Annihilation End of an Era: AC Annihilation of Korriban

[Bernard of Arca]

Go wash the hand that still betrays thy guilt;
Before the spirit’s gaze what stain can hide?
Abel’s red blood upon the earth is spilt,
And by thy tongue it cannot be denied;
----
Inside the Academy
Library​

Allies: GA, AC, NIO, Ishida Ashina
Enemies: BOTM, TSE, Sith​

BEWARE WHAT YOU WANT​

"Bernard.."

Cold eyes fell on the scene unfolding in the library. A grotesque display of debauched cruelty performed on innocent beings. The sight swelled a deep loathing in Bernard, but he remained motionless, calm. His mind detached the pain he felt coursing through the room from his senses, and he put up a wall between himself and the emotions that started simmering deep within his guts.

The mission came first. There was no room for emotion in the heat of combat, no spark to ignite a desire for vengeance.

Duty came first.

He turned to Ishida, but at that moment she had already pulled her weapons free and the next she disappeared into the library. The instinct to follow overcame him, and he rose to his feet.

But hesitation struck as his hand fell to his sabre. What would happen when he activated the blade this time? The Force had abandoned him last time he brandished the sabre, what would stop it this time, and here, on Korriban, of all places?

Freezing cold spread through the glove. The pulses of his heartbeats pushed through his palm. His thumb fell on the activation switch.

If the blade roared to life, would it take the Force with it? Had he atoned yet? Would his ancestors judge his worth adequate to wield their legacy this time?

Ahead, Ishida dodged and weaved through blaster fire, reflecting the occasional bolt. She was headed directly for the warriors huddled around the prisoner who'd found his fortune destitute. More of them turned around the edges of the library space, grabbing their weapons to see what the commotion was about.

Bernard jumped from the vantage point and flipped the activation switch.

It didn't matter what esteem his ancestors held him in, nor what price he'd pay for wielding their blade before he was ready. Whatever verdict they would cast it didn't much matter. Ishida counted on him, right here in the present.

His feet touched the ground without a sound. A few leaps and he slid to a halt, turning to face the incoming group mere paces from the deadly dance of steel and blood happening behind him. Rising to his full height, he brought his sabre up into the traditional Shien opening.

Maw warriors started turning corners around bookshelves, tapping large power hammers or vibroblades against the floors and walls. Their expressions betrayed the depravity they'd fallen to, twisted in debased anticipation.

Bernard's eyes flicked from one to the next, counting three total. Steeling his gaze, he lowered the blade, holding it diagonally in front of him. A stance switch to Shien's sibling, Djem So.

The closest warrior roared and charged forward, a vibroblade held high above his head. He stood a head taller than Bernard and was twice as wide. Fortunately, little of his size correlated to his tactical capacity. The warrior was used to simply thrashing his opponents with brute strength alone, a tactic that may have even worked against an inexperienced Jedi, but Bernard was nimble, and above all fast.

A tingling awareness tugged Bernard's attention away from the warrior for a moment, and towards a hired gun perched on the opposite side of the library floor. Four, then. The mercenary leaned against a table and set the sights of his blaster directly on Bernard, who, in turn, couldn't help but let one corner of his mouth pull into a knowing smirk.

The Force hadn't abandoned him this time.

The blaster lit up from across the room, and the bolt came flying from the right. A heartbeat later, the warrior was upon Bernard, extending his arm up in anticipation of a crashing downward slash from the left. Their attacks played off each other. Blocking the sword meant being exposed to the bolt, and the reverse for deflecting the bolt.

In that split-second before impact, Bernard made his move. Stepping back, he swung his sabre in a horizontal arc, catching the bolt and redirecting it into the closed fists of the warrior.

The bolt found its target. A cry of surprise escaped the warrior as the momentum of his swing was reversed, and his hands lost their grip on his blade. Before the sword clattered to the floor, Bernard sabre finished its path, through the torso of his assailant. Shock contorted the warrior's face, and he wavered a moment before he finally collapsed.

Another two bolts followed without pause, aimed high and low to complicate the defence. Bernard sidestepped the lower bolt before he'd even consciously registered it, and brought his sabre around to reflect the second back to its sender, who yelped, lunging from his seat a moment too late.

With two gone, two more remained. A diminutive Sith in black robes and a crimson sabre approached alongside a taller Zabrak wielding two vibroaxes. They meant to use their numbers advantage against Bernard, to circumvent his defences while he was busy fighting one and blind to the other.

Bernard settled into a defensive stance, low with one foot extended a half-step back.

The Sith whispered something to the Zabrak, whose grin widened in response. He picked up his pace, rolling his shoulders in preparation for a flurry of attacks. His teeth, sharp as a tukata's, appeared between the split lines of his scarred lips. The lust for blood rolled off him in waves.

But so did hubris.

Kicking off the ground, Bernard lunged into an explosive forward stab. The sabre grazed red flesh at the shoulder, but an axe-blade clumsily pushed it aside before it could sink deeper. Concern flashed across the Zabrak's features, and he reeled to recover into a retaliatory strike, but Bernard took another step closer. Still ducking low, he let the axe guide the sabre away, then slid it down into the Zabrak's legs.

The strike took the Zabrak's leg below his knee, robbing him of his balance and toppling him over. He didn't let up that easily, however. With a growl, he swung the other axe at Bernard mid-fall. It came high, aimed at a shoulder. Slipping a hand away from the sabre, Bernard caught the man's hand and twisted it out of the way. At the same time, he brought his own blade up in a vertical slash that silenced the Zabrak once and for all.

One target left.

He stepped toward the Sith, sensing their darkness and using it as a beacon to guide him before he even caught sight of the black robes. An overhead slash presented itself well as he rose from his low stance, and he brought his hands together above his head to cut down the last of the torturers.

But a flash of auburn hair froze him in his tracks. The blade of his sabre hovered an inch above the crossed arms of a terrified acolyte, full of youth in her features. She'd stumbled backwards and lost her weapon during the fall. Her arms quivered, pulling away from the scorching blue.

Icy shivers ran down his spine, and the determination in his eyes conceded to recognition. A long breath escaped him. He flourished the sabre and levelled it toward the Acolyte. His off-hand found its way behind his cape, where its trembling couldn't be seen.

The acolyte flinched as the sabre cut the air with a whir, staring wide-eyed at the Jedi standing over her.

"Don't move," he managed through grit teeth.

 

[The Battalion]

The Battalion slashed viciously into the Sith undead attacking them in the depths of Korriban's ancient tunnel network. The undead had enchanted weaponry and armor, and thus it took longer than the Battalion would have liked to rip them apart.

Her Light Red Blade dashed through a corpse's pathetic bladework, the few dozen Model 1's tearing into anything that looked mummified with Light Machine Guns and their onboard weapons, riddling the tunnels with bullets, ripping apart corpses with volley fire.

The Battalion's blade moved in a constant spin in her hands, slashing and slashing everything that dared to think it could threaten her, blood lust building in the intense Dark Aura of the tunnels, the Light Sith taught by Darth Xiphos holding their own, unleashing the powerful green lightning lethal to so many things of the Dark Side, barely missing her in some cases.

The Battalion found it darkly ironic that she was fighting alongside Light Adepts to save Korriban. If someone had told her this would be happening when she was first created, she would have laughed at the absurdity of it.

But lead them she did. Was this what Xiphos intended? Softening her to the prospect of working with them?

Was... Xiphos actually trying to flip the Battalion?

That's the spirit, Xiphos! NOW you're thinking like a true Sith would. Yet...you are STILL Heretical... The Battalion thought, amused as she cut down the last of the corpses.

Xiphos liked her. This was proof. Clever little Kyber, that one. She liked The Battalion so much she was trying to lay the ground work for turning her to Xiphos's way of thinking.

If the Battalion had understood, really understood, just how much Xiphos knew about how Sith such as her thought, she wouldn't have been nearly so amused. If She had been aware of just how much ground work Xiphos had started to lay to genuinely turn her, she would have been given genuine pause at how much she had already underestimated Xiphos.

Granted, it wouldn't have made her lust any less after the Heretic, but she would have been far more cautious in her approach then she was currently.

Whether The Battalion knew it or not, Xiphos had become her small, teeny tiny blindspot.

The Witch after making sure all the corpses were dead, she began the retrieval of relics again. Darth Phyre had collected so many for a rainy day such as this.

"Just where are we heading?" A Model 1 asked.

"There is an ancient Nexus in these depths. An underground lava river that supposedly goes all the way to the planetary core. Korriban's very own Carotid Artery..." The Battalion answered. "Darth Phyre discovered it during the Gulag Era. The Sith Purebloods constructed a ritual chamber in it long before the arrival of the first Dark Jedi Exiles."

"And how is that useful to us?" The robot asked.

"If there is any place, any place at all to appeal to the very essence of what Korriban is, what Korriban represents, it is this place. What we are going to do is appeal to that essence to try and save itself."

"And if it doesn't feel like it?" The mechanical soldier wondered.

"We do what Sith do best: We Force the issue." The Battalion answered slyly as she went deeper with them.

Everyone began to notice the heat as they went ever deeper, gathering the relics from the remains of Phyre's rainy day supply, a dozen different amulets and other foul relics gathered with them.

The glow slowly turned orange against ancient red tunnels, the heat growing more intense.

The entire group came upon the chamber that overlooked a river of magna far down below, but the heat was still very intense.

The face of the creature that had eventually become master to Starlin Rand overlooked the whole of the ancient ritual site, carved into the rocks.

The Model 1's jaws fell open slightly.

"That... that's Syd!" One of the robots exclaimed.

Every robot had Syd in their database. Every robot knew what that meant.

It meant they could never tell their mother, as one of their directives was that they were never to harm her.

It also meant they themselves would have to suffer with the secret.

"You cultists are real pieces of work..." One of them grumbled.

"I know, right?" The Battalion chuckled.

She saw ceremonial alters positioned at key points in the chamber overlooking the gash deep below, she got in the center, the Light Sith surrounding her. The magics they would attempt here were profane and unnatural.

The most ancient of the pure bloods called out in her mind.

YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE OUTSIDER. YOU DARE BRING HERETICS TO THIS SACRED DEPTH?

"I had no choice, Ancient Ones." The Battalion answered as she sat in the center of the chamber.

"They are necessary, on this day."

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

"Korriban is about to be destroyed. These sacred places, everything that makes the Sith what they are, all will be annihilated by the Ashlan Crusade and NIO, or by the hand of Darth Solipsis himself. He cares not for the legacy of Korriban. It is nothing more than a rock to him, and you are nothing more than an afterthought. The great ones who built this place, all who made Korriban into the locus of Dark Side Power it is, all of it shall be crushed to ash. The very heart of you shall be ripped out. You, who birthed the Sith Order and nurtured it. Does that give you no pause, your impending annihilation?" The Battalion called out.

ALL PLANETS DIE, LITTLE ONE. the voices of the ancient Pure Blood Sith spoke.

"It doesn't have to die today..." The Battalion argued with the invisible spirits swirling about the chamber. "This unholy place should yet endure."

WHY? OUR WORLD IS BUT BONES. THE OLDEST AND GREATEST OF OUR SECRETS ARE LONG SINCE TAKEN FROM HERE.

"Don't tell me you've all turned into those let the past die types!" The Battalion snapped in disgust. "Why let it die? Is the future really so much better, full of watered down pretenders to the greatness of the ancients pilfering your work and bastardizing it for their own ends? Korriban stands for something! Korriban stands for the idea that now matter how bright the Light becomes, there will always be great shadows in the Galaxy. If you are worthy of only destruction, why do so many work towards it? You are a symbol to all who ravage the surface above, whether they admit it or not. If you are destroyed, you will leave future Sith without guidance, without a place to immerse in true Darkness and death. New secrets can be made. New legacies. New tombs. As long as it is built upon the foundation and Earth that justifies and embodies all the Sith fight for. Would you really bow your head before the axe of the Maw, the guillotine of the Crusaders, or the rifles of the imperials??!!" The Battalion demanded. "You wouldn't do it if you were alive, so why accept it if you are dead?! To hell with the Iconoclasts! To hell with their petty musings and warped ramblings! Their visions for the future? Bad Jokes. Clung to out of misguided desperation and spite towards the true teachers and masters. They dishonor you just setting foot upon this place."

SAYS THE WITCH WORKING WITH HERETICAL LIGHT ADEPTS.

"I use them as I would use a poison, that in the hopes of understanding it, I may learn the way to kill it." The Battalion replied. "Like you never used the ignorant."

FAIR ENOUGH.

"If you will not lift one ghostly digit to prevent your annihilation or even your abuse, then it is you who dishonor the teachings of the Sith, to rail against their destruction. To accept your fate with such passivity...how disgustingly Jedi-Like."

The invisible spirits surged with rage. Partly at the insult, but mainly because they knew she was right.

"Make no mistake, Forebears of Korriban, This is your Darkest Hour. And if you will not fight, then you deserve your fate..." The Battalion sneered.

Silence from the invisible spirits.

Finally, an answer.

WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE US DO?

Meanwhile...

Most of the Model 1's were not on the surface of Korriban to fight the invaders. In fact, they had done very little actual fighting except to reach select spots.

A lot of materiel had been captured from slain NIO units at the third battle of Ziost. Xiphos had made sure to salvage as much of it as she could, along with all the stuff of the Sith the Ashlan's had destroyed. Hastily repaired armor and the like.

A few Model 1's had been forced to move around in the chaotic battlefield around the academy, dodging sniper attacks, staying behind cover. Others had set off distractions with salvaged, rigged Cataphract Engines taken from the third battle of Ziost to let them move unhindered. A few Model 1's had been taken down already, but again they were not here to fight the invaders. Their forces were too small for that.

Instead, as they moved, they positioned themselves at various points in the areas directly around the academy. Some carried the warheads to old Diamond Boron Missiles. Only a few, though.

Most of the units were underground however, by this point. Anyone on the surface was only there on standby.

They were working near ancient fault lines, the Impeding Assault Tanks cleared the way as they burrowed.

Most of the Model 1's were planting every explosive they could. They had spared one Void Charge for the underground operation. The rest would be deployed in space when the time was right...

Only one Impeding Assault Tank remained to harass the forces of DECEASED Aron Gowrie and The Mongrel , but that was only to foster a sense of paranoia, more amongst NIO forces than the Maw's who likely didn't care. It didn't even try and go after tanks. Infantry was it's sole prey now. Erupting, killing as many as possible, then diving. This had the dual purpose of loosening the earth underneath them, boring tunnels that would make it easier for things to happen.

Meanwhile, fourteen Firesprays piloted by Model 1's concentrated fire on the engines of a corvette, launching missiles to try and do as much damage as possible, backed by a few Coral Skippers trying to distract it's point defense systems...

Fiolette Fortan

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: The Fatalis, High Orbit over Korriban
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | KV-6000 | Derix Tirall | Marlon Sularen | Aldo Garrick
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | Isla Draellix-Kobitana | Fiolette Fortan | Aerarii Tithe | Albrecht F. Herlock | Constantine Oliva | Relynia Sorrene | Pietro Demici | Dracken Pryce

As soon as they were faced with any actual opposition, even just a few scouting fighters, the crew of the Silencieux ran for their lives. The Taskmaster watched as the stealth ship's hyperspace signature betrayed its position, and then it was gone. He barked out a bitter laugh, a wet, phlegmy sound like a dog choking on an oyster. "This is the valor of the New Imperial Order?" He wondered aloud, still chortling. "Attack only from behind, and from stealth, and then run at the first sign of trouble? It would seem the cravens of the NIO Navy are much different from the bold Galidraani."

But the Ebruchi had no more time to waste on the cowardly corvette; the Ashlan and Alliance forces, those brave enough to attack the Mawites in open battle, were pressing his ships to the breaking point. The Light of Ruusan and her escorts were pushing in hard now, adding to the powerful detachment surrounding the Ashlan flagship, and Tu'teggacha had nothing he could spare to throw at them. Their steady fire, along with that of the Alliance artillery ship, was rapidly wearing down the shields of the two relatively-intact Mawite star destroyers. They were clearing the chaff before the harvest.

Before they came for the Fatalis and crushed the flagship.

Another Samael-class, the Opened Vein, burst apart before the Taskmaster's eyes, caught mid-retreat in a pincer attack by the two Ashlan battlegroups. Heavy fire shifted to the other two, rapidly draining their shields. The western sector - it could hardly be called a flank anymore, for it had collapsed all the way back to the Fatalis - was open to the enemy, and the crusaders were pushing in. In the eastern sector, the guns of the Mawite flagship had destroyed another enemy frigate, but it wasn't enough to force the enemy back. The Rapture and its remaining escorts closed in on the Crimson Offering...

And, in a titanic burst of blue-white light, the star destroyer exploded.

Debris burst in all directions, the ship's defiant last act making its wreckage a barrier to the Ashlan advance... though it wouldn't hold them for long. Soon the enemy battlecarrier would be within optimal range of the Fatalis, and would no doubt join the Ashlan flagship in pummeling the Mawite super star destroyer. For its part, the Fatalis was already hard-pressed. Continual barrages from the Pillar of Retribution and repeated bomber attacks had disabled many of its heavy weapons, blowing apart the MegaCaliber guns and orbital autocannons. The flagship could no longer hold back the enemy frigates to the east.

The only good news was that the Mawites had managed to preserve and expand their fighter superiority, destroying many of the craft that had attacked their flagship and gaining a significant numbers advantage. Perhaps that could be used to buy them a little time. "All squadrons, engage the remaining fighters surrounding the enemy battlecarrier," the Taskmaster ordered. "Hold them back, and ensure they can make no attack on the Fatalis." Darkshears and Doomsayers raced in toward the eastern flank, ready to engage the last of their counterparts... and then bomb the Rapture, if they could.

Meanwhile, the Fatalis itself re-targeted its remaining weapons. Its heavy, long-range guns were out of commission, but its many ion cannon batteries were mostly intact. They were shorter-ranged weapons, rapidly losing cohesion over distance... but the Pillar of Retribution wasn't far. Tu'teggacha watched as the enemy flagship began to turn, trying to bring fresh batteries into the fight and recharge its shields. The ship was becoming fatigued, and that was an opportunity. With the Divine Purpose boarded, there was little purpose on firing on it. Instead, it was time to threaten the enemy command vessel with everything.

Perhaps that would force the Ashlans back, if only for a moment.

"All remaining ships," Tu'teggacha said, focusing his baleful glare out the front viewport, "fire on the Pillar of Retribution." Ion barrages from both the Fatalis and the two remaining Samael-class ships, which were heavily armed with ion cannons, streaked across open space to lash out at the Ashlan flagship, hopefully stealing its chance to recharge its shields. Then the two star destroyers opened up, firing with their still-intact heavy weapons, trying to do as much damage to the Pillar as they could. The battlecruiser was the greatest threat to the Fatalis, and had done the most damage to it. Time for vengeance.

Five ships left, against many times that. Where was the weapon?

Where was the Avatar of War?

---------------------------------------------
​

Real battles didn't go like the holovids. No matter how good you were, no matter how well armed and armored, you took losses in a fight. You'd win in some areas, and you'd be ground into the dust in others. At the end of the day, what mattered was both how hard you could punch and how well you could take a punch. The Kitiakira were good at both, and they knew when to adjust tactics. As she advanced through the hallways of the Divine Purpose, Ziraev was getting constant reports on the warband's progress. They'd hit heavy resistance at the path to the reactors, as usual. Enemy marines defended those heavily.

After all, letting the Maw capture them would've meant a big boom.

But the heavy defensive presence at the reactors meant fewer marines to defend the rest of the Kitiakira's targets... just as they had planned. The engines were reportedly hotly contested, with hand-to-hand fighting amid the maintenance catwalks and thruster bays, Ashlan discipline pitted against Mawite ferocity. But in the atmospherics section, the heart of the destroyer's life support... this had been Ziraev's main goal all along, and it was going well. It was why she had commanded this particular part of the assault personally. She didn't need to blow up the whole ship to do her part in taking it out of the fight.

As her warriors hacked down the last of the Ashlan defenders, their electro-axes ripping through flesh and armor with ease, Ziraev stalked over to the control station. A ship as huge as the Divine Purpose had many different atmosphere regulators, but this one was closest to the main gunnery sections of the ship, the part she most wanted to disable. If she could kill the gunnery crews and render their stations uninhabitable, it wouldn't matter if the Brotherhood fleet didn't have the vessels to fight and destroy the Purpose; the star destroyer wouldn't be able to fire its main weapons at them, either. Simple but effective.

Approaching the atmosphere regulation terminal, Ziraev tugged a computer spike from her belt and jammed it into the console. It wouldn't grant her full control - she didn't have time to break the Ashlan security protocols - but the virus it carried was designed to do one thing, and to do it well: to invert the air scrubbers. Where before the scrubbers whisked away carbon dioxide and pumped in oxygen, now they would do the opposite, suffocating the Ashlan crews. A system reset triggered from the bridge would put the air filtration back in the right direction... but it would also open all the vents to reset their function.

"Ready on the grenades!" Ziraev yelled, and her warriors got into position. Several covered the hall, their lightning cannons and scatterguns ready for any Ashlan reinforcements that might be coming, while others unclipped the metal cylinders they carried on their belts and bandoleers. As soon as the system reset began and those vents opened, they'd go to stage two: dropping the highly-toxic gas grenades inside. The Ashlan gunnery crews, lightheaded from lack of oxygen, would be relieved to feel the air cycling properly again... right up until they inhaled fatal doses of dioxis, once again betrayed by the vents.

All they had to do was hold and wait for the Ashlans to reset the system. If they didn't, after all, the gunnery crews would suffocate anyway. Ziraev grinned at the impossible choice, one the crusaders wouldn't even realize they were making - damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition / Actions

Fatalis, a Fatalis-class Star Dreadnought	Heavy Damage, Firing on the Pillar of Retribution
Crimson Offering, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Destroyed
Severing Blade, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Shields Depleted, Firing on the Pillar of Retribution
Sanguine Cruor, a Crucifix I-class Destroyer	Shields Depleted, Firing on the Pillar of Retribution
Vile Nativity, a Samael-class Frigate	Shields Depleted, Firing on the Pillar of Retribution
Ember of Sin, a Samael-class Frigate	Shields Depleted, Firing on the Pillar of Retribution
Opened Vein, a Samael-class Frigate	Destroyed
Wretched Fate, a Samael-class Frigate	Destroyed
Hollow Heart, a Samael-class Frigate	Destroyed

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Tag: KV-6000

Omen watched his grenade sail right back through the hole it came out of and explode against the far wall, its contents sticking onto the wall like a spider web. Someone in there had quick reflexes and a good arm, good to know. It didn't matter now though as the first Sith gunner stepped out to clear the hallway with a service rifle raised. The Clone quickly wasted no time, grabbing the gunner by the collar and throwing him into the electric spider web, causing the gunner to scream in pain before going unconscious. Omen quickly entered the open doorway, firing his stun pistol at whatever cover he thought the Sith might be hiding behind. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long till someone showed their face to get blasted.

 

[Ishida Ashina]

AT THE END OF ALL THE LIGHT KNOWN
KORRIBAN | SITH ACADEMY | LIBRARY
When you get to the end of all the light you know
and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown,
faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen:
either you will be given something solid to stand on,
or you will be taught how to fly.

IRONSIDE
​

When they’d arrived, the darkness had been overwhelming. Dank, heavy, putrid –– threatening to eclipse. But in moments like this, consumed by raw power and exhaling out purpose, she could feel the light start to spread its influence –– burning out the shadows. Each last breath from practitioners of the Bogan expanded Ashla’s lungs.

Just when she was starting to hit her high, feel untouchable, she felt something slam against her cheek and she stumbled back with heavy steps and a loud gasp. The attacks from the acolytes closing in on the Jedi pushed them into similar spaces, closing the surface area they had as a temporary arena. Through starrily blurred vision and blood, she saw the final acts of Bernard’s kerfuffle. With The Force back, he appeared ten times the swordsman he’d been without it, and felled the semi-final opponent with precision –– but couldn’t observe for long.

A loud inhumane roar, full of vitriolic hate as an audible component to the pure rage she felt permeating through The Force, pulled her attention. The owner of who had thrown the face-numbing punch. Quickly, she dodged to the left and slipped beneath the swipe of a sabre that came next. The crimson seared above her, singing the tips of her hair with a pungent burnt smell as she dropped. Then, Ishida pivoted on her front foot, spinning out in a half-circle that saw her katana’s blade carve through the back of the warrior’s knee. She didn’t stop, behind them now as they howled in agony, she dragged the freshly bloodied blade back up to finish the job through their shoulder blades. Her sabre pinched in to meet it, puncturing through the weak point in the armour.

The acolyte stooped limply gurgling, while Ishida's cheek pulsed in pain. Through strands of loose white hair and blood, she refocused her attention on her surroundings. She felt a vacancy before seeing anything. Shadows of fallen bodies littered the ground, blood stained the floors and her clothes. This is why she wore white, so her enemies could see the blood she’d taken from their comrades. Weapons were discarded, tenuously held by lifeless Sith.

Freed, the soldiers with enough wherewithal scrambled to equip themselves with the armaments that had been turned on them at one point. She could hear them testing the load-outs and checking the blasters' chambers and discussing how to proceed. They had Jedi on their team now. They could establish a perimeter, they could make sure there were no citizen––

She stopped listening and yanked her blades free of the flesh sleeve they’d buried themselves in. The massive man, still drawing in desperate, raspy breaths, jolted at their removal. They’d been keeping him upright. And in that instant, he teetered, falling on his wounded leg first before his breathing stopped entirely. His skull swallowed the point of the glowing white lightsabre two seconds before she disengaged it. With half a gesture, it found its way to clip back to her belt and she turned her attention back to the fight that should have been finished by now. Bernard had been looking as though victory was only one stab away until ––– until he...

..until he was defeated.

Was he?

He was.

He was hesitating.

Hesitation is defeat.

“No––” It was always the same, somehow, every time she looked at him she was waiting for some sort of completion, something more. More words, more commitment, more follow-through, more decisiveness, more truth, more –– just more. The way she looked at him dared what if and breath caught in her throat before she swallowed it down, feeling it take a rough shape that scraped through her chest.

He was moving further away from that intense sameness, that same focus she thought she could finally have a peer in.

-–and this time I won't be alone

But I will be. She thought selfishly. They were supposed to be in this together. Ishida only allowed that wallowing to exist for a heartbeat before she banished the phantom self-pity. In place of her own voice projecting her emotions, her father's echo reverberated in her mind's amphitheatre: You are a weapon, and weapons didn’t weep. They don’t feel hurt –– they only inflict it.

Steeling herself, she tightened.

“What are you doing,” she hissed at him, closing the distance –– the shrill sound of her katana dragging along the floor behind her as she walked the few necessary paces to stand beside him. Storm clouds flashed thunder in the direction of the cowering shape of a Sith, and she thought she saw the young woman flinch again.

In a battle of power and dominance, the Sith at the tip of Bernard’s blade seemed entirely at his mercy.

"And so... nothing is as it seems, Padawan Ashina. Something beautiful can be corrupted beyond repair. Do you understand?"

Mercy he was showing irresponsibly. Dread started to swell in her mind, and she flashed her stony glare from the figure drenched in darkness to her friend.

“What are you doing.” She emphasized again. “Hesitating.” She answered for him, the word taut on her tongue. How many times had she said her family’s modus operandi in front of him?

In case his hesitation turned into a speech, she reversed the looseness of her grip on her sword. The blade still freshly dripping with the cowering Sith’s companion’s blood.

​

ALLIES | GA | NJO | NIO | AC | Bernard of Arca
FOES | BOTM | SITH | THIS COWERING PANSY

 

[Dagon Kaze]

ASHLAN CRUSADE
BORN ON A MONDAY vol. I
Issue #7 - Bad Romance w/ Danika Leventis

She disengaged her twin blades, taking him by surprise and further strengthening his resolve; his belief she was not beyond redemption. Dagon hesitated for a few moments, then warily disengaged his own blue saber. Deception was the Dark Side's playing field, yet she didn't need her weapons to challenge him in a fight. He was as much certain. Instead, something to her posture, the contours of her face changed, softened - Danika piercing through the sinister veil of Halosis. All ears, the raven-haired Jedi was eager to hear her tale, to know more bits and pieces to the puzzle that shaped her.

Only for darkness to surge through the very plane of existence itself.

It struck him, similar to how it struck her, but harder. Hard enough to send him flying into the foot of a Sith's statue and nearly snap his neck at the structure. The pain split his head in two and he groaned, rubbing his brow. Strong vibrations ran through his back and a glance up revealed the statue rattling, slowly beginning to crumble. The ethereal flailed wildly like a mouse desperately trying to escape a snake's grip. The darkness permeating the air spread like venom, molding reality itself into its own baleful vision.

"The Dark Lord has pierced the Veil and is renewed. The Dark is drawing."

Danika's statement further reinforced the fact of what was occurring. Even she, one of great power, seemed not wholly prepared for this ordeal. The natural order - the rift separating materiality from the ethereal - clashed under the titan will of the Dark Lord Darth Solipsis . In his reality, there was no room for the Light. Dagon could feel his powers wane, his connection to the Light Side, already rattled by Korriban herself, was further ripped apart. Without the aid of the Force, the hefty weight of fatigue crashed upon his shoulders leaving him feeling like a mere shell of himself.

"This is no place for you to die, Master Jedi." she told him as she regained composure. "That was your cue to leave while you still have some wits about you." Era Knox would not be getting this head today. Not until Danika had more answers.

He barely stood up, only pure will lifted him up with a stagger, and only pure resolve escaped his lips, "Not without you, Lady."

The Jedi stepped forward, drawing nearer to her as the whole place threatened to collapse upon them.

"We're leaving together."

 

[Bernard of Arca]

Go wash the hand that still betrays thy guilt;
Before the spirit’s gaze what stain can hide?
Abel’s red blood upon the earth is spilt,
And by thy tongue it cannot be denied;
----
Inside the Academy
Library​

Allies: GA, AC, NIO, Ishida Ashina , Aaran Tafo [tag for the purpose of proving a point]
Enemies: BOTM, TSE, Sith​

A heart of broken glass, defiled​

For a moment, the blue eyes staring up at him existed as the only thing he perceived. Their terror struck him again. A glint of innocence sparked in them, a clearness that hadn't crossed his path in a long time. Whoever this acolyte was, she didn't look like a murderer. The eyes of murderers and criminals were different. Their gazes were hardened, devoid of life and humanity. He'd stared into such eyes day after day in his own mirror.

These eyes were not the same as his.

He expelled air in a relieving burst, and, slowly, the world around him started flowing in. The wall between his mind and the sensations broke. Pain, fear, hatred, despair all rushed in through the Force, the imprints left behind by the Sith's work. The stench of death lingered in the air. The howls of the dead still echoed within the Force, and their chorus grew louder by the moment. At the edge of his perception, he swore he heard the crackling of a fire.

Then came the hatred and anger still rolling off the living. Many of the survivors had gone through unimaginable pain and suffering, watched their friends and comrades tortured before their very eyes. That degree of pain left few without a desire to see vengeance enacted on their captors. Farther away, there were the Jedi and the Sith clashing elsewhere in the Academy. Their emotions flared on the horizon, leaving no space unoccupied.

“What are you doing,”

Among all the turmoil, one impression flared more brightly than the rest. The intense waves it cast through the Force converged with the scraping sound of metal passing over stone.

“What are you doing. Hesitating.”

Her words goaded him on through their judgement. He could almost hear Sardun speaking through her. Could almost make out his own voice echoing hers in his own mind.

Every instinct he possessed wanted to push the blade through the Acolyte, as retaliation for all the suffering bearing down on him. But he didn't move. Every muscle in his body tensed as he took a deep breath in, but he remained still.

The Acolyte's eyes shot between Ishida and Bernard. She still cowered on the stone floor, shoulders heaving with every terrified gasp.

Bernard released the breath with another sigh. He knelt next to the Acolyte, blade still at her throat, and produced a set of handcuffs.

"Hands," he ordered in a practiced, dispassionate tone.

The acolyte presented her hands. She trembled, her eyes settling on the blood-soaked Ishida.

This was the second time Bernard almost couldn't bear to watch a Sith. Subdued contempt flowed through his actions as he locked the restraints around her hand, one after the other.

The girl pulled away when he was done, drawing her knees up to her chest and pulling her arms up in a protective gesture. She wasn't a threat to anyone anymore. Weaponless, scared beyond her wits, and severed from the Force. Just a kid.

Bernard rose to his full height again, taking in the scene around him. Bloodstained the spines of books. Shelves lay upturned. Pages and manuscripts were strewn about, soaking in red puddles that pooled around the dead. Both warriors of the Maw and the Alliance littered the floors, some less unmarred than others.

His eyes settled on Ishida. She stood covered in blood and viscera, the white of her robes stained red. Hair clung to one side of her face where more of the crimson ran. Her sword was dripping with the remains of her foes. The sight was fearsome, an image of death.

He thumbed the switch of his sabre, letting the blade fall silent, and turned to Ishida. His eyes met hers with the still lingering fury, bristling against his control. Though he didn't cast the ultimate judgement on the Acolyte, neither did he excuse her actions.

"Restraint," he corrected. "This was restraint, Ishida."

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

7TH POST
THE_TUATH
KORRIBAN
OBJECTIVE 2: BLOODSOAKED VALLEY

Galidraani Forces: Enedina Tal Hiran Avola Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Fiolette Fortan

Allies (NIO): Rurik Fel Aemilio Valaar

Allies (AC/GA/EE/SJC/PO): Lonnie Kai Dagon Kaze Damsy Callat
Ingrid L'lerim Starlin Rand Solan Halcyon
Darth Petrichor Creuat Mikhail Grayson Sergeant Omen

Enemies (Sith Remnants): Vector Monk Laertia Io Danika Leventis Darth Orcus
First Sister Ana Malixar Caulder Dune
Dis Darth Voracitos Crane Baxa

Enemies (BOTM/NSO): The Mongrel Alars Keto Tegan Starfall

Gowrie's Loadout
Primary: Custom Blaster-Pistol (Right-hip Holster - left-or-right hand draw)
Secondary: Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Rapier (Left-hip Sheathe - right hand wielding)
Last Ditch/Second-Blade: Shugg's Fairbairn Vibroknife (Right-hip Sheathe - right-or-left hand wielding)
Pocket-Weapon: Barbershop Razor (Right-pocket - right-hand wielding)

Wildcat Battalion
(Mechanized/Artillery/Infantry)
48 XT-62 Cataphract Tanks
18 Scout-AFVs
10 MLVs
5 Predator Launch-Platforms
2 Guardian Tac-Teams
1 Field-Medic Platoon
1 Combat-Engineer/Logistics Squad

GALACTIC MOSHPIT: THE TUATH'S CRUCIBLE XIII - THE WATCHFUL WOAD PART 2

Ah guess Barran had an impact on this Mongrel fella, either that - or this lad actually kept Erskine on 'is toes like young Aron did.

Digging his wide, double-bladed broadsword's tip into the red sand beneath, the Mongrel would rise from his place on the ground, opposite to where Gowrie himself had landed. Though in doing so, it seemed he had to try and shake his head a little to shake some of the blood from his brow and snap himself into full-consciousness again, yet the Mawite-champion had only been rocked slightly in the process, slightly more than Lord Aron had assumed but enough to shake the sluggishness off completely by the time they faced off again. And yet, unbeknownst to both the duellists, (though Shugg had grown quiet enough that he may have been seeing it for himself) the attackers were finally pushing up the sloping rises of Mongrel Hill, and were doing so in the eye of what appeared to be a sandstorm of apocalyptic proportions; the likes of which none present had ever seen before, the likes of which none present would ever be lucky enough to experience again in their lifetimes.

Dia.... Certainly hope yer watchin' o'er the Laird the-day. Seems all things, the sand most of all, are out t'get the Wildcats on Korriban.

Not that either fighter would even care for that matter, as Aron had arrived on Korriban with the intention of letting none cut his fight short, and whether they had been opposing forces or friendlies, the Kellas would have made sure that the fight continue beyond the strategic results either way. This fight would meet it's natural conclusion one way or the other, and win, lose, or draw, Gowrie wanted to be sure it was a finale worthy of remembrance; looking at the renewed attacking-poise of the Mongrel in that moment, it was very much obvious that the Lord-Colonel's Mawite opponent had similar thoughts in mind. However, as the Tuath had called to resume the fight, this culmination of will to finish the fight definitively resulted in the most-peculiar of exchanges between them by that point, becoming yet another factor of the inexplicable between them. And if this wasn't enough, the setting itself was quite a rarity for fighting arenas; it was a truly colourful array of mined out rock-face in a circular wind, with the other, untouched areas displaying richer colours and shades than the artificial exposure to the light of day that could be seen at eye-level, a truly unusual facet to the duel itself.

Yet again, neither fighter really cared except for Aron in the beginning, but in the thrill of the fight itself, such aesthetic pleasures were all too easily forgotten; and rightly so, for not only were the duellists' reputations being placed on the line, but they would be putting their own lives on the line primarily. Bringing out the wildest, most-innovative methods from the deepest depths of their creative, near-pineal corners of their minds, the abandonment of their attachment to life itself would shine brightest in the following moments, manifesting in the strangest of exchanges between them by then. A defensively-complacent reliance on the strength of the basket-hilt itself would close out a defensive flourish against a double-stroke of swordfighting brilliance on the Mongrel's part, enacting a two-layered,"Targe counter", against the Kellas' opening downward slash; intuitively using his own cybernetic fist as the theoretical-buckler's handy durasteel substitution, one that forced Gowrie to kneel and defend the Mawite's accompanying forward blade-slash with the bottom half of the rapier's hilt.
Wait a minute.... I see what's going on here! So this is how the top o' the pile learn their wee tricks.

'Highlander techniques? It seems my ancient Sinn'searann are testin' mah worthiness the-day, Mongrel!', Lord Aron growled in response, trying his best to rise and properly punch the Mongrel's broadsword outward for a space-making respite. In the process, the Kellas would rise as intended with his pinky-knuckle already broken by the defensive impact, then bust his ring-finger's knuckle as he threw his weight behind the hilt-punch; only to break his middle knuckle in the act of spinning the same busted basket-hilt backhandedly towards the Mongrel's left-handed follow up. Each impact had pained the Lord-Colonel, with each and every corresponding grunt or growl getting louder and more-aggressive with each metallic clunk that rang out across the summit and the vanishing valley all around them, with each blow enraging Gowrie further with frighteningly quick intensity, enough to result in the Lord-Commander roaring at the top of his lungs as he sent a headbutt into the forehead of the Mongrel. Both would step back from that one, having both taken cuts to the tops of their foreheads, but with Aron sporting a rather nasty gash along his left eyebrow, snarling with intent as the sandstorm eventually enveloped Mongrel Hill in it's entirety.

'THANKS FOR THE WARNING, SHUGG! MUCH APPRECIATED, GLAIKIT!!!!'

GALACTIC MOSHPIT: THE TUATH'S CRUCIBLE XIV - UNLEASHING HELL

'Back row, this is Reed! I'll be needin' yees t'go further back to the active support troops holding the rear line for now, that's where all the action is expected t'be. Once they're safe, bring them north - bring them uphill!'

<"Aw'ready there, Milord! An' will do! AFV Thirteen out!">

Just as the response finished patching through, a random raiding assault on the rear of the forward-operating line occurred to Reed's left-hand side at the time, turning to face the threat with rifle bared until Valaar used his deft grav-glove to force the driver, later identified to be one Fre'shaa, to dismount by the sheer gravitational force to keep her swoop from riding into the ranks of Aemilio's men moving with the main column of AFVs. The changes in weather conditions had affected the amount of action he caught a glimpse of, but no sandstorm, no matter how great and apocalyptic, could conceal the sound of the weighty thud that followed as it reached the Woad's eardrums, causing him to shudder the thought of being on the receiving end of the Grav-Glove instead. Turning back to the north, Captain Reed was sure there would be more marauders waiting, hoping for the sake of their operational-momentum that there would be more to fight against than the whittled-down numbers of the Rough Riders from before.

'Aye, might as well push on an' see what forces are keepin' the Ashlans busy! Let's just sweep everyone northwest while the tanks go due-north ti the summit! We can handle anything as we are, especially with morale as high as that of your contingent - might as well let the AFV-crews ride that wave until we're told to stand down. Sound a plan t'you, Aemilio?'

Just as Valaar was showing face to answer, moving as close as he could to be seen by Reed in the sandstorm, blaster-trails and slug-tracers suddenly lit up the sand-particles around their north-lying defensive perimeter; and judging by the weight of the small-arms pressure exacted against them, the joined Ravelin/Tuath force were seemingly up against a scouting-party from the Leech legionnaires' first southern defensive static-line, sallying out around the north-western rise to slow the efforts of the beefed up mechanised-infantry array in their collective advance. With all this considered, the Tuaths and support troops uphill wasted no time in returning fire on a contingent that was realistically much smaller than the main Leech contingent, kept much busier than those defending their flanks, were engaging the Ashlan forces advancing from the west with no real idea who was pushing from the south yet.

'ALL AFV'S, THIS IS REED!!! CONTACT NORTHWEST!!!! LAYIN' DOWN SUPPRESSING-FIRE!!!! BRING EVERYONE NORTH - AN' THAT MEANS NOW, LADS!!!'

<"Sergeant McMinn to Wildcat Two! We appear to have wandered a wee bit too wide fae the main Cataphract line, though the crew to mah right inform me they're quite fine without us for now. So ah might as well ask, would yer contingent like a little smoothbore assistance going forward?">​

'Abso-karkin'-lutely, Sergeant! Give these pests to the northwest a karkin' beat-down!!! Wildcat Two out!'

 

[Dakrul]

Location: Korriban, Inside the Ritual Chamber
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw, Sith Remmanats
Foes: Cedric Grayson Romi Jade Auteme

The light-bearers descended deeper and deeper, into a reality so utterly filled with darkness it seemed it would gulp them up at any moment. Drown them in its plight, slip into their hearts and minds and gnaw at them until they too were corrupted by its enticing nature. Dakrul watched, licking his toothless orifice.

He wanted them, lusted for their taste, what was the flavor of a soul shining so brightly?

He fantasized about their final moments.

The Cha'ta'ri clung from the ceilings of sand and stone. He was so close to the invaders below he could almost reach out to them. Yet even with such a gigantic figure, he was well disguised by the pitch-black aura that ruled this domain of the Sith.

He observed them closely, a salvia-like substance running down his wrenching hide. Soon they would be there, yes, very soon. The Faceless sithsapwn had adapted well to the darkness of the tombs, he focused on the presence at its core. The holy Voice, the one, his true lord and ruler. He would keep him safe, yes. He would make everything better.

Ohh they were so close now, just past these doors.

Yes open them light bearer, open them hihihi opeeeeeen theeeeem

And the group steeped into the realm of the newly crowned Sith'ari.

They were in. It was so exciting. The hulking mutant dropped onto the stairs that still had remnants of those that had lingered there just a minute ago, he was almost in trance at the prospect of devouring his prey. He would serve, of course. Do what was expected of him. He had to pull himself together, follow the order he was given.

Dakrul is a good servant yes, the master will reward a good service

Before the accursed living doors to the ritual chamber would shut close the Faceless Hunger emerged, seemingly melting out of the shadows the mountain of metal and flesh accompanied by his master's guard now stood between the light-bearers and their exit.

What exactly was happening inside, the young creature could not fully comprehend. Reality itself was to be questioned here, a doorway to a place even closer to the core of all than the Nether. Fiend kings that materialized themselves and others.

His gaze was solely affixed on Darth Solipsis he was all that matters. Whatever his wish, his desire was Dakruls command. He had brought them here like was asked of him. Now he would stand guard and witness until a new task would be administered upon him. He might not be as ancient or all-knowing as most that stood here but whoever dared to disturb the ritual or raise his hand against his Dark Lord would fall victim to an undying, unbending, unbreakable assault.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Korriban, Mawite Excavations
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Tegan Starfall | Alars Keto | First Sister
Foes: Ashlan Crusade, NIO, GA | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran | Aemilio Valaar | The Battalion | Mikhail Grayson

South: The Galidraani Front
​

The rolling thunder of Rough Rider hooves ended in a rippling blast, those who had survived running the gauntlet of enemy fire taking their last leap into glory. The anti-armor grenades they carried would ensure that they did not make their trip into the arms of death unaccompanied. They had been fearless, killing unto the last, facing the inevitable without flinching. A conventional victory, conclusively denying the NIO and the other attackers the hill, had been all but impossible from the start... but they had seized their own victory, writing themselves into the war songs of their people.

Fre'shaa was not so keen to die, though she knew it was likely inevitable at this point; the numbers had made it hopeless from the moment that three armies, each individual one larger than the Mawite honor guard, had surrounded them. Still, she intended to continue harrying the enemy for as long as she could, rather than charging them openly for one last blaze of glory. The problem was that he strategy of swoop harassment was beginning to break down. NIO troops had disembarked from the AFVs, and they were making determinedly for the hilltop, letting nothing distract them.

Furthermore, additional AFVs were circling around the southwest ridge, where the Rough Riders had been holding position when the battle began. Fre'shaa didn't have the forces to hold down that region, and the enemy tanks would have a virtually unimpeded climb up most of the slope... save for the difficulties of terrain made rough by heavy bombing runs. They had bought all the time they possibly could, but there wasn't much more they could do. Perhaps it was time for that final charge, aimed right at the heart of the advancing enemy armor. Other options were few indeed.

All this ran through Fre'shaa's head as she bore down on Aemilio.

It was a perfect angle, a good charge... but NIO technology did not aim to allow for it. The power of the grav-glove wrenched the front of Fre'shaa's swoop, suddenly steering the vehicle straight at the rocks, controls mangled. Of course, one didn't get to lead a swoop gang without understanding how to walk away from a crash. The Mawite ganger leapt from the seat as her vehicle betrayed her, tucking her arms over her head as she bounced down the slope. Behind her, the bike exploded against a pillar of rock, raining debris across the hillside. One more scrap pile amid the carnage.

Fre'shaa was lucky, hitting mostly sand as she tumbled rather than smashing herself on the jagged stones. Her nose was bleeding, her torso covered in bruises, and her arm dislocated, but she came out of it alive. She'd lost the grenade launcher in the fall, and couldn't have used it one-armed anyway, so she drew a jagged vibroknife and fell back into the shadow of nearby rocks. Perhaps she could rack up a few last kills as the NIO advanced, striking from the shadows a time or two before they hunted her down. It might not forge a legend, but she intended to go down fighting all the same.

Of course, there was another Mawite force far better suited to close combat, one held in reserve all this time. They had stood at the edge of the excavation, watching the duel at the hilltop unfold, preparing for the moment when they would be needed for one last effort to hold back the enemy. Their mighty power maces were prepared to pulverize infantry armor, and the dark power of the Heathen Priests coursed through them, allowing them to keep fighting even when grievously wounded and hopelessly outnumbered. Now their time had come, and they fell upon the advancing NIO force.

Fre'shaa smiled as the howling Cirihut charged downhill.

-------------------------------------

Northwest: The Ashlan Front
​

At first, Ruulaavon's forces had seemed to be the only ones holding. Despite the heavy bombardment streaking down on them from the air, the Legion of the Leech had managed to stand their ground against the attacking Ashlans, holding them back with a storm of slugthrower fire. As the sandstorm spread, reducing visibility until a human could barely make out a target even a couple of meters in front of him, the conditions only increased the advantage the lugubraa held; they did not have eyes, and their thermal vision and echolocation remained just as deadly accurate as before.

But it seemed that the collapse of the southern hillside had spilled over into Ruulaavon's sector, because he was receiving word that the Galidraani were coming. That was ill news indeed. Against Ashlan infantry, the Legion's heavy repeaters were massacre machines. But against heavy NIO armor? Slugs that shredded flesh with ease would do little to reinforced durasteel plating beyond scraping up the paint job. As enemy suppressive fire streaked in at his positions, the lugubraa elder realized that the easy days were far behind him. He too was now enmeshed in a desperate last stand.

As suppressive fire forced the legionnaires to either fall back or burrow into their dugouts, Ruulaavon considered his position. Low visibility would continue to work to his troops' advantage, but it wouldn't delay the Galidraani for long. They needed heavy weapons, and the Legion didn't have many. In any case, they couldn't meet this threat from two different directions; they'd collapse if the enemy armor pierced them from the side. So the lugubraa elder sounded the retreat. With everyone else falling back or dying gloriously, remaining in his current position would only get him encircled.

The Legion of the Leech retreated up the slope, to the final ridge below the excavation itself. There they brought to bear what missile launchers and anti-tank grenades they could scrounge up, joining the fury of the sand-tempest as they fought with all their might to hurl the enemy back down the hillside...

-------------------------------------

The Hilltop
​

For The Mongrel in that moment, there was nothing in the galaxy save the duel. He paid no attention to the raging sandstorm brewing all around them, throwing up strange colors and biting at exposed skin with flaying grit. He did not notice when the Cirihut departed, to make their last charge against the Galidraani forces coming up from the south. All that occupied his mind was each strike, each parry, each shifting of footwork. If the entire planet exploded beneath them, killing everyone who had set foot on Korriban that day, he would defy physics and death to continue the battle.

Until he or Gowrie was the victor, there was nothing else.

The veteran marauder grinned as the Lord-Colonel struggled against his latest assault, feeling the exultation of finally landing a meaningful hit. He hadn't managed to bisect Gowrie, for the man was far too quick and too talented for that, but he could tell that he'd injured his foe's hand. With a roar and a headbutt the Galidraani officer drove him back, putting some distance between them and giving each a moment to take stock of their wounds. Both had taken cuts, and The Mongrel could feel blood trickling from his gashed scalp, lining the edges of his dark metal mask in crimson as it flowed.

Then the sandstorm truly took hold, whirling around them with terrifying ferocity, the winds nearly strong enough to pull the marauder from his feet. Grit stung his wounds and whipped across his exposed skin; he was immediately glad he didn't have much of that left. Visibility was something of a problem, even for him; he didn't have to worry about getting sand in his eyes, but even the augmented goggles of his mask struggled to pierce the billowing clouds of sand. He considered switching his mask mode to infrared, but decided against it. He didn't want to win that way, not against Gowrie.

Instead he leapt down onto the uppermost level of the excavation, the track forming a literal downward spiral that led to the unearthed ruins at the bottom. It was like entering the mouth of a volcano, or perhaps a circular valley; it provided some cover from the storm, enough that he could at least see his foe and read his movements. Around him were scaffolds, bomb craters, and the debris of shattered loadlifter droids and mining carts... but there was space enough for the two men to fight, even as the wider battle closed in tighter and tighter around them. He beckoned Gowrite down.

"I want you able to see me as I kill you," he hissed.

 

[Danika Leventis]

ALLIES: What allies?
ENEMIES: Those that stand in my way
GA GA OO LALA: Dagon Kaze
GEAR:

Spoiler

Lightsabers
Phrik blades
Phrik dagger
Dressed to kill
The Ash Hellions led by Samron Gerron - time to scoot

O~~>FIRE MEETS FATE<~~O​

Sheer power pulsated all around.

Darkness spilled over in torrents from the Abyss.

With every breath, the Dark caused strength to return to Danika's body, bolstering her. Stripping away the fatigue and the shock of the Rebirth. Truly, the Sith had been reborn. Looking at Dagon, it was clear the the Light would be drowned out completely by the Dark on this planet within the next hour or so.

Yet, the Jedi refused to just walk away despite the forces of Bogan weakening him, either from stupidity or bravery. And to make matters worse, Samron and the Hellions came jogging around the corner just as the roof started to crack and crumble. The Legionnaires immediately kicked into battle mode when they caught sight of the raven-haired man, despite the shuddering of tunnel and tomb. The Lady of Bone rolled her eyes.
"Stand down, General. We don't have time to play soldiers.." she ordered Samron as she glided forward, her motives purely selfish for keeping the Jedi alive.
"Mistress, what..." Samron began, but Danika waved his words away.
"Hush." she merely told him.

Lifting a hand slightly to the side, she made small circular movements. Before long, an ichor vortex formed in the tunnel wall.
"Get your buttocks in there, gentlemen. I don't fancy staying on a planet intent on destroying everything. Fire up the Fortuna immediately when you get that side." she ordered her men. The Falleen gave her a look that spoke more than any words ever would. His loyalty was unnerving.
"Just go, Samron." she told him softly.
Reluctantly the Ash General waved his men through the portal. He himself hesitated at the threshold, giving Danika another look.
"Don't tally too long, my Lady." he told her, before stepping through the portal.

Danika watched him go for a second before turning her attention back to the fatigued Knight.
"You're not going to let go, are you?" she asked him curiously. He clearly latched onto something like a Voxyn onto a Force Sensitive.
She sighed. She would probably regret it later on, but she would rather drag the Jedi halfway across the Galaxy than let a random piece of falling stone have all the glory of removing a prized head.
"Come on." she told him, motioning with her head at the portal, just as the head of a statue crashed to the ground close to them. The cues were becoming insistent.

Korriban was fighting back.

And the Dark was drawing close.

 

[Vector Monk]

VALLEY OF THE DARK LORDS
KORRIBAN
Starlin Rand

​

"Put your back into it dear fell-oof!"

Vector nearly toppled over into the ancient casket when the Jedi lifted stone aside with his mind. Grinding echoes permeated the subterranean ruins. He glanced back at Starlin with a smug grin.

"It appears I did not require your assistance after all," he flexed.

With a practiced delicate blow of his lips the Sith agent dispersed layers of dust. He stared down into the sarcophagus for several long moments in unsettling silence. Finally Captain Monk turned to his associate wearing an insufferable look of triumph.

"Behold Starlet!" Vector motioned the Jedi forward to see, "Darth Vader's final resting place!"

He backed up as if giving Starlin more room to gaze in wonder. As soon as the Jedi moved forward to look down into an empty sarcophagus, Vector's mask fell away completely. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"History is written by the victors."

In a single fluid motion he drew his particle blaster, activated the stun setting, and fired. Monk tried to shove a hopefully incapacitated Jedi into the empty grave.

 

[Darth Petrichor]

Darth Petrichor: The Dark Heretic

Allies: Ashlan Crusade & friends

Enemies: Brotherhood of the Maw, Sith, etc.

Interacting with: Ingrid L'lerim

Loadout: Dual curve-hilted lightsabers, armorweave suit, beskar mask

The tomb was indeed a strange place. Energies seemed to swirl around, calling out to those of a lesser mind. Had Petrichor been his younger self, he may have even given into the temptation. In his age, however, he had learned to throw away the empty promises of Dark Side spirits, as they followed the outdated code of long gone Sith; the very same code that Petrichor sought to rewrite. And yet, through the myriad of energies within the place, Petrichor could not feel his master.

Where are you, master?

He reached out through the Force, searching for a sign, only to be met with a vast nothingness...

There had to be a way.

He took a moment to focus back on his conversation with Ingrid as they inspected the tomb.

"I agree that there are still many on both sides that are set in their ways. Even Cedric, despite our successful negotiations, is one I would count among them. Our interests may be aligned for now, but I cannot speak on the future. As for the others, I believe that many are just reacting to the years of suffering the shortcomings of the Sith. If we are to see that change, we have to give them a reason to believe that it will. It's why I have made this my life's work. I will see the Sith renewed in such a way that such a peace will be attainable. Either that, or I will die trying."

He turned to her as she mentioned what would essentially be the death of everyone in the galaxy. The very thought was something he didn't wish to think about, though as long as threats like the Maw continued to exist, the thought would always have some potential of becoming a reality.

"An atheist... interesting, when you live in a galaxy filled with things that point to the contrary. As for myself, I believe that the Force transcends the mere concepts of light and dark. We only perceive it as such because of our limited frame of reference. We tend to see things in a dualistic perspective, when the reality is much more complex than that."

He took another look around the tomb, still searching for a sign of his former master.

"What do you believe changed, Lady Ingrid?"

Jorel Kaan: Commander of the Petrite Host

Allies: DECEASED Aron Gowrie , Mikhail Grayson , Damsy Callat , Hiran Avola , Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran , Aemilio Valaar , AC

Enemies: The Mongrel , Tegan Starfall , First Sister , Alars Keto , Laertia Io , BotM, Sith

Loadout: Dual curve-hilted lightsaber, armorweave jacket

Black Blade

The first strike was blocked, just as Jorel had anticipated. He had managed to catch Khazzak by surprise with the second, however, with his blade finding its target. The strike would have killed a normal opponent, but these crazed Mawites were far from normal. The markings upon the man's skin kept him from meeting his death, though he didn't come away unscathed. He pulled back, roaring in agony at the burning flesh left behind by the lightsaber blade. Jorel cracked a smile as the man staggered back.

"So if I were to keep you alive, then it would prevent you from entering paradise. Perhaps I should put you into cryostasis, so that you never meet your gods. After all, paradise is the last thing you deserve!"

Jorel wouldn't do such a thing, of course. He didn't believe in this savage's paradise, after all. He only believed in the Force. That being said, he wouldn't miss an opportunity to get in his opponent's head. His lightsabers struck forward once again, looking to land the killing blow. As the crimson blades sliced through the air, they were met by flesh and bone... and a shyrack fell to the burning wreckage at their feet.

He had missed his opponent, only to find himself being attacked by a handful of the flying beasts. He managed to keep them off, for the most part. One of the beasts dove from behind, cutting through Jorel's jacket and into his back, lacerating flesh and muscle. Jorel grunted as he sliced backward violently, cutting the beast down.

As he fended off the shyracks, Jorel sensed something moving quickly through the Force. Relying on his senses more than usual, Jorel grabbed one of the shyracks with the Force and held it in front of him. Lightning arced its way from Khazzak and into the shyrack, frying it to a crisp. Jorel dropped the beast to the ground, looking back to the Tarar commander as he took a deep breath.

"More tricks, is it? Very well..."

With those words, Jorel grabbed one of the last shyracks out of the air, snapping its neck with the Force. This was quickly followed by him throwing the shyrack at his opponent, hoping to catch him off guard. With all of his strength, Jorel launched himself forward, once again with two strikes, and once again seeking to disengage the second blade. Should his enemy see the attack coming, as Jorel hoped he would, then he would instead shoot his own lightning straight into the man, point blank...

It was a gamble, but Jorel was running out of time. One way or another, he had to bring the man down.

As the two fought on, the remaining Petrite Troopers slowly made their advance around the less stable parts of the hillside, continuing their hail of fire upon the remaining Mawites at the top. The advance had been slowed, but the Troopers were nothing if not resilient. They would keep pushing till the bitter end, if need be.

In the rear of the battle, the Excerpts continued to press forward, though the serpents had become a large wrench in the gears of their advance. The creatures had been coming together, forming into larger and larger amalgamations of themselves. The Excerpts did their best to prevent this, but between the remaining sorcerers, undead, and serpents, this proved to be a difficult task. They would eventually bring the beasts down, but the question would be if many of their own would survive...

Then, just as the tide seemed to turn against the Rhandites and their beasts, a trembling could be heard in the distance. Many of the Excerpts found themselves questioning what sort of sorcery the Rhandites had brought to bear, only to be met with the roar of the terentatek. The creature came barreling through the whirling sands, roaring as it took down one of the nearest Excerpts. The beast swept through their ranks, attempting to rip them all to shreds. A group of Excerpts quickly surrounded the beast, attempting to keep it at bay.

They had to hold out just long enough to kill the last of the sorcerers...

​

 

[Starlin Rand]

"It appears I did not require your assistance after all.”

“Uh-huh,” Starlin sarcastically agreed.

He was, however, dumb enough to look inside the empty sarcophagus. “There ain’t nothing in here, chief—”

The bolt came whizzing towards him. He lifted his lightsaber in time to deflect it, only for the particle beam to explode upon contact with his blade.

Starlin was knocked the feth out, collapsing like a sack of protatoes on the tomb floor. His body proved heavier than it looked—must’ve been all the cybernetics adding to his weight—but if Vector Monk heaved hard enough, he would be able to stuff Starlin into the would-be grave of Darth Vader. Now there was just the matter of closing the lid to worry about...

Tags: Vector Monk​

 

[Laertia Io]

Again Coren Starchaser tried to plead his way out of his massive feth up. Only the massive wave of Dark Side Energy from Darth Solipsis disrupted her, canceling the energy before it could reach Coren. Her armor protected her from a High amount of Force Damage, but it could only take so much, and the Darkness was so overwhelmingly oppressive, that it was a genuine struggle to focus through the reality warping Solipsis was attempting to cause, and she twisted the Light around her to help her better resist the effects. But it would not hold forever. This wasn't like the first battle of Ziost, where that one dude (Narrator blinks at Bernard of Arca ) opened a box and got the worst surprise ever. This was focused.

She could not stay maybe more than an hour unless that ritual she had worked out with the Battalion came to fruition soon.

"Who cares if not all Jedi are your Jedi. You're a symbol, Coren. Jedi like you gave other Jedi the justification to hold to the insanity of rejecting the compact. Your side isn't even bothering with Anti-Lobster weapons as far as I can tell..." Xiphos snapped, a weak Dark Blue, flame like aura covering her dark blue organic armor.

"And who are you to say I haven't done some good? Who do you think supplied the Sev Tok Militia with the weaponry they needed to survive the invasion of Anvil? If they had done it the Jedi's way? They'd likely all be dead. You don't get to tell me I haven't tried to save others, regardless of how I treat the Order."

She tired of this debate. Genuinely tired of it.

"Just how were you going to save Korriban by the way? Talk the Ashlan's down? A nice cup of tea with Solipsis? I'm the one with a plan. Even if it fails, at least I can say I had one. Which is more than can be said for you. Now shut up and fight."

Xiphos teleported behind him in a stab for his chest. This was right around the point Anakin Versus Obi-Wan started playing OOC...

 

[Aldo Garrick]

​

R E B I R T H

Operation: FINAL DAWN
‘Avatar of War’ SUPERWEAPON​

Ten minutes had long passed.

The weapon had charged and was ready to fire, it's targeting arrays fixated upon the apple of the High Regent's eye. The flagship of Aerarii Tithe had been marked for destruction, the Avatar of War would make itself known this day. It all would be so easy..

Alas the Sith Cultist looked up at the holographic display with disgust, a maze of intercepting craft filled the void between the superweapon and it's prey. The massive naval conflict had made a straight shot at the enemy improbable without incurring heavy friendly casualties. The Admiral was hesitant, no, unwilling to make the same mistake he made at Csilla. The Final Dawn could not their armada to be reduced to cinder just for a relic of a world like Korriban, no.. they had a Core to burn.. and a galaxy to follow.

"Target the Ashlan Fleet, I want trajectory of the prolonged superlaser beam to cut through their navy and make it's way toward the Alliance Dreadnought."

It would give their forces time to move, a signal would follow immediately to all nearby vessels as the fleet technicians toiled in work setting the necessary commands into play. They would suffer casualites, but he'd be damned if they'd suffer another pyrrhic victory or worse.. lose their naval assets once and for all.

No.

The gambit would be ran his way, the Neo-Imperial following through with his superior's wishes all the while remembering the wise words of Marlon Sularen back over Najra-Va.

"Fire."

The empty void of space would lit ablaze as the behemoth living vessel opened itself and fired it's superweapon. A crimson beam fueled by the same technology that powered Mercy would send a beam cutting across the cosmos. The space between the Mawite superweapon and the flagship of the Ashlan Crusade led by Pietro Demici would immediately narrow as the beam moved in a cutting motion of raw, unrefined power unleashed upon the galaxy once more.

It comes.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Pneuma
Objective: Slay Solipsis
Allies: Geiseric, Auteme , Romi Jade | ASHLAN CRUSADE |
Enemies: Darth Solipsis , Darth Voracitos , Ishani Sibwarra, Darth Maestus, Dakrul , Darth Mori, Gnost Zym, Darth Ophidia, Alina Tremiru, Darth Voracitos , Taeli Raaf | MAW/SITH |


Whatever kernels of affection or fragments of hope Cedric might have had for Solipsis evaporated as he tried to comprehend what he was looking at. For all his skill and experience, the arcane workings of the Dark Side were beyond him, and for good reason. He registered the presence of the Dark Lord, staring out from beyond some otherworldy plane, though he did not recognize the man's flesh. The Sith's allies were momentarily forgotten, quiet resolve silencing Cedric's thoughts as he drew forward.

He had tried once to help Solipsis see the mistake he'd made, and the Chiss had paid for it dearly. Perhaps if he'd not hesitated, he might have put an end to Solipsis before the Maw could have reached prominence. Sentiment stayed his hand as it ever did, Csilla was destroyed, and once again the Dark Lord slipped through his fingers.

Despite the death of that world, some small part of the exile had held onto hope that if Kaigann could be removed from the Bogan's influence, the man he had known as a boy might return once more. That quiet hope withered away to nothingness as Cedric halted, lips parted in disbelief behind his mask as he stared at Solipsis' renewed form. Words welled in his chest, but none of them felt significant enough. What was the point of talking any further anyway? This debate had been going on for thousands of years, and history had shown that it would only be won at the edge of a sword.

Kaigann, much like the other Sith, was sick, the disease terminal and incurable. Whatever remained of his father's apprentice was trapped within it, and the only mercy Cedric could hope to offer him now was a quick and relatively painless death. The Essonian drew in a sharp breath, the weight of the chamber pressing down upon him as he offered his replied.

"Reality can be whatever I want."​

"Not yet."

Tendrils of invisible telekinetic energy fired from his open plam toward the Dark Lord, intending to try and wrap themselves around Solipsis and crush them beneath their supernatural grip. Cedric had little confidence that such a simple maneuver would succeed, but he had little gauge of the power granted to Solipsis by his ritual. Better to find out from a distance than to march forward blindly. He could only hope his companions were similarly cautious.

Were it not for the darkness that deafened his senses entirely in the Dark Lord's presence, he might have well felt the terrible danger his people up above now found themselves in...

 

[Darth Solipsis]

​

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW


​

The Dark Side of the Force was a pathway to many things some considered to be.. unnatural.

His boots clomped along the ancient stonework of the sacrificial chamber in his approach, his hellish eyes darted out like daggers as they glared into those around him. The Dark Lord of the Sith came to a halt mere feet away from the Lord of Ession with a smile of warmth and dark grimace, his aura a consumptive void that sapped at the will of those around him with a swirling miasma unseen by the naked eye. He was a black spot on the galaxy, an unholy conduit by which the Dark Side enacted it's sick will.

"What a lovely reunion... Auteme , Romi Jade , NEPHEW."

His gaze shifted subtly, his eyes scanning the surface as a figure unseen revealed herself before those gathered.

Taeli Raaf "

It was in that moment that he noticed the Heathen Priest Dakrul enter, flanked by the dark warriors of the Palatine Guard. The stage was set, the die cast. The room filled with friend and foe alike, a line drawn in the sand with only one who's allegiance was unknown. The Dark Lord of the SIth had seized that which he had come here to, acquiring that which had been coveted for millenia by his forebears. He had the knowledge, now he only required the means..

..the means of enacting such a task on a grand scale.

"Not yet."​

The Dark Lord hissed, "We'll see."

The Lord of Ession reached out in response, an open palm met upon the Dark Lord as he was wrapped up in the empyrean grip of the Force. The mighty telekinetic grip of the Jedi Master crushed down on his renewed flesh immediately, he could feel his muscles tighten and strength that had long abandoned him from his once frail physical shell return with renewed vigor. The Force responded to his beck and call like a whipped hound, it snapped to his will and responded at his touch as he shrugged off the metaphysical pressure arrayed against him with strain of his own.

His hand cut a swath through the air and the veil was lifted, a pressure relieved as the oppresive will of the Dark Side of the Force collided against the summoned might of the empyrean grip held by the Light-Sworn Cedric Grayson . A moment's pause filled the air and space between them quieted in the aftermath of the clashing of wills, the Dark Lord's free hand extended outward toward the ashes of his abandoned physical shell, the failed body that had crumbled beneath the strain of that which now made him whole. From beneath the tattered robes and scattered ashes sprang forth a lightsaber, one crafted so long ago from the yorik coral of the Yuuzhan Vong. It shot forth toward it's owner, dusting the room with the remains of the Dark Lord's previous form.

A iron claw seized the weapon from the air and tightened it's grip around the rough hilt. The hand that cut a swath through the air now rose, crimson sparks dancing between the tips of his fingers. It met his shoulder level and stretched out in an explosion of malevolent energy, a flash of power unleashed in a devastating volley of Force Lightning towards his prey.

Cedric Grayson | Auteme | Romi Jade | Pom Stych Tivé | Darth Maestus | Dakrul | Taeli Raaf

​

 

[Ishida Ashina]

ONE OF TWO THINGS SHALL HAPPEN
KORRIBAN | SITH ACADEMY | LIBRARY
When you get to the end of all the light you know
and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown,
faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen:
either you will be given something solid to stand on,
or you will be taught how to fly.

SHADOWSELF
​

Her ears perked at his tone, but her face fell at his words.

"Restraint," "This was restraint, Ishida."

Restraint versus hesitation. Restraint, he chided, boasting that he’d kept himself under control. Or, his version of control. A contrast to her accusation of uncertainty. Hesitation was to wait, maintain caution and keep the action in reserve. Restraint, in Ishida’s mind, was an offspring of hesitation.

She parted her mouth to speak, but only a dry sound cracked from her lips that barely took the shape of Why. It was soundless, more akin to a choke than a query. Doubt’s first, pale roots. She pushed the gentle impulse away and summoned up her zeal.

Why was a question that needn’t be asked –– she already knew why, and disappointment bloomed in her chest. The answer had been leering around their friendship like a vulture. Waiting for the right moment to flourish, to be tested.

Because he thought he knew what he had to do, what the definition of Light truly was.

"If we look at the Light and only see what it can burn away, what it can destroy, then we blind ourselves to what separates it from the Dark. Its capacity for healing, for compassion, and forgiveness."

“What?” She snapped instead, the disbelief lashing across her tongue before she’d had the chance to think through the follow-up. She shouldn’t have asked, she should have just acted. She hesitated, gave him the space to continue the charade of a demonstration; the time to take a step up on his soapbox.

Did he think this was courageous? It was cowardice!

Healing, compassion, and forgiveness shouldn’t ––couldn’t –– exist in the same vicinity as darkness, and the youth in handcuffs still bled evil. She was clothed in the darkside, even if she now bore the constraints that rendered her helpless to use it.

In reality, she wasn’t too much younger than herself, and Ishida’s frown deepened. When she’d been that age, she’d been impressionable, full of potential and eager to try whatever she was learning. Unquestioningly, she obeyed the instruction of her teachers, chasing after the promise of their pride in her. Nobody just fell into circumstance.

“Because she’s afraid of you?” She spat. Of course she was afraid! A Jedi had just gotten the better of her superiors.

“Fear is a tool.” The mouse could still grow claws or worse, spread disease.

“Cowering and compliance now does not make her any less a Sith than the ones she was with. The ones that you cut down.

The only difference between her and them,” Ishida growled, and pointed back at the fallen corpses, her pitch becoming a touch higher, more aggressive, quicker. She wasn’t used to talking so much, and certainly not so passionately.

“Is she still has a pulse.” Her voice was tight and brittle now, seconds away from a break.

There was a pit of stress in her stomach that was growing the more she spoke, and it twisted in response to a trill of horror shot through The Force, like the start of a shriek. Up above, in the atmosphere, an unimaginable power unleashed. To Ishida on Korriban’s crust, it translated to the necessity of timing. And how little they seemed to have; like an unseen usher with a single warning: Destruction.

Her rage was sluggish and muddy because it was Bernard at the other end of it, but it was hot. This couldn’t protract farther.

IN A SPIRAL​

Something hummed against her hip, and the growing emotion in her expression receded back to harsh focus. Storm clouds collected again in the grey of her eyes, and she scowled.

“I’ll show you.”

Another impressive display of swiftness manifested from the little warrior, and in the time it took to blink her katana was re-sheathed across her back and she brandished something new. It was elegant, and curved in a way that caught the glint of the fires that consumed the library’s ancient texts. The reflection in the sword’s steel made the ruination look beautiful, golden.

In another fluid motion, the blade that had been hovering idly arched intentionally toward the prisoner’s exposed pillar of flesh, as though Ishida were about to behead the girl without thought, but she stopped a hair’s distance from impact. The blade intentionally poised at the juncture of the acolyte’s shoulder and neck.

She shifted her glare from the girl to Bernard, the intensity of her look spoke volumes to the challenge behind her intentions.

Eager to make her point, she reached for one of his hands and forced his grip against the hilt of her weapon. Her fingers slipped through the empty spaces his left behind, both to force him to see and for her to also partake in the Sword’s psychometric abilities. A mutual vision for the Padawans to inherit.

She tightened her hold on the hilt, forcing herself to steady when she was actually trembling. Shaking from rage, trepidation and worst of all: uncertainy.

As the room started to vignette and fade away, Ishida searched out Bernard’s focus, meeting his gaze with her own. She wanted to look fierce and sure but instead, there was a vulnerability in the final look she gave to the Arkanian. a heavy pleadingness behind her eyes. The acolyte might have been afraid, but Ishida was terrified.

“Don’t let go.”

​

ALLIES | GA | NJO | NIO | AC | Bernard of Arca
FOES | BOTM | SITH | THIS COWERING PANSY

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

MANUMISSION
BRIDGE, MORAI // KORRIBAN ORBIT

Pietro Demici | Isla Draellix-Kobitana | AC | GA | NIO
Tu'teggacha | Aldo Garrick | MAW | SITH

Task Force Venality Coreward edge of the engagement zone Morai, Morai-class Super Star Defender Critically damaged, no power Mon Clistenes, MCv110-class Multirole Frigate Destroyed by Avatar of War Mon Helios, MCv110-class Multirole Frigate Destroyed by Avatar of War Absolution, Avalon-class Corvette Destroyed by Avatar of War Amnesty, Avalon-class Corvette Destroyed by Avatar of War Autarchy, Avalon-class Corvette Heavily damaged Autonomy, Avalon-class Corvette Destroyed by Avatar of War Purgill, Oswaft-class Corvette Heavily damaged Drogheda Bounty, XY-48-class Freighter Heavily damaged 7/70 E-Wing Starfighters 9/72 Y-Wing Starbombers 7/60 A-Wing Interceptors 5/36 B-Wing Starfighters 3/24 X-Wing Starfighters 5/10 support craft squadrons Task Group Avidity Engaging Fatalis fleet Arquebus, Emancipation-class Artillery Cruiser Mon Borea, MCv110-class Multirole Frigate Destroyed by Brotherhood starfighters Mon Tellus, MCv110-class Multirole Frigate Chiaki, Oswaft-class Corvette Phillak, Oswaft-class Corvette 18/36 E-Wing Starfighters 10/24 Y-Wing Starbombers 8/12 B-Wing Starfighters Task Unit Esurient Surveying Korriban system 8/8 Ferret II Recon Drones

Aerarii Tithe’s education on Aargau and long career in the corporate world gave him cause to only fear one thing - bankruptcy.

Over Korriban, in an instant, his perception of fear was forever changed.

The battle looked to be a rout for the Galactic Alliance and the Ashlan Crusade. The Arquebus and its escorts were unloading a withering barrage of fire against the Brotherhood’s Fatalis. While Grand Admiral Isla Draellix-Kobitana was bearing the brunt of the enemy’s attack, Cardinal Pietro Demici was doing an outstanding job of locking down his quadrant of the battlefield.

Slowly, the tide of battle begun to swing. Tu'teggacha reoriented their starfighters and gained the initiative, seizing straighter superiority. The Mon Borea, a multirole frigate escorting the detached artillery cruiser, was overwhelmed before the nearby starfighters could come to its aid.

The Vice Chancellor looked at the data stream scrolling across the holoprojectors, his natural proclivity for numbers paired with his data goggles quickly dissecting the figures. Something had given the Brotherhood cause to push the offensive, a knowledge or plan not yet revealed to the Alliance and Crusade.

“I say, Admiral, have we detected any…”

A blinding crimson light, a blood red luminescence beyond comprehensive, filled the forward viewport.

“BRANCE!”

While Admiral Chalu was the first sentient on the bridge to react, the Morai’s automated sensors were faster. The four-layered shields of the Super Star Defender - already in place to defend the massive vessel - angled themselves to bear the brunt of the superweapons blast. For a split second, the engineering marvel which the Republic Engineering Corporate had wrought looked like it might hold.

But only for a split second.

With a deafening boom, the shield generators spread through the Morai exploded under the strain of the onslaught. They were not the only casualty - while the Alliance flagship had the benefit of overpowered shields, its escort did not. Frigates, corvettes and starfighters simply evaporated from the sheer magnitude of the raw power the Avatar of War had unleashed.

Not that the crew of the Super Star Defender had time to mourn them. The bridge was plunged into darkness, illuminated only emergency glow panels. Klaxons rang out, drowning out the moans of those injured by exploding consoles. Sparks leapt out from damaged bulkheads, clouding by smoke and gases escaping from damaged pipes and conduits.

Aerarii Tithe clambered to his feet, clutching his command chair to support himself. His eyes scanned the bridge, taking in the carnage. The crew hurried to help injured colleagues as senior officers opened emergency comm channels to call for aid. Admiral Chalu was hurriedly manipulating a holoprojector as she issued retreat orders.

Then Tithe’s gaze stopped on the forward viewport.

There was something strange in the middle of the transparent duraplast barrier. Tithe squinted as he took a step forward to discern what it was.

In a sudden jerking movement, the object grew, shooting lines out in a circular web toward the edges of the viewport. A second later, the webs again grew larger, accompanied by a sharp cracking sound.

The realisation hit Tithe - the viewport had been damaged and was about to give way.

He turned to scream a warning just as the barrier failed.