Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Dominion [GA + Smugglers/Scoundrels] What Lurks Below | GA Dominion of Kelada


Location: Lorana's Labyrinth
Tags: Valery Noble Valery Noble Vess Sadragen Vess Sadragen
Leg - Anchor

It might not have been a test, but Reina was treating it like one as she took in their surroundings. Letting her eyes carefully trail across the cantina, taking in the sights. How to get the information...She had to figure out a way that wouldn't get too much unwanted attention towards them...Well, there was saying the old saying that loose lips sunk ships, and the best way to get someone to loosen their lips was with drink right?

"...I suppose at the bar counter would be the best plan for now. Buying a drink or two. See if we can't loosen the lips of a few people...Of course, even if it doesn't let us get information from them...We get closer to the main body of the cantina. It lets us try and listen in more to the people around us. Though it would mean there's more eyes on us at the same time..."

The weakest link when it came to keeping information secret was always the human one. At least that's how she saw it. Droids needed to be hacked, same with Datapads. But if the human element in charge of them had messed up, then that would make getting access to anything much easier. Either way, she carried on drumming her fingers along the counter in thought, letting her eyes continue travelling around. She didn't even notice Valery looking over to someone else right now. No, Reina was in her own world as she tried to figure out what was for the best.

Reina knew she'd be able to drink most people under the table so that was also a potential opportunity. She also had the Force to cheat slightly at purifying her body of any toxins the alcohol might have...but honestly, she saw that as cheating and there was no way she'd go along with that plan. There wasn't much point sneaking around the cantina either. Her leg would give her away in a heartbeat...

"...Now. What's your expert opinion on what we should do next?"

 
You've been hit by... you've been struck by...




fZ0kQEP.png

Objective III — Mapping the Depths
Tags: Dean Walker Dean Walker Katarine Ryiah The Battalion The Battalion + Open
The air in the Kaldean underways smelled like damp rock and forgotten things. Low hums echoed through the tunnels, the distant grind of machinery buried deeper than any sane being would go. Down here, light didn't travel far, and shadows didn't behave like they should.


Kinley Pryce sat slouched in a half-rusted metal chair, one boot kicked up on a pipe, the other lazily planted on cracked concrete. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her eyes, but not the faint smirk on her lips. Her jacket was dusted in the ever-present ash of the lower tunnels, and a blaster sat loose but ready at her hip.


She didn't care what was behind the door. She was being paid to keep people out, not lose sleep over what was supposed to be inside.


Next to her, the Trandoshan male was tall, lean, eyes like mercury and hands that wouldn't stop twitching. The reptilian paced with a nervous energy that scraped at the silence. He paused every few minutes to glance at the door: a slab of alloy bolted with old tech and newer runes that didn't match any known dialect she had ever seen. Something hissed behind it, or maybe that was just the steam from the pipes.


"You sure it's safe?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.


Kinley tilted her hat just enough to flash a bored glance his way. "Safe enough for me to get paid."


Another hiss. The alien flinched.


She leaned back again, hat down. "I don't ask questions, pal. I just make sure you don't end up like the last idiot who opened that door."


A pause. Then, a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.


"Though if you're really curious... I won't stop you."






A SMOOTH CRIMINAL

 

The Battalion

Another Brick in Syd's Wall
The Battalion attempted to clear her head. Flashes of indistinct worlds and legions of mechanical soldiers...

At the center of it was Laertia Io Laertia Io

Syd desperately struggled to get the suppressed memories back under control, The Battalion's face bubbling horrifically back and forth between her own and Syd's before warping back to hers. The intense feelings conjured from the depth of an absorbed mind nearly shattered Syd's hold and she was just barely able to retake control of the steering wheel, metaphorically speaking.

The Battalion staggered away from the wall she was leaning against...

The struggle had left the mind actually controlling her drained and she went looking for a power source.

She began to look emaciated as she walked. The struggle to retake control when she was still barely getting the hang of this personality had taken more out of her than she thought...

She noticed the shadows of the tunnel seemed to follow her. Instantly, her red lightsaber went active, banishing the encroaching darkness around her momentarily until she remembered she had located a flashlight and shined it, shutting her blade off.

She saw the shadows on the wall still...of people walking...yet there were no people.

"Well... there's something to give nightmares..." The Battalion joked to herself in spite of what was now clearly an extremely horrifying situation, especially when some of the shadows on the wall went still as she passed.

She spotted what looked like the door to an old power generator room and staggered towards it, her formerly athletic figure now little more than a bag of bones as she frantically cut her way inside. Neither her nor Syd wanted to find out just what would happen if she ran out of energy in this state.

The old fusion generator flickered with its operating panel blinking. It was malfunctioning, but it still had juice.

It was also keeping the lights, at least what few were working, on in this section. Once she drained it, all the lights would shut off. Then she would have to deal with whatever had killed the Soldiers.

The Battalion tried to weigh the risks, but her cells screamed for energy. She placed her hands on the generator and her flesh rippled disgustingly as it began to absorb the energy. Within thirty seconds she was back to her full, youthful figure and carved beauty.

The lights shut off. Her flashlight flickered, and she realized the whole room was filled with shadows of people on the walls (If a Librarian corners you, stare it in the face: 500 XP).

The Battalion slowly backed off, all but daring the shadows surrounding her to try something as she brandished her red lightsaber at the shadows around her, backing out of the small room. She blinked and the room was suddenly filled with corpses and old gore...she realized quickly it was no hallucination; it had been that way from the start.

Plucking a pilfered grenade from her belt she tossed it into the room and ran, felt a presence scratching at hers violent for a split second as she the blast caved the room in. Her flashlight was still working, so she shut it off in case she ran into anymore live Alliance Personnel...

She suddenly sensed life down an alternate route. She immediately went to check. This version of the Battalion, due to being controlled by Syd, was not nearly as bloodthirsty as the original. If there was someone here who should not be, the least she could do was warn them; maybe even guide them to safety.

The flashlight flickered more as she walked. She saw shadows of bodies everywhere until they started vanishing as she got closer to another source of power.

She soon spotted a woman and a Trandoshan, the woman leaning against a chair...

...and a rune covered door.

The Battalion sauntered over towards them, her skintight Catsuit reflecting everything around her in an eerie manner.

She held up her hands. Not wanting to fight. The real Battalion would have already started Force Choking them for compliance (It should be noted, however, that even the real Battalion wouldn't have killed them. She wasn't an out and out psychopath like The Amalgam The Amalgam was. The original Battalion could certainly have been classified as a sadist, like all Brain Demon Cultists).

"Don't go the way I just arrived from. There's something in the shadows..." The Battalion said to them. "It's lethal for the unwary...it strikes in darkness...what are you two doing here?" She asked Kinley Pryse Kinley Pryse and her Trandoshan partner.
 


A soft chime pulsed from her terminal almost lost beneath the hum of the cantina's music and low conversation. Vess barely reacted, her fingers maintaining their rhythm across the interface as the data continued to stream in. Corporate schematics, supply manifests, and encrypted comm logs peeled away layer by layer, bouncing across a network of local shell terminals. She'd set the whole thing up in less than five minutes. It was a clean job. Quiet. Profitable.

Then… something shifted..

It wasn't a sound. More like the subtle change in current you feel when a power grid surges intangible but impossible to ignore. Her hand paused mid-keystroke. She lifted her eyes, just slightly, and scanned the room with a calm, practiced sweep.

Her gaze moved past the Rodian hunched over a game of sabacc, past a spice dealer whispering into a sleeve, and landed on the booth across the room.

Valery Noble. She didn't know the person with her but that didn't change the fact she was there.

Vess's brow twitched barely noticeable. It wasn't panic that settled in her gut, but something sharper. Curiosity. Caution. She hadn't seen the Jedi Master since the trip to Coruscant. Valery had left a mark on her not with words, but with something rarer an open hand. She hadn't tried to recruit or redeem. Just… offered a different view. A better one, maybe. Vess never really gave an answer to her.

And now she was here, in the another bar, another night, while Vess was in the middle of slicing a weapons company's internal archive? She wondered why she was here but her fingers resumed their work, never missing another beat. But behind her eyes, the gears were turning. This wasn't Valery's kind of place. Not unless she had a reason. And if she was watching the crowd, like she always did, then maybe she'd already spotted Vess. The terminal beeped once more signaling that the transfer was complete. She turned off and pocketed her terminal and downed the rest of her drink.

If she was under cover though, she couldn't exactly just walk over to them. She tapped the bar absently as she thought.

TAG: Valery Noble Valery Noble Reina Daival Reina Daival

 
Last edited:
yOBUJrI.png




qIUPyc1.png

1. Krexar: A Nikto sharpshooter with a penchant for poisons, his leathery skin bearing the scars of countless battles.

2. Gorruk: A towering Gamorrean enforcer, wielding a massive vibro-axe, his brute strength matched only by his loyalty to the Cartel.

3. Sskeer: A Trandoshan tracker, his cold, reptilian eyes always calculating, known for his expertise in hand-to-hand combat. Slain on Fondor by Nos Voros.

4. Vexla: A Rodian explosives expert, her green skin often camouflaged in urban environments, with a mischievous glint in her multifaceted eyes.

5. Durok: A Duros pilot and tech specialist, his smooth blue skin and red eyes concealing a mind adept at slicing and infiltration.

6. Nymara: A Nautolan seductress and intelligence gatherer, her head-tails often adorned with jeweled ornaments, using charm to extract secrets.

7. Kholak: A Kaleesh warrior-priest, his face concealed behind a traditional bone mask, blending spirituality with deadly precision.

8. Zarin: A Nagai swordsman, his pale skin and jet-black hair giving him a ghostly appearance, his vibroblade an extension of his will.

9. Threx: A burly Weequay brawler, his weathered skin and topknot marking him as a veteran of many skirmishes.

10. Lorra: A lithe Twi'lek acrobat and thief, her blue lekku often wrapped around her neck, skilled in stealth and infiltration.

11. Mordo: A hulking Houk bruiser, his thick hide making him a formidable opponent in close quarters.

12. Siv: A sly Devaronian con artist, his red skin and sharp horns often hidden beneath a hood, adept at deception and disguise.

Location: Kelada – Lorana's Labyrinth
Tags: OPEN (indirect Valery Noble Valery Noble Matthew of Valendale Matthew of Valendale Braze Braze )


It wasn't a tremor in the Force, but a shift in the air—thick as swamp gas and twice as dangerous.
The Labyrinth had hosted smugglers, slicers, and even Jedi in its time, but when Whottoomuzz the Hutt entered, everything felt... quieter. Not fearful—yet—but alert.

The Hutt's titanic form glided across the floor on a repulsor sled, silken wrappings trailing behind him like ritual banners.

His guards were not the usual muscle. No grunts, no cannon fodder. Each enforcer he brought bore the mark of Muzzblood—Deathmark Collectors—sworn killers of the Chantin Kajidic, marked by scars and silence.

They fanned out into the crowd. Not recklessly. Not loudly. But like instruments placed before a symphony of violence.


He was not here for Jedi Grandmaster Valery Noble Valery Noble . Not directly. Not yet.
But everyone who knew anything in this room knew
She had his mate in custody.


And worse? She had his daughter
Jobbi, bright-eyed, bright-hearted, a Padawan now to the very Order that bound his family in chains.

<"The Alliance has my Xoff in a cage,"> the Hutt rumbled. <"And my child under leash.">

He let that sit. No weapons drawn. No threats shouted. Just the quiet pressure of unsaid war, ticking just behind his golden eyes.

<"Let the brave step forward. Let the foolish linger. Before this night is over... I will have answers.">

The thermal detonators were already in place.

If they had hurt Xoff, or Jobbi...

There wouldnt even be a cantia-shaped crater left when he was through.

@OPEN​
 
Last edited:
BZdx4ru.png


Outfit: This Vibe
Equipment:
Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings
Tag: Sinya Tarkona Sinya Tarkona

FPA2fZU.png

Eve had never felt more out of place in her life. The bodysuit clung to her like a second skin: sleek, matte, and tactically perfect, which in this moment felt like an elaborate betrayal. She shifted slightly on the barstool, trying to pretend she was just getting comfortable and not questioning every life decision that led her to wear it. The fabric hugged all the wrong places in all the right ways, and it didn’t help that she felt like she could feel every set of eyes in the cantina sliding over her like oil.

Why did I wear this? she thought, sipping cautiously from her glass. I could have worn a jacket. A normal jacket. With sleeves.

She was mid-internal spiral when a voice slid up behind her like smoke.

"Well now... aren’t you a rare sight."

Eve stiffened immediately. A tall man — scruffy, leering, his breath already heavy with something fermented — leaned on the bar beside her, far too close.

"Didn’t think angels drank alone," he said with a grin that made her skin crawl.

Revulsion jolted up her spine. Eve recoiled slightly, her fingers tightening around her glass as if it could anchor her to some semblance of composure. She turned her head just enough to meet his eyes with a tight, polite smile that didn’t touch her own.

"I’m not interested," she said simply, firm, but soft-spoken.

She turned back to her drink before he could even muster a response.

Time to move.

That’s when she caught sight of her: the twi’lek at the corner table with her boots propped casually on the edge, drink in hand, watching her with a cool, unbothered air. Their eyes met. She raised her glass.

Eve blinked once. She knows.

Without hesitation, Eve slid off her stool and made her way toward her, not rushed, not awkward, but not quite subtle either. She moved like someone trying very hard to look casual. She reached the twi'lek's table and offered a low incline of her head. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, just shy of a smile.

"Evening," she said, her voice quiet, low enough to stay between them. "Glad to get away from that guy." She feigned a small smile that didn't reach her eye.

A beat.

"Can I... help you?"

Nailing it.

 
Last edited:

Lorana's Labyrinth, Kelada
Objective I
Tags: Valery Noble Valery Noble Whottoomuzz Chantin Whottoomuzz Chantin Reina Daival Reina Daival and who ever else inside the Cantina.



The moment Whottoomuzz the Hutt slithered into Lorana's Labyrinth, the cantina's atmosphere shifted from its usual chaotic energy to a tense stillness. The Hutt's repulsor sled hummed softly, but it was the silence that followed his entrance that spoke volumes. His enforcers, marked by the distinctive Muzzblood scars, dispersed with calculated precision, their presence a silent warning to all.

Rolcor leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. This wasn't a social visit; the Hutt was here on a mission, and the air was thick with the promise of violence.

He muttered to himself, "Well, there goes the meeting."

Scanning the room, Rolcor's gaze settled on a familiar figure in a shadowed corner booth—Alicia, aka Valery Noble. Their paths had crossed before, under circumstances equally fraught with danger and far more pleasurable than this.

He rose from his chair, adjusting his coat to conceal his blaster, and made his way toward her, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. As he approached, he caught her eye and offered a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgement of the unfolding chaos.

"Mind if I join you, Trouble?"
he asked, his voice low but steady. "Seems like the night's plans have changed," Rolcor said, settling into the booth not waiting for permission and only giving a slight nod to the rest of her company.

 
88e5f5a2324bc737b1631bca558aa8d198a6d94e.pnj

354c3352feabdd161fc7cd8c1ca686c2f313e8b9.pnj
Equipment: Kurohana Bodysuit, Lightsaber, Bracelet, Echo Stone, vibroknife, Mackie Class Droid

Tag: Thel Kaan Thel Kaan , OPEN

She heard the faint crack of slugthrowers and the thud of explosions. They came from the other side of the supposedly derelict complex. Before Tigris could ask, the comm in her ear clicked and a heavily-accented female voice spoke. "That's Omega squad." Kiva informed the Atrisian.

Of course, Vanagor. She mused with a smirk.

The former assassin crouched in the shadow of a window, the transparsteel covered in decades of grime and pollution. Several panes had fallen out, giving the jedi a view of the approach to the complex. She had not ventured in yet, pausing to make a thorough scan of the approach to the old factory. A new Atrisian-crafted bodysuit hugged Tigris' body like a matte black skin. On her back, a mackie class droid hung collapsed, ready to serve. Shadows hugged the dark figure as she lingered, peering out.

A small electromonocular lifted to her dark eye to survey the shadowy landscape below. With the ruckus Omega squad had made, Tigris expected something might pop up on her side also. Movement caught her eye. Three figures drew closer. The one slightly ahead was clearly the leader, his demeanor screamed it, reflected in his large frame and hard features.

Her eyes followed the trio until the reached the hulking shell of the building, before silently slipping from her perch. With practiced ease, Tigris slid along the catwalk to a position where she could see the entrance to which the trio had drawn clear.

"Mack" She whispered, "... do a sweep, see if anyone else is in here." The black droid released from its mount and quietly whirred off.

"Kiva, I have three entering below my position." She murmured into her comm.

 
Last edited:
“Let evil fear me. Innocent know they're safe"
navy-seals-dive-operations-1800.jpg

U.S._Navy_SEALs_Special_Warfare_insignia.png
Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Seraphim
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
AD_4nXc69VwLMReN5SK1-NH4L6Nv_1RXYlGhpiBdm8hdzBzE_eXPxJ3sVBSJvTC4s_z8HMzm3xwYCPh726OccfiozBhsB-jzbOeemXoLEObj_fmiRznkvcbrvFQkT1_mILG0ACDf7uJWjA

Objective II — Shadows in the Shell


Location: Kelada Subsurface — Access Shaft to Foundry Delta
Scene: Midnight – One Day Later


Steam rose like breath from the world’s throat.

The squad stood on the edge of a massive elevator platform, half-rusted, half-operational, suspended over a vertical drop so deep that even Vanagor’s senses couldn’t find the bottom. The shaft groaned under its own weight — the old bones of a factory repurposed for hell.

Far below, lights pulsed — deep reds and sickly yellows. Shapes shifted in the shadows. Not droids. Not walkers.

Something else was moving down there.

Something… watching.

A chime flicked across Gabriel’s HUD.

LEVEL IDENTIFIER: OSSUARY – 07
“Resurrection Protocol Active.”

And then, in the faintest edges of the Force, Connel heard them.

Whispers.

Names.
Memories.
Cries for help.


Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.

Each one still trapped.

And in the center of it all — a voice like broken glass wrapped in velvet:

~“You shouldn’t have come, Jedi.”~
~“But since you did… stay a while.”~

Darth Illicitus had been waiting.


And Kelada(at least this section of the spine) had just begun to wake up.

Location: Kelada – Subterranean Level 7: Ossuary-07 Access Corridor
Objective: Infiltrate Foundry Delta, Identify Resurrection Control Node, Avoid Detection


The platform descended into silence.

Not mechanical silence — unnatural silence. The kind that pressed against the ears like a vacuum, muting not just sound, but thought. Every meter downward felt like slipping further from the galaxy itself. At the base of the shaft, a single hatch opened.

Beyond it: a corridor not built by the Empire, but after it. Dark alloy. Red-glowing seams. The walls pulsed faintly — like veins.

We go dark. Comm silence unless urgent. Gabriel, map the network. Sariel, overwatch priority. Connel…

This was his show, and he knew it. I know. I’ll lead.

They entered in two-by-two formation, the way they had a dozen times before. But this wasn’t like before. The temperature dropped. Breath misted. The Force twitched like it was trying to speak, but someone had it by the throat.

Gabriel moved like a shadow, tapping into auxiliary access nodes hidden behind plated wall segments. His face reflected a glow of code, encrypted in Sith architecture. It snarled back.

This isn’t just a control system. It’s a containment field. The entire floor is a hive.”

Sariel peeled off, scaling silently into the rafters and nested on a beam high above. His scope tracked movement — droids, but not standard. No footsteps. They floated, headless and humming in a near-silent frequency, scanning in tight patterns.

SarielContact: Sentinels. Three, patrolling in 60-second loops. Connel, you’re up.

Vanagor didn’t ignite his saber, or even reach for any weapon.

He didn’t need to.

He moved like a myth. A quiet glide of armor and will, slipping past the first patrol with barely a ripple in the Force. The second came too close — but by the time its sensor pinged an anomaly, his hand was already on its throat unit.

A twist. A snap. No sound.

He laid it down like a sleeping child.

Jeremiel and Azrael ghosted after him, planting magnetic breach charges in the foundations of the corridor — quiet, pressure-triggered failsafes for when this op inevitably went loud.

Raphael trailed rear guard, his hand resting calmly on his sidearm, but never drawing it. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t watching for movement — he was feeling for the one pattern the others couldn’t see:

A heartbeat… that shouldn’t exist. They breached the inner sanctum of Ossuary-07.

What they saw froze them.

Walkers… droids… and people. Bodies half-fused with machinery. Soldiers — clones, even — suspended mid-integration. Faces contorted in agony. Some still alive, barely. A few whispered names. Others screamed silently behind locked jaws. Dozens of black-cloaked technicians moved between the rows, muttering incantations under breath masks, guided by floating Sith holocrons glowing violet.

In the center: a pulsing black crystal, suspended over a convergence engine — the beating heart of the facility. And standing beneath it…

Darth Illicitus.

[Confirmed. It’s him. Crystal's a resonance core. That’s the brain. We go loud in 90 seconds. Raphael, hit the flank. Sariel, take the high kill zone. Azrael, blow the fuel arteries at my mark. Gabriel, isolate the crystal’s field. Jeremiel, on evac detail. Connel…]

He didn’t need to finish.

Vanagor was already gone.

As the countdown ticked, Omega Squad moved into place.

Every heartbeat brought the hammer closer.

But this time — the shadow would strike first.

Location: Ossuary-07 – Core Chamber, Moments Before Assault

Connel Vanagor had already vanished into the dark.

He moved without sound, without ripple — not as a man stalking prey, but as a presence the Force itself refused to notice. Not even the Sith alchemy saturating the air could sense him. Not yet.

The core chamber opened like a cathedral of death.

Towering stasis pods lined the walls, their contents fused to mechanical frames — limbs twitching, heads trembling in locked suffering. Massive pylons arced with crimson energy overhead. The heartbeat of the facility pulsed in rhythm with the crystal suspended in the center: a black shard surrounded by red-glowing chains, hovering like a captured star.

Beneath it, Darth Illicitus stood with his back exposed — long obsidian robes marked with silver stitching that resembled chains and teeth. His helmet was unlike most Sith lords; it was delicate, sharp, more akin to a ceremonial funerary mask than a warrior’s helm. His hands moved slowly over the control runes as if conducting a choir only he could hear.

And Vanagor could feel them — the souls trapped in the machines. Their pain. Their yearning. Their fading identity. He was here to end it.

Quietly.

Vanagor crept forward, navigating around a ritual circle — old blood still drying at its edge. One wrong step and this chamber would turn into a tomb.

He was three meters from Illicitus.

He reached for the saber — not to ignite it. To prepare. The kill would be clean. Fast. A mercy.

He exhaled once, channeling the Force into absolute stillness—

Illicitus: “Clever. Very clever.” The Sith’s voice cracked through the silence like glass breaking underwater. He didn’t turn. “Even the Jedi’s sharpest shadow walks with footsteps... if you teach the floor how to listen.”

Connel froze. Eyes narrowing.

Illicitus (softly): “You came alone. Noble. Expected. Futile.”

Now he turned.

The mask gleamed under the bloodlight. His eyes were not visible — but Vanagor felt them. Not probing. Not mocking. Studying. “You’re not here to kill me, Vanagor. You’re here to understand me.”

Connel stepped forward, abandoning stealth. Calm. Centered.

I already do.cHis saber ignited, gold and blue flaring to life, his shortsaber followed… the violet blade vibrant.

You’re a coward hiding behind the dead. He was learning more and more each day about the actions and mindset of a true “Shadow”, not just a Guardian with Special Forces training. However there were times that his Father’s (Do you really need to ask who his father is?) influence shined.The influence shined. Connel’s grip tightened on his saber, his resolve unwavering. Illicitus’s mask betrayed no emotion, yet the air grew heavier. The clash of ideologies loomed as inevitable as the rising sun, each moment sharpening the tension between them.

Illicitus raised one hand — not in fear, but welcome. Behind him, the crystal pulsed harder. The floor vibrated.

“No, Jedi… I am what happens when death no longer answers to the Force.” He flicked his fingers. The chains surrounding the crystal snapped.

Alarms screamed.

Sirens wailed.

Gabriel’s voice cut across the comm:

[Vanagor! Core’s destabilizing — it’s waking up! We’re blowing the charges early!]

[Connel, get clear! This whole place is going to—

But Vanagor didn’t move.

He advanced.

The duel had begun.

Location: Ossuary-07 – Core Chamber / Upper Control Circuits / Failsafe Corridor

[CORE CHAMBER – 00:00:00]


The lights cracked red.

The resonance crystal shattered its containment field — a burst of Force backlash flattening stasis pods and shrieking across the chamber like tortured memories set loose.

Vanagor launched forward, saber raised high — not a warrior charging, but a weapon unleashed. His golden blade collided with Illicitus’s scarlet plasma, the impact sparking white as Force and hate collided.

Their first clash shattered air.

Illicitus twisted, robes swirling like smoke. He fought not like a brute, but like a ritualist — calculated, elegant, inhumanly efficient. His saber was less a weapon than a scalpel.

Illicitus: “You still believe the Force is your ally. It pities you.”

Vanagor parried low, ducked a reverse slice, and answered coldly:

The Force doesn’t pity. But it remembers.

[UPPER CIRCUITS – 00:00:32]

Meanwhile, Gabriel sprinted along a shattered conduit, uplinking into the foundry’s fusion bypass.

[/COLOR]Override’s buried under ten levels of Sith encryption. They coded the logic tree in Old High Rylothian. Who does that?!

Sariel, from above on a precarious steel beam, calmly sighted a corrupted sentinel climbing toward Gabriel’s position.

One down.

CRACK.


The droid dropped into molten coolant below.

[FAILSAFE CORRIDOR – 00:01:09]

Michael
, Jeremiel, Azrael, and Raphael punched through the inner perimeter, cutting through possessed defense droids that moved like possessed monks — silent, fast, and twitching as if they were dreaming someone else's nightmare.

We're getting boxed in.

Yeah, I noticed. Want me to introduce them to some loud friends?

Not yet. Raphael, clear left flank. Azrael — hold the detonators. Raphael was getting angry, and for him, that is saying something. Stepping up with “Bertha” his rotary blaster, the “heavy” swept the room.

Left’s open. They’ll try to loop behind us.

Let them.

[CORE CHAMBER – 00:02:42]

Vanagor and Illicitus were a blur.

Sparks rained down from above as the catwalks fractured. Illicitus hurled Vanagor back with a blast of kinetic Force, sending him skidding across the cracked platform.

Illicitus (advancing): “Do you hear them, Jedi? They’re not screaming. They’re begging to serve. The dead no longer fear me.”

Vanagor rose slowly, jaw clenched, sabers at his either side.

Then maybe it’s time you remembered fear.

He surged forward again, ducking an overhead slash, driving his saber into Illicitus’s thigh armor — a glancing blow, but enough. Connel had training with a saber (be it real, or training, or even wooden) since he could stand, he knew what he was doing in ways that few could fathom.

Illicitus staggered. And in that pause—

[FAILSAFE CORRIDOR – 00:03:15]

Azrael — now.

BOOM Baby!

He clicked the remote.

The floor erupted.

Three blast points caved in the hallway behind them — taking half the pursuing enemy force into a fireball and tearing open a long-sealed bulkhead leading deeper down.

[CORE CHAMBER – 00:03:19]

The blast rocked the chamber.

Illicitus reeled. Vanagor leapt.

Their blades locked midair. Connel spun, striking Illicitus across the mask — cracking it. The Sith screamed. But before Vanagor could finish it, Illicitus hurled himself into a Force-fueled backward dive — landing atop a rising lift platform.

Illicitus (mask flickering): “You’ve seen the top layer… but the tomb goes deeper, Jedi.”

He vanished down the shaft.

[CONVERGENCE POINT – 00:04:01]

Omega Squad regrouped as smoke poured from the ruptured blast doors.

Behind them, wreckage. Ahead — a yawning spiral staircase descending into the dark, with the mark of the Sith carved into every inch of the wall.

The air was colder now. The Force… quieter. Like something below had swallowed its voice.

That wasn’t the core. That was the lure.

Connel (quiet, lightsaber humming as he approached):

Illicitus is still down there.

Then so are we.







TAGS: @
 


rxihdIM.png

HAIuSyi.png


Outfit: Smuggler Outfit
Weapons: Blasters

Valery didn't move right away. The cantina had shifted — not just in tone, but in gravity. The arrival of Whottoomuzz the Hutt wasn't subtle, but it wasn't reckless either. It was intentional. Like a show of power with no need for applause. His guards moved like they already knew who needed killing, and the Hutt himself — he didn't need to shout.

He just existed. And the weight of that alone quieted the room.

Valery's gaze lingered on him only a moment. Long enough to register the scent of war trailing behind him. She read the meaning in his entrance, the scars of his enforcers. And now…Valery in his line of sight. She breathed in slowly.

Of course.

But her attention flicked before anything could settle. Across the room. Toward the girl slouched in neon shadow. She saw the terminal get pocketed. The drink drained. The tap of fingers that said I'm thinking more than I'm nervous. Valery's mouth tugged into something close to a smirk.

Interesting.

But before she could turn back to Reina, a shadow took the seat beside her uninvited. She didn't jump. Didn't flinch. Just turned her head slowly, one brow arching, the smirk curling a little deeper now. "'Trouble?'" she murmured, eyes flicking up and down as she looked him over. "That still your pet name for me?"

Her voice was dry. Wry. But not unwelcoming.

"You can join us," she said, gesturing with one hand to the table, the other still wrapped around her drink. "Long as you don't bring down the place before the Hutt does." Then she turned back to Reina, her tone shifting just enough — from teasing to precise.

"Change of plans," she said quietly. "Forget the regulars." Her chin tilted toward the gathering tension near the entrance, where Whottoomuzz had settled like a god at the center of a slow-burning ritual.

"That," she murmured, "Is the most interesting thing in this room now. The Hutt's not here to posture. This is personal. And dangerous."







 


Tags: Valery Noble Valery Noble Rolcor Wildstar Rolcor Wildstar
Leg - Anchor

Of course the situation had to change as soon as Reina was getting into her stride. Finally starting to come up with plans that all went out the window when The Hutt came in. A small flash of fury flickered in her eyes for a moment as she clenched her fists. That damned Hutt was one of the main reasons she lost her leg. She had no evidence. No physical evidence that tied him to the incident on Onderon, but she just knew. He was one of the reasons why Reina felt so broken.

She had no clue who the stranger that sat down was. Nor did she care. All she did was give him a small nod to acknowledge him before turning her focus back to the Cantina. Reina's lesson had just been knocked into a new type of ball park. The stakes had been raised. The information was more important. But so much more dangerous to try and get. It'd be easy to figure things out from a group of drunks. From people who were far too cocky for their own good. But with the Hutt and his guards? Reina didn't have a plan for that. She struggled to even think clearly through the anger boiling inside of her. Breathe. Focus on something.

The Hutt was here for something. But what? Valery? It wouldn't surprise Reina if Valery had a bounty on her head but at the same time...That didn't feel like the kind of thing that the Hutt would come here for personally. No. He'd send his henchmen. This was something personal. Something he had to settle himself. Her eyes narrowed for a moment as cogs started turning in her head before...a thought came to her mind. They had a Hutt Padawan. Jobbi. Reina had seen her before...Was it possible?...Her eyes darted over towards Valery for a moment, trying to figure out how to word her question...

"I...think I know his daughter. Is this about her?"

That was at least a potential lifeline for her. If she was threatened or put into a difficult situation, Reina could rely on her knowledge of Jobbi. They weren't...friends or anything. But she knew bits of what Jobbi liked. There was the campfire story she could use to try and smooth things over if it went bad. But that was a back up plan. Not a main idea.

 


"Stars, do these stools get more uncomfortable every time I come here?"

Vess pushed off the bar with a grunt, picking up her refilled drink and shooting the bartender a look over her shoulder. Her voice carried just enough to be heard across the counter.

"You ever think about investing in furniture that doesn’t feel like sitting on a durasteel spike, or are you still pretending discomfort builds character?"

The bartender didn’t miss a beat, wiping down a glass that definitely wasn’t getting cleaner.

"Builds loyalty. If you're still willing to sit, you're probably too deep in to leave."

Vess snorted softly, not disagreeing. “Spoken like someone who's never had a bruised tailbone.”

With a lazy pivot, she started moving, slipping the terminal back out of her pocket drink in hand. Her pace was unhurried, unbothered but her eyes moved, flicking across the shifting cantina landscape. The Hutt’s presence still loomed like a silent detonation that hadn’t gone off yet, tension folding into the space between every breath.

But Vess’s attention wasn’t just on Whottoomuzz. She clocked the table again Valery still seated with her Padawan.

And someone new.

The man who had just joined them moved like he was used to danger, the kind that taught you to act normal while counting exits. Vess caught the subtle shift in Valery’s posture when he arrived. Not hostile, not surprised… but engaged. Familiar.

Old flame? Old enemy? Or just someone who knows where all the bodies are buried?

Interesting.

Vess didn’t linger on the speculation. She’d find out one way or another.

She slipped into the booth behind them, back to Valery and company, setting her glass down and flicking open her terminal without ceremony. The glow lit her features in cold blue, her fingers resuming their idle movement across the keys. She didn’t even look their way.

"So," she said quietly, voice pitched just enough for Valery and Reina to hear, "what are we doing?"

It wasn’t sharp. Wasn’t confrontational.

But it wasn’t casual either.

She was here now. And whether or not she’d been invited, Vess wasn’t about to be left out.

TAG: Valery Noble Valery Noble Reina Daival Reina Daival Rolcor Wildstar Rolcor Wildstar

 


Objective II: Shadows in the Shell
Location: Derelict Factory, Wastelands
Tags: Open, Tigris Tigris


Despite no signs of pursuit, unease hung heavy in the air. The feeling was vague—more instinct than evidence—but it gnawed at each of the three men as they advanced across the wasteland. It was as if someone, or something, was watching. Still, there was no room for paranoia now. Not until the deal was done.

They soon entered the skeletal remains of an old factory—just one of the many concrete husks that dotted Kelada's scarred surface. The thick walls offered a brief reprieve from the distant echoes of gunfire and explosions that rippled across the night. For now, it was quiet.

This was the place.

As expected, the contacts were already inside, stationed in one of the cavernous chambers long since stripped of its industrial purpose. Shadows clung to the ceiling while flickering portable lights cast an eerie pall over the group gathered near the centre.

Three landspeeders sat in formation, each loaded with freight. Two crates had already been pried open, their contents unmistakable: racks of blaster rifles, belts of thermal detonators, and even a pair of modified flamethrowers. A small arsenal—exactly the kind of hardware the Militant Front needed to keep their war alive.

Still, Thel knew better than to celebrate too early.

"You're late," a voice called out from among the armed syndicate members.

Thel's boots echoed against the concrete floor as he stepped closer. His tone was sharp, irritable. "You dragged us into the middle of a warzone. Be glad we're here at all. Let's get this over with—we've got the Aurodium. We'll trade once we confirm the inventory."

A pause. Then, subtle shifting—hands tightening on weapons, boots scraping against dust-covered flooring.

"Well, that's the thing, rebel," the voice replied. "Seems our little operation's in trouble. Word is the Galactic Alliance has Jedi sniffing around. That makes our position… unstable."

Here it comes.

"So, we're gonna need to renegotiate." Another beat. "Double the Aurodium, and we've got a deal."

Thel didn't need to see his face to picture the chit-eating grin behind the words. He could feel it in his voice.

Classic shakedown.

The tension in the chamber thickened. Every second dragged. Fingers inched toward triggers. Eyes darted toward exits. This could go sideways at any moment.

Thel sighed through clenched teeth, muttering a curse under his breath.

Why is this business never easy?


 
yOBUJrI.png





The silence of the Jedi was noted.

Not with anger nor heat. Just a slow, deliberate pivot of mass.

Whottoomuzz shifted—his massive frame gliding off the repulsor sled and slithered near the bar. He loomed over a lonely, middle-aged man at the bar. Local. No one important.

The Hutt’s hand descended.

Wide, jeweled, heavy with rings. It settled on the man’s shoulder like a closing cell door.

<“Your name?”> Whottoomuzz asked in Huttese, quiet as sandfall.

The man startled. “T-Tebbin. Tebbin Krae.”

A pause.

<“Your occupation, Tebbin Krae?”>

“Systems—uh, maintenance. Fuel line recalibration, at the docks.”

<“You enjoy this cantina?”>


Tebbin hesitated, eyes darting toward the exit. “I—it’s alright.”

The Hutt’s grip firmed.

<“You have a family?”>

Tebbin swallowed. “Y-yeah. Two daughters. My wife, Sela—”

<“Where does Sela work?”>

“S-Sanitation at Dock 7—”

<“And where are you daughters right now?”>


“I... home. Should be.”

Whottoomuzz leaned closer. His eyes glowed like molten gold.

<“Are you certain?”>

The man trembled now beneath the pressure. Not crushed. Not yet.

Just... held.

<“It is a dangerous galaxy, Tebbin Krae. Terrible things happen every day. Accidents. Mistakes. Misunderstandings.”>

The Hutt’s voice didn’t rise. But it filled the room like smoke.

<“Be certain.”>

He didn’t look to the Jedi table. He didn’t need to. The test was already in motion.

His intent was clear, even to those unable to read it in the force - in the next moment, if uninterrupted, Whottoomuzz was going to kill Tebbin Krae the fuel line recalibrator, husband, and father. His hand nearly enveloped the man's entire torso from the shoulder — with one squeeze, Tebbin's ribcage could be crushed like an empty can.

And then perhaps Sela Krae, the sanitation worker at dock 7, could be next.

@OPEN

 

Sinya Tarkona

Putting the smug in smuggler.

cFAw89q.png
Location: Lorana's Labyrinth
Objective: Don't Get Arrested
Tags: Everest Vale Everest Vale

Sinya cringed internally as she watched the drunk approach the agent she'd spotted at the bar. A bodysuit like she wore was going to attract all sorts of attention, and in the wrong place, it would catch the wrong kind of attention. Sinya idly thought she might need to get one for herself. It would be good for when she wanted to draw attention away from her face more subtlety so people wouldn't remember her.

She knew in her gut that the agent wasn't going to give the creep what he wanted, and adjusted her arm so that she could grab the rifle seated next to her in the booth if it came to violence. Sinya didn't need to worry, though, as she watched his advances be quickly rejected and the other walk away before the drunk could muster what was left of his wits for a response. She allowed herself to relax muscles that tensed up, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Taking a sip from her spice beer as the agent turned toward her, Sinya used her other hand to tap a quick sequence into her commlink. She needed to let her crew know someone's agents were on the prowl tonight.

"Captain Tarkona of Out Rim Exports at your service." Sinya said with a sly smile as she gave the name of the semi-legitimate shipping company she used to launder her smuggling money. "And to me it looks like you might be the one who needs a little help, come take a seat."
 


XUixndb.png


She was the best damn woman that I ever seen


Location: Tunnels
Objective: 3
Tags: Dean Walker Dean Walker The Battalion The Battalion & Kinley Pryce


"But if I start hearing chanting or see a creepy doll, I'm out. You're on your own, Ryiah."

Katarine grinned at him, though secretly she agreed that a creepy doll was a deal breaker. The thought made her wishful for a horror holo flick marathon in present company, clothing optional, but she tried not to let such thoughts stray too far. It wouldn't do to be unfocused down in this maze of who knows what.

"You still got my back, or should I start writing my last words in the dirt?"

"I've always got your back Slick." She tried to make that remark sound sarcastic but there was too much truth in it to fully come across. As much as she tried to fight against it Dean Walker had made himself a permanent place in her heart. She lit her own headlamp and together they started down the tunnels, their boots echoing eerily. As they were walking Katarine couldn't help but notice that the shadows were behaving oddly. They seemed to be moving of their own accord.

"Well... that isn't troubling at all...."




 
You've been hit by... you've been struck by...




fZ0kQEP.png

Objective III — Mapping the Depths
Tags: Dean Walker Dean Walker Katarine Ryiah The Battalion The Battalion + Open


"Don't go the way I just arrived from. There's something in the shadows..." The Battalion said to them. "It's lethal for the unwary...it strikes in darkness...what are you two doing here?"​

"What the frak does that mean?" The Trandoshan spoke, his words hissing together to show his nervousness. He had taken his blaster out of its holster, evidently spooked by the newcomers words. "Identify yourself!"

"Easy there slithers." Kinley had let the hat slip back on her head, showing her eyes but otherwise she hadn't moved and almost looked too lazy to be bothered.

"Apologies. My associate here, Qishk Svenost, sometimes forgets his manners." Qishk growled slightly at the words but said nothing. He was still holding his blaster, though it was not pointed at the new woman. When he spoke it was gruff and more than annoyed.

"We are guarding this here door so beat it! Unless you want to tell us more about those things that attack in the dark?"



A SMOOTH CRIMINAL

 


rxihdIM.png

HAIuSyi.png


Outfit: Smuggler Outfit
Weapons: Blasters

Valery's breath was steady, but the air around her felt like it thickened with every word that oozed from Whottoomuzz's lips. The cantina's dim light flickered against her amber eyes, now sharpened — not in panic, but in calculation. She didn't stand. Not yet. Her fingers drummed once against the rim of her glass before going still.

A demonstration, not of brute strength — Whottoomuzz had plenty of that — but of leverage. A warning shot without a blaster. And he hadn't looked her way once.

Which meant he wanted her to be the one who blinked first. A slow exhale left her nostrils. At her side, Reina was tense — she could feel it through the Force. Anger, pain, memory — all spiking like heat lightning beneath the surface. But Reina was holding. Good. That mattered now.

Then, softly, Valery rose.


"We make our move." She didn't announce herself. Didn't ignite a saber or snap out a threat. Just stepped out from the booth like someone sliding a game piece forward on the board. Her posture was loose but precise. Dangerous in its calm. She walked toward the bar and stopped two steps behind the Hutt's bulk, angled just enough to see Tebbin's pale, sweating face. Valery's own expression didn't shift. Finally, now, she let the Force shimmer faintly off her. Not aggressive. Not a warning. Just a reminder of who she was.

A pause. A single beat. Then her gaze softened — only slightly — as it met Tebbin's again.

"Let him go."






 
The only easy day was yesterday
navy-seals-dive-operations-1800.jpg

U.S._Navy_SEALs_Special_Warfare_insignia.png
Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Seraphim
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
AD_4nXfS09InxMUhr9y0dI2NAeIGFQm1vE1jjuEYy4GDL5kBXGhXWu9WtbQStr0gRt_hiju6HrBjehNZKLkkAHvAIlRtwvgoEHa9NtDnhg5tZ5DwEd82p5D47Yhir3LsNbhZKgE9Ydv7iQ

Objective II — Shadows in the Shell

Location: Kelada – Sublevel 8: Ossuary Archives – “The Null Vault”
Time: +37 minutes post-core breach

The descent was silent.

Not tactical silence. Not the stillness of a disciplined squad on approach.

This was different.

This was the silence of being watched — not by guards, not by droids… but by those who once screamed and no longer could. The staircase coiled downward, carved from blackened durasteel and Sithstone. Every step was flanked by small alcoves, each with a crystal-embedded slab — long-dormant containment pods, some shattered from within, some cracked as if clawed at by whatever had been inside.

Jeremiel knelt beside one pod. The corpse inside still twitched from time to time — not with life, but residual nerve pulses.

JeremielThis one’s only been dead… minutes. Not days.

Gabriel’s scan lit up in warning — not from the dead, but from half of something still alive.
Organics barely clinging to function, fused with tech they hadn’t been born to use. Dozens. Hundreds. All wired to the resonance core above — slaves not just in body, but in memory.

They reached the main chamber: “The Null Vault.” And there they were.

Rows of suspended humans, clones, and unknown hybrids — floating in crimson-tinted fluid inside vertical glass pods. Some banged weakly against the walls, eyes wide, mouths moving silently. Others stared, long since broken. A few still glowed with faint traces of the Force.

Each pod had a label. None had names. Only codes. And above them, etched in jagged Sith script:

“PERFECTION DEMANDS RUIN.”

Vanagor stood frozen.

The Force howled around him. Not in warning. Not in threat.

In grief.

These weren’t warriors. These weren’t enemies.

They were victims.

Illicitus didn’t just bind souls to war machines. He tested on the ones who survived. These are his prototypes.

Azrael clenched a fist.

AzraelWhat the hell is wrong with this place?

SarielThis isn’t a battlefield anymore…It’s a crypt… with a heartbeat.

Gabriel, scrolling furiously through the master control terminal:

I can open the pods. Not all. Some are too far gone. But I can release the rest. They’ll need full evac. Medical. Psychiatric. Rebuilding their minds—if they want it. Or… He hesitated. There’s an alternate protocol. Coded by Illicitus himself. ‘Euthanize Irregulars.’One command. Quiet. No pain.

Jeremiel stepped forward filled with resolve.

JeremielThey’re suffering. Some might want the end. But some might still want to live. We don’t make this decision for them.

Raphael quietly under his breath.

We do if we don’t have time… If Illicitus is coming back with reinforcements, we either save who we can or end their pain and move.

All eyes turned to Vanagor.

He stepped between the rows of pods, one hand on the glass of a young woman still breathing slowly, connected to too many tubes. Her eyes locked with his.

She didn’t speak.

But her look pleaded.

Not for death.

For hope.

No more death. Not today.

He turned to Gabriel.

Open the pods. We save who we can.That’s what Jedi do.

Michael nodded.

Omega — defensive circle. Extract and protect. If Illicitus comes back, he’ll have to bury us to get to them.

Azrael (cracking his knuckles): Wouldn’t be the first time. As the pods began to hiss open, and weakened survivors tumbled into the arms of the waiting squad, Connel activated his comm.


This is Omega Shadow to Alliance Command. We have survivors. Hundreds. This isn’t a mission anymore. It’s a rescue… And we are not leaving them behind.

Location: Ossuary-07 – The Null Vault

The pods had opened.

Some survivors wept. Others collapsed into Omega Squad’s arms. One — a clone officer long presumed dead — saluted before passing out from the pain. But there was one among them who remained standing: tall, gaunt, with a scar across his face and silver cybernetics grafted where his temples used to be.

He didn't tremble. He didn't ask questions.

He simply said:

“He's coming.”

Vanagor turned.

Illicitus?

The man nodded slowly, his voice hollowed by time.

“This vault… was never the end. It’s the capstone. The real process — the resurrection furnace — it’s below this level. Illicitus didn’t need to finish it. He just needed enough of us to anchor it.

“He knows you’ve broken the chain. He will not reclaim us.”

“He’ll bury us instead.”

Gabriel’s commlink screeched.

Incoming seismic surge! Energy readings from the crystal above are spiking! He's going to collapse the vault—with us in it!

We hold. No evac until every survivor’s through the lift.

Raphael braced a doorframe.

Pressure’s climbing. If he dumps the entire upper sector on us, we’ll be crushed before we can blink.

And then — they heard it.

A deep, resonant chanting. A sound that seemed to echo from inside their skulls.

From the lift shaft, black mist began to pour like smoke, thick and hissing with whispers. Floating forms began to emerge — twisted reflections of the walkers above, now smaller, faster, sleeker: sentinel revenants with blades for arms and no eyes.

In their center: Darth Illicitus, descending like a dark priest into his sanctuary, the cracked mask now reforged with black and crimson metal. The ground warped with every step.

Illicitus (coldly): “You were offered a mercy. You’ve chosen defiance.”

“Now you and your broken little choir will be sung into the dirt.”

Michael just gripped his rifle, ticked off. Omega, weapons free.

THE FIREFIGHT

The Null Vault erupted into war.

Sariel perched on a broken catwalk, his rifle snapping precise shots into the revenants’ neck joints. For every one that dropped, two more swarmed from the mist.

Gabriel worked double-time, locking in the survivors' extraction orders, flooding the lift with emergency power while bouncing signal relays through his gauntlet.

This system’s about to overload! I need thirty seconds or this whole shaft caves in!

Jeremiel took a vibroblade to the shoulder protecting a civilian, then ripped it out with his free hand and drove it into his attacker.

Raphael was the wall — holding the line with a heavy repeater, blasting revenants into sparks. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He simply held.

In the heart of the chaos, Connel Vanagor charged Illicitus.

Their blades met in a flash of shadow and flame.

Illicitus: “Still playing knight? Still trying to save what’s already doomed?”

If it’s still breathing—it’s not doomed. Either way, I’m not here for them, I’m here to end you…

They clashed, spinning through wreckage, trading strikes faster than eyes could follow. But Illicitus wasn’t trying to win.

He was stalling.

Gabriel shouted. He’s rerouting power! The crystal above is building charge—he’s going to detonate the entire vault!

AZRAEL — DO IT!

Azrael’s detonators went live.
The floor beneath Illicitus buckled.

Vanagor dove back just as the Sith Lord dropped through the collapsing structure, laughing as he fell — consumed in flame and smoke.

The Null Vault began to collapse. Pillars cracked. Crystals shattered.

But the lift moved. The survivors — all that could walk or be carried — were loaded and rising. Gabriel remained until the last one cleared.

Omega — out! Now!

Vanagor turned back one last time — eyes locking with a pod that hadn’t opened. A young child inside. Alive. Terrified.

He slammed the release.

Grabbed the child.

And vanished up the final lift as the Vault imploded behind them.

Hours later, under blackened skies and a broken moon, Omega Squad sat bloodied and breathing in a temporary Alliance medcamp built into the ruins of a Kelada cathedral.

They had lost time. Sleep. Blood.

But they had saved lives.

They had earned a moment of peace.

Location: Subsurface Emergency Exit Shaft – Sector G-13 Ruins
Time: +4 hours after the Null Vault Collapse


The air still carried the scent of burning metal and cauterized horrors.

Alliance medics worked quietly under halogen beams, tending to survivors. Busted droids dragged scrap from the wreckage. Gabriel ran diagnostics on recovered data. Raphael and Sariel stood watch from the outer perimeter.

But Connel Vanagor was not with them.

He had followed the trail of hate.

A ragged tunnel carved through the mountain rock bled out into the lower catacombs. The Force was thick here, muddied, poisoned with pain. Vanagor moved swiftly, saber unlit, guided not by sight — but memory.

He found the remnants of robes. A cracked Sith mask. Blood.

And then — a presence.

Standing at the edge of a jagged precipice, back to the Jedi, cloak whipping in the wind, stood Darth Illicitus — battered, burned, but alive.

He turned slowly.

Half of his mask was gone. A gaunt, pale face stared back at Vanagor — one eye mechanical, the other very human, and filled with venomous calm.

Illicitus: “You’re persistent, Jedi. I’ll give you that.”

Vanagor didn’t ignite his saber, he didn’t even reach for any weapon he carried.

You should be dead.

Illicitus: “Should be is for philosophers. Will be is for soldiers. But I… I am an architect.”

He limped toward a waiting shuttle platform — clearly prepared, clearly planned. The Sith Lord’s fingers twitched — not for his blade, but for something deeper. His will pulsed outward — into the shadows.

Illicitus: “You saved them, didn’t you? Pulled them out of the fire… and now they will suffer for years, fractured, haunted… broken in a way death would’ve spared them.”

“Tell me, Jedi — was that mercy? Or vanity?”

Vanagor stepped forward, finally reaching for and activating his shortsaber, holding it steady.

Mercy is giving them a choice. That’s what you never understood. You want to play god. I just want to make sure the galaxy survives you. If they die, it will not be because of you, it will be in spite of you.

Illicitus nodded, almost approving.

“And yet here we are. You saved their bodies. But I still own what’s left inside.

He stepped onto the lift platform. Engines whined.

Illicitus: “You’ll see me again, Vanagor.”

“But next time — you won’t have a squad to hide behind.”

I don’t need them to end your ass.

Vanagor started forward.

The platform dropped.

He hurled his saber — it carved the air, struck the edge — but missed.

Illicitus vanished into the burning wind.

[LATER – ABANDONED SHRINE OUTSKIRTS – NIGHTFALL]

Vanagor sat alone beneath a broken statue of an ancient Jedi. The sky cracked with lightning over distant ruins. He didn’t meditate. He just sat, saber resting across his knees, his cloak soaked through.

Michael approached, his armor stripped to his undersuit, bandaged and silent.

He dropped next to Connel without a word.

For a long while, neither said anything.

Then—

He got away.

Vanagor nodded.

Yeah.

You could’ve killed him.

Could’ve. Maybe. Something made me miss. It’s like he wanted me to try. Like baiting me into it. If I got him, it would’ve cost everything, at least it feels that way.

Michael sighed, running a hand through his short hair.

You’re thinking about what he said… About the survivors.

Vanagor stared out at the storm.

They’re going to need time. Years. Some may never recover.

But they get to try.

Another long silence.

I used to think the light meant standing in front of the fire. Now I think it means walking through it….And pulling others out… even if it burns.

Michael nodded, then stood.

When the time comes, we’ll chase him down. Together… But tonight... we rest.



FADE TO BLACK.

TAGS: @
 
yOBUJrI.png





The Hutt’s hand released.

No great show of mercy, nor any mind-trick of the Jedi foiled by his biology. Just a transaction. The pressure vanished, and with it, Tebbin Krae stumbled backward into his barstool, breath hitching, eyes still wide.

Whottoomuzz did not watch him flee.

<“Tebbin Krae. Not forgotten.”> he said lowly, more to himself than to Tebbin. The name. The job. The family. All filed away. Information was its own weapon. Xoff knew that better than anyone.

Then, finally—finally—his eyes turned. Downward.

To her.

The Grandmaster.

<“‘Let him go.’”> he murmured. <"Funny, that was what I came to say.">

The words hung there—echoing the way she had spoken them moments ago.

His gaze hardened. A low breath. Measured. Measuring.

<“You ask me to let Mr. Krae go. A man I've just met.">

His golden eyes burned.

<“I ask the Jedi to let my mate go. A man I have only a few decades left to share my life with.”>

The Hutt snarled, a gurgling sound only to forcefully stifle it an instant later.

<“Your Order trains my daughter beneath your banners while her other parent is chained.”>

Xoff was the Hutt's voice in the dark. His eyes in their systems. His confidant.

His tone did not rise, but the weight beneath it sharpened. Anger, edged by vulnerability.

<“There are only so many mornings I will wake to his voice. Each day, one more is taken from me. I will not trade them quietly. I will lose no more.”>

A beat. Not of silence—but of coiled restraint.

<“So you see,”> he said softly, <“when I say ‘let him go’... know that I am not asking, nor haggling.”>

There was no roar. No drawn weapon. Just stillness. Beneath it—coiled and suffocating—was something far worse.

<“I’ve lived long enough to know what I can lose. And what I’m willing to burn to keep.”>

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, the cantina felt smaller. Every moment was watched by hundreds of eyes. Outside the cantina, pairs of them watched for a signal from the Hutt, detonator in hand.

Not just a Crime Lord. A parent, a husband. A Hutt with nothing left to bluff. A threat signalled in emotion, a dire warning that the rest of the patrons weren't privy to.

Valery Noble Valery Noble Reina Daival Reina Daival Vess Sadragen Vess Sadragen @anyone in same Objective​
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom