Invasion Hope Never Dies | GA Invasion of TSE held Ziost and Tiss'Sharl

[Noel Strasza]

T O T H E B O N E
W A R M A C H I N E
2ND DOOM DIVISION | THE WATCHMEN | 2/8
T A S K F O R C E I M P E R A T O R
ENGAGEMENT | OPEN
Light called. Iron paid.

After being barred from her original target and watching the wretch disappear into the haze, Strasza unleashed her fury on the tide of Nuetralizers left clustered around her, barely glimpsing the thrashing form of Barran closeby, watching her back as she had expected him to. She had taken a number of rounds in the process but had dismantled the steely forces as if they were made of ceramic and once more, acquired the rifle from one tore in twain. It wouldn't need it anymore. Her systems surged online fully, though a warning flashed across her HUD, one beyond the damage and integrity warnings that she had dismissed and silenced for the moment. Her power was low. That was considerably more problematic. She would have to ration her time and energy as best she could unless she could hardwire into a source here on this tormented hellscape. ​

His voice crackling through the static behind her ear made her freeze for a second as she listened.

<”M-m-m Strasza..Th-this is Lieutenant Qar… ”Noel...it-it’s Jules..listen darlin’ - I...I....dunno where you are, but Hazel and I are gonna find you...we-we’re gonna make sure you and the boys get home. I love you Stars...”>

As calmly as she could gather herself to, she responded: <"I'm alive, but I'm not done here. Not yet. I don't know when I'll be home. I don't know when I'll be back in the lab. Someone will answer for these bodies."> He had the privilege of living in the past; she was forced to live every moment in the present.

The warmachine cut the feed before he could respond, switching to the command frequency then, shifting through the scattered communications for some hope of catching the voice of The Imperator steadying their focus and guiding them as he was so apt to do. But strangely, he was absent. Where was he? Was he still alive?​

<"I'm going to find Enigma."> Strasza announced towards Barran, trusting him to deal with the Nuetralizer that barred his path forward. If he couldn't, that would be on her. But if no one recovered Tavlar, well, that would be on all of them. The cyborg rushed through the haze, rifle poised at the ready to splinter apart any flanking foe who dared stand in the way of her mission. She seriously doubted she would have enough ammunition to get her there, but to hell with it, she would cross that bridge when she reached it. ​

Legionnaires dropping in from above caught her awareness, but she kept pushing, tucking her head low on her shoulders in her inhuman sprint across the debris scattered field, ducking and weaving between sightlines and gliding through the muck. The crashes of debris raining down from the wounded beast above forced her to be far more careful than she wished. Where had his craft been? He was part of the formation she had joined, wasn't he?​

Blazing, red eyes honed through the smoke, struggling to see beyond the veil lingering over the carnage. ​

And then, at once, it was cast aside, parted, as the massive ship overhead lurched suddenly and warped out of sight as quickly as it had come. Of course it did. She didn't give this much thought beyond seeking to capitalize on the light that was returned to them. That storm, though, it was closing in quick and she doubted any survivors of the orbital strike would stand a chance once it reached them. That was the limited time she had. Find him. Bring him, or what was left of him, to shelter. ​

Minutes dragged by in agony, though when she was contemplating heaving a hull plate off of a particularly patriotic hunk of now scrap metal, she caught sight of the mark. It was scorched, hissing, smoking still. She couldn't remember how long ago it was the ship overhead had rained terror down, but she knew, if he was trapped, it was likely the smoke may have gotten to him if his helmet had cracked. The cyborg slung her rifle and skittered over, smearing a scorched hand across the heavy debris, exposing the marking further. This was it. ​

The droid on her shoulder whirred to life, fanning open its blades with her command to search for vitals. Its disheartened beeps made her heart sink... that was until she expanded the field sweep. Not far off lay another chunk of the craft. Vitals echoed from within its heart. A chance. A fragment of one, perhaps, but that was enough for her. Noel rushed it, sweeping around the perimeter thoroughly to ensure nothing was unstable enough to burst and no Legionnaires were close enough to put them in immediate danger. Her scans were negative. ​

"Enigma," She called, crouching to jam her fingers into the earth at the jagged edge of the chambered debris, "are you here?"​

She didn't wait for a response. ​

Rather, the cyborg wrenched upward, growling curses in Mando'a through her grit, bared teeth as she strained against the weight of the trap, hefting it up to chest height. As beaten and damaged as she was, the faction needed its leader more than it needed her. The power cells socketed into her knees hissed with their spiraling lock into place, siphoning what she had left into this effort. Bearing the weight was enough to occupy her entirely. She wasn't going to be able to check what lay beneath that she held. "We don't have time to die, we have to move!" She shouted, voice wavering in distorted cadence with the exertion applied. A grunt proceeded the twist of her heels deeper into the earth, solidifying her position for the time.​

ALLIES | NIO | GA | SJC | DECEASED Erskine Barran Irveric Tavlar Djorn Bline Captain Raith Maynard Treicolt Tulan Kor Jorus Fel
FOES | TSE | S-IMPS AND OTHER UNSAVORY FOLKS

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

THE_WARDEN
THERE IS NO DEATH, THERE IS THE FORCE
THE NEW JEDI ORDER | ZIOST | PEOPLE'S TOWER
VOICES

​

Their relationship was an intimate one –– born entirely in the intricacies of The Force. Master San Tekka knew Asmundr likely better than anyone he’d met before. Though, to be fair to those he’d met, they weren’t so interested in him –– rather what he had to see. For them. Others were always interested in themselves. Zark and he shared a mutual necessity of servitude to others, and in such, they were balancing platforms for what the rest needed. That commonality was rare to discover. And he felt a swell of appreciation and shared a soft golden feeling knowing that those who would have suffered without them would at least suffer less.

His arms stretched out forward, in synchronicity with the momentum from Zark. Clouds rolling toward the steel triangle, that Force conjuring which had meant to wreck those below tilted and slammed against the Behemoth II. Dread filled the skies, and they were maestros of all renderings of the metaphysical. Gnashing his teeth in protest, the warden felt the darkness’ pull and he tugged back, roping it around his mitts and wrists with a tug of unmatchable strength.

Growing light inside the dark, minimums and maximums sheeting together like a curve. These otherworldly sights consumed him. They outlined the reality faced, betwixt the two masters and just th–– no, there were more heeding the call. Knights of the Jedi.

He swelled with relief.

“Jedi are a Promise.”

For a wistful moment, he wished to respond to Zark. There was much inspiration to be found in his words, but with everything, the great seer was experiencing...his articulation vault was bankrupt.

Death was a bewildering thing. It was so final, so absolute and all-encompassing. In the end, nobody escaped it. Some accepted it, some refuted it, but in the end, everyone would lose eventually.

The part of death that was circumstantial were the final moments, the last thoughts of the conscious mind before the eternal void. These last thoughts were what tore him asmundr asunder.

His mind was a whirlwind of concerns; last thoughts from so many. There were too many would haves, lives unlived, unfulfilled. Someone wondered what sort of caf filters sith used –– and if their skin would be recycled to filter the morning coffee of the evil. Others found acceptance. Some found defiance.

It was as harrowing as it was beautiful. The complexities of humanity in all its forms, wherein the last moment everyone showcased their individuality.

"Hazel....wh-where is...Noel?"

But he was alone now.

He was alone when I died.

"I lov-"

My men.

My daughter.

No father should bury their own.

Gods help us.

"All of you should just... Die."

It was a riff raff collection of emotions assailing him. In all the acceptance, grief, anger, regret, The Force showed him the unity in it all.

Death might have been the final destination, but before that there was another unifying step –– sentience, mortality. An Alliance all found with life itself. A treaty the individuals of Ziost agreed to with each breath they took, and forging their signatures with a final exhale when the final toll needed to be paid. An Alliance with a powerful entity was never safe, and life and death were the most supreme.

STAND AS ONE, his thoughts boomed out into the city like a thunderclap, FOR THE ALLIANCE.

For The Alliance indeed.

Almost entirely enervated, Asmundr’s mighty fists shook heavily.

And once he’d come to terms with the onslaught of death the Behemoth brought, the storm unleashed something more. Something horrible. It bewildered and pained him, but the sensation of death was familiar through the campaigns. War war war, but changing, malforming, feeling people that had been one thing stretch and form into another against their will brought the massive Jedi to a knee. Quivering.

Amidst the emotional tumult, the overhead deluge did not stop. Their tower was no sanctuary. Parts of the roof splintered and sprayed skyward. Chunks of duracrete erupting around them. Renegade debris and wedges peppered around them, against him. His muscle managed to withstand the first round of bruising. If he’d had his armour, it might have ricocheted from his bodice but instead, an unfortunate portion of the roof was wrecked and slammed against the great Jedi’s semi-crouched form –– forcing him into a premature collapse.

Pulled from his concentration, infinite heartbeats from all those within New Adasta passed through him, The Force, pushing him into convulsion and grasping at the solid portion of the roof from beneath the wider portion of destruction that crushed against his shoulders and hips. He felt his own pain, sure (hard not to), but amidst the terror and horror, the physical was muted. It was all...so much. Too much?

Who measured much against little? Was it all perspective? A perspective he hadn't lent himself to yet? More pain. More unknowing. More paralysis in not being able to move beyond the mental voids of incomprehension. Was he paralyzed in reality? Where did the mind and body separate, really?

Convulsions.

FORCE HARMONY: ACTIVE​

ALLIES | NJO | GA | NIO | Zark San Tekka | Master Zoryu | Captain Raith | Maynard Treicolt | Cotan Sar'andor | Aelys | ALL JEDI WITHIN NEW ADASTA
ENEMIES | TSE | THE DARKSIDE | RED TOPS | Sith Dominance | Taeli Raaf

 

[Maijan Paisea]

TASK FORCE XESH

I GUESS WE ON ZIOST NOW | PEACEMAKER
CARRION FLOWERS

​

"Maijan, have your illusions cut across their bow, try and keep the fire away from our ships,"

Thy captain's will be done. With a few twitches and clenches of her fingers, plasmic beams streamed across the bow of the intrusive SSD over New Adasta.

She was so immersed in the faux reality she was manufacturing, that the final bellow from the captain struck her a terrible admission.

"All hands, Brace for Impact! Prepare for Emergency Landing!"

Just short of screaming out in protest, Maijan repelled herself backward to the nearest emergency crashpad she'd seen earlier. With the disruptive tremours of the ship's descent, her illusions quivered and shook –– unable to remain steadfast. Unable to look solid.

All of her focus was on self-preservation. That's all she was in it for. Herself. Not the Alliance. Not the ones who put a bomb in her neck and told her to fetch. Her

self

. The entire fleet she'd spent months studying to manufacture dissipated into the void, falling away into the nothingness of the atmosphere.

Slamming side-to-side against her restraints with crash webbing so tight it threatened to cut right through her, the marble-skinned woman regretted her entertainment of duty. All around, people were terrified. She could feel them. Various names, religious ones Maijan assumed, were shouted.

The impact was a blur, as false a reality as the illusionist could comprehend. The strapping around her chest yanked angrily, snapping her neck back when the ship touched the sands. Blackness filled her peripherals, the dark clouds threatening to overtake her vision entirely.

Blood ran from her nose to her forehead. Her indestructible skin had probably saved her, but the areas where human flesh existed instead of gold were bruised and bloodied. Her lungs, also woefully human, collapsed and rose with desperate attempts to regulate breathing.

A war was happening between her nose and lungs. Suspended for a few seconds, the webbing snapped against her colossal weight, dropping her to the ground below. She rolled over, onto all fours. Her lungs wanted air out, her nose wanted air in. It erupted into a fit of coughing that produced a mix of blood and spittle.

ALLIES | GA | NIO | Teica Giraan | Hiram Voss | Siloh Riain | Leon Gallo | Captain Raith
ENEMIES | TSE | SV-2121 | Sith Dominance

 

[The Amalgam]

The Advanced Model 1 narrowed her eyes as DECEASED Erskine Barran challenged her with his saber.

A faint smile crept across her.

"Oh, he felt fear alright..." The Advanced Model 1 smirked, using what her databases had on the man, ignoring the corpse of Myles, who was next to him, and actually would have made for a fairly effective psychological attack...

...and instead her body instantly morphed into that of his now dead son in full uniform. Nuetralizer forces had reported him KIA recently. This would strike him far deeper. It might make him fight better than she might anticipate but that was the point, to make him pull out all the stops...

And in a metaphorical way, it was a private message from the Nuetralizers to Erskine himself:

No matter how good you can trash-talk, We trash-talk better.

"The same fear you'll feel when you meet your dead son in Hell..." she said, using her files to replicate the voice of Erskine's son flawlessly with a malicious smile.

She sprang forward at superhuman speed, sword targeting his arms with Wookie like strength, trying to sever them, directing her upward slash in such away and with such speed that it would be incredibly difficult to parry. He could counter attack, but she was running calculations on his most likely and least likely responses, and was prepared to dodge him and counter his committing to an overly aggressive counter attack due to rage at her imitating his dead son...

Meanwhile...

DT-0800 , in true Ahnold fashion, whipped out a shotgun, and began blasting at the Amalgam as she sustained her heavily damaged body with the Dark Side. Some of the Buckshot blasted a few chunks of her chest and half her head away, but The Amalgam was sustained by hatred and death in the environment: He would have to resort to truly overwhelming force to kill her, because even as he blasted away, muscle strands and organs were slowly starting to grow back...

Rotting yellow eyes fixed on him, blazing in hatred, and the darkened skies summoned a heavy lightning bolt that raced towards his torso...

 

[Jax Thio]

​

Location: Prosperity, the Jedi ship
Ally: BB-12
Equipment: Imperial Mk. I "Dooku-Pattern" Jedi Armor Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Second Lightsaber
Tag: Brama Tagge , Vexander Graves , Seto Du Couteau , Lark (Enemy)

It was good to see Vexander again, it was through his help that Jax managed to build his second Lightsaber at Jakku amongst other adventures. "Same to you Master Graves," Jax smirked as they escorted the senators inside the Situation Room. Brama expression was a mix of worry and annoyance while her partner was attempting to contact Alliance-One.

"BB-12," Jax turned to his droid. "Give our friend a hand will ya?"

<Sure!> BB-12 beeped. <Lemme remove your prosthetic so I can slap this loser for being a moronic meatbag!>

"Damn it BB!" Jax growled. "This is serious!"

BB-12 shook his head rolling towards the attendant's location. <Move it ya sad sack of flesh!> he whirred. <Let the supreme Droid overlord do the job!>

As BB-12 inserted himself onto the wall socket, Jax felt tremors in the force his body becoming icy as though he doused himself into one of the oceans on Hoth. "Somethings not right," Jax said feeling light head. "Vex!" The Jedi took out his radio to contact him. "I'm gonna need your help on this one! I sense a massive disturbance!" He slowly placed a hand on his head grabbing the hilt of his Lightsaber. "Something is terrible is happening!"

As if on cue BB-12 gave shocking array of beeps and whirs. <Jax!> The Droid beeped. <I've made contact the Alliance One! But you gotta see this!>

Jax turned around sprinting to BB-12's position as he displayed the massive Holoprojector of the Alliance being under attack by hostiles. "Is that the Alliance One?!" Jax asked frowning.

<Yes,> BB-12 said. <She's being hit hard by Tiss'sar forces! Their battlenet is a mess but from what I was able to gather the Alliance One is in considerable danger.>

"That explains why you had trouble contacting the ship," Jax said to the attendant. "Are there any reinforcements?"

<Imperial Knights are on their way.> BB-12 said continuing to analyze the situation. <But Jax the bad news is getting worse! The Prosperity is under attack! Sith Troopers are storming the rooms as we speak! The Jedi are engaging the borders!>

"How the frack did they get past us!" Jax said clenching his fists. "This is getting out of hand."

<Probably used stealth ships.> BB-12 beeped. <We also have Sith Assassins on route and Sith legion of Sith Troopers heading towards our position!>

"Well so much for it being easy," Jax said. "Senator gonna need you to stay as far as you can. Find a place to hide while I give our friends a warm welcome."

​

​

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
TASK FORCE IMPERATOR | BATTLE GROUP 'ENIGMA'
501st LEGION | GLADIUS COMPANY | DEMON COMPANY
ZIOST
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Void | Melee | Grenades

ONE
​

"I just want it to end..."​

The grip of death was an ever seductive mistress. It offered the promised end, the sweet release. The liberation from strife and suffering. Relinquishment of all responsibility, of the weight of obligation and expectation. Blackness. End. It brushed its cold, smooth fingers over the surface of Tavlar's soul several times before. The trenches of Kintan, the streets of New Sundari...

But they ain't found a way to kill him yet. He could feel the blackness pulling at his ethereal shell. But what had normally been the ambigious souls welcoming him to the beyond, the hereafter. The souls of his mother, brother, father, past comrades...had faded. Those ominous unfufilled truthes had come to light, those blank slates given faces that distorted and corrupted before him. So too...did he expect Lyra...following Helgard, he thought her no better than dead...he thought he'd loved her. And she was no where. He felt the cold embrace reach for him and he felt alone.

And then...he felt the breath of the fight claim him. His hearing honed in on his heartbeat. Hearing the idle strumming of his lifeblood pumping through his body with each passing moment. His ears filled with all but a blank ringing as his mind had opted to shut down the symphony of destruction, terror and woe that would've otherwise enveloped him. Opting for the dreaded nothingness in its wake.

His body came to life again, the feeling of cold injection of bacta firing through his limbs brought the nervous sensations to the forefront. He could have let it all go here, dying on the iron fields of a world inches from the heart of darkness among his men, his brothers-in-arms, his sons in all but blood. It would've been a fitting, storybook end.

But that would've meant Irveric Tavlar accepted it for what it was, accepted the fatal circumstances and went calmly into the night.

He was the will of defiance. He would fight to the bitter end, until his bones ground to nothing, until his lifeblood bathed the earth beneath.

He centered himself in where he was in the waning moments of the devastation. Scrap, rubble, dead matter all blood the ground around him and he was suspended amongst it. The shattered gaze of stormtroopers looking to him, dead. In moments of duress, it isn't uncommon for ones eyes to shift to where they place the most trust...and he saw a great deal of many looking to him for answers in the last moments of life.

I'm sorry...

He thought, thought he was powerless to prevent their fate save for undoing the laying of each stone on the path that sent them all here. He remembered saying the same before, during and after each great battle. It grounded him in the human cost of it all. If anything could be said of Irveric, they could not claim he wasn't there with them in the end.

But in truth, apology was a selfish act, to save him the torture that would come with letting the weight of their lives bear down upon him again, as he always had. To console himself now dampened the guilt that would come in tune with the night terrors for now.

He clawed himself from the jagged wreckage only for the hand of another to appear in a combined effort. 'Deader' Strasza. Storm Commando.

Her words were muffled and all but inaudible to him in that moment but he'd shown enough of a sign of life to dampen the alarm of his status, moving in full animation in spite of the visible damage to his form.

His heads up display and visor ruptured and shattered from electric and mechanical torture wrought upon it. It might have been that armor, the shell of Enigma that saved him from the fate of the others at all before he managed himself to the surface, the burning, blood red sky above him and the hellish landscape around him.

Everywhere, the 501st, the proudest and most battle hardened Legion...broken. In the thunder's wake, medics ran into the killing field. There was no way to discern the proud cobalt present on their armor, the ash had covered it over in several unbroken layers of strife and suffering. In the midst of their defiance, they were put to the torch and burnt to the bone beneath. Several men and women, seen but days before as confident in their ability now plastered in the lifeblood their own and their comrades, the mortal wounds, scars and burns immediately present on each of them as they clammored for missing limbs, parceled armament.

His hearing finally honed in on the materium and the first voice he'd hear was an unexpected one. Of all the sounds of war choked panic and diligence he expected, it was not the Chancellor.

INVINCIBLE​

"Tavlar, I am pulling our forces from the surface... I advise you do the same..."

"TAVLAR!? Do you copy?" ​

He ripped the helmet clean from his gaze, the visor snapping beneath the seismic punishment dug into his skin in the form of razor thin shards which broke the first layer of skin, in a fine incision across the skin, letting his blood flow cleanly down his face in smooth waves past the larger, jagged scars embedded in place by larger chunks of shrapnel. He tossed the holoprojector unto the broken earth before him, letting her image accompany the frantic words as he knelt before it unto one knee.

Before her, the image of Irveric Tavlar appeared. His armor was beaten and broken, jagged pieces of metal dug into the composite plating to accompany the void of a limb which was once the crimson cybernetic. As durable a machine it might of been, it could not endure the fury, the weight that beared down unto it from the collapse of the earth and armor over him and thus he snapped it off with a clean stroke. A maneuver he was all too familiar with, having done the same on Borosk. But even still, it created a foreboding image that perfectly suited the fear and woe in her voice.

Two leaders of two galactic powers looked each other in the eye. One sat in regal finery in Galactic City, Coruscant. Detached from the strife she'd sent her Galactic Defense Force into at the stroke of a pen, the word of command. The other was entrenched in the struggle as deep as any other. He'd led them into the fire. And she had the gall to speak of the cost. The toll of war.

Such was the distinct difference that came with living in the Galactic core, clinging to luxury, striking from a distance. Where the New Imperial Order built up Empire from ashes and fought on worlds they once called home. Home that was distorted and stolen beneath the darkness. There was a tangible line that could be crossed with the Alliance of where too much was too much. They'd found it at New Adasta.

That line didn't exist for the New Imperial Order. The extent they would be willing to fight to...was the end. Irveric would give his life under the same commands he'd given his soldiers. For that was his duty. That was the will of defiance.

<"I copy...and we are not retreating."> ​

Irveric spoke, his thousand yard stare locked unto the fluorescent blue holoprojection. They'd only spoke over meeting tables and galas, Tavlar only ever presenting himself to Alliance High Command as the military dictator, donning his Imperial grey, black and silver.

But now she could view him as he truly was, the warrior king. The Imperator who led from the front.

<"Do not lecture of the cost, Chancellor. I did not take my men here to leave. We are finishing the fight, we are taking New Adasta. Do with your soldiers what you will...but we go forward."> ​

He spoke to Chandra before he closed the holoprojector and slowly stood himself up. He turned to Noel Strasza , before glancing the way of the remnants of the 501st surrounding them. Tortured eyes bloodied and to the brink looking to him for answers. For guidance.

In that moment to patched through to all New Imperial forces on the surface of Ziost.

<"We will the finish the fight...now come with me and take this city.">​

ALLIES | NIO | GA | Tulan Kor | Jorus Fel | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Willan Tal | Kal Ostan | Cotan Sar'andor | Captain Raith
ENEMIES | TSE | ENGAGING Sith Dominance | Valen | Irina Volkov | OPEN

 

[Loske Treicolt]

WE RISE
ZIOST ORBIT | ASV UNNAMED
GASOLINE

Fires on shipboard were dangerous. In daily operation there was any number of processes that could rise up past the point of spontaneous oxidation; The accidental combat zone of the east hangar escalated that risk exponentially.

The prey’s silhouette was eclipsed in enraged yellow, orange and red. Deadly in her luminescence. Everything about their positioning on the spectrum warned of desperation and rage. Fire coalesced into something more purposeful –– a supernova beam conjured to core right through the monster. Waves of black flesh were burned from the human below, charring and rolling from impact zones. The blast was so powerful, its lunge was redirected to a collapsed scrambling, landing on its back while manifesting its own riposte –– distracted by its own host. Blazing torment licked at the creature’s silhouette, giving no reprieve in the conflict. In mutual pain, the Jedi tried to claw through the overcoat of evil only to be suppressed by the overwhelming desire to save itself and get revenge.

Pathetic human lungs couldn’t withstand the inferno’s smoke and burn to their throat and nose. Loske was suffocated in every way for the sake of survival.

Ellipsis might have started the flames in a place of control, but once they were discharged they were subject to the whims of external forces and unseen nuances. The need for retaliation triumphed, and it frantically created convection of The Force. Curving lines around itself to shield the delicate matter within.

The supreme kinetic force behind the heat ricocheted from the attacker around the room. The starfighter that had been destabilized by it tearing apart the landing gear had no protection against the sensitivities of its fuselage.

Leaping from one spot to another to briefly coalesce before blossoming and erupting into several more instances, the flames were infectious and all-consuming. Anything flammable within the hangar now was consumed by the superheat. Culminating, gathering, consuming, growing, exploding.

Complacency had no place in this conflagration, and the monster’s particles rippled as if seeking to atomize and teleport from its location. Or maybe fear...maybe it could –– attack –– find something to make the phoenix afraid ––attack ––. That would be next. First, it needed to draw mutual strength from the darkside all the sithspawn aboard the ship had to offer. The heat was too much, too distracting. It had never felt anything so sensational. It was too overwhelmed –– attack –– to think beyond basic primal instincts –– attack –– a clawing hand ––attack –– lifted above its anguish, clenching the voice where the machine of the starfighter rested. The metal groaned, softened by the surrounding heat, and began to crush in on itself before lifting from its fallen spot to hurl against the wall behind the phoenix.

The structural integrity of the hangar grew more and more compromised.

SURVIVAL | Elpsis Kerrigan

 

[Laertia Io]

Laertia deflected the strike at her ribs from her opponent with a Makashi slash, and in turn brought the SynthBreaker down on her opponents blade in turn, trying to destroy his blade in a falling Avalanche technique...

Then the Force screamed danger all around her. The Behemoth had appeared in the sky.

Laertia knew this was bad. Worse than bad.

The damned maniacs! They were gonna turbolaser New Adasta back to the Pre Hyperdrive Era!

No WAY could she afford continuing this duel.

She teleported away, back to Maple, who had already stopped firing to stare in horror at the Behemoth.

Laertia grabbed her, and, leaving Fisk Kamer and his companion to the Judgement of the Force, teleported repeatedly with Uri to stay ahead of the bombardment, barely evading and staying ahead the turbolaser fire that scorched buildings and streets as she teleported with Uri repeatedly...

On the twentieth teleport Laertia's strength gave, but the turbolaser strike gained on them. Laertia coughing, with a quickly panicking Maple, forced the Light to serve her and give her strength as Darth Themis taught, and fueled her body.

She performed her most powerful teleport ever and screamed as she and Maple vanished, barely evading the incoming laser strikes.

Maple reappeared at the absolute edge of the city, coughing after the strike had concluded...

...but Laertia was nowhere near where Maple was anymore...

Laertia had, however teleported onto a damaged street amidst wreckage. She woke up amongst the inactive remains of her skeletal sons who were damaged beyond repair, her cybernetic arm completely destroyed and missing.

"Rest well, my children...forgive me..." she said wearily as she dragged herself up. Her comlink still worked.

"Uri?" She called out to Maple. "You alive?"

"Yeah...thanks...where are you?" Maple asked back.

"I...I think I'm still in the city..." Laertia said, organic eye a mutated Bronze and Green as she forced the Light to keep her from dropping in exhaustion...

"Laertia, you need to get the feth out of there." Maple warned. "The NIO is refusing to give up the city despite it being turned to Glass...and a lot of the GA Marines refuse to leave either."

"Then we aren't leaving either..." Laertia snapped, the cold fire of the thing that would eventually become Darth Xiphos in her words once more. "Get to me...we're going to keep them from taking New Adasta no matter what..."

"How the feth are we gonna do that?" Maple asked.

"I got an idea. I need to find one of Ursu--I mean, one of The Amalgam's Witches." Laertia breathed...

"Oh feth..." Maple snarled in complaint. "I'll see what I can do..."

Laertia began to stretch out her senses, feeling for the particular perversions that marked the Amalgam's Witches in The Force. She soon found one, mangled and bloody, feeding off a screaming allied Stormtrooper, regenerating rapidly into a woman with a curly dark brown hair, pale but sharp middle aged features, outwardly beautiful, inwardly repulsive in spirit, in a skintight white catsuit that emphasized muscular but curvy features.

The Witch turned, sensing a scowling Laertia, and smiled.

"Why hello, Laertia! So nice to run into you! Lovely weather we're having!" The Witch called out in a pleasant, friendly manner.

"I require your assistance..." Laertia snapped, walking up to her. "I need to temporarily enhance my teleporting ability..."

"Wow, most at least offer to take me out to dinner first..." The Witch replied jokingly.

"Can you do it?" Laertia asked.

"Well, you ARE one of The Mistress's favorites, and you look absolutely gorgeous even though you're injured..." The Witch remarked in a flirtatious manner. "Oh, hell, why not?" The Witch said, holding out her hand. "I'm called The Battalion..."

Laertia didn't take it. It disgusted her enough, working with these freaks.

"Good girl. I'd have been disappointed if you actually shook it." The Battalion remarked playfully, taking out a knife and cutting open her palm. White blood leaked out and she began tracing runes and concentric circles on an unbroken piece of ground.

"So, Gorgeous, how big do you want the effect?"

"As big as you can make it..."

The Battalion grinned. "That sounds so dirty I just HAVE to do it now..."

She soon finished and invited Laertia to step into it.

"This is 'Really' gonna hurt..." The Battalion warned.

"Pain is a part of life..." Laertia replied.

The Battalion shivered in open lust towards the budding Light Side Sith, who didn't hide the expression of being squicked the feth out on her face.

"No wonder she's so fond of you..." The Battalion hissed. "It will be my honor to help you murder..."

The Witch got on both knees and began chanting in front of Laertia, who was wracked in silent agony as she focused, her power slowly spreading as far ast it could, feeling the remaining life of the city, enhanced by the Magic ritual, The Battalion's flesh shuddering violently as she channeled the magic. Laertia stretched her powers out, straining, enveloping multiple buildings, momentarily enhanced way beyond her limits...

...and teleported them wholesale.

The relatively small number of buildings (12 in all), some four or five stories tall, reappeared, high in the sky...

...Two of them were above some of the NIO forces when they started to fall from a very great height. Three Others fell onto certain streets to cut off routes by foot.

The rest of these teleported buildings rained down all over the city, crushing and creating terrible debris and dust clouds, and killing multiple NIO Stormtroopers, creating more explosions. Soldiers in the blasted landscape close to Irveric Tavlar and Noel Strasza stared in abject horror as they watched buildings fall all across the city, the forces beneath doing their vest to flee the death from above

"INCOMING!" a Stormtrooper close to Tavlar yelled in terror as he spotted a four story building dropping on their position from a significant height at terminal velocity. Everyone had a good amount of time before it hit to run like they had never run before...

Laertia screamed in pain a Kilometer and a half from his position, as she initiated a second teleportation wave. This time, a heavy amount of wrecked ordinance from both sides was teleported up in large chunks, dozens of smashed and burning vehicles from speeders to destroyed cataphracts began to rain down elsewhere...

Cotan Sar'andor

Captain Raith

Tulan Kor

Willan Tal

Asmundr Varobalder

Zark San Tekka

Jorus Fel

Sith Dominance

 

[Zirell Marxon]

C O M E _ G E T _ S O M E
[ Theme ]
​

Z I R E L L _ M A R X O N​

| Location | New Adasta, Ziost​

| Objective | Kark the Sith​

​

Marxon growled as he thumbed the firing button on his rotary cannon, sweeping left and right as motes of dust scattered with blaster bolts, focusing on the origin of where hostile fire came from as the enemies were either forced into cover or perforated by super-heated blaster bolts. Command had informed them that reinforcements had been dispatched to their position, but it seemed to be an eternity as he was slowly pulling his men further and further back into the city. Granted it seemed like they were attempting to retreat and doing a rather fine job of baiting them into the streets of the city.​

​

Marxon grunted as a blaster bolt flew and struck him in the upper left chest, the impact causing him to stumble backwards as the shielding he wore took the brunt of the force. He'd twist and turn with the momentum of the shot as he repositioned and dropped to one knee as he took cover, giving his shields a moment to recharge as he looked to the side as his troops were continuing their tactical retreat. He had to hold the rear down as their wounded and injured were being dragged away, refusing to let their comrades be taken prisoner by advancing forces or executed on the field.​

​

With the enemy bearing down on them Marxon would release one hand from his rotary cannon as he grabbed a smoke grenade from his belt, thumbing the activation key as he barked at his troops, " Pop smokes, we just need to delay these karkers till Claw gets here! " The captain tossed his smoke as several more were thrown out, carpeting the street with a thick haze. A blood-curdling cry was heard as the enemy began to rush their positions in staggered waves, a zealous combatant running through the smoke as Marxon stood up and immediately threw a haymaker at their neck, sending them to the ground as he unholstered his sidearm and pressed his foot to their chest and proceeded to dispatch the hostile with a single blaster bolt through their head.​

​

Of course, it would not stop as the enemy was starting to rush their position, an attempt to blitz them as Marxon was starting to get overwhelmed. Then it came like a prayer answered as BARCs and Glaive tanks soon rushed to their aid, their cavalry had finally arrived as Claw had come to relieve them. Marxon stood up as he holstered his sidearm and hefted his rotary cannon, " I was starting to wonder when the hell you were going to show up Darik. Any longer and you'd be picking us up in body bags. I'll take whatever able-bodied troops I have and rendezvous with the general, but I need medical evac for my wounded. "​

​

He paused as he watched the shadows fall upon them, following Darik's gaze as he looked up and cursed under his breath, lightly punching Darik in the upper chest as he growled, " Snap out of it Darik. We've got sith karkers to kill. I didn't die on you, so I expect you not to die on me. Let General Treicolt Nexu is en route and we'll be there shortly "​

​

Maynard Treicolt​

 

[Kisaku Oroken]

Auteme Aaran Tafo Okkeus Dainlei | Alina Tremiru Alisteri Haxim Saket Keane
[DISASTERPIECE]​

Kisaku's features were fixed in a permanent looking frown of concentration. Conscious thought became muted, far away buried underneath the torrential storm of force that ran through him. Like a sun he burned bright, but the darkness inside of him was an eclipsing shadow upon his connection to the force. He felt those familiar feelings rising; Fear, hatred, bloodlust. As his opponent turned to face him it was as if he were faced once more with a greater enemy. The one that had made him like this. That bubbling resentment and an animalistic rage for survival roared inside of him, sharpening his senses to a razor's edge and pulling a sneer to his lips.

As his enemy lunged, so too did he. The blade of amethyst plasma in his hands howled through the air as he brought it down in an overhead strike that was out of measure. A deliberate strike targeting the apprentice's lightsaber in an attempt to displace it from the center line, immediately following it with a thrust towards his chest.

It was an instinctual assault driven by extensive experience with a lightsaber in his hands. Before, that experience had been benign self-improvement. There was nothing benign about this however. Each strike served a purpose - and that was to bring Alisteri closer to his death.

The thrust like the strike that preceded it was ultimately intended to bring about a growing advantage in momentum. It didn't truly matter if it landed or not, as Kisaku took a gathering step with the thrust. With his blade he would feel the moment Alisteri exerted pressure to deflect the thrust. He knew that the sith would likely have to retreat a step to do so. He had to bring his blade's strong onto Kisaku's weak for the leverage required to bring the threat of his point off-line. He anticipated that familiar pressure of displacement, ready to snap his saber up and around to the other side should he feel it, ready to pursue with unfettered aggression the moment he had the sith on the back foot. His presence, his expression, his being -- betrayed a ferocity caged by his earlier reserved demeanor. In the heat of the battle somehow it all didn't matter. That his body was a patchwork quilt of half-healed burns that tore and wept with his violent aggression, or that his bare feet danced across the deck.

His mind twisted under the weight that tainted him. It pushed aside his reservations for this; ensured that the only goal Kisaku had was to kill the enemy in front of him. If they would threaten those closest to him, was there any other answer?

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

ZIOST ORBIT | ASV UNNAMED
Equipment: Armour, Rifle, Grenades, Sidearm, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Loske Treicolt

The supernova beam struck the Sithspawn, charring and blackening its flesh. It was said that death by fire was the purest death. It gave Elpsis a moment of reprieve. She was sweating and her body was in deep pain. Still, she stood. There was no alternative. She could still sense her squad, but their presence was distant and it would be too big a diversion of energy to telepathically reach out. She could only trust in their skill to complete their objective and keep each other alive.

Moreover, she had to focus on the blazing inferno inside the hangar. Being a pyromancer, she was especially attuned to heat. And so she felt the temperature rise drastically, just as she perceived the fires spreading. Anything flammable was being devoured by superheat, and the hangar was shaken by explosions. She also felt the rage and the pain emanating from her foe's aura. Before, she had felt something close to human, but now it seemed she was left with a whirlwind of rage. Said whirlwind gripped a starfighter like it was a toy and hurled it in her direction. Siobhan would have probably plain halted it in mid-air and tossed it back.

Elpsis was not her mother, and in pain. She ducked, hit the ground and rolled. Pain shot through her as she did so, but it was better than being smashed. As the starfighter crashed into the wall behind her, she drew power from the Eternal Flame that was the Force, beseeching it to wrap her into a protective cocoon. The Eternal Flame did not forsake her, and the bubble shielded her from the explosion.

It did, however, keep the blast wave from hitting her and knocking her around. She slid across the superheating floor, ending up amidst the flames. Those could not hurt her, but the kinetic impact certainly did. The same applied to the hot shards of shrapnel that pierced the areas where her armour plating was less thick, cut through and seared flesh.

She spat blood. Her legs were shaky when she stood. With the hangar shaken by tremors, she had to magnetise her boots to the ground. She could feel air rushing from the hangar. This was not good. But her foe was still there. And so Elpsis gathered the heat that had coalesced in the hangar, sucking it up and poured the overwhelming heat into a huge wide-ranged wave of scalding flames that she sent sweeping towards the Sithspawn, dragging red-hot debris along the way with it. Small pieces of hangar wall started to get ripped away around the hull damage.

xxx

The sounds of battle came closer and closer to the command centre. Assailed by Sithspawn beasts, the squad fought on. Spikes of ice speared Sithspawn, blades impaled them, heavy blaster fire tore holes in their bodies, flames and lightning devoured them. It was bloody, brutal and ruthless. At one point Nyssa was swallowed by a beast, only to force her way out with a grenade and her lightsabre. Diona's barriers shielded team mates when they were down or were turned into improvised battering rams.

With her stealthy prowess, Rhea sometimes vanished from sight, only to leap down from walls or ceilings to scythe down beasts trying to ambush the party. However, at one stage the huntress found herself stalked and overwhelmed. It was a distracting illusion from Nuroch that saved her, along with Shikoba willing a dead Sithspawn to rise again and launch itself against one of its brethren to tear through its flesh.

Sienn, Vagt and Reverence laid down fire support, blowing beasts apart with heavy blaster fire and high-calibre projectiles. When a creature managed to knock Reverence down and seized her arm between its jaws in a crushing grip, biting down viciously, she fired her wrist bolter to blow its brains out. When the squad was being swarmed, Nyssa rallied. Her cold fury and the pain her body was put through empowered her as she threw herself into the fray wherever the fight was the hottest. Blood and gore clung to her armour. Yet by the time they reached the command centre, there was barely a member whose armour was not battered and who was not bruised or bleeding. Again and again, the Sithspawn had tried to ambush them, taking advantage of the fact that the corridors had been bathed in darkness.

"Star! Star!" Vagt bellowed, knowing it was the first part of the GA friendly call.
The answer was prompt, if a bit hesitant. "Bird! Bird!" A moment later, the door opened with a hiss. A motley band of technicians, officers and other crew members awaited them. The door was quickly closed behind them.

"Thank the Light you came," one crew member said. "You GADF? NIO?" Doubtless he was not the only one eyeing Nyssa's red lightsabre nervously.
"Firemane," the Bothan Sergeant answered curtly. "Don't mind the colour scheme, she's not a Zambrano lackey," he said in reference to Firemane's pet Pureblood. "Now we can do meet and greet later."
"Who's in charge here?" Nyssa demanded.
"I am," Lorn Pelles spoke up. "You're...all command sent? Not that I'm ungrateful, but the entire ship has been overrun by these...creatures."
"And that thing. It's right in the hangar!" another crewer exclaimed with a shudder, as if mentioning it would suddenly cause it to manifest in their midst and tear them to shreds.

"Our leader's fighting it. Do you want to live or not?" Rhea demanded fiercely.
"Not like command can send more help. It's now or never," one technician opined.
"It's not safe. We'll be slaughtered. The whole marine contingent's already dead."
"The spirits of your dead comrades watch you. They wail in anguish. They cannot leave while you cling to the ghost ship. Do you want to join them?" Shikoba asked in that strangely melodic, eeriee voice of hers.
"There's too many creatures for us to hold position indefinitely. We're wasting time," Vagt said flatly.

"Yes, we are. Infernos, we should be more understanding of our new friends'," Nyssa affirmed, taking a step forward. Then she suddenly grabbed the leader of the survivors by the collar and slammed him into the wall. "Weakness," she finished. "My squad just killed its way through a horde of Sithspawn. My girl's putting her life on the line to save your arses because she's stupid enough to care about random people she never met. I don't. If you do not have the pluck to fight for your pitiful existence, then you deserve to be eaten by these creatures so that your cowardice doesn't infest future generations."
"Bit mean," Reverence muttered under her breath. Her arm still hurt.
"Look at that screen," Diona suddenly spoke up, pointing to a computer that showed a live feed of the mayhem in the hangar.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

POST X
THE_STORMCHASER

1ST EXILED-GALIDRAANI DIVISION
2ND GALIDRAANI ARMOURED-VOLUNTEER BRIGADE,"BLUE-HEART BRIGADE"

OBJECTIVE 3: Remnants of Dust

Taskforce LIONHEART: Willan Tal Konrad Bolter Enedina Tal

ALLIES (NIO/GA): Irveric Tavlar Tulan Kor Noel Strasza
Fisk Kamer DT-0800 A.I.M Rika Hiro
Djorn Bline Arcturus Tal Jorus Fel Julian Qar
Cotan Sar'andor Captain Raith Suri Vullen Jyoti Nooran
Kal Ostan Zirell Marxon Master Zoryu Zark San Tekka
Kinoan Asmundr Varobalder Aelys Allyson Locke

ENEMIES (TSE/CIS): Irina Volkov Valen Taeli Raaf Sith Dominance
The Amalgam Laertia Io Maple Harte

CALLSIGN: BLUE-HEART ALPHA

Custom Blaster-Pistol | Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore | Myles' Trusty Fairbairn

A BARRAN WASTELAND - Wrath of the Stormchaser IX (Shades of Thomas)

<"We will the finish the fight...now come with me and take this city.">
Imperator.... Prevail, lad! Prevail for the New Order! Prevail as I must, all the futures fate intertwined with each other, all depend on you!

Setting low posture in case he needed to utilise his use of Mare-style sooner than expected, the Brigadier-General of Blue-Heart Brigade patiently waited for the Advanced Neutralizer to come forth in an attempt at intimidating her prey, but it seemed this one preferred her methods of warfare to involve an omnipresent psychological aspect within her array of trickery. Casting a sidelong glance at Leftenant Myles' corpse, the Advanced Nuetralizer smirked as Erskine often did and drawled,'Oh, he felt fear alright...', as she began to circle some five paces out of the reach of his basket-hilted Vibrosword.
Every man in existence feels fear, but we both know our Mylesy used his dying gasp to spew insults at a toaster-oven.

Mare-style was a fine choice, Erskine. A fine choice indeed for this one, a bit different to the others though.

Clicking the fingers on her free hand, the Advanced Model 1 did something that shocked Erskine as much as it enraged him; as if by a flash, the Nuetralizer had morphed into Tom's perfect likeness, imitating the Blue-Heart smirk in the way that Barran's firstborn had smirked on the day he passed the Fighting First's selection process. The passing-out parade look, the one that told it's viewers that everything would be alright after all, and this witch of a machine had replicated it before the Brigadier-General's very eyes. Tilting her head with Tom's face smiling like a demon, the Nuetralizer concluded her response by saying,'The same fear you'll feel when you meet your dead son in hell!', using his son's voice as she stepped forth with the intention of slicing a transfixed opponent from ear to ear, one who'd promised the same for Amalgam just moments before.

'My last,"Memory", o' Tom, an' it''ll be spent looking on his faux-likeness in disgust!', the Laid of the Heartlands baulked in disgust, slowly shaking his head with eyes widening to sadistic proportions. All the possible scenarios of ripping through the head and/or throat of his opponent (with nothing but the sharp bite of the basket-hilted Vibrosword Claymore) were playing out in his mind to gratifyingly-brutal degrees, but Barran had no worries of distraction in that moment of striking-poise shared between them. 'Y'know, before today, there were no heads I wanted severed more than the Amalgam's, but yours - and that of the captain at the Behemoth's helm - are both trop-priority now, just like the Amalgam's.... An' the more you take from me like a thief in the night, the more I itch to take my new head-hunting hobby seriously!'

Just like the manuals, Erskine.... Let her step too far with her lunge, connect at the right time, just beyond the basket-hilt.

Using her left pivot foot to push forward, the Advanced Model 1 would put a baiting right front leg out to entice him into a downward lunge, but Barran had his posture straight and feet active below, tipping forward on the toes and fronts parts of his feet with his blade-tip aimed towards her lower-stomach area. Both circling by then, it was nearing the first contact of blades, and it would turn out to be the Nuetralizer who would strike out first, rushing in with a low feint to swipe her blade in an upward circular swipe at his right arm; if her blade were to make made contact there and then, it would've sliced through both arms, but the rushing inside the reach-pocket played into the advantages of Mare-style sword-duelling, and would play into Erskine's hands if he timed his counter correctly.

At the very last instant, just as the Nuetralizer's sword was reaching the bite of it's swing, the tip of Erskine's claymore raised as his pommel dropped with slight rotation as his opponent's blade caught his own near the base; the Advanced Model 1's sword would then catch on the inside, (between blade and basket-hilt) Giving Barran all the leverage to direct it overhead and down by his left leg before sending the decorative thistle-shaped pommel into the Nuetralizer's eyesocket. A metallic crunch, followed by a solid impact of pommel on steely skull plating rang out through the smoke-filled, dusty mist of New Adasta, and the droid could do nothing but backpedal to keep from falling back from the force of the Brigadier-General's first hit.

'If you'd been made o' flesh an' blood, I'd be cutting your lifeless head off now. Consider yourself lucky you got that as yer first taste o' the Claymore, now come at me again an' show me your true worth!'

Pommel low, blade-tip up an' outward, let them play fancy-fencing.... if they t'stab at yer jaw, hard deflect outwards, hard slash inwards!

As he bounced back and forth a few times to find the right footing and rip beneath his boots, the Lord-Commander would inhale and exhale through his nose in increments of four as he watched the faux-Tom's eye healing in a matter of seconds, but in ways that made him screw his face up with unabashed disdain for her persistence in playing the role of her son with absolute inefficiency, or so it seemed. Noting his sheer lack of respect or fear for what he was seeing, the Advanced Model's liquid matter turned a macabre shade of blood-red as the cells gathered around the shrinking pommel puncture, gaining wide-eyed wrath once more as she saw him receive her wordless message, loud and crystal clear.

Springing forth from her newfound poise, she paced forth again but slowed as Erskine feigned a drop of the blade-tip whilst gripping hard with his own right leg forward this time, dropping the entire claymore a couple inches with it's same positioning before connecting her blade on the outside of his own. Clashing in the top halves of their blades, Barran was already throwing his bodyweight behind his rotation into the hard deflection by the time the ring of impacting composite-metal edges sang through the mist, batting it away with a strong pivot in to his former right-side until he stopped with the side of his old hip facing the Advanced Nuetralizer; his window of opportunity was tiny, but Erskine only needed a fraction of the time his deflection granted him to act, and sent one of his fastest left-handed slashes careening through her tongue and out past the right side of the Advanced Model's jaw and lower cheek.

The blow had momentarily shorted the Nuetralizer's systems, cutting out as her body slumped to the ground next to the Brigadier-General's backpedalling escape, but booting back up almost exactly as her head hit the gravel beneath. Looking down to see how she'd react, Erskine's bemusement would take hold as soon as she resorted to her most-disgusting play yet, growling,'What - are you?', as the blood imitation leaked from the jaw that hung off the left side of her face. The Advanced began to cough, splutter and hyperventilate like it was really his own firstborn's face that he'd just disfigured, but as her right hand reached out like a son seeking solace from his father, her left was in the process of grasping the pommel of her rapier-like sword to strike him down where he stood.

For that, you get the Meyer-style.... An' it's just your rotten luck that Vibroknives make for perfect substitutes for traditional sword-breakers.

Resuming his backpedalling motion to find a favourable new spot to advance from, the Lord-Commander would probably never know how close he came to death after he did so, but such thoughts mattered very little to Erskine in that moment; looking through his eyebrows at the one thing he wanted to kill most in that moment, baring teeth in the first wild grin of his life, sneering his animosity with a smile as if he were an untameable pure-blooded Tuath from lands his ancestors never conquered. In the understanding of the new look in his eyes, the Advanced Nuetralizer decided to drop the broken-jawed son act and reverted to her base form, knowing Lord Erskine was readying himself to take the fight to her this time; pulling Leftenant Myles' Fairbairn from it's loose-fitting sheathe with his left hand, after transferring full sword-wielding control to his right, Barran's intent to inflict as much damage as possible was clear to see, so the Nuetralizer readied herself for the next flurry of violence between them in complete silence.

Stick it right into the back of their dome and rip it out the side with all that Vibrotech trickery I love so much! The Fairbairn can do the rest.

Not that she'd be given much time to prepare, as the Advanced Model's face was still being healed with her left hand holding the would-be jaw upwards in place by the time Barran started rushing right at her with wild, roaring abandon. All for show, though it really was a good verbalisation of what was written all over his face at the time, so Barran had no qualms with employing a little psychological warfare of his own, and proving to be much more intimidating than the previous efforts of the Advanced Nuetralizer. Taking heel-to-toe steps backwards to seek just the smallest of windows she could use to her favour, the Advanced Model would adopt a one-handed grip in answer to his own, but the last-moment outward stabbing motion had been thwarted by the smallest of the Brigadier-General's nuances so far.

All that the Advanced Nuetralizer would've had time to sense in that moment was hearing the Vibrotech modifications on both the Lord-Commander's blades whirring into life, the thudding puncture as Erskine's blade sank into her right eye-socket and out the back of her head, and the sight of the bloodshot, pinpoint-pupiled look of insatiable loathing in his eyes as Barran used the leverage to slam the left side of the Advanced Model's head sideways into the gravel below. If ever there was a moment for a cutting-edge droid-assassin to feel fear and hopelessness, whilst the little Vibratech blades cut and shredded their way down to the ground beneath, most would agree that this would be it, but not a trace of any such dismay or fear could be seen on her face as Erskine ground out the bottom and backed away from his handiwork.

'You'll need to do a lot better than that, Erskine.'

'Trust me, dawl.... I'll win every time, an' I'll do my best to break a droid's soul. SO GET UP, FREAK!!! I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET!!!'
​

​

 

[Kaska Arden]

S P I TㅤT H EㅤD A R K
T E M P L EㅤE N G I N E E R I N GㅤC O R E
P R O S P E R I T Y

Lightsaber | Belmont's Resolve | JSTP Armour
Uproar Blaster | Pamarthen Honor Blade

A L L I E SㅤG Aㅤ/ㅤN I O
Dagon Kaze | Michael Sardun

E N E M I E SㅤT S E
First Sister

As the bolts of electricity crashed into her armored form with the ferocity of all the winter storm, Kaska divorced herself from the physical. Muting the sensations that surged across her body to a dull, distant thrum. Her shields flared with a bright, neon blue as they were stretched to their limit and beyond, sputtering and shattering almost a split second later. The gaps and crevices between her plates steaming as whatever moisture they held was instantly cooked. The insulation beneath taking on a thick, noxious smell of burning that clung to her skin. Muscles spasmed and twitched; unbridled pain danced through her nerve endings.

She registered all this almost as a passing curiosity. A fleeting distraction to be observed and then ignored as she focused fully on creating an eye within the storm itself around Dagon. The price being wrought upon her body in exchange for keeping him safe in the moment would come due soon enough, but for now she only had to concentrate on bending and manipulating the lightning that scorched the air.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

A wave of darkness shook through the engineering core. One far more raw, twisted and unchecked than that of the assassin, born from a primal, base hatred. Her concentration wavered, her resolve faltering enough to let the pain break through the division she had created in her mind, a silent gasp escaping her lips as the epicenter of the eldritch tenebrosity quickly became apparent.

Dagon.

She tried to open her mouth, tried to make sense of what was happening, but it was all for naught. The sheer depth of darkness the padawan had descended into simply too much for her to comprehend in the moment. As if a black, empty void had swallowed all light within the room. Distantly she felt the light that was Sardun dim and waiver in turn as if not even the Bastion of Light he represented was enough to contend with the blackened oblivion that now occupied Dagon Kaze.

That itself, the heaviest and most unexpected of blows, and the one that broke the proverbial.

Abruptly Kaska’s strength faltered; her legs buckled, crashing her down to her knees. Expression is a mask of disbelief, pain and confusion. Her voice sounded ragged and hoarse, but the accusation behind each word resounded heavily across the engineering core.

“....What...What have you done?”

 

[Michael Sardun]

Enemy: Vaylin
Objective: Cleanse.

​

Deeper and deeper Sardun sunk into the song of battle.

Vaylin was young. Fast, hardy and strong in the Darkside. She did not have the burden of time holding her back. Nor the amount of old wounds that scarred and lined Sardun's body. But she missed something that he had as a consequence. The experience of decades. "You talk and talk, trying to raise my ire, child." His voice came unbendingly as the Jedi Master deflected yet another stab from her. "Yet you do not understand what you fight. I am the conduit of the Light. I follow its commands, I obey with pleasure. I am its marionette."

"And it whispers one thing... your destruction."

His presence in the Force magnified. The dark shadows covering the silhouette of his face burned away, fleeing for the Light starting to shine from him. As Vaylin waited for Sardun to attack he channeled the Light. One concentrated force of the Lightside. It would destroy this creature of the Dark. Sardun knew this, because he had done it before.

The fight would be over and he could-

Something faltered in him.

A sensation of the dark. "What treachery is this?" Then it clicked for him. It didn't resonate from this room. It was... elsewhere. His eyes closed and he identified it the moment the Darkside surged up to overwhelm him. In the room with Vaylin he buckled to his knees. For a moment that giant of metal and gold was vulnerable.

Sardun did not care.

His mind was elsewhere, diving through that connection woven temporarily between Dagon Kaze and himself. From one moment to the next the room that Dagon, Kaska Arden and First Sister were fighting in flared up in bright light. An apparition stood over Dagon, towering high, staring down on the creature riding Dagon's skin like a toy.

YOU FAIL ME. YOU FAIL HER.

Before anyone could say anything more- that flaming hand snapped towards Dagon's head. It did not smash into it, instead? It slid inside, fire and light clashing with the shadowy grasp of the ancient Sith Lord spirit.

GIVE UP THIS WEAKNESS, BEFORE YOU LEAVE ME NO CHOICE.

At the same time his sudden presence in the room broke open the closed bridge between himself and Kaska. Forcing energy into her knees, her crumbling resolve. In the presence of an old Commander, every instinct demanded to rise and rise again. Because failure was never an option in the face of the Light.

And yet.

Sardun's physical form was so vulnerable.

So ripe to be attacked, kneeling on the floor, prone and waiting silently like a cold automaton disabled in the moment.

 

[Teica Giraan]

[Location: Ziost Atmosphere - Peacemaker{Negotiator-class Light Cruiser} - Bridge]
[Captain Giraan reporting in]
[Relevant to: Maijan Paisea ]
​

3 seconds--Panic.

2--Bracing for impact

1-

An ear-piercing screech enveloped the Peacemaker as its ventral frame was ground against a decimated field. Teica's heart raced, pounded, and her eyes grew wide. She ran for the floor.

The light cruiser had yawed up as far as it could, but that wasn't enough. Right after impact, the engines died, and the ship's fate was left to the planet's whims. She slid against the scorched earth. "Slid" was the wrong word. The Peacemaker was thrown across the ground, losing more and more mass every terrifying second. Decks collapsed, Bulkheads were torn to shreds, Crewmen were pressed against the walls.

Teica opened her eyes. Blurred. Blurred mixes of colors appeared again and again in her mind. The world around her twisted and contorted, while the steady sound of ringing filled her ears. Long, continuous ringing. The captain's head ached, and the nerves in her legs refused to respond. Frakking...frakking...Frak me...Frak me. It was her fault, her need for glory that brought this pain. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she'd be content to let the galaxy inflict its punishment on her. She Deserved it, all of it.

Her crew didn't.

The captain forced herself to stand, pushing her legs to their limits as pain rang across her bones. Slowly, the world began to clear, the contours of consoles beginning to take shape. Glass, metal, and flesh riddled the bridge. Once proud consoles stood with shrapnel embedded in their screens, the viewscreen had shattered, and the wall paneling was nearing collapse. They had frightened the mighty Behemoth away. But at what cost?

The display table flickered in dim bursts of light. Then came a voice.

"ALLIA__VACUATION __OST IS. FORCES ___GE THE ENEM___FALL BACK. ____O THE FOLLOWING ___ATES FOR WITHDRAWAL_ "

Teica rushed over, almost ready to collapse, and just barely managed to jot the coordinates down on a stray piece of paper before the table finally died. Her breathing grew ever more unsteady. She could feel blood seeping down her legs, blood seeping down her arms, fresh wounds opening on her cheek.

Groans made their ways to her ears, with injured bridge officers weakly standing. The lucky ones.

"We've been ordered to evacuate. Immediately," The captain hid any hint of weakness in her voice and pointed at one half of the room, "Gather Everyone you can, we'll meet in hanger bay One."

Then her hand moved to face the other half.

"The rest of you are with me, we'll head to the hanger, salvage whatever vehicles we can, and head to the rendezvous point," She looked at both groups this time, "May fate be kind to you all. Good luck."

The replies were minimal, merely being a combination of muttering the words "Yes ma'am" and nodding. She had done it. She finally betrayed her oath to them. She finally broke them. It took every bit of strength she had left to keep tears from escaping.

I'm sorry...I'm sorry...

"Maijan," Teica looked at the wounds and the splatters of blood on the floor, "Let's go..."

The captain gave everyone time to regain their bearings, but quickly set off for the Peacemaker's hanger bay, struggling every step. Every body, Every discarded tool on the floor, Every sign of damage shot into her, and left wounds in her composure.

I'm sorry...

They made it to the hanger, a vast room reduced to shambles. Dropships loosely hang from the contorted ceiling, where there was once a large shielded opening, there was only a small window of light, surrounded in metal that had collapsed in. Teica ignored the bright orange technician overcoats that lined the walls as she trudged to a landspeeder transport, leaning hard to the ground.

"Hey, give me a hand!"

The captain's group began to split up in the hanger, demoralized, but determined to get each other back home. Every transport possible was ripped from the walls, and tirelessly carried to a flat position on the ground.

I'm sorry...

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity || Whilstone of Power||
Urfael|| Mithralian || Empyrean Gland
Voice Sample

The Shaper was not surprised as Fel deftly intercepted his blade, Urfael beginning to drink deeply from the energy of the Lightsaber as they clashed, alighting the ancient runes upon it's surface. Stealing and imbuing the blade with power beyond it's normal ken, though The Shaper's attention was stolen from the moment as he felt Kainan reach out to the machines at his side. A low, fuming glare leaving the Sith Lord as his internal disdain for technology grew at their failure. Doing his best to angle his body a bolt of energy caught The Shaper's shoulder, while another caught the back of his left thigh, before he was able to divert his focus to deflecting the droid Fel flung in his direction and crushing the weapons in the grasps of the others before simply doing away with them himself. Better they be destroyed and removed than an active threat, and he admired the young knight's ingenuity, if only for a moment.

With his attention diverted the blast emitted by Fel was only partially dimmed by the Whilstone of Power protecting itself from the excess of the blast. A shimmering obsidian dome of raw Dark Side energy enveloping the Iron Crown in that moment as the Shaper was propelled backwards. Urfael plunged into the deck of Alliance One in an attempt to aid him in halting his backwards momentum. A sickening screech of rending metal and expelled plasma leaving a jagged line in the deck's surface. In the briefest of moments as Fel advanced The Shaper slammed his free palm down upon the dreadnaught's hall, and drew upon the Whilstone of Power to send torrential gouts of Sith Lightning arcing through the very floor they walked upon. The crackling purple energy arcing toward Fel and Kainin beyond as it surged through the floor.

The Shaper was taken aback as Fel's stance changed, ever so subtly, and he began to sense something unfamiliar to himself. An... echo... a reverberation of himself echoing from Fel. As if his energy were a scream of power rebounding off the cramped interior of a starship into his very own ears. His eyes narrowed, hatred seething in veins, and casting aside other options The Shaper twisted his body just enough to ensure Fel's blow would strike a non-vital section of his abdomen if his strike followed through. In lieu of dodging The Shaper instead angled Urfael much the same, completely willing and intent on trading blows with the Iron One as he angled his own blow toward an opening on Fel's side. Whether the exchange of blows would be delivered as intended, however, was entirely at Fel's discretion. The Shaper had played his hand, to trade pain for pain, now it was only a question of whether the Lord Executor truly possessed the iron will to do what was needed that he claimed.

Even in the heat of battle, unbalanced and faced with unfamiliar techniques, of having unknown technology to his millennia-old perceptions turned against him, did The Shaper test them. A defiant, ancient threat to the rising tide of their wills, should they have the courage to face it.

Engaging: Rurik Fel Kainan

Allies: TSE; Ingrid L'lerim

Enemies: NIO; GA; Aerarii Tithe ; Fisk Kamer; Areyon

 

[Dagon Kaze]

TEMPLE ENGINEERING CORE, THE PROSPERITY
NEW JEDI ORDER
TO ENGAGE: First Sister
THE GREAT MISCONCEPTIONS OF ME

Broken, beat and scarred. The pallid face of the Sith revealed mired in blood. More. The crimson king urged. Taste the sweet ichor of vengeance for all they had taken - his brother and his mother; for all they wished to take - the Jedi Order and Kaska Arden. The red entropy twisting Dagon's mind and corrupting his soul. Forever unsated, forever gluttonous. Its screams echoing to eternity asking for more and more, consuming Dagon piece by piece and morphing him into a weapon. A thrall to the scourge of the dark side, to his father.

It yanked his chain commanding him to strike down the bloodied Sith before him.

Do it.

The Force brewed in his hands with murderous intent only for his touch to falter. Burn. Dagon coiled back as if he had laid his palm on a hot stove. No, on fire. The fiery storm manifested in a blinding light enveloping the engineering core and an apparition of the empyrean towering over the corrupting presence. Michael Sardun . It shrieked and it howled as the rays of Light scorched the talons of darkness. Dagon collapsed on one knee, seizing his head, screaming as his soul was cleansed by fire. His father clawed and clawed ferociously unwilling to relent even it cost his son's sanity or life.

YOU FAIL ME.

The voice of the empyrean boomed purifying the tendrils of corruption, one by one.

“The oath to the Light is paramount above all.”

Sardun's words from earlier echoed in his mind. Iron will, divine purpose. Seraphim.

YOU FAIL HER.

“....What...What have you done?”

Kaska's accusatory voice followed. Disbelief, pain and confusion. Guilt.

Tears burned over his cheeks dissipating into steam.

Regret.

GIVE UP THIS WEAKNESS, BEFORE YOU LEAVE ME NO CHOICE.

Repentance.

Failure was not an option, not in service to the Light.

Dagon reached out for the empyrean.

Vindication.

Broken, beat and scarred. The pain of his wounds and trauma returned with full force, greater than ever before. Rising back on his feet with a stagger, the padawan struggled to keep his balance. Dagon's head felt like a thousand tornadoes had just passed through. Sweat and blood ran down his palms. The sulfur in his eyes vanished, replaced by Dagon's natural ocean blue color. He sensed Kaska's presence behind him and he dared not look back out of guilt, out of shame. The cross he would carry alone.

He shifted his stance to a bare semblance of Soresu.

ALLIES: GA | NIO | Kaska Arden | Michael Sardun
ENEMY: TSE

 

[First Sister]

Location: Temple Engineering Core, Prosperity
Allies: TSE ( Vaylin )
Enemies: GA ( Kaska Arden Dagon Kaze Michael Sardun ) │ NIO

Injected into her body via her armor’s systems, the healing touch of bacta, miracle fluid though it was, could not dampen the white hot pain of what had been her left arm. However, like any Sith, the Sister knew that pain was a font of power, its now ever present sting a reminder that within her soul, the passions of the Dark still raged, building pressure as a volcano on the verge of spewing hot fire unto the earth. She drank in such power, preparing to unleash it before Light appeared from thin air amidst the electrical storm, the sudden and blinding manifestation forcing the Jedi standing before her onto his knees, thereby causing the Sister to fall back to the floor from her previous position in the air owing to his telekinetic assault.

Nevertheless, the Light, so intense that it burned her skin red, disrupted her connection to the Dark. One of the two pins on her chest vaporized into dust as the incandescent rays overcame her, but the damage was still wrought, eliciting a pained howl from her lips in the wake of such luminous power.

For a few torturous moments, the Dark was a faint, impotent presence, weakness evincing as a soft whimper from her lips, a stark contrast to the Jedi’s ear splitting scream.

Until, the bombardment began.

Even from so far away, in a room cast into such grotesque incandescence, the Sister felt it. The initial confusion, the screams of the dying, the panic of sudden and inexplicable loss, and pain in all of its tortured forms. While such overwhelming emotion was a font of power in and of itself, for the Sister, it was also an intensely spiritual event. Drawn from her lips as if induced by a separate entity, ur-Kittât delivered in dronelike chorus flowed freely from the depths of her soul, cast into sound in spite of the Light that sought to impose its bondage over her will.

In witnessing the Eradication of New Adasta through the power of Sight, the Sister saw the event for what it was.

A cleansing. A purification. Destruction and rebirth.

His Eclipsing Will made manifest amidst the stars.

Fresh power rushed into her being, borne not only of pain, but also blind, unflinching devotion, fear, and even love towards her Master, the one who she also worshipped as a divine entity. Injecting a single dose of the restorative alchemical potion she had crafted only days before into her thigh, the Sister pushed herself up from a crouched position, her focused gaze meeting the dark-haired Jedi in the eyes as he assumed his defensive stance, now recovered, yet visibly shaken from his brief foray with the Dark.

Now standing on her feet, the Sister sucked in air, embracing the white hot pain as she placed her lightsaber on her belt, before falling into the mental and physical stance of the Potency form, silently daring the once Dark Jedi and his peer to make the first move.

Spoiler: Loadout

• First Sister’s Sith Uniform
  • Undersuit
    • UL-14 “Virtus” Class Underlay
  • Energy Shield(s)
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
  • Alchemical Talisman(s)
    • Jin'Wodasir - Pins of Protection
    • Talisman of Concentration
  • Left Wrist
    • ACS-207 Cryo-Ban Gun
    • Wide-Beam Sonic Stunner
    • Universal Gas Launcher
      • Pink Vapor
  • Right Wrist
    • ACS-208 Wrist Tensor
    • Wide-Beam Sonic Stunner
    • Universal Gas Launcher
      • Vertigon Gas
  • Utility Belt
    • FAE/U-01 "Serenity" Anti-Signal Field System
    • Empyrean Infusion
• Miniaturized Double-Bladed Spinning Lightsaber
• Whimsy Knife
• DL-13 Holdout Blaster

 

[The Amalgam]

The Advanced Model Nuetralizer rose, chuckling, having felt no pain or fear of the old man as he vented uselessly. Even her expression of frustrations prior had been to build up his ego, and boy, did he have a massive one.

"Good thing I don't have a soul to break, old man." The girlish Nanite Assassin Droid taunted. "And thank you for the demonstration! It was quite the learning experience. Now...lets see..." she pondered, having analyzed his attack method as her wounds slowly healed.

She sprang forward again, but when he met her in the Meyer style, she countered expertly, fending off the next few expertly executed slashes and thrusts with superhuman grace and speed, twirling effortlessly around and over and under well executed, utterly ruthlessly attacks that would have killed an organic with less skill.

But The Advanced Model Nuetralizer had been built by one of the most dangerous sword fighters in the Galaxy.

She smiled, mocking his hatred and frustration.

"You failed your son like you failed your soldiers here, you useless old man. You may have defeated my brothers..." she said in his son's voice, dodging an expert slice and brutally cutting open his right arm with a large nasty gash, still dancing around his aggressive brutal fightiing method...

"...but I am not my brothers. Does it bother you, old fool, that you are the only one of your worthless, simpering footsoldiers that can stand against them at all? They deal with your troopers as though they are nothing but chum to throw to sharks."

This earned her a set of enraged and expertly delivered slashes to her face. Taunting him, she let one connect across the cheek lightly, before letting his fist crash into her face with a horrible chuckle.

Her body became a moving, shifting blob of mercury for a second as the punch connected with her face. She felt no pain, nor was she disoriented as her head became arms and the rest of the nanites reforming into the rest of her humanoid, biker leather-wearing self.

"Cur." She snarled, punching him so hard, as much out of sadism as pure skill that when he went flying two of his teeth went flying. She smiled as he leapt up, saw his eyes burning with murderous, insane fury and hatred, bellowing as he rushed her.

She blocked or parried nearly every deadly slice and stab though she deliberately let him land not one but over 007 slashes to her chest, chuckling as the only thing that leaked out of the wounds was living, liquid metal, which quickly rejoined the mass it bled down, a half cup's worth even skittering away and vanishing at high speed into a nearby street drain. She let him hit just to emphasize how screwed he was, how there was no vital organ for him to destroy, no power source to cut like with her brothers.

As he howled in rage, swearing upon his son and ancestors that she would die this day, she stuck an artificial tongue out at him, prompting what would have been a normally lethal stab on an organic opponent...

She let the blade sink into her chest deliberately, morphing into his son as he did so, whose expression took one of mock horror before she began laughing in his son's expertly recreated voice, grabbing him by the throat, and lifting him up by the neck as she rammed her other fist at high speed into his side, fracturing two ribs before upper cutting him as hard as she could.

"You think to defeat The Amalgam, whose life is the Black Knight's alone to take, yet you are completely worthless against just one droid you can't even truly injure! You're useless, you old fool..." she sneered, still in the form and voice of his son as the ultimate psychological attack.

The old man still wasn't done. He rose again, pointing his sword at her.

"Bring it, old man, BRING IT! SHOW ME HOW SKILLED YOUR WORTHLESS DEAD SOLDIERS SHOULD HAVE BEEN AGAINST MY BROTHERS!" She yelled with a maniacal grin.

The next few moments were mutual hatred given physical form, slashes dodged, stabs parried between the two, her taking more wounds to the face and chest from DECEASED Erskine Barran , but always deliberate. Always on purpose. And still she fought, blocking and countering every style he knew before catching his sword arm, slashed the left of his face open with a knife that had once been a finger, and proceeded to viciously punch him in the face again, breaking his nose and hurling him back, all while in his son's form.

"Anything else you got, you useless old fool, or are you willing to admit the Nuetralizers superiority before you die in the mud?" She asked. She didn't want to just kill him any more. She wanted to break him. This had somehow become personal to her.

 

[Seto Du Couteau]

Seto Du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Location: Prosperity
Objective Two: Preservation of Liberty
Action: Listen and Speak and Wait
Equipment: REC-EVS/01 "Sohei" - Pattern Electro-Vibrosword
Attire

|| Brama Tagge | Vexander Graves | Jax Thio | Lark ||​

The situation room of the Jedi was something impressive, his eyes glanced around the readouts and other display ports. Information was flooding into the system and as Seto peered into one of the data-slates available he raised an eyebrow at the situation being unfolded. The Sith have certainly made a foothold onto The Prosperity and most of the Jedi available had been sent to deal with growing threat of the enemy troops and Sith Force users. But the Alliance One as well? Seto was under the impression that the situation was as dire as he first believed.

Seto continued to read through more reports being sent in, and his usual smile turned into an unamused straight line across his lips. Thus far Seto continued his belief that the situation wasn’t insurmountable, as long as the Sith don’t arrive with a fleet to capture them before an Alliance fleet arrives to secure their escape. And simply jumping into an escape pod is a bit premature. Better to find an escape craft with a hyperdrive instead if things ever get to that point of abandoning ship.

". . . Sorry, Senator Du Couteau. You can have second. Though it is curious nobody directly pursued us. They either don't know we're here, or they don't care.

If it's the latter, I'm concerned for their intentions."

“No need for apologies, I am a rather patient man. . . and it seems the Sith are acting rather fopar, being uninvited guests and causing havoc. I’ll be sure not to prepare any Tea or caf for them if they walk into this room.” Seto responded. His smile slightly returning, lips tugging at the corners.

The Jedi Graves’ voice brought Seto’s attention to a danger that was more imminent than other things. With the man’s words being straight to the point and the blast-doors slamming shut as he passed them, Seto took a moment to glance around the room and see who was left. His eyes returned to the information being relayed and further explained as the Jedi Thio’s droid. Oh, the enemy task force has arrived. It was rather strange to Seto, prior to his service beneath the Alliance Flag, the idea of ever being outnumbered or outgunned was a ridiculous notion in his past work beneath several Imperial flags.

Also I allowed myself a more liberal use of my own Force abilities. The young Du Couteau heir raced with ideas to prepare himself if he did out himself as a Force User to an unaware public and other Senators. Best I trust the Jedi in this room first and play the rest by ear if the situation grows dire.

"Senator gonna need you to stay as far as you can. Find a place to hide while I give our friends a warm welcome."

“I appreciate the advice.” Seto responded, his eyes looking towards the blast doors and wondering if they were to be flung and torn into the room where they would most likely land. He noted that Senator Tagge had unstrapped her weapon and held it with what he could only assume was deadly intent.

Seto gently placed his right hand on the hilt of his blade.
​