Faction Great Purge - Fall of Prosperity [Jedi/Sith]

[Allyson Locke]

//: Alina Grayson //:
//: Attire //:
//: Equipment //:
//: Arrows of Absence x 25 //: Bag of Absencite x 5ea //: Rest in Signature //:

Allyson would stay long enough for her Master's command, but then the rest didn't matter anymore. Something pulled her towards The Prosperity, it was a place she had once called home… a haven from the dark side. It was now a corpse, and the vultures were encircling to pick it clean. A part of her heart ached, brief memories upon the vessel, friends… laughter — gone.

At times she found herself thinking back to those days, despite them having happy moments — it always ended the same way. She was walking away from them, the scapegoat for the fallacies of the Light. That was the past; they were gone. A hidden blade carved reality open, and Allyson stepped through the doorway. She often found use in the travel that was afforded by her recent lessons, her stomach, on the other hand…

Mere moments passed, and the same doorway appeared, carving its presence into the mayhem that had befallen Prosperity. Stepping through, the Corellian paused, taking in the sight of the horror that she had a hand in.

As she stood there and regained her bearings, her stomach twisted into knots. She burped, and a hand covered her mouth, trying to bite back the bile that crept up the back of her throat. For Force's sake, she had been a fighter pilot; teleportation shouldn't tear at her as badly as it did.
Alas, Allyson turned towards one of the corners near where she stood and lost the contents of her stomach.

Groaning, Allyson stood straight and looked towards the console that was near her. Across the screen, she read the message that was being broadcast to the others. Raising an eyebrow, she used the Force to plug her way through the coding. It had been some time since she had been on Prosperity, so she didn't expect her former credentials to work.

But that's what Mechu Deru was for. Forcing her way into the comms array network, Allyson quickly saw the message and where it was coming from. As easily as Corazona von Ascania uploaded the maps and the message, Allyson shifted it to blur, then stop.

There had been a moment where she wondered if she should have broadcast it to the Sith Forces; her role within the Empire would have demanded it…

But she had done enough damage…

Those who wanted to survive would.

Pulling her hand back, the comms array network would remain silent, the message Cora had sent out gone… the maps gone… the Jedi were blind.

Allyson stepped away and drew her bow. A group of Sith had found younglings, and while Allyson didn't believe in what the Jedi taught anymore, the innocent were still the innocent.

Three arrows fired, piercing the three kainite acolytes chasing the younglings in the throat. Each of their bodies fell, twitching and bleeding out. Allyson stepped over their bodies towards the children.

"Get out of here, two shuttles are loading up to escape, get there." She pointed to the area of the hangar where the shuttles were loading children to escape. Her bow drawn, she once more killed another Kainite who threatened to cut the children off.

"Go!"

Once they were loaded, Allyson needed to get out of the hangar and towards where she needed to go.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

A reckoning, was it?

The Dark Lord of the Sith had heard similar declarations all His life. The phrasing was often different, the intonation changed, and the speaker had shifted so many faces that they'd all begun to blend together into a singular tapestry of seething desperation. What incident brought this knight here? What world? What people? What loved ones? He'd heard it all before, and He'd hear more of it yet. Their mewling voices decrying each and every atrocity as though it were the grand culmination of all history in the galaxy, that everything everywhere had just been working towards their unraveling of their personal trauma.

Most of those would-be avengers were dead now, rotting food for worms and other wretches of the dirt. If not killed by His hand, then dying on their path of revenge by someone else. The entirety of their existence ruefully spent impotently. The truth of the matter was that the greatest defining moment of their life was barely a footnote in the tale of His supremacy, a scribble in the margins.

Arrogance and futility.

It was sickening.

Darth Carnifex did not waste a moment in capitalizing on the Shadow Hand's opening, swooping in with great speed. His blade swung in a long, lazy arc towards the knight's weapon arm. He aimed for the elbow, but accounted for enough shift in trajectory all the way down to the knight's wrist. Simultaneously, He pivoted mid-strike, armored greave snapping out towards the knight's midsection with enough carried force to buckle durasteel.

Darth Prazutis | Tydeus of Tion ​

 

[Connel Vanagor]

Protect Prosperity
Deep Space
Prosperity

Omega Squad Every Day Gear Locations

• Michael, Gabriel, Raguel, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel
  [Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
• 
  Rides
  
  • "Enterprise" Station Ship
  • Vigilant Reaper
  • Null Vector
  • Speederbike
  • Iron Psalm
  Gear/Armor
  
  
  • Gear(“Bodycam” Datapad, UAD Drone, link to Seraphim AI included)
  • Lightblaster
  • Shortsabers (“Night” and “Day”)
  • 5 Throwing Lightknives
  • 3 Force Blinding Flashbangs
  • RI-17 Rifle-w-MS-0412 Grenade Launcher
  SURGICAL - CRYBERNETIC IMPLANTS
  
  • Repli Implants that would be for the limbs
  • Bonemer enhancements to strengthen structure of the body
  • Muscle enhancements.
  • Hemo enhancements for blood flow
  • Hawkeye implants for eyes
  • Advanced Medical Implant
  • Scentzy
  • Injected Nanotech upgrades
  
  
  
• Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise

The corridors were changing.

Pathways becoming obstacles.

It would not hold them forever. It did not need to. Forever was not the mission. Minutes were. Seconds were. Enough time to get friendly bodies off The Prosperity and leave the attackers to whatever waited for them in the dark. Let them clear the hallways. Let them push deeper.

Let them funnel themselves into bottlenecks where they would have to kill hundreds to reach tens. Every step they took was one Cora’s white routes did not have to answer for. Lily Decoria’s voice came over the comm, calm where his had been edged. A warning… A good one… Maybe even the right one.

Connel, don't think you are the only one handling the red targets. And don't lose yourself to the fight. We will need you after this. Our priority is preventing this being the massacre the Sith wish it to be.

Connel set another charge beneath a conduit and thumbed the arming sequence. Battlemaster.

Still strange.

Not because Lily lacked courage. Not because she lacked skill. The trail she had cut through the enemy would have made that argument ridiculous. But titles were heavy things, and Connel had always believed they should leave marks on the hands before they were worn on the shoulders. Still, she was good…And she was right.

Mostly.

[I know.] He spoke flatly over the secure comm line as he sealed the charge and moved to the next support line. [I’m not trying to be the only one handling red targets.]

Then he paused in thought. His visor tracked a fresh cluster of hostile signatures turning away from Cora’s white routes and toward the dead corridors he had been shaping. [I’m making sure fewer of them reach you.]

There it was again.

The old Jedi disease. Warning another away from the fire while already stepping into it. He could not judge her for that. Connel Vanagor had built half a life out of choosing the worst hallway and calling it duty.on. The purpose was to delay, to buy time, to create a maze that would confuse and slow their pursuers. Each twist and turn was calculated, designed to test endurance and determination, ensuring escape was possible for those who could adapt quickly.

The next charge clicked into place.

Not yet.

Preferably not until he was already gone.

The blast would rupture the line, blow the wall casing outward, and turn the corridor behind him into an argument no one could win quickly. Another charge followed. Then another. Each one had a purpose. Block pursuit… collapse visibility… kill momentum… spare life support. Preserve evacuation control. Hurt the enemy only where hurting them bought time for the innocent.

That was the line.

That was the mirror.

Moving through the halls had become easier.

Foot soldiers. Acolytes. Pawns thrown into the rancor’s den by masters who would never learn the names of those they spent. Those still advancing would receive no quarter. No respite. No reprieve.

Then Connel saw Cora.

As well as the monster in front of her. He stopped. Not because he was afraid. Really? He stopped because he recognized the shape of the moment. This was not just any Sith. The aura was the same discordant wound he had sensed on Alderaan. Chaotic. Familiar to her. Poisoned by choice and pain.

Her relation. Her brother. This was not a duel.

This was a family fight.

Connel could take it away from Lysander. Easily. Gladly, if the mission demanded it, one Vanagor may have liked him, thought he had promise, an outlook sorely lacking in the galaxy, but that Vanagor is gone now.

He could not take it away from Cora.

Caltin’s words moved through him, old and stubborn as stone.

Redemption is never out of reach. You just have to reach for it.

Connel did not know if there was still good in her brother. He did not need to know. Cora believed there might be. That was enough to stay his hand. For now at least. He slipped into the dark above the hangar lane, masked, cloaked from the Force, breath quiet behind the seal. “Night”t remained silent in his grip. The detonator rested against his palm. He would not interrupt her choice.

He would not abandon her to it either.

Then Decoria entered the hangar.

Connel heard her before he saw her, the movement of another Jedi pressing into the storm, silver confidence and crossguard light cutting through the smoke.

So, which one of you thinks they can handle fighting me?

Somewhere beneath the mask, Connel almost sighed. Battlemaster, then. Definitely Battlemaster. Brave… Loud. Very much not what he would have done. Which was probably why the Sith were looking at her now instead of the evacuation routes.

Useful, then.

Fewer, apparently, was going to have to work very hard.

A Blackblade fireteam shifted along the far side of the hangar, using the smoke and broken machinery to angle toward Cora’s exposed flank. Another unit moved high, armored shapes climbing through the gantry work with disciplined speed. Not panicked. Not careless. Elite mechanized infantry did not need to be brave. They had been built to make bravery irrelevant.

Connel watched them move.

The Sith always recognized an exposed heart. The first rifle rose toward Cora, not Lysander’s, that was someone else’s mistake.

Connel pressed the detonator.

The charge did not bloom into wild fire. He had no use for spectacle. It snapped with controlled violence, punching through the gantry support above the advancing team. Metal shrieked. Stone facing cracked loose. Sparks fell like burning rain as the upper walkway folded between Cora and the incoming line of fire.

The shot went wide.

His view was momentarily obstructed, but Connel knew Cora more than well enough to know that she had probably never looked away from her brother.

Which is Good.

Connel moved. The stolen Blackblade rifle came up against his shoulder. He fired twice from the dark. Once into the floor coupling ahead of the fireteam. Once into the overhead release above them.

The first blast spat steam and static across their optics. The second brought a curtain of debris down hard enough to split their formation and foul the clean angles they had been building. Red markers paused. White markers moved.

Good.

He slid his last “blinder” charge under a shattered service cart and let it rest there, quiet and ugly, a little sun waiting beneath scrap metal.

Not for Cora.

Not for Lysander.

For anyone who thought her moment belonged to them. Another Blackblade squad adjusted almost immediately. Fast. Too fast. They were already compensating, spreading their spacing, shifting from direct advance to layered pressure. One moved with a heavy repeater braced against his armor, the weapon panning toward the smoke where Lily had made herself impossible to ignore.

Connel’s thumb brushed the detonator again.

He could have taken the shot. He could have crossed the hangar. He could have made the entire moment his.

No.

Cora had her brother.

Lily had her challenge.

The evacuation had its routes.

Connel had the dark.

He pressed once.

The charge beneath the cart flashed white and hard. The blast rolled low and directional, taking the repeater team off their feet and folding their shield line sideways without tearing into the hangar wall. A full-yield detonation would have been louder. Messier. Easier.

This was better.vThis was work. A second later, another charge went off behind the Blackblade advance. Then another. Then another. Not random. Never random. The hangar’s approach lanes began to close one by one, not sealing completely, but narrowing, forcing choices, making every route toward the Jedi slower and uglier than the last.

Connel did not smile. He did not rage. He did not look away from the map. Red dots clustered. White dots moved. He opened the comm to Cora’s channel, voice low beneath the mask.

[You have room.]

That was all. There was no permission, no advice, no comfort, none needed, just a fact.

Then he cut the channel and slipped deeper into the smoke, detonator in one hand, stolen rifle in the other, “Night” and “Day” waiting silently at his back. If the brother appeared, Cora would have her moment. If the Emissary appeared...

Connel’s thumb settled over the next trigger.

...someone was not going to like it.

Corazona von Ascania • Lysander von Ascania • Darth Carnifex • Naniti • Lily Decoria
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​

 

[Silas Westgard]

Location: The Prosperity
Objective: Help the last of the NJO
Tag: Kahlil Noble

"Hello, Silas. There is a lot of help we could use, I imagine."

"It sure looks like it," Silas replied with a faint smile as the distant echoes of chaos rolled back through the Prosperity. Glancing around, it seemed they had managed to hold the attackers at bay for quite some time. His arrival, alongside the other Jedi, would give the defenders some much needed relief.

As Kahlil spoke of the attack being a trap for other Jedi, the pieces began to fall into place in Silas's mind. The Sith weren't simply targeting the Prosperity itself. They knew what this place meant, its history, its symbolism, and the hope it represented to Jedi across the galaxy.

They wanted to break it.

More than that, they wanted to draw in as many Jedi as possible and slaughter them all in one devastating blow. Looking back at Kahlil, Silas let out a quiet chuckle and scratched the back of his head.

"My girl back home is going to kill me for this..." he admitted, giving a small shrug. A moment later, his expression hardened with determination.

"But you know me, Master. If family is involved, I'd walk through oblivion and back to help them."

He nudged Kahlil's arm in encouragement before flashing him a confident grin.

"Now then," he said, rolling his shoulders, "shall we get to work?"

 

[Alina Grayson]

The last shuttle was already lifting from the deck when another vessel slipped through the hangar's magnetic shield.

Its engines flared briefly before settling onto the battered deck with practiced precision. Around it, the hangar was eerily empty now that the children had escaped. The sounds of battle still echoed throughout the Prosperity, distant explosions reverberating through the bulkheads and deck plating, but for the moment only two people remained in the cavernous space. A woman descended from the fighter, moving with purposeful calm despite the chaos surrounding them.

White and gold armor covered her from neck to boot, elegant in design yet unmistakably built for battle. A longsword rested across her back, partially covered by a royal blue cape. The sword was a polished songsteel blade catching flashes of emergency lighting as she walked. At her hip hung a lightsaber whose hilt bore the marks of regular use. Long blonde hair spilled over one shoulder, partially freed from whatever hurried attempt had been made to keep it restrained before departure, and bright blue eyes swept across the hangar with quick, practiced awareness. She was positively radiant with the light

For a brief moment, her attention followed the departing shuttle. Relief touched her expression as she watched it disappear into space; then her azure gaze settled on Allyson. The Force around the woman was strange, not in any simple way she could immediately define. Alina slowed her approach, not because she felt threatened, but because something about the situation refused to fit together properly. The Prosperity felt wrong. The battle felt wrong. The currents moving through the ship felt tangled in ways she couldn't immediately explain.

Still, the evidence before her was impossible to ignore; the children were alive, and the woman standing before her had clearly helped make that happen.

"Looks like I missed the evacuation."

Her voice was calm and warm despite the battle raging around them. Alina stopped several paces away, close enough to speak normally but far enough to avoid feeling confrontational. Another distant explosion rolled through the ship, drawing her eyes briefly toward the hangar entrance before she returned her attention to Allyson.

"My name is Alina."

There was no challenge in the introduction, no demand for credentials or explanations. Just a simple offering of trust. Her eyes moved briefly over the fallen Kainites nearby before returning to Allyson. A faint smile touched her lips.

"I'm glad someone got here before I did."

TAG: Allyson Locke
​

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

Accompanied by Seo Linn

"Alright alright. I'll do my best." He gritted his teeth, trying to pretend like he didn't have a smoking hole in his thigh. He glanced around the corner, paused for a moment, and then pushed the barrel ahead of him, left hand pushing the gauge wide open; the sonic blast would be more spread out, attenuated by the wider cone, with a more suppressant effect. It wouldn't kill anyone, but it would likely stun or at least daze a few. He took rapid, deep breaths. One. Two. Three.

He held down the trigger until the emitter redlined and the weapon shut off automatically, then threw himself around the corner, an ungainly lunge that sent him prone to the floor but kept him away from blaster shots and delivered him (mostly) to a sheltered spot where he could start cutting. "This place is going to vac without a suit. Hopefully the actual saber-jockeys are too busy up there to intervene here, but if we can keep the CIC safe we can at least help them organize a withdrawal." He said something else, but it was drowned out in the brilliant sapphire light of the plasma torch. He pulled his cloak across his chest to intercept the molten metal spalling from the cut, but held the blade steady, slicing through a structural brace that seemed to be supporting most of the wreckage.

There was something... Unusual about his cutter, though. The beam was far cleaner and more coherent than a normal plasma torch; it wasn't the workmanlike tool you'd normally see. There was something... strangely sharp about it, as if it wasn't the canister on the bottom fueling it at all. In fact... It almost seemed like kyber? There wasn't much angle or opportunity to inspect it more closely, but some parts of the clunky device didn't even look functional. As if they were intended to disguise something else.

The strut came apart after a few more moments' attention, and he was able to shove away some of the larger pieces. While he sized up his next cut, he pulled a small medical injector from the bag at his hip and jabbed it into the meat of his thigh, grimacing with hazy-eyed discomfort. He drew in three rapid breaths again, then tossed the injector away, leaning up to start cutting through the next obstacle, a piece of the ceiling that had fallen, canted across the passage. Another minute, perhaps two, and there would be a clearer path ahead.

Through the gap in the wreckage, a small sign was visible.

FRAME 68
CIC LEFT
MEDBAY STRAIGHT FRM 67​

"See? Practically there already." The pain was evident in his voice. The fact he had to prop himself up against the recently cut strut showed that the leg wasn't quite supporting him, even kneeling.

 

[Makko Vyres]

MAKKO

A schematic of the Prosperity would pop up on every friendly screen, HUD, and display module. Makko Vyres Makko Vyres had been able to corral all of the structure's data and turn it into something crude, but sensible on short notice. "White dots indicate the locations of Jedi needing to be rescued. If you're in need of help, send a ping. Red dots are for hostiles and damage."

Allyson Locke

Being remote across hyper wave transceivers limited his impact. Whilst he could directly affect any of the Prosperity's systems with the Force, he still had access.

Between his implants and the Force, he could reshape code and transmit it almost instantaneously.

"Interesting," he murmured.

That had been quick work. The systems were still in tact and his data was securely shared and encrypted across remote sites, beyond the range of the Force.

He reached down through every communication channel available from the vessels in the system and reconstructed his map. He just needed to navigate through the net and find some more transmitters to get it back to friendly forces.

"This will take a minute..."

 

[Seo Linn]

Seo maintained a steady pattern of covering fire while Dalvos worked through the wreckage, forcing the surviving Sith troopers to remain behind cover whenever they attempted to push toward the corridor. Blaster bolts continued to hammer the damaged bulkheads around them, filling the narrow passage with showers of sparks and molten fragments while smoke drifted through the fractured deck in slow, choking waves. The entire section of the Prosperity felt as though it were groaning under the strain of battle.

Between bursts of fire, her attention shifted briefly toward Dalvos.

The injury in his leg was becoming increasingly obvious. She could hear it in the slight strain creeping into his breathing and see it in the way he compensated whenever he shifted his weight. Adrenaline, stimulants, and stubborn determination were keeping him moving, but none of them would hold forever.

The unusual cutter did not escape her notice either.

For all its outward appearance as a rough breaching tool, there was something strangely refined about the beam it produced. The plasma remained unusually coherent, cleaner, and sharper than any industrial torch she had encountered before. Under different circumstances, she might have questioned it, but there would be time for curiosity later if they survived the next few minutes.

The sign beyond the wreckage earned the faintest nod from her.

"Closer than we were five minutes ago," she replied, allowing herself a brief measure of optimism.

Another volley of blaster fire streaked down the corridor, forcing her to lean back behind cover. Rather than immediately returning fire, Seo crossed the short distance between them and crouched beside him while he worked, her gaze lingering for a moment on the damage to his armor before lifting to meet his eyes.

"You are slowing down," she observed quietly.

There was no criticism in the statement. Only concern.

Her hand settled briefly against his shoulder, remaining there only for a moment before a gentle warmth spread through his body. It was not enough to heal the wound itself, nor would she have attempted something so involved while enemy fire continued to pour into the corridor, but it eased the exhaustion gathering around the injury and dulled some of the sharper edges of pain. The effect was temporary, little more than a battlefield measure intended to keep him moving a little longer.

"Do not mistake that for being fixed," she said as she rose smoothly back to her feet and resumed her position overlooking the corridor. "You are still injured."

A controlled burst from her carbine forced another pair of Sith troopers to retreat behind cover.

"But I would rather not carry you the rest of the way to the command center."

The faintest trace of humor touched her voice before she settled back into her firing stance, sending another series of shots downrange while molten fragments scattered from the wall around her.

"So keep cutting," she said evenly. "I will concern myself with making sure nobody interrupts you."

Dalvos Thrakan

 

[Kahlil Noble]

"You and me both."

Valery Noble would kill him if he died, after all. He watched the reality settle for Silas. The nature of this trap, of what they were going to have to contend with. What they were going to have to prevent. The Prosperity was their home. Stopping it from being the grave to more than it had already claimed was all Kahlil wanted to accomplish.

He paused for a moment before letting his gaze drift over towards a direction. Another feeling, another familiar person. Another of his own Padawans.

"The Meditation spheres. There's a few Sith here who can handle it, but there's more who can't. You remember how to scrawl runes, yes?" He held a hand up as he spoke, and atop it his familiar formed. Harmony took off as soon as they opened their eyes, bounding through the halls. "Mark every where you can as we run. You know the rune."

He himself was doing as much. Even in his earlier clash runes were cut into the very steel. Light. He turned, moving down the hall towards the center of the vessel. Harmony, however, went another way. They bounded through until they found someone familiar.

Katherine. You're here.

Silas Westgard | Katherine Holt

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania
Nearby: Connel Vanagor Naniti Lily Decoria

The charges erupting around Cora may as well have been white noise. Lysander had stolen her senses. Her sight latched onto the menacing lines of his armor, and the filtered tenor of his voice occupied her focus not strictly for the words he'd said, but for how all congeniality had been stripped from them.

Connel's voice rumbled in her ear, imparting three little words: You have room. The message itself was wider than that – somewhere, he was watching. He'd keep their moment from being disturbed, let her regain her bearings. From her early days as a Padawan, she could trust Connel to have her back.

Lysander had a chance to strike her down while she reeled. The fact that he didn't wasn't lost on her, but neither was the fact that he'd cut down two Jedi with such cruel intensity that it almost felt casual. Routine, certainly, and that thought threatened to make her nauseous.

"I do, actually." Cora rocked back on her feet and lifted her chin, giving the impression of her eyes glaring like floodlights glaring down at her brother despite the height difference. "I get to be honest with you, Lysander." She cocked her head, a tiny concession. "You deserve that much."

Cora had always known. Somewhere, in the darkest little corner of her mind, she'd known that Lysander was a killer. That he'd taken lives. She recognized the particular way his features had come to harden, solemn with the gravity of what he'd done. The same fleck of something heavy in his eyes that sometimes stared back at her in the mirror.

"Look around you, Lysander!" she barked, lightsaber igniting with a flourish. She gestured around them, blue light sweeping over the still-warm bodies he'd left discarded. "You've become so lost – or so obsessed – with this path that you think it's the only way forward. Where are the people your actions have protected, Lysander? Are they at the bottom of the mountain of corpses at your feet?"

“Move, Cora.”

Cora turned her head and exhaled slowly though her nose. She'd grounded herself in the moment with near violent intensity, and now that energy began funneling itself into battle-hardened instinct. How had it come to this? Her baby brother practically leading the charge in slaughtering Jedi? She'd been incapable of stopping Lysander from becoming what he was now. The least she could do was make a stand against him here.

The void didn't just quiver. It began to ripple and spasm from being held on the precipice for so long.

Cora stepped aside.

The void shuddered, tearing itself open as her left hand jolted forward, fingers pinched together. The Force rippled outward, racing for Lysander. The shamed sister followed in it's wake, saber held behind her before lashing forward in a pair of tightly controlled jabs aimed for his shoulder, then his hip as she tested his bladework.

"Come on," she hissed. "Show me how far you're willing to go."

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

"Never Hide Your Heart"

​

Prosperity | Dock 4


The call was there. It pressed against her thoughts like a hand against glass. Katarine could feel them somewhere deeper within the station. Darksiders. The source of the pressure that had haunted her ever since stepping foot on Prosperity. If she followed it, she knew she would find answers. Perhaps even the source of whatever was wrong with her. The hunger stirred at the thought. Her grip tightened around her saber. For a moment she took a step in that direction.

Then she heard a child crying.

The sound cut through everything. She glanced over her shoulder toward the freighter. The refugees were crowded inside the boarding ramp now. Mothers clutching children. Elderly passengers helping one another up the incline. Terrified people who had already lost everything once today.

Waiting.

Waiting because she was still standing here.

The dark side called to her, but so did they. She closed her eyes for a single heartbeat, then she exhaled.

"No," she whispered.

Whether she was speaking to the dark side or herself, she wasn't entirely sure. The pressure remained. The hunger remained, but she turned away from it.

Katarine deactivated her lightsaber and sprinted toward the freighter as another volley of blasterfire streaked across the docking bay. Refugees reached down from the ramp, grabbing her arm and hauling her aboard as the engines roared to life beneath their feet.

"Go!" someone shouted toward the cockpit. The ramp sealed. The freighter lurched violently as it broke free of the docking clamps. For the first time since arriving on Prosperity, Katarine felt something almost resembling relief.

She had made a choice, not for herself but for them.

The vessel climbed hard through the station traffic lanes, weaving between departing transports and emergency craft. Below them, Prosperity shrank into a glittering sea of lights and durasteel.

The escapees began to breathe again. Some cried, others prayed and some simply stared.

Katarine sank into an empty seat near the bulkhead and let exhaustion wash over her. The darkness felt farther away now.

Not gone.

Never gone.

But farther.

Then every alarm aboard the freighter erupted simultaneously. A shrill warning screamed through the cabin. The ship shuddered. Passengers cried out as the vessel rolled violently to port. "What was that?" someone yelled. The answer came over the intercom a second later, filled with panic. "Contact! Multiple hostile craft dropping from hyperspace!"

Katarine's stomach dropped. Through a nearby viewport she caught sight of black warships emerging from the void, but what troubled her most was not what she saw in her eyes, it was what she felt deep within the Force.

The Kainate had found them.

Thread Exit​

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

The Arkanian man fought against the pain, his focus narrowing until all that remained was the task of cutting, ignoring the blaster bolts spattering over the wreckage, the droplets of molten metal that flecked out and sizzled at his clothes. It wasn't until he felt Seo next to him that his attention split for a moment, giving her a dazed look... That cleared and settled at the touch of her hand, invigorating energy pushing back the sensation of pain. He drew a ragged breath, and focused his eyes on her own. His hand lifted, as if of its own accord, and gently rested upon hers for a moment. "Thank you," he murmured, his words sincere, eyes focused on her own as he felt the lingering traces of warmth from the Force.

He turned his renewed attention to the wreckage, hand shifting from her own back to the edge of his cloak, pulling it up to shield himself, and then cut up underneath a particularly large piece of bulkhead, and the whole mess began to groan as he finally did enough structural damage.

He scrambled backward, making sure to turn off the cutting tool as he did so, and the bulkhead chunk rolled aside with a teeth-rattling thud, slamming to the deck and revealing a path over it. It wasn't all the way clear, but it was enough to clamber over with relative ease. "Way is clear!" He shouted back. "Go, go, go!" He nestled his back against the wreckage, drawing his sonic rifle in his lap and angling it back down the way they had come.

"I'll cover your backs! Just... Go help them!" He waved his hand back toward the hallway to the CIC, and the other Protectorate volunteers began hurrying to climb over the wreckage. The sounds of blaster fire a moment later seemed to indicate they had encountered the Sith boarding party ahead.

Davlos huddled there for a moment, emotions flickering over his face before he swallowed deeply, refocusing himself. "Alright, alright. I'll hold them here." He twisted to keep most of the wreckage between him and the way they'd come, dragging another chunk of the strut he'd cut away to give himself a little more protection. "Just watch your back in there, alright? Help make sure at least some of them get away. You remember the way back to the ship?"

He looked... Determined. Resigned. He had chosen this spot to make his stand. It would work well against blaster fire, but if they got close or used grenades...

But that didn't seem to stop him. "You're right," he told her after a moment. "It's slowing me down, and you guys need to move quick. Just... Come get me on the way back, alright? Don't forget me." A brave face, but worry and uncertainty behind.

Seo Linn

 

[Seo Linn]

Seo felt the renewed steadiness in Dalvos almost immediately after she withdrew her hand, the warmth lingering just long enough to take the edge off exhaustion and pain. When his hand settled briefly atop hers, she didn't pull away; she met his gaze for a moment, inclined her head at his quiet thanks, and answered simply, "You are welcome," before the moment dissolved back into the noise of battle.

The wreckage groaned, metal screamed against metal, and the collapsed bulkhead finally shifted. Seo was already moving when it crashed aside, revealing the narrow path beyond. The Protectorate volunteers surged forward, scrambling over debris and disappearing toward the CIC, and moments later, fresh blaster fire erupted ahead, confirming what they had all expected: the Sith had reached it first.

She paused only when Dalvos spoke again and turned back toward him. For a heartbeat, her eyes lingered on the position he had chosen. At the makeshift barricade, the rifle across his lap, the damaged leg he was trying very hard not to acknowledge. It didn't take a tactical genius to understand what he was doing. He was buying time. For them. For the people trapped deeper within the Prosperity. For strangers, he had answered a call to save.

A faint crease touched her brow. "I know the way back," she said quietly. That part was easy. The rest was not. Her gaze drifted toward the corridor where the fighting intensified by the second. Every instinct told her the CIC mattered. Every calculation told her that the survivors, deeper inside, needed help now. And leaving people behind had never sat well with her. It still didn't.

Seo stepped closer, crouched beside him, and rested a hand against the shoulder plate of his armor. "You are not allowed to die while I am gone." The words were delivered with complete seriousness, though after a moment, the corner of her mouth lifted. "Because carrying you back to the ship will be difficult enough with you alive."

She rose, the brief humor fading as quickly as it had appeared. "I will come back," she said, not as reassurance but as a promise.

Another burst of blaster fire echoed from the CIC corridor. Seo brought her carbine up and turned toward the fighting. "Hold as long as you can."

Then she vaulted over the wreckage and moved after the Protectorate volunteers, advancing through the shattered corridor toward the command center. She kept low, weapon ready, slipping into cover as she entered the new engagement zone and adding her fire to the desperate defense unfolding ahead, while the sound of Dalvos's sonic rifle remained behind her.

For now.

Because she fully intended to hear it again on the way back.

Dalvos Thrakan @open

 

[Renard Fenn]

And for the first time in her life, she accepted that. The Force Choke remained, though it loosened slightly, granting the little Jedi a fraction more breath as her will held firm while her thoughts churned.

He could feel the war inside her: the Dark against the shreds of Light still remaining.

Please.

But he was running out of air. And he hurt so badly. He was not sure how long he could contend with her awful power crushing down on him, despite the wavering fraction of a second in which the mask of rage slipped from her. Slightly, oh but so slightly.

Yet he could feel it.

The woman she had once been was somewhere under all those frayed wires and all that tortured, bitter acidic hate.

Lonely.

Afraid.

You are not alone.

Please. Don't do this.

It is not too late.

He pleaded fervently through his thoughts, devoid of guile or subterfuge. His dark eyes were wide and shimmering with pain.

Come back to the Light.

He still held his paw out to her, open. Reaching out for that woman beneath the torment of the Dark Side.

Please.

Darth Virelia

 

[Naniti]

The Togruta activated a mask that'd cover the lower portion of her face as they shot out into the chaos. Lysander's earlier comment had gotten a a sharp nod in response. She couldn't see his expression, but from what she'd observed of his interactions with the Big Names -- and the feelings in the Force -- Naniti knew. And why not? She'd grown up with the belief that the struggle to survive was the point. Not to conquer the galaxy. Not merely for a meal. But because growth came through conflict.

Cora's voice shot through across the distance, affronted by Lysander's actions. Her blue eyes stared back as the woman sought to decry the company he'd chosen. Butchers and slavers, she'd said. Naniti wouldn't argue otherwise. There was no point. Because none of it mattered. A Sith Warrior struggled to grow stronger so they were not the one leashed. The majority that occupied the galaxy believed they were entitled to their comfort. Their "peace." Peace, however, was a lie. A delusion people wrapped themselves in so they didn't need to act.

Her eyes slid to the side to look at Lysander at Cora's taunt.

"Are you finished?" Naniti's red blade extended as its tip lifted to point directly at Connel Vanagor even within the cloak of smoke. Her blue eyes slid aside in Lily Decoria 's direction before they slid back to Connel.

The violet Togruta stepped away from where Lysander faced off against Cora. "Fight me, Jedi. Prove to me your Masters taught you more than petty tricks."

Naniti wanted to stay with Lysander for the future she'd foreseen, but the battlefield rarely allowed you what you wanted. She had to keep the other Jedi from intervening to save their own if that's how the confrontation played out. That was her duty. Lysander wouldn't accept her standing by and letting Cora be saved.

And why would Naniti wish her saved? The Togruta had not grown up in a family filled with love and hope. Lysander felt the darkness of those he conencted with influencing him, but Naniti had been taught since a child how to embrace the dark. Family had no intrinsic value. Life had no intrinsic value. There was only one soul on the ship besides herself she cared to see survive the day; everyone else was expendible.

Even so, Naniti wanted the best future for her partner. The one she somehow had come to care for. If she had to take on one, two, or ten Jedi so he had his chance then that was what she would do.

Lysander von Ascania | Corazona von Ascania

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

He bled from a fresh cut to the forehead and wore the red armor of an Imperial knight. His cape billowed behind him, partially aflame at the hem. He bore strange swords in either hand.

Out from force augmented speed, the Shadow Hand crashed towards the side of the Imperial Knight with all the force of a nearly seven-hundred-pound locomotive at high speed.

So fast and so furious came the Right-Hand of the Iron Tyrant that Tydeus had no time to snap up the heavy Blister Blade in his right hand. Instead, he snapped his fist bearing that blade forward in a back hand with all the strength and speed of a Teras Kasi master to intercept the abyssal bloodfire blade as it came down upon him with crushing force. To strike out at a lightsaber born by such a behemoth would seem a foolhardy thing, but Tydeus' strikes could cave in armor and punch through plastoid. For all that, he doubted that would matter against the might of this Titan.

What would matter was the cortosis gauntlet he wore. Standard issue equipment in every suit of armor of an imperial knight.

He was still almost too slow, just enough time to throw his hand up. The behemoth's lightsaber blade should short out upon contact... Unless it had been specially designed to withstand cortosis.

A telekinetic grip of overwhelming strength. It wasn't designed to freeze Him entirely, it was designed to seize him for just a moment, to let the abrupt and sudden nature of it wrench the Imperial Knight into confusion and delirium.

At nearly the same time as the blow landed, Tydeus felt a telekinetic will wrap around him as if a giant docking clamp had suddenly seized him in a grip of durasteel and affixed him to the ground. Yet the Tionese heir of the Shorn lineage knew such telekinetic powers well and it did not cause the confusion so desired, though Tydeus could not retreat as he watched Darth Carnifex approach like a headsman's axe.

His blade swung in a long, lazy arc towards the knight's weapon arm. He aimed for the elbow, but accounted for enough shift in trajectory all the way down to the knight's wrist. Simultaneously, He pivoted mid-strike, armored greave snapping out towards the knight's midsection with enough carried force to buckle durasteel.

The stroke from the Dark Lord was a most dolorous blow. Tydeus, having trained nearly since birth in the art of Teras Kasi and the weapons of the Thyrsian Sunguard, managed to block the lightsaber with the sword of Ashin Varanin called Ravening he held in his other hand - unable to do the same trick twice properly with his gauntlet.

The connection shivered through him and he felt as though he might be beaten into the deck simply from the Dark Lord's opening blow.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord pivoted into a snapping kick. Unable to move, Tydeus could only stand there as the armored greave collided with his armored side in an awful crunch.

Pain blossomed, white hot and searing, and Tydeus felt the sharp stabbing of a broken rib. Perhaps more. He drew on the Force, channeling the prolific power of Tion's Wound within him that gave him such unnatural strength in the Force for his age, along with the nexus in the Blister Blade.

A repulse rippled out from him, just raw telekinetic strength meant to shatter the hold of the Titan.

"Die," he snarled, lashing out with his blades in a whirlwind of strikes that moved faster than any mortal eye could follow as he sought to dance between Titan and Dark Lord and trade blow for blow.

No matter the pain in his side. No matter how much they overmatched him strength for strength.

The dead of Tion cried out for justice and he would see them answered.

Darth Prazutis | Darth Carnifex

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

Davlos' laughter was unfeigned as she spoke to him. "Oh trust me, it'll take more than these silver-suited mongrels to make my guns go silent." There was a sudden, sharp edge of hatred that flared through his aura like a lightning strike. "Just try to help as many people as you can, alright? I'd prefer to leave with at least as many people as I arrived, if it's all the same to you."

He reached down to the pack hanging at his hip and began pulling things out. A couple of sonic grenades, a couple of EMP grenades, one remaining stun grenade, an extra blaster and a couple of energy cells. Something that looked suspiciously like a ration bar. His canteen was snugged into a small gap in the wreckage, keeping it upright. He pulled his cloak across himself, for what protection the cloth would offer, in concealment if not necessarily a great deal of protection.

"That being said... The quicker the better!" His laughter was drowned out, a moment later, but the sharp bellow of his sonic rifle, already retuned to a narrower, lethal burst of sound that echoed from the hallway like a clap of thunder.

Out of an abundance of caution, he quickly swapped charges on the rifle. Better safe than sorry.

Three rapid breaths, one, two, three.

"If you don't kill me, you fucking tin cans, we're going to slaughter every last one of you and grind up your sleek little suits for a fresh coat of paint! Run back to your masters, little bastards, or I'll send you back to them in pieces!"

Only blaster fire answered him, the echoing sounds of combat punctuated by the occasional clap of the sonic rifle firing.

He would hold. He'd damned well hold.

Seo Linn @open

 

[Silas Westgard]

Location: The Prosperity
Objective: Help the last of the NJO
Tag: Kahlil Noble / Katherine Holt

"The Meditation spheres. There's a few Sith here who can handle it, but there's more who can't. You remember how to scrawl runes, yes?"

Silas paused for a few moments before nodding.

"I think I do, though it's been a long time," he admitted, mentally sifting through distant memories of the technique. "Don't worry about me, though. I should be able to get those runes up in no time." The knight spoke with confidence as his gaze drifted toward a nearby wall, searching for a place to test his theory. Focusing intently, he reached out through the Force and attempted to form the rune. Nothing happened.

Silas exhaled slowly and adjusted his approach. With each small correction, the process began to feel more familiar, almost natural. It was as if the countless nights he had spent practicing long ago were awakening within him, the old muscle memory gradually returning.

After another moment of concentration, a rune finally flared into existence upon the wall. It lingered there, dormant and waiting for the next Sith unfortunate enough to stumble into its trap.

"That'll have to do," Silas said, allowing himself a small nod of satisfaction. "I don't know how many I can manage, but I'll do my best. If you have a destination in mind, please lead the way."

With that, he fell into step beside his old master, placing additional runes as they moved through the corridors in the direction of one of Kahlil's current Padawans.