding his immediate attention. No failure concealed beneath another failure, no recalcitrant subsystem insisting upon one more adjustment before he could call the whole thing operational. Sahan had long since stopped pretending anything he built was ever truly finished, but there came a point when an engineer had to admit that something was ready.
Apparently, this was it. He slowly leaned back in his chair. "Huh." It was perhaps not the grand declaration the moment deserved.
A sterile reservoir waited beside the workbench, its contents carrying the faint metallic sheen of Ure'drahr's first full complement of internal nanites. Every component had been tested individually. Every interaction had been modeled. His body had been simulated so many times that Sahan suspected the computer possessed a more detailed understanding of his circulatory system than most physicians ever would.
Simulation was no longer enough.
He rolled up his sleeve, seated the intravenous line, and began the infusion. Coolness followed the vein into his arm, accompanied by an almost imperceptible prickling beneath the skin as microscopic machines entered his bloodstream and began dispersing themselves through the pathways designed for them. Sahan watched the medical display rather than the line itself as the internal network steadily came online.
INTERNAL NANITE INTERFACE
CIRCULATORY DISTRIBUTION ..... 100%
SUBDERMAL CHANNELS ........... 100%
CELLULAR RESERVOIRS .......... 100%
BIOMETRIC RESPONSE ........... STABLE
INTERNAL INTERFACE: ONLINE
His pulse remained somewhat elevated, though whether that was exhaustion, anticipation, or the inadvisable amount of stimulant currently circulating alongside the nanites was anyone's guess.
Sahan removed the line and reached for the rest. The utility belt came first, heavier than its appearance suggested, carrying ammunition, tools, coolant, Cryoban and carbonite reserves, replacement nanite cartridges, and the assorted necessities that turned armor from something merely worn into something lived in. Then came the pack, compact in its dormant state despite containing the larger assemblies that could not be reduced to nanite construction alone: folded mechanisms, the Dragonflight spine, heavier propulsion hardware, thermal systems and their reservoirs.
He slipped his arms through and locked it against his back. For a moment, the culmination of months of work amounted visually to nothing more impressive than an exhausted Kiffar wearing a utility belt and an unusually elaborate backpack.
Sahan flexed his fingers. "DRAHR."
DRAHR ONLINE // COMMAND INTERFACE READY
He drew a slow breath. This was the part he had simulated thousands of times and performed exactly none. "Full deployment."
A fraction of a second passed. Sahan caught his reflection in the darkened surface of another monitor and reconsidered. "Slowly."
The Ironheart answered first. Something stirred beneath his skin as the internal machines responded to the command. Thin seams of metallic structure emerged at predetermined interface points and spread across his torso in branching lines, where they met the external swarm released from the belt and pack. The first layer formed close against his body, sealing itself over skin before reinforcement began to follow.
Then came gold. A small plate unfolded over his sternum. Another joined it, then another, each emerging, expanding and interlocking with the next until overlapping scales propagated outward across his ribs and climbed his shoulders. Red-orange accents followed through the seams beneath them, glowing briefly as systems awakened before settling into their normal hue.
The armor continued down his arms in a measured tide. Vambraces assembled from layered sections; his wrists vanished beneath articulated plating; then the nanolattice swept across his hands and divided over each finger, golden segments locking into place one joint at a time. Sahan turned one hand slowly before his face, watching the armored fingers flex in perfect answer to his own.
The transformation continued downward. Protection formed around his waist and hips before descending over thighs and lower legs, until the boots sealed against the deck with a soft mechanical click. Behind him, the compact pack began to unfold and integrate itself into the armor's spine. Heat-management surfaces nested into their recesses, thruster housings settled into place along his back and limbs, and the Dragonflight architecture ceased to be something Sahan carried and became part of the larger machine surrounding him.
The kama deployed around his waist last. Dark cloth fell against immaculate gold, carrying with it the one part of Ure'drahr that was not new: Humbarine. Sahan's gaze rested briefly on the Haran'val Mark. Then the collar rose, armored sections climbing his neck as the helmet began to close.
His reflection remained visible for one final instant: disheveled hair, an exhausted face, and eyes so bloodshot that red seemed to bleed almost uninterrupted from pupil to lid. Gold swept across it. The T-visor sealed. Darkness lasted less than a heartbeat before the world returned in layers of information. The HUD awakened around him as sensors synchronized with his own senses, the Ironheart registered against his chest, and DRAHR threaded itself through the armor's control architecture to assume responsibility for the thousands of tiny corrections no organic wearer could consciously manage at once.
Behind the black visor, the faint blood-red glow of the helmet's eyes came alive. For the first time, the Golden Dragon stood complete.
URE'DRAHR // FULL-SYSTEM INTEGRATION
IRONHEART .................... 100%
NANOLATTICE .................. 100%
ENVIRONMENTAL SEAL ........... 100%
DRAGONFLIGHT ................. 100%
REPULSOR/THRUST NETWORK ...... 100%
WEAPON SYSTEMS ............... 100%
SENSOR ARRAY ................. 100%
POWER DISTRIBUTION ........... 100%
ARMOR STATUS: FULLY OPERATIONAL
FATIGUE ...................... SEVERE
SLEEP DEFICIT ................ SEVERE
STIMULANT LOAD ............... ELEVATED
MOTOR FUNCTION ............... WITHIN TOLERANCE
OPERATIONAL READINESS: BELOW RECOMMENDED THRESHOLD
RECOMMENDATION: CONTROLLED FIELD TEST PRIOR TO COMBAT DEPLOYMENT
Sahan's expression flattened behind the helmet.
The Ironclad had been carrying him toward Abregado-rae while he worked, its automated systems handling the voyage while their owner remained buried in the workshop. He had not ignored the reports coming from the planet. He had simply possessed nothing he considered adequate to answer them with.
Now he did.
At his command, the tactical feed unfolded across the HUD. Friendly transponders and hostile contacts resolved among fleet movements and surface positions; evacuation corridors were already active. The Covenant had already answered the Sith assault without him. And, judging by the tactical feed, his brothers had been busy.
For the first time in several days, the corner of Sahan's mouth twitched upward. Of course they had.
Then he reached the biological hazard overlays and the smile disappeared. Entire portions of Abregado-rae crawled with warning markers. The reports spoke of fungal proliferation, assimilated biomass, airborne spores, and organisms cobbled together out of things that had once been alive. Heat had proven unreliable—worse than unreliable in some areas—while cryogenic weapons had shown considerably better results.
Sahan studied the feed for several seconds before dismissing DRAHR's proposed testing profile. "This is the field test."
The stars waited beyond the containment field. Sahan stood at the edge of the Ironclad's hangar, pristine aurodium-gold reflecting the bay's cold illumination. There were no deckhands to wave him forward, no pilot waiting inside a fighter, and no organic crew aboard the corvette at all. There did not need to be.
DRAGONFLIGHT // PRE-LAUNCH
THRUST VECTORING: READY
REPULSOR NETWORK: READY
INERTIAL COMPENSATION: READY
THERMAL CONTROL: READY
AEROFORM: READY
FLIGHT STATUS: READY
Sahan rolled his shoulders, flexed his hands once more, and stepped through the threshold.
Artificial gravity released him. For one strange second, the Golden Dragon simply drifted beyond the Ironclad, a solitary golden figure suspended against the stars with Abregado-rae hanging ahead.
Then Dragonflight came alive. Thrusters ignited across Ure'drahr and Sahan vanished from beside the corvette. Acceleration struck hard, only to become something subtler as inertial compensation, repulsors and distributed thrust began working in concert. Numbers climbed across the HUD while tiny corrections rippled continuously through the armor. Individual scales adjusted by fractions of degrees, DRAHR learning from the forces acting upon them even as Sahan tested how naturally the new suit answered him. He banked, rolled, corrected, and accelerated again. Ure'drahr moved with him rather than around him.
FLIGHT DEVIATION DETECTED
PORT BRAKING RESPONSE: +4.7% ABOVE PROFILE
CORRECTION LOGGED
First note. There would be others.
Abregado-rae grew until it filled his visor. Atmosphere met gold and heat rolled across the outer scales as Ure'drahr shifted its geometry for entry. Surfaces reoriented to distribute thermal load while Dragonflight compensated continuously, and before long plasma was licking across the armor's silhouette.
Every sensible testing protocol Sahan had written said this should have happened gradually: low-speed hover, controlled maneuvering, progressive acceleration, high-altitude trials, vacuum trials, atmospheric interface.
Instead, his first flight had begun in space and proceeded directly into combat reentry. Sahan grinned inside the helmet. The golden streak became a meteor.
Then the scales changed again. Airbrakes deployed, repulsors bit into the descent, and thrusters reversed. Ure'drahr shed velocity with violence carefully shaped into control, carrying Sahan from atmospheric insertion speeds toward something considerably more useful among buildings, aircraft, and friendly forces.
The tactical network expanded as he descended, and familiar transponders appeared amid the clutter. Romul. Siv. Alive and busy. Good.
Sahan did not alter course toward either of them. They had their fights, and after a moment the Golden Dragon found one of his own.
The first airborne Reaver crossed his path below. For an instant he mistook it for tumbling wreckage, until the thing changed direction and his sensors resolved stolen muscle, fungal mass, malformed wings, and biological structures assembled according to rules nature had never agreed to. Another appeared behind it, then several more, until the sky ahead seemed to be filling with them.
Sahan stared. "...What the feth?"
BIOLOGICAL CONTACT
HOSTILE CONTACTS: MULTIPLE
BIOMASS COMPOSITION: ANOMALOUS
AIRBORNE VECTOR: CONFIRMED
CONTAMINATION RISK: HIGH
The Golden Dragon rolled as the swarm turned after him. Sahan raised his left arm, cycling the multifunction projector through its available modes until the display settled where he wanted it.
MULTIFUNCTION PROJECTOR // CRYOBAN
The first plume caught a Reaver across its front.
Sahan did not remain stationary to admire the result. He accelerated through the swarm, rolled beneath another creature and drove upward, Cryoban streaming from his gauntlet as repulsor output and carefully directed thrust caught the freezing medium and pulled it outward into his wake. He was not creating more ammunition; he was making better use of what he had, stretching the plume through a broader volume of air instead of wasting it against a single target.
A pale freezing trail curled through the airborne mass while Sahan banked around it, the HUD recording temperature, exposure, movement and reaction data all at once. Whatever these things were, the Covenant reports had been right about one thing: cold mattered.
He reduced thrust and followed one of the affected organisms toward the ground, where it struck among a carpet of similarly corrupted biomass. Sahan landed several meters away, gold touching the ruined earth of Abregado-rae for the first time.
BIOHAZARD WARNING
AIRBORNE PARTICULATES DETECTED
ENVIRONMENTAL SEAL: INTACT
EXTERNAL CONTAMINATION: MONITORING
He crouched beside a fragment that had broken free of the larger mass, and the bioengineer in him displaced the warrior almost immediately. Ure'drahr's sensors swept across the specimen.
PRELIMINARY BIOLOGICAL SCAN
FUNGAL STRUCTURES: DETECTED
HOST-DERIVED TISSUE: DETECTED
CELLULAR ACTIVITY: DETECTED
BIOLOGICAL SIGNATURES: MULTIPLE
CLASSIFICATION: INCOMPLETE
ANALYSIS CONTINUING
Interesting. Deeply, profoundly disgusting, but interesting.
A Covenant research identifier appeared amid the battlenet traffic. Sindel was already collecting specimens of her own. Sahan opened the channel without taking his attention from the fragment. <Sindel Krymer. Sahan Dragr. I've made contact with the organism. I'm sending you everything I get from the scan. If you'll kindly do the same.>
Raw telemetry began uploading while he extended one hand. Nanites separated from an external reserve and flowed down the gauntlet, spreading around the frozen fragment before closing inward. A shell formed without requiring the contaminated material to contact the armor itself; when the first layer sealed, Sahan ordered a second around it. Anything that had touched the specimen stayed with the specimen. Those nanites would not be returning to the swarm.
SPECIMEN CONTAINMENT
PRIMARY SHELL: SEALED
SECONDARY SHELL: SEALED
CONTACT NANITES: QUARANTINED
REMOTE SCAN: ACTIVE
The capsule locked itself against an isolated external point on his equipment while Ure'drahr continued whatever nondestructive scanning it could perform through the containment.
Sahan rose and began drawing the wider Covenant reports into his own sensor map: known outbreaks, biomass concentrations, spore density, Reaver movements, areas of accelerated growth, secondary concentrations. What bothered him was not the sheer amount of information, but the possibility that there was a pattern buried inside it.
Ure'drahr began correlating. The data suggested gradients and vectors rather than random spread. Growth had direction. Proliferation had history. Somewhere behind all those branches there had to be a trunk.
PROLIFERATION ANALYSIS
GRADIENT: DETECTED
SECONDARY NODES: MULTIPLE
VECTOR CORRELATION: IN PROGRESS
PROBABLE PRIMARY VECTOR: DROP-ZONE REGION
CONFIDENCE: INCOMPLETE
Sahan looked toward the distant drop-zone region. There. Maybe.
The sealed sample continued feeding data into the model while he transmitted his developing map back into the Covenant network.
<Romul. Siv. I'm planetside.> The Golden Dragon's thrusters began to glow as Sahan shifted his weight forward. <The spread keeps pointing me back toward the drop zones. I'm going to see what I can find.>
The armor was no longer quite as immaculate as it had been aboard the Ironclad. Frost clung to portions of one gauntlet, atmospheric entry had left the faintest discoloration along several heat-shedding scales, and the gold around his boots was already marked with dirt from Abregado-rae.
First flight. First combat. First sample. And Sahan already had the beginnings of a list of mental notes.
Good field test. So far.
Ure'drahr launched. Gold rose over Abregado-rae and accelerated toward the heart of the plague.