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

[Seo Linn]

Seo heard Dalvos's laughter as she moved away from the barricade, and despite the alarms, the smoke, and the dead and dying scattered throughout the Prosperity, a faint smile found her. Not because anything was amusing, but because some people refused to surrender to despair. She glanced back once. Dalvos was already settling into his position, surrounding himself with whatever weapons and improvised defenses he could reach. It might have been reassuring if it hadn't looked so much like a man preparing for a last stand. The anger rolling off him at the mention of the Sith was unmistakable, as was the determination beneath it.

"Then stay alive," she called over her shoulder, offering neither lecture nor argument. They both understood what needed to be done. Another sonic blast thundered behind her, followed by the answering fire of Sith pushing toward his position. The exchange echoed through the ruined decks like distant artillery as she turned her focus forward.

The command corridor had become a battlefield. Protectorate volunteers were pinned behind shattered consoles and damaged bulkheads while Sith boarders advanced methodically from cover to cover. Blaster fire streaked through drifting smoke, turning the passage into a shifting maze of light and shadow. Seo dropped behind a collapsed support frame beside two wounded defenders. "Status?" she asked. "Command center's still holding," one replied, "barely."

That was enough. Seo leaned out and placed several precise shots into the advancing formation, forcing the Sith back and buying the defenders a few more seconds. It was not enough to win, but enough to breathe, enough to hold. For now.

Behind her, somewhere beyond the wreckage and fire, the crack of Dalvos's sonic rifle still echoed through the ship. Each report told her the same thing.

He was alive.

And until that changed, Seo intended to make every second he bought them matter.

Dalvos Thrakan @open

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

Davlos was getting critically low on supplies.

Ideally, this is the point where the Sith would be getting critically low on either morale or bodies; truth be told, he wasn't too picky which. He was out of energy cells for the blasters, which just left the slower-cycling sonic rifle, out of grenades (except the single stun grenade), his canteen had a blaster-hole through the middle of it, and the ration bar had been eaten. His cloak sported a few new holes, but it had done its job, draped over the wreckage around him, concealing his silhouette and reducing the effect of near-misses. His upper left arm had a spot that was probably going to blister up nicely from a very, very near miss that had mostly acquainted itself with the metal strut he was sheltering next to, merely exchanging pleasantries with the third or fourth layer of his dermis as it passed. The stim was wearing off, his sonic rifle was getting low, and most critically...

He'd run out of insults to shout. He'd started getting a little creative to try and avoid repeating himself, but honestly their lack of response (verbal response anyway, their guns had done most of the talking) made it hard to figure out what was a hit or a miss. It was a tough crowd to play to, honestly.

He'd resigned himself to dredging up any scrap of ammo he could, mainly thinking up clever little ditties or bits of song that in some way referenced or insulted them.

"There once was a Sith from Korriban,
Wore a suit shiny as chrome,
So tight in the front that you'd give 'em a punt
And pop goes what made him a man!

There once was a Trooper from Coruscant,
He'd let you do whatever you'd want,
But if you asked him to run he'd lift up his gun-"

A grenade came arcing around the corner. Not the first, probably not the last. Hopefully not the last. The only reason it'd be the last is if he didn't do something about it; they certainly didn't seem to be running low on them. They must've planted some grenade trees on Coruscant when they took it. It was the only explanation for how many of the damn things had been sent sailing his way.

He tracked its movement with the sonic rifle, and by the time the rifle cycled the grenade was almost too close; the cushion of sound-hardened air batted the grenade away, little enough left on its fuse that it detonated less than five meters from him, showering the hallway in incendiaries. He frantically batted at the embers that had landed on his cloak, forced to throw the bunched up cloak away as it ignited anyway. One of his gloves followed a moment afterward, the adhesive incendiaries burning away at it where he'd tried to wipe off the cloak.

"Alright, which of you sneaky little spitcans had that idea? Send 'im forward, c'mon, I wanna give him a prize!" He swept the hallway with the barrel of his rifle, the threat of it as much of a deterrent as the fact that the hallway was now quite solidly on fire.

Feeling that he had a moment while the heat kept them at bay - And he was feeling it a bit, too, thanks for asking, kinda toasty to be honest - he glanced back over his shoulder at the hallway beyond, eyes straining as if he could peer around the corner if he stared hard enough.

Seo Linn @open

 

[Seo Linn]

The fighting around the CIC had been brutal: not glorious or heroic, just desperate. The defenders had held on for meters and moments, buying enough time for evacuation routes to open and for trapped personnel to reach functioning hangars. Several times, the Sith had nearly broken through. Several times, they had been forced back. In the end, it wasn't victory, only survival.

Seo stayed with the line until the last groups were moving, lending her rifle wherever the defense wavered and helping carry the wounded whenever a corridor was secured. By the time the withdrawal order came, her clothes were streaked with soot, her lungs burned from smoke, and her carbine's power pack was nearly empty.

The moment she was certain the CIC would hold, she turned around.

The corridor toward the breach looked worse than when she'd left it. The fires still burning, emergency lights flickering, the air thick with scorched metal and melted circuitry. Then another thunderous crack from Dalvos's sonic rifle echoed through the passage.

Seo exhaled. Still alive. Good.

She stepped around a collapsed bulkhead and finally saw him. Dalvos sat amid the wreckage of his improvised fortress, looking as though he had personally declared war on every Sith trooper aboard the Prosperity and refused to yield an inch. The burning corridor ahead told its own story. So did the bodies. So did the fact that the Sith now seemed content to remain on the far side of the flames.

Seo stopped beside him, taking in the scene and then him.

"You look terrible," she said, entirely sincere. A faint smile followed. "And somehow still alive."

She crouched beside him, eyes moving over the ruined canteen, the discarded cloak, the scorch marks, the burned glove, and the steadily growing list of injuries he had collected in her absence. The assessment took only a few seconds.

It was not encouraging.

"You're coming with me," she said, leaving no room for argument. Her gaze flicked to his leg. "Preferably before you decide to hold another corridor alone."

A beat, dry as dust.

"And before you run out of songs."

Dalvos Thrakan @open

 

[Aveline Cuiléin]

Tag: Canm-Bulnu Bi​

The Jedi interceptor banked hard through the graveyard of debris, threading between tumbling durasteel fragments with twitch-sensitive precision. The environment meant targeting solutions would struggle in the clutter, and his larger strike fighter would have far less room to maneuver cleanly.

Only he didn't follow.

The first explosion lit the debris field like a miniature sun.

Aveline flinched instinctively as the shockwave rolled through the wreckage. What had been drifting lazily moments ago was suddenly transformed into a lethal storm of spinning durasteel and jagged fragments. A shattered docking arm broke apart completely, sending twisted metal cartwheeling across her flight path.

'He's trying to flush me out', she thought. This pilot was a touch more crafty than she would've preferred. Clearly, this wouldn't be a straight forward as she was used to. Caught without a squadron to support, she'd have to adapt to the situation as best she could.

The second detonation came much closer. Her starfighter shuddered violently as the blast wave caught it broadside. Her shields flared bright across the canopy, warning runes multiplying across her displays as shield strength bled away. The fighter rolled sideways despite her attempts to correct it, forcing her to fight the controls before a tumbling section of hull plating could tear straight through her cockpit.

As if the blast wasn't enough, debris that hadn't been immediately destroyed was fired scattergun against her. The shield wouldn't last much longer.

Aveline gritted her teeth and dove deeper, heading downwards.

More explosions blossomed through the scrapyard. Fire and debris erupted in all directions. Scanner returns became a mess of interference and overlapping contacts as thousands of fragments spun through space.

The Delta-class rolled beneath a collapsing lattice of support beams before Aveline cut hard underneath the debris field entirely. Massive chunks of wreckage loomed overhead, forming an uneven ceiling of twisted metal between herself and the Umbaran fighter above.

For a few precious seconds, she disappeared. Just wreckage, interference, and silence. Aveline exhaled slowly. Then she pushed the interceptor forward.

The Jedi starfighter skimmed beneath the battlefield graveyard at full speed, using the debris overhead to mask her approach. She arced around the edge of the field, climbing only once she had put enough distance between herself and the last place her opponent had seen her.

The engines roared. The interceptor burst from the wreckage at an entirely different angle than before.

There!

Aveline caught sight of the Umbaran fighter silhouetted against distant weapons fire. Her cannons opened up immediately, scarlet bolts lancing across the void as she pressed the attack.

Her little cat and mouse game had failed, and she'd come out of it worse for wear. Time would only tell if she could catch him off guard, or if her little rescue attempt would be cut very short.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

EQUIPMENT:
| Armor | Garb | Mask | Ring | Riteblade | Saber |
TAGS:
| Sian Sestoi |​

The change occurred before the fire ever moved.

My attention had long since shifted away from individual attacks and toward the decisions creating them, and it was there that the deviation became apparent. Her feet remained planted despite the distance I offered. She wasn't pursuing. She wasn't accepting the invitation. The momentum I had been carefully cultivating over the course of the duel suddenly stalled as she chose not to take the ground I was surrendering.

Interesting.

The realization arrived alongside another.

Her left blade descended toward my knee, forcing a response that remained entirely conventional. A duelist's answer to a duelist's attack. Yet my attention lingered elsewhere. The tension in her right arm eased. Her grip loosened. Her fingers opened. The posture wasn't uncertainty. It was intention. For the first time since the duel began, she wasn't simply responding to the engagement. She was attempting to alter it.

The riteblade drifted downward to intercept the strike aimed at my leg, its mist-forged edge curling around emerald light as I redirected the attack away from the vulnerable joint. At the same moment I felt the subtle disturbance gathering within the Force. Not enough to reveal the nature of the attack before it formed, but more than enough to reveal its existence. Whatever followed wasn't meant to continue the duel we had been fighting. It was meant to force a different one.

Good.

The first exchange had revealed how she fought. This one was revealing how she adapted. The distinction mattered. Many combatants possessed techniques. Far fewer possessed solutions. Then the fire came.

The damaged terminal beside the corridor erupted as the flames were seized and hurled forward, transforming from a contained blaze into a roaring torrent that surged between us. Heat rolled through the corridor like a living thing as burning air rushed outward, devouring the space I had spent the last several exchanges carefully manipulating. Fire and smoke flooded the gap, consuming visibility, disrupting distance, and threatening to replace observation with reaction.

A lesser duelist might have retreated.

A smarter one might have.

Instead I stepped forward.

The movement carried me directly toward the inferno as the riteblade swept upward through the center of the advancing flames. The mist-like blade wasn't a shield and it wasn't intended to stop the fire. Yet the arcane construct possessed enough substance to carve a temporary channel through the heart of the attack, splitting the torrent for a brief moment as burning air and sparks washed around me. The opening lasted only an instant, but an instant was all I required.

Heat slammed into my cloak and shoulders as tongues of flame crawled across black fabric. The scent of scorched cloth immediately filled the corridor while embers scattered across armor, leather, and steel alike. Fire raced along the edges of the tattered garment hanging from my shoulders, consuming portions of the cloth before collapsing into trails of smoke. The temperature struck like a physical force, pressing against exposed skin and seeping through layers of armor and clothing. I felt it immediately. The sting of heat. The tightening of scorched fabric. The instinctive warning carried by nerves reminding the body that fire was dangerous and that every living thing was meant to avoid it.

I ignored it.

Not because it wasn't there. Not because it didn't hurt, because something else had become more important.

My attention never shifted from her.

The flames were temporary. The discomfort would pass. The information she had just revealed would not. Every second spent concerning myself with the fire was a second not spent observing the person who had created it, and for the first time since the duel began I found myself more interested in understanding her than in preserving my own comfort.

As I emerged from the haze of smoke and burning air, portions of the cloak still smoldering and wisps of gray drifting from blackened fabric, my gaze remained fixed upon the woman standing beyond the dying flames. The corridor seemed quieter for a moment despite the station collapsing around us. The screams, the alarms, the groaning metal all faded beneath the simple realization that she had finally recognized the shape of the trap and chosen to stop feeding it.

"There you are."

The words left my mouth calmly as I stepped fully through the remnants of the inferno.

"I was beginning to wonder how long it would take."

The riteblade lowered slightly, not in surrender, but in thought. My head tilted ever so slightly as I studied her through the pale mask. The attack itself interested me far less than the decision that created it. She had recognized the value I was extracting from her pursuit and deliberately chosen to deny it. Rather than continuing to answer the questions I was asking, she had attempted to ask one of her own.

Most opponents never reached that point. Most continued revealing themselves until the duel ended. She had realized what was happening. More importantly, she had acted upon it.

"You finally stopped fighting the duel."

The statement carried neither mockery nor praise. It was simply an observation.

"Now you're fighting me."

The station trembled again beneath our feet as another distant collapse echoed somewhere beyond the corridor. Firelight danced across wet deck plating and drifting smoke while the last remnants of burning cloth crumbled from my cloak and scattered across the floor. Through it all, my attention remained fixed upon her.

The strike had revealed a technique.

The fire had revealed a mind.

Of the two, only one truly interested me.

Because techniques could be learned.

Understanding the person behind them was far more valuable.

 

[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

[You have room.] That was all, not permission, not a warning, not advice, not comfort.

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.

That is when a red blade cut through the smoke.

Not Lysander’s.

Connel felt her before the light found her. Togruta. Young, but not soft. Eager, but not foolish. The Dark around her did not sprawl like the greater monsters in the hangar. It coiled tighter than that, wrapped around conviction, hunger, and the ugly little certainty that survival was the only scripture worth obeying. Her mask sealed over the lower half of her face. Then the blade lifted.

Pointed directly toward him. Even through the smoke.

Interesting.

"Fight me, Jedi. Prove to me your Masters taught you more than petty tricks."

For the moment, Connel said nothing.

Somewhere, very far away from the man behind the mask, a gentler upbringing stirred. Lessons about restraint. About never striking down at someone simply because you could. About strength meaning control, not domination. Good lessons. Old lessons.

Still true.

But Naniti had not stepped into the hangar as a frightened civilian. She had not come as a child, or a bystander, or someone caught between banners. She had come with a red blade in her hand and had chosen to stand between Jedi and survival. That changed the math. Connel lowered the stolen rifle by a fraction. By no means was this any type of surrender.

Assessment.

No.

A small word, simple, direct, effective, almost disappointing.

Then he moved, though not toward her, but away.

The first shot from the stolen Blackblade rifle struck the gantry coupling above Naniti’s left. Not close enough to kill. Close enough to make the metal scream and sag, sparks raining between her and Lysander’s confrontation like a curtain of dying stars. The second shot punched into the floor near an advancing fireteam trying to use her challenge as cover. Steam erupted. The third shot killed the light of a targeting sensor sweeping toward Cora’s back.

Naniti wanted a duel… Connel gave her priorities.

He dropped the empty rifle, letting it clatter into the smoke, and finally drew “Day” from his back.

Snap-hiss.

The gold fire bled into the dark.

Your first mistake was thinking tricks are beneath you.

He stepped sideways as another charge detonated behind him, collapsing a narrow approach lane and forcing a cluster of red markers to halt. The blast washed smoke around his silhouette, cloak and armor swallowed by black until only the blade and the mask remained.

Your second was choosing me.

He did not press. He did not chase or create an opening.

Instead, his boot kicked a fallen Deathwasp projectile beneath a broken maintenance strut and his off-hand flicked the arming stud with the Force. Naniti would sense it.

Of course she would.

The point was not to catch her unaware. The point was to make her choose. Advance on him, or move.

If she moved, it would be smart.

The projectile would snap open in a vicious burst of pressure and shrapnel, chewing the strut apart and dropping half a hanging panel between them. Not enough to end the fight, but more than enough to break rhythm. Enough to make the battlefield speak his language.

Naniti had strength. She had hunger. She had that bright, furious certainty of someone who believed conflict was proof of life. Connel knew that lie. He had almost married it once.

You want proof of what my Masters taught me? ]They taught me not to waste lives proving points.

He broke away before the exchange could become the duel she wanted. Another flashbang rolled from his palm. This one did not go near her. It skittered past, beneath the boots of the Blackblade squad trying to flank Lily. Connel pressed the trigger. White light swallowed the flank. The Sith line broke for half a breath.

Enough.

He looked back to Naniti.

So if you want my attention...

“Day” lowered into a compact guard, all economy, no flourish.

Behind him, Cora still faced her brother. Lily still stood before monsters, and had this fight in hand. The white dots still moved.

Connel’s voice dropped colder.

... next time earn it.

Looking at Lily before disappearing again... his aura cloaking She's all yours

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

 

[Katherine Holt]

Outfit: Link
Tags: Kahlil Noble | Silas Westgard​

“That’s it, keep going, head straight down this hall, take your first right and you’ll be approaching the hangar. Someone will be there to make sure you get onboard.”

As both Younglings and Padawans ran, Katherine’s yellow blade lit the darkened hallway. Though their numbers were far and few in between, the redhead could only hope it meant others had taken a different route, and hadn’t run into any Sith.

She spared a glance down at the data-pad in her hand, only to frown when she noticed the screen was blank. And no matter what she did to it, the map refused to display. Sith interference? That wasn’t good, especially if it meant someone on their side was privy to their communications.

Though before Katherine’s thoughts could dwell any further, she felt a familiar presence floating towards her. Almost literally so, as the fox spirit appeared around the corner, ‘swimming’ towards her.

Harmony!

It had been a while since Katherine had last seen the spirit, Serenity too for that matter; she often got the two mixed up. The winged Jedi owed a lot to Harmony in particular though, as she had been instrumental towards Kahlil and Colette saving her from the Dark Empire.

More importantly however, Harmony’s presence here and now meant her old Master was focused on something.

I’m guessing Master Kahlil’s already working on a plan?

 

[Kahlil Noble]

"The Meditation sphere's. Scrawl what you can, even if it's just a rough cut with your lightsaber. Don't stop for anything, trust the others." As he spoke, his saber bit out, carving into the once decorated halls of the Jedi. Halls that were home to so many. He steeled that resolve, sprinting through to the lower levels. Sith that opposed him were dealt with as swiftly as he could. There was no mercy to be shared in a kill or be killed, where any dela was the death of another Jedi.

He could feel all their deaths, echoing through what was home.

All the way down. For the time being, the Meditation Spheres were undisturbed, but he doubted that would remain once he got into one properly. He let out a breath as he set a hand on the outside of the device, opening the path.

"Find Katherine, keep spreading the runes where you can. If you find a Sith who's unaffected, they're much more dangerous."

Harmony nodded once to Kathrine. The spirit floated before the winged Jedi. Yes. The runes. Get as many as you can around. We're going to flood the ship with the Light. It won't be enough to burn them, but if we can at least blind them, more will be able to escape. The spirit hopped down. Around them more runes formed, spreading across the hall before they started to bound down the hallway.

Be ready. Let the others you can know.

Katherine Holt | Silas Westgard

 

[Sian Sestoi]

Engaging Delsin Shaw

Sian observed the roaring flames flood the narrow corridor, but the fire soon consumed all the available oxygen, causing it to diminish then eventually fade. As the heat began to disappear, her adversary Delsin Shaw did not back away; instead, he advanced through the remnants of the inferno, gripping his riftblade as it cleared a way for him.

Smoldering embers clung to his blackened cloak and wisps of gray smoke drifted from his armor, but his posture remained focused on driving her backwards. Though despite the calm words and his attempt to control the narrative she didn't miss the slight stiffness in his stance or the way his weapon lowered to counter her movement towards his leg.

The flame caught him off guard and for her, surprising an Echani was a reward in itself, demonstrating that his predictive martial arts had limits when the surroundings worked against him. She didn't take a moment to reply to his comments, advancing to strike again to maintain the pressure.

She charged ahead, her dual lightsabers moving into the Rising Whirlwind stance. It was a high-stakes, fast-paced maneuver that required complete concentration, her wrist twisting to rapidly spin both plasma blades around her body. The intertwining arcs formed both a defensive and offensive web of lethal strikes that filled the right space of the corridor.

By maintaining both blades in a continuous, circular motion, she ensured he had no clear, discernible point of attack. Each spin was crafted to obscure the actual path of the next blow, compelling the Echani to defend against a barrage of whirling energy where a single error could cost him a limb.

 

[Canm-Bulnu Bi]

Ko Vuto [ Nearby ] | Aveline Cuiléin [ Opponent ]​

Teuthid focused his grey eyes on the sensor suite, scanning the flickering monitors as he tried to pinpoint Aveline Cuiléin 's signature amid the debris field surrounding them. However, it quickly became a wall of static due to the additional interference he had created with his proton bombs, blinding his own tracking systems from getting a lock-on.

He swore under his breath, tentacles spasming in irritation as he had become his own worst enemy. Though he didn't get the chance to correct his mistake as a heavy impact against his port stabilizer slammed the fighter to the side, forcing his head against the headrest.

Alarms began to blare, a harsh, monotonous tone that filled the cockpit. Red warning lights bathed his grey skin in a flickering, urgent glow as his shield integrity plummeted. There was little time to adjust his position so he wrenched the flight stick, putting the fighter into a quick spiraling descent.

He cut the power to his main thrusters, letting the vessel drift as if the impact had compromised his engine integrity. It was a calculated risk. He kept his hands dancing over the secondary terminal, keeping his eyes fixed on the rearview display, waiting for the tell-tale shimmer of the Jedi's approach but didn't turn to engage.

Instead, he maintained his position, carefully aligning his vessel toward the shadow of a larger ship fragment ahead. He needed to draw her into a pursuit vector where his remaining automated systems could compensate for the interference. He kept his finger hovering over the fire-control override, watching for the moment she committed to the chase.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

EQUIPMENT:
| Armor | Garb | Mask | Ring | Riteblade | Saber |
TAGS:
| Sian Sestoi |​

The Rising Whirlwind revealed exactly what it was intended to reveal.

As the twin emerald blades spun through the corridor in overlapping arcs of motion, each transition concealed the next and each rotation blurred intent behind movement. The technique was less an attack than it was a refusal. Sian had recognized the value of observation and responded by creating uncertainty. The strikes themselves mattered less than the principle behind them. She had stopped attempting to answer the questions being asked and had instead chosen to make herself more difficult to read.

That realization accompanied my awareness as it spread outward into the dying systems surrounding us. The Prosperity had been fighting a losing battle against its own destruction long before either of us arrived. Emergency systems struggled to compensate for failing infrastructure while damaged circuitry carried power through pathways never designed to bear the strain. The station didn't require force to break it. It merely required encouragement.

As I continued yielding ground before the advancing whirlwind, my influence brushed against the fractured network hidden within the walls. Emergency fixtures flickered. Damaged consoles sputtered. Warning strips lining the floor dimmed and vanished one after another. The process unfolded rapidly enough to be noticed, yet slowly enough to feel like another symptom of the station's ongoing collapse. Stifling the flames of their oxygen, letting them die out into smoke and burnt air.

Then the final light died.

Darkness swallowed the corridor.

The walls disappeared. The smoke lay heavy among the darkness. The debris vanished into shadow. Only the twin green blades remained visible, their emerald glow carving circles through the void as they continued their relentless motion.

I moved immediately. The darkness wasn't intended to conceal me. It was intended to change the question. Rather than continuing my retreat, I shifted toward the side of the corridor, using the brief moment created by the loss of illumination to alter the angle of engagement. The movement wasn't dramatic. It didn't require speed beyond what the situation already demanded. A single step became two. Two became three. By the time the whirlwind completed another rotation, I was no longer standing where I had been moments before.

The attack followed. Not a sweeping cut. Not a committed strike. The riteblade thrust forward from the darkness in a fast, direct line toward her flank before immediately withdrawing. The movement carried all the efficiency of a probe rather than an attempt to wound. The moment the blade returned, another thrust followed from a slightly different angle, forcing another answer. Then another. Each strike appeared only long enough to demand a reaction before disappearing back into the darkness from which it had emerged.

The purpose wasn't to overwhelm her. The purpose was to observe. A committed attack reveals the attacker. A probing attack reveals the defender. Every parry. Every adjustment. Every repositioning of a foot. Every shift in the rhythm of the whirlwind carried information. The darkness had removed visual clutter from the engagement, reducing the battlefield to little more than Sian, her blades, and the choices she made beneath pressure.

The riteblade continued its pattern of short, measured thrusts as I circled along the edge of her awareness, careful not to overextend or become trapped within the very technique I was studying. Each attack tested a different line. Each withdrawal created another opportunity to observe how quickly she adapted to the altered angle. The whirlwind had been designed to obscure understanding. I intended to discover whether it could maintain that purpose once the battlefield itself had changed.

For the first time since the duel began, I wasn't simply gathering information.

I was testing it.

 

[Sian Sestoi]

Engaging Delsin Shaw

Sian watched the last flickering light on the bulkhead sputter and die out, plunging the narrow corridor into absolute darkness. Thick, heavy shadows concealed the walls along with the remaining smoke and debris allowing only the emerald glow of her twin lightsabers to provide some visibility.

It didn't take a genius to recognize that Delsin Shaw was skilled in combat as he didn't charge at her blindly. Instead deciding to alter his strategy by thrusting his riftblade out of the dark repeatedly from different directions though it was not as effective as it could be given the confining space around them.

He was looking for a weakness in her guard, but with the Rising Whirlwind stance still swirling rapidly around her body, she didn't need to move her muscles much to defend herself as the overlapping circles of plasma created a natural barrier, allowing her to direct the light probes away from her unarmored sections.

The narrow corridor vibrated intensely with the furious hum of her weapons, casting flickering green light as she employed Tràkata. Occasionally, she would press the button of one of her lightsabers causing the plasma to disappear into the hilt, only to reactivate as soon as his weapon came close. If the Echani overcommitted then she would gladly sever his hand from his arm.

 

[Silas Westgard]

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

Moving through the lower levels with Kahlil, they made quick work of any Sith who crossed their path. The two fought together as though they had never spent a day apart, the lifelong bond between Master and Padawan on full display as they pushed swiftly through the ship's corridors.

As they advanced, both continued carving runes into the walls around them, leaving no stone unturned and no corner without some form of marking. Every passage they crossed became another piece of their growing web of preparations.

"So that's the strong presence I could sense?" he asked with a faint smile after learning that Kat was somewhere aboard the ship. With many of the Jedi having already retreated, it had become much easier to pick up on the Padawan's presence through the Force.

"Well, I hope she's somewhere safe when this all kicks off. Not all of the Sith will be affected by the runes, so we need to stay careful."

He spoke with caution before skidding to a halt in front of a set of sealed blast doors blocking their path.

"I think this might be it on our side. We may want to link up with your Padawan before things hit the fan."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Lysander answered her sharp, testing jabs with smooth parries.

“Would you kill me,” she probed as he guided her blade away, “if it meant the success of your mission?”

After all, the Dark demanded sacrifice. He couldn’t outrun that. When he leaped back, Cora did not follow. Instead, she watched. He was young, but skilled. Almost frighteningly so, and she worried that his meteoric rise might come paired with the sort of vanity that would one day make him sloppy. Not against her, but against someone who truly wanted him dead.

Then, he levied a strike that was far more potent than any blade:

"You're a murderer too, no matter how beloved you are."

Cora inhaled sharply through her nose, and the microservos of her hand whined faintly as mechanical fingers tightened around the saber’s hilt.

“You’re right,” she conceded soberly. “And what a pair we make.“

Cora never denied what she was - she wore the guilt over Horace and Marcel’s deaths like a shackle - but to hear it from Lysander made something deep inside of her snap in pain. It stung in a way that she’d never been stung. For all the approval he’d ever sought from his older sister, she’d been quietly seeking his, too.

“The Jedi were never about idealism - we work to protect what we can of the galaxy, even when the odds are against us.”

He was right in the sense that the Order was crumbling. Hastened by this chase and slaughter, certainly. The Dark did cry the loudest when the Light rose to oppose it.

Cora leveled her gaze again on Lysander, steady but not impassive.

“You want me to stand down because it’ll weigh less on your conscience,” she said. “And if I refuse, then you’ll have to make a tough decision.”

Then, perhaps, blame her for that decision. That much was evident when he leveraged Luciana. Cora’s brow crinkled, hurt lingering in her eyes for longer than it was welcome.

“Is that the story she’s going to be told? That her mother was slain by her uncle for refusing to back down when he slaughtered her comrades?

Mechanical fingers twirled her saber, just once, in a brief arc of blue light. Cora didn’t advance, not physically. Lysander’s bladework might’ve been superior, but her ability in certain aspects of the Force were unflinchingly potent.

“I should’ve reached out when you walked away, and I’ll always carry the fact that I didn’t with me. But,” she added, “I never sent you away. You chose this path. You chose to walk away from the Jedi, Lysander. From Ukatis. From our family.”

The Force shifted around her brother. Not much, at first, but it was the sort of subtlety that belied the intensity of what came next: a violent, nauseating shift in equilibrium.

“So walk away again.”

 

[Naniti]

"Don't claim the moral high ground, Jedi. The people you protect would just as soon put a blade in your back as they would mine if there was even the suggestion it would let them live even a minute longer. I fight to be prepared for the betrayal. You fight under the delusion it eradicates the possibility of it." The Togruta's countenance didn't so much as grimace before Lily Decoria 's words. Naniti's eyes held fast before those of the Knight that hoped to sway her path. Where she tread was no unfamiliar territory, but a world that made sense in her mind.

Meanwhile, Connel Vanagor measured her as the two women spoke. Naniti hadn't lost track of the man in the smoke. Admittedly, facing off against two was disadvantageous, but if hardship were enough to break her resolve she would have already been dead.

Blue rings slid from Lily toward Connel as three blasts rang out. Breath hissed between dark lips as the violet Togruta maintained her stance on the field of battle. "Yours is presuming to know me." Naniti didn't elaborate on which of the Knights she meant. The male was apparently intent on his trickery. His deception. Smart moves in battle, but not the sort of engagement Nanit had hoped for. He sought to control the movements in the dance; give her choices. There was only one choice and she sought a path to its fulfillment.

"So you say." Naniti turned after she'd jumped aside, and extended her hand. The shriek of metal grinding and warping followed as the Force pressed upon the panel Connel had knocked down. With a jerk the panel was torn free and summarily cast toward the Knight. Not Connel himself, but Lily Decoria . The thing about a philosophy of fighting for survival -- and one capable of grasping the strategic value of trickery -- was that honorable duels were worth their weight in gold: not one iota. If Connel was against wasting lives then obvious Naniti was for them. Why not a demonstration by using his own distraction tactic to try and swat his partner aside?

Doubtful it'd work, of course. And soon enough Connel excised himself from the field. Both situation that caused Naniti to hiss-spit to one side and twirl her blade. "And you, Jedi?" Now it was time to learn what manner of combatant the woman was. "Shall we test our knowledge of that form?"

Without further ado, Naniti launched herself forward with a basic Juyo flourish of strikes to test both sides of Lily Decoria 's defenses.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The power of Xûl Qarnak couldn't be underestimated. It was the instrument of annihilation for a titan that cleaved the galaxy in twain, whose regimes burned entire sectors of space in the name of the Sith. However, when it collided with the gauntlet of the Scion of Tion it met the fatal flaw many lightsabers were cursed with, cortosis. The roaring drums of the blade struggled flickering like the embers of a roaring flame, before subsiding and extinguishing with an echo. If it were anyone else it would've been a decisive moment, a pivotal moment to capitalize on the confusion the disruption presented.

However, the Dark Lord of the Sith was swift to adapt, centuries of warfare honed his battle instincts to levels beyond most mortals. Prazutis continued swinging the hilt down past him, before he swiftly took a reverse grip and attempted to slam it right into the chest plate. If the strike should connect the Dark Lord would utilize his power over Shatterpoints to attempt to slam the weapon straight into it, channeling a concussive burst of power through the hilt to blast straight into a fracture point.

Almost immediately after a burst of power tore from the Scion of Tion, the living wound within the man magnified the fury of vengeance into a tangible wave to attempt to break the hold the Shadow Hand gripped over him. Instead of fighting the wave the Shadow Hand let go, rooting himself firmly to ensure the blast didn't push His titanic form away from the fight. Instead? What the Dark Lord had done wouldn't be immediately visible. All at once the interconnected work of magnified runes across armor, helm, amulet, and saber blossomed like blinding suns as He called upon the Dark Side of the Force.

The Dark Lords titanic power exploded, magnified tenfold through the runes as He attempted to inflict upon the Imperial Knight a horrific plague. There wouldn't be any incantation, any sign of the horrific plagues effect from the Dark Lord beyond the runes across His form glowing bright, before the plague attempted to wrack his form with its crippling might. Even if he'd been able to resist its effects, it wouldn't be easy, and every passing moment would serve to aid the Sith Dyarchy in battle, providing another opening for the Eternal Father to step into.

Darth Carnifex | Tydeus of Tion​

 

[Dalvos Thrakan]

"Oh, about damned time," he rasped, laughing as he glanced backward at Seo. "I'm afraid we've reached a bit of an impasse. They've given up on trying to dig me out, and I've run out of ways to entice them. The cowards!" He shouted down the hallway, half-slumping against the wreckage. There were many small burns across his body where his piece of cover hadn't entirely protected him, or his attempts to repel grenades had been less than completely successful. Several bodies littered the floor where they had fallen, too close to be recovered by their comrades. One of them lay only a few feet from him, a vibroblade next to their open hand and a sputtering, sparking energy shield glittering on the opposite wrist.

"The others," he lowered his voice, half-glancing back. "Did they make it? Are they with you, or with the other refugees? I'm hoping the fighting has moved on from this section, and that our return trip might be less eventful than it was on the way in. While I will never tire of putting an end to the Sith, I'm afraid one of the bastards put a hole in my canteen and wasn't kind enough to bring me a replacement." His tongue ran over his dry lips, gaze focused on the hallway ahead. The oddly quiet hallway ahead. Had they given up?

"But we do need to get out of here, before they decide they've done enough hands-on killing and decide to write off this hulk. Do you think you could assist me in getting there?"

There were a couple of burn-throughs, or spots where the wreckage hadn't provided perfect protection; there was even a hole passing clean through where he now sat, a still-smoking wound in the wall behind him, the remains of his cloak stuffed into it to cover the sharp edges. The cloth smoldered faintly. "They didn't manage to hit anything else critical, but a thousand cuts still hurt like a bastard. Haven't got any stims, have you? I'm afraid mine has rather worn off by now."

Despite everything, he was smiling. His jaw was set, teeth gritted against the pain, eyelids straining with exhaustion... But he was not dead, not by a long shot. "Assuming you're all done having fun, anyway. I never interrupt a fine lady having a good time."

Seo Linn

 

[Seo Linn]

Seo's smile deepened when he immediately started complaining about the Sith's lack of sportsmanship. For a man who looked as though he had spent the last hour personally wrestling a starship into submission, he remained remarkably difficult to discourage, and she found the familiarity of it unexpectedly grounding.

"The others made it," she answered first, giving him the reassurance she knew he cared about more than anything else. "The volunteers are helping with the evacuation. The wounded are moving toward extraction points, and the command center is still functioning." The words were simple, but they carried the quiet satisfaction of a mission completed, not cleanly, not without cost, but completed all the same.

Only then did she kneel beside him, her gaze moving over the burns and the battered armor with a practiced thoroughness. The injuries were painful, certainly, and some would scar, but none threatened his life. Even the leg wound, the one that had worried her most, had held together better than she expected. "You look worse than you are," she decided at last, the faintest hint of dry humor softening the assessment.

She reached into a belt pouch and produced a compact field stim and a sealed water flask, offering both to him with a small, knowing tilt of her head. "I suspected you might need these," she said, amusement warming her voice. "Especially the water. You seemed increasingly offended by the state of your canteen." Her gaze flicked briefly down the corridor, quiet now, the fighting having moved elsewhere, and she let herself appreciate the stillness for a moment before looking back at him.

"I am glad they left this section behind," she admitted, her tone gentler than before. "I would prefer not to fight our way out of every corridor twice." Rising to one knee, she extended a hand toward him, her expression composed but her eyes carrying a familiar spark. "Can you walk on your own, or do you need help getting back to the ship?" The question was sincere. The faint challenge beneath it was not. And she already had a very good idea of the answer he was going to give.

Dalvos Thrakan

 

[Lily Decoria]

Location: Prosperity
Outfit: Jedi Attire
Equipment: Arwr Da, Hydrangea Moonblade (concealed)
Tag: Naniti | Connel Vanagor

Lily sighed, "perhaps. But that decision is theirs and I do not punish them for a possibility. My actions, my work, it is not done on condition. People deserve the freedom and security to act as they wish." Lily did also believe that this meant there would be consequences for such liberties. Such as the loss of trust from Lily for such betrayal, even if she understood the reasoning behind it. "You might fight in preparation of betrayal but that does not aid you in combat."

"I fight to ensure that others live to choose the future they wish to lead. Good or bad. I am ensuring that the choice lies with them." Lily observed as Connel used some trickery in his fighting. It was not the method or style of fighting that Lily preferred to approach in duels or in general. But she knew others saw the benefits and believed it important. Lily felt far more importance was needed in fighting honourably. In demonstrating that no matter how low a Sith will go with their actions, a Jedi could rise above it all. Fight better.

The Sith threw a panel at Lily from Connel's move, Lily leaped over the panel. The Jedi Knight breathed in deeply as she channelled the energy of Naniti's attack, redirecting it back at the Sith. Vaapad's power was taking the darkness from the opponent and directing it back at them. Lily's Lightsaber was designed to be stronger against Sith, Lily was built to fight. Her movements were fast, they were precise and she was powerful in the moment. Lily's cyan blade pushed against the attacks. Probing the skills of the opponent, seeing if this was a Master, a Knight or even possibly just an apprentice in her skills.

"Juyo. Unsurprising form to use." Lily commented, the Sith were aggressive and highly volatile people, Juyo and Djem So were common forms for them to use. And the Battle Master couldn't help but comment and note how the Sith fought.

 

[Aveline Cuiléin]

Tag: Lord Teuthid Canm-Bulnu Bi​

There! A direct hit!

It appeared her surprise attack had caught the other pilot off guard, and she managed to land a few good rounds. So much so that the fighter drifted across her display, wounded and seemingly powerless. No engines. No attempt to maneuver. Just a crippled vessel limping through the battlefield.

She had him, Aveline thought. It was almost too easy...

Visually, it looked perfect. Her earlier attack had connected. His shields had taken a beating. Everything in front of her suggested a pilot struggling to recover control. Everything except the feeling in the back of her mind.

"Can you get me a read on his shields? What's the damage?" she asked her astromech droid. Even as she did she knew there was no point, before any scan could come back to her she would have to make a decision.

For a brief moment she considered breaking away. Repositioning. Looking for another angle. Then she remembered the burning station. The evacuation. The Sith. And the pilot who had spent the last several minutes trying very hard to kill her.

"Kark it."

Aveline accelerated. The interceptor surged forward, closing the distance rapidly as Aveline lined up the drifting fighter in her sights. If it was a trap, then at least she intended to make him pay for it.

Her cannons opened fire first.

Scarlet bolts lanced across the void in sustained bursts, aimed at the wounded side of the Umbaran fighter where she'd already scored a hit. The targeting reticle settled more easily this time against a target that wasn't actively maneuvering. Aveline squeezed the trigger and held it. Then she armed another proton torpedo. The lock indicator chirped. This time it wasn't partial. This time it was clean.

"Let's see how much punishment that thing can take."

The proton torpedo launched from beneath the interceptor in a burst of blue-white exhaust and streaked toward the drifting fighter.

Aveline stayed on the attack run.

Whether the Force was warning her away or not, she had committed now.

One way or another, the next few seconds were going to hurt somebody.