Invasion How Liberty Dies | GE Invasion of GA held Coruscant Super Hex

[Darth Solipsis]

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Site Administrator: Valiens Nantaris​

Galactic Empire Staff	Galactic Alliance Staff
Darth Solipsis	Amelia von Sorenn
Wymar	Rann Thress
Thomas Barran
Ellayina L'lerim	Natasi Fortan
Shannic Wulf	Kara Jade
	CT-312

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Following the brutal efficiency of OPERATION: CINDER over former Dark Empire worlds, the GALACTIC EMPIRE has risen anew. Forged in fire, and purged of weakness, led by the returned EMPEROR, and driven by righteous fury. Their first objective is clear. Their vengeance is precise. The time has come to seize the cradle of rebellion and shatter the illusion of democracy from the hands of the valiant GALACTIC ALLIANCE.

All eyes lay onto the heart of the galaxy, CORUSCANT.

The CORE WARS may have ended, but the EMPIRE's work was never done.

Approved Allies:​

Galactic Alliance	Galactic Empire
Allyson Locke	N/A
Balun Dashiell
CT-312
Bastila Sal-Soren

Built in the shadow of the original Jedi Temple, the New Jedi Temple is a symbol of hope and renewal, of the Jedi's enduring presence after repeated extinction-level events and struggles against the forces of the Dark Side. By taking possession of or defiling the New Jedi Temple, relocated personnel or not, it would be a spiritual decapitation of the Jedi's legacy. For this sacred hill, this most potent nexus in the Force has been a font of power and influence in both the waking world and the metaphysical. A source of hope and a source of empyrean power all in one.

Imperial Forces have been instructed to take the New Jedi Temple, exterminate every. single. Jedi. and follow the commands of the Dark Side Elite who will be 'repurposing' the nexus for 'a new tenant'.

They destroyed our palace, time to take theirs.

//Recommended: Dark Side Elite, New Jedi Order, GADF, and Imperial Military or Armored Units//

Coruscant has always been the cultural and political heart of the galaxy. Though no longer the capital, it still represents galactic civilization, democracy, and tradition. Striking the Senate building is a direct attack on the legacy of the Old Republics, and the Galactic Alliance, all institutions the Empire sees as weak, corrupt, or failed. The destruction or occupation of the rebuilt Senate Rotunda sends a powerful message, evoking the memories of Palpatine's dissolution of the senate, and echoing the death of democracy.

OIT and the ISB are making a ploy to setup operations inside the Senate Rotunda, utilizing special operations forces and a few key members of the Dark Side Elite to broadcast the Grand Vizier and the Emperor himself across Coruscant. Their message? Deception.

"The Senate is gone. With this day the Galactic Empire is restored."

//Recommended: SIA, Imperial Intelligence, Dark Side Elite, New Jedi Order, and Politicians//

As ground forces clash in the shadow of the New Jedi Temple and the Senate Building, in orbit, a battle between fleets thunder above the skies of Coruscant as capital ships and starfighters clash. The Galactic Empire's armada, spearheaded by The Sepulchre, encircles the planet for a full-spectrum assault on the Galactic Alliance's fleet and orbital defenses. These capital ships and defensive installations pose a direct threat to Imperial troop deployments, let alone the powerful planetary shields, and must be neutralized to ensure sustained reinforcement.

Engage the enemy, deny their space superiority and block any chance of retreat to Fondor. Interdict all civilian and military escorts. Space-to-ground units, disable their shields so our capital ships make touchdown.

No reinforcements. No escaping survivors. Imperial Supremacy begins above.

//Recommended: Fleeters, pilots, GADF, Imperial Navy, Deathtroopers, and GA Special Forces//



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[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | GALACTIC EMPEROR
GALACTIC SENATE - CORUSCANT

Shannic Wulf | Sahar | @Imperial Intelligence

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The hologram vanished before him, a signal comm to Remus Adair cut short.

The Dark Lord turned away and stepped forth, adjusting his eyes to the once-pristine halls of the Galactic Senate, now eerily silent, save for the dull clack of durasteel boots against polished stone. The footsteps of the Sith’ari and his dark cohort, echoed like distant war drums down the once-revered corridors, now dim and flickering. It was as if the light itself recoiled from what strode through. The Emperor led the procession with the deliberate pace of a funeral march, on each side trailed one of his close disciples, Grand Vizier Shannic Wulf, resplendent and cold as granite, and the ever-watchful blade of vengeance, Sahar.

But they were not the focus.

They were extensions of his will.

The Dark Lord did not glance at the golden inlays of the Old Republic etched along the archways, nor the fractured murals of unity and peace still clinging to the walls in recognition of the Galactic Alliance. He could feel the Force bleeding through every stone, every column, all memories of democracy gasping in its final breath. A wound long scarred, now reopened.

He breathed in slowly.

The air was thick with the ghosts of speeches, lies, compromises. Emmen Tagge. Auteme Denko. Loghaine. Names whispered like dust in the corners of this once-sacred place.

Seto du Couteau. Faith Organa.

Kaigann Fossk.

He exhaled, and the air turned colder as his eyes opened wide. Sulfuric orbs of malice and hate made manifest.

With each step, the lights overhead stuttered, dimmed, died. A death march in volts and shadow. The Force twisted in his wake, an unnatural, distorted warp around him. The trio came to a halt before a vast sealed archway, the Emperor raised his hand in gesture, forcing the doorway open with a forced grip onto the empyrean. Inside the adjoining chamber was darkness in it’s entirety, blackness surrounding a lone central pillar of light that cast down from the ceiling above. Overhead, a closed entry into the Senate Chamber laid in wait. Countless citizens had once gathered there to cheer or jeer, believing in the myth of freedom. Now, their seats were silent, filled with the poor and needy. Refugees gathered in the wake of their prior wrath upon this world.

Above him, technicians from OIT and ISB had already begun splicing into the old systems, tapping into communication networks, broadcast towers, and public holo-feeds. The transmission would soon reach every screen, every speaker, every home.

“The Senate is gone.”

The words formed in his mind before he had spoken them. They were already true. This world had clung to its rot for too long. His eyes, pitiless and wide, narrowed with precision as a overhead light flickered on in the darkness, illuminating the old chancellery podium. The symbol of the Alliance, of democracy, of false peace.

He walked toward it without a word.

The lie of freedom would soon end in flames.

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[Voldran Molf]

Information and Tag

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmare​

"Galactic Basic" | <"Mandalorian"> | ["Úr-kittat"] | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>​

Objective: Corrupt the Nexus
Location: Jedi temple, Coruscant
Equipment: Armour | Sword || OPBC-01m
Writing With: Kaleb Sunwalker | Thomas Barran | Lord Creuat | Ibaris Varanin | Tyro Lok | Wymar | Sahar | Meliant | Talon Draven | Prowler II | Tayiji | Khronas | Olorion Fossk | Darth Apophion | Imperius Indomitus | Open

Voldran spent the journey to Coruscant in meditation; the truth was, the man did not want to be here - he wasn't even supposed to be here. It was Darth Ptolemis who had awakened him, and then it was the Eternal Empire who had actually found and saved him. There, the man had felt as if he had finally found a home, for Voldran, much like the Eternal Imperials, despised the Force and would have gladly helped to destroy it. However, there was someone else who sensed the man's awakening - his mother, Dodhorn Harert . The Sith Lord had sought out her son, and from that point onward, the man had little choice left. Voldran was not a Sith, nor would he have called himself entirely a Darksider.

The man meditated, wrestling with his inner demon; in his case, this was to be taken quite literally. He was an Arkanian hybrid, the Arkanian blood came from both his mother and father, but due to a cursed experiment, the man had been transformed into a Sithspawn - infused with the Force and "sorcery", half smoke-demon in form. A cursed experiment, which had made him hate the Force. Even back then, many thousands of years ago, he had tried to cast off his chains and rid himself of the curse that plagued him, but to no avail. He had rebelled and turned against his parents; he had managed to kill his father, but in the end, his mother had imprisoned him in the Netherworld, where he remained until Ptolemis found him.

Ironically, he now had to serve the remnants of that very Empire and organisation where Ptolemis had once been the right hand of leadership, the Emperor.The man saw himself more as someone who walked among the shadows, neutral, yet leaning toward the Dark Side, though he had never fully fallen. That was his greatest inner struggle and battle - not to give in to his demonic side, to remain in the shadows rather than be consumed by the darkness. That was why he meditated now as well, knowing full well that the Nexus beneath the Jedi Temple would likely cause him pain.

The mission and the situation remained ironic, yet at last, it was a task Voldran did not regret. The assignment was to reach the Nexus beneath the temple and attempt to corrupt it. The man secretly hoped that, during the attempt, they might manage to neutralise or even destroy it. That would have been the best possible outcome for him. Nevertheless, he trusted that the ongoing battles outside would provide enough distraction for them to slip into the proper place unnoticed. Perhaps it even helped that Coruscant was no longer the capital of the Galactic Alliance.

When they reached Coruscant and entered its airspace, descending towards the Jedi Temple. Although the man was far from being among the leadership, this mission was now led by him and Kaleb Sunwalker . Kaleb, being a former Jedi, knew the way and the temple well. Before they landed, the man turned to the others.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be landing in just a few moments. Let us not forget our task - to find the path to the Nexus and corrupt it, aiding the Imperial forces and disrupting the Jedi. Kaleb Sunwalker will lead us, as he knows the temple well. Stay close, remain together, and do not let the Jedi disrupt us." he said to the others in a polite tone.

When the dropship landed and the door opened, the man looked at the others once more, then stepped out of the vehicle, his armoured boots clanging metallically against the ground.

"Move, we have no time to waste!" he urged the others, then glanced toward Kaleb, drew his metal blade, and headed toward the temple.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

The Last Vigil
CORUSCANT
JEDI TEMPLE

Coruscant burns.

The skies are wrong.

Where once hoverlanes and skylights danced in the air above the city-world, now only black plumes of smoke choke out the stars. Hundreds of capital ships — dagger-shaped silhouettes of Imperial might — hang in orbit like carrion waiting for the death rattle. Their starfighters scream across the atmosphere, laying waste to centuries of history in minutes. The night is broken by fire and thunder. The great durasteel spires fall like brittle bones.

… and at the heart of the storm, on a hill that still remembers hope...

...stands the New Jedi Temple.

It is not pristine — not untouched by war. Its outer walls are scorched, its fountains cracked, its courtyards littered with the remnants of rushed evacuations and abandoned lives. But it stands. Defiant. A monument not to the Jedi’s power, but to their persistence.
And at its battered threshold, a shadow rises.

Caltin Vanagor, Jedi Master. Guardian. Survivor.

He has bled here before. He has buried too many friends in this sacred soil. He was younger when he saw the banners of the first Empire draped in fire across these very halls, when clone troopers turned their barrels toward the ones they once called brothers. That day broke the galaxy.

Today, he intends to hold the line.
Today he WILL.HOLD.THE.LINE…



Marching boots echo beyond the main avenue. Dropships disgorge armored soldiers, black-armored enforcers, and towering war droids that thump the ground like the fists of a god. Above them, crimson-cloaked figures float just beyond the flame and smoke — the Dark Side Elite, leeching strength from the nexus beneath the Temple like carrion feasting on the marrow of the Force.

And they came for it all. For the archives. For the artifacts. For the nexus. For the soul of the Jedi.

Caltin didn't speak. He didn't need to.

He planted his feet at the top of the Temple steps — the last thing between the darkness and the legacy he swore to protect. The polished hilt of Conservator slid into his calloused hand with the familiarity of a promise long kept.

The lightsaber ignited with a roar of permafrost blue — not just a blade, but a beacon.
Behind him, the Temple doors begin to seal.

This is no longer a war.

This is a vow.


You want it? His brow furrowed as an anger he had not felt in a LONG time rose from the pit of his stomach. Come take it.

The first wave came like they always do — confident, loud, and disposable. Stormtroopers in black and crimson armor fanned out across the courtyard, rifles raised with militaristic precision. Behind them, a quad-legged mortar walker took position, bracing for a ranged bombardment. Overhead, shrieking TIE-Hounds buzzed the Temple airspace in looping attack runs.

Caltin Vanagor didn’t move.

Not yet.

He let them climb the hill.

Let them breach the courtyard.

Let them believe.
Then the wind shifted.

He moved like a landslide.

One step. One breath. One motion. The heavy durasteel shield on his back whipped forward, magnetically locked to his forearm. His massive lightsaber Conservator blazed to life again, ice-blue cutting the smoke like a sunbeam through stormclouds.

He leapt forward — not graceful, not acrobatic — unstoppable. Like the memory of the Order itself was moving through him.

The first squad evaporated. Shields crumpled. Blasters shattered. Bones broke beneath sheer impact. A trooper raised a grenade launcher — Caltin caught the munition with his bare hand, Tutaminis turning explosive energy into molten light he threw back with a snarl.

Then came the mortar.

A shell arced high—

—only for the Jedi Master to jump, shield-first, straight into the blast, surviving the explosion outright as the Force screamed around him, absorbing and redirecting, until he landed on top of the walker, plunged Conservator through its core reactor, and leapt down as the beast collapsed in a chain of metal death.

More came.

Shock troopers. Riot droids. Jetpack troopers raining fire from above.

He fought harder.

And still, they whispered across comms:

"It’s him. It’s Vanagor."


"The Vanagor."


"He was supposed to be dead."

He wasn’t.


They sent the second wave. Heavier. Meaner. An execution squad in black plastoid with Force-repelling riot gear — backed by two twin saber pikes and a Sith warhound bound in chains of alchemized metal.

Caltin took a breath.

This time, he ran into them.

The shield met the front line like a thunderclap. His saber moved faster than it should for a weapon of that size — like he wasn’t swinging it but guiding it, the Force pulling it through weak points like thread through silk. When a saber-pike came down, Caltin let go of his own blade mid-spin, ducked under the strike, and caught the spinning Conservator behind his back before driving it through the attacker’s chest.

The beast lunged.

He stood his ground.

The shield locked. His hand outstretched. And the ground rose with him, slabs of Temple stone upheaving into a jagged barrier.

He didn’t just hold the line.

He was the line.


They sent the third wave.

Three figures. All Dark Side. Cloaked in smoke. Radiating hatred. One wielded twin sabers. Another — a twisted Miraluka — wielded no weapons at all, just tendrils of hate and madness and Force-crushed stone.

The third, cloaked in obsidian armor and crowned with bloodsteel, called himself “Executor."
“You’re a fossil,” the Executor growled. “This is our time. Not yours.” Caltin Vanagor rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles.

Then come die tired.

The hill turned red with light.

The duel wasn’t elegant. It was warfare. The Jedi Master fought like the world was ending — and maybe, for the Jedi, it was. But not before he wrote his chapter. Every movement was a rejection. Of extinction. Of fear. Of surrender. A reminder that he was not a monument to the past, but a weapon of the present.

He parried hatred. Deflected rage. Absorbed power and gave it back with interest. When the Executor disarmed him, Vanagor let the saber go, grabbed the Sith’s arm, and broke it in three places before pulling his blade back through the air like a comet and ending the fight with one brutal arc.



At the top of the steps, alone again, covered in blood and ash, Caltin Vanagor stood.
Smoke rose behind him. His shield cracked, he tossed it. His saber flickering. His lungs heaving.
But he stood.

And the Temple doors remained closed behind him.

For now.

TAGS • TAGS
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[Ellayina L'lerim]

Information and Tags

Minister of Intelligence, Director of SHADES, Torture & Interrogation Officer​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Steal data from the core
Location: Former Senate Building, Coruscant
Equipment: 2x Sunfury Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Short sword 2x Vibrodagger || Cloaking Device | 5x ASBF Probe Droid || Empyrean gland || OPBC-01m
Tags: Katherine Holt | Closed

Coruscant, Coruscant again. The young woman remembered perfectly well when they were last here. Victory had been so close, but in the end, they had failed to capture this planet. True, much had changed since then; this was no longer the capital of the Galactic Alliance, which had moved away due to the threat posed by the former Dark Empire. The Dark Empire had collapsed, but now they were back, and the woman hoped they were stronger than before. At that time, Ella was just a simple agent, but her achievements here had made her the director of the ISB. Now, her work and loyalty had paid off even more, and she was the Minister of Intelligence. She couldn't have risen any higher than that.

Although this did not mean that she stayed at home and sat back while her agents and men worked. Ella liked being in the field, or at least close to it. So, she was here at Coruscant now. The task had already been given to her agents by the woman to stop broadcasting from the former Senate building. The truth was, however, that she was also heading for that very building, albeit for a different reason; well, partly for a different reason. Her plans included the former data centre so that she could retrieve as much data as possible from there for the Galactic Empire to use. She hoped that the Galactic Alliance hadn't deleted all the data from here yet, but kept it. If nothing else, at least as a backup.

In the worst-case scenario, she expected that if there was no data at this location, she could at least access the Alliance's network from here and get some information. Planning ahead was a bit difficult in that respect, but she had ideas and camels of what she wanted to accomplish and what her goals were. Ella always liked to plan ahead, in more ways than one; but fortunately, she was also flexible enough to adapt easily to any change or any situation. That's why she didn't worry about what she would face during the mission and then adapt to it.

She flew to the former Senate building in a camouflaged dropship, naturally connected to the Imperial network so she could hear and be aware of how the offensive was progressing. She chose a landing site that was quite far from places that were under attack or being evacuated. The woman landed the dropship in one of these fairly empty hangers. The first half of the plan was complete, so now it was time for the woman to carry out her actual task and the reason she had come here. To obtain as much information as possible, preferably information that would be useful to the Empire.

After all, the Empire was the most important. Long live the Empire!

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Cesare Demici
Mentions: Voldran Molf Caltin Vanagor

Deja Vu.

That's all Jonyna felt. A sense that she couldn't shake. She had done this before. Fought on these steps.

Once more, a storm brewed above. This time not out of practiced meditation, but simple spinning of the Force. The thunder rolled just as it did, and Jonyna stood, scraping her swords along the stone below.

This was not a matter of light vs dark.

This was a matter of good vs evil.

The feeling nagged at her. They could have prevented this. They could have done something about it.

Lightning cracked, striking the incoming transports with holy vengeance. The storm had been infused by her mother. By her sisters. The ghosts of the past stirred in Jonyna's mind.

This would be her last stand.

But it couldn't be. She had three kids now, waiting for her off planet. She had sent them away on the Tenacity, along with the Dawn of Hope. Rarely did she issue orders like that.

She knew better.

The Galaxy would always have hope. Even if it took a while to find it.

 

[DT-1966]

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Coruscant – Upper Levels
Drop Pod Deployment – Comm Silence Active
Death Trooper Squad "Vanta Six"
Operatives: Sid Berik , DT-1966 , DT-7747 , @others



Atmosphere breach in three… two…

The pod screamed like a dying star as it tore through the stratosphere, metal skin scalding, hull plates shuddering. Vibrations rattled and tore at the vessel, fire encroached around it like a missle. Inside, a black armored form locked into place inside a steel casket. Not a word spoken. Not a breath wasted. The drop pod shook violently, DT-1966 sat in the command cradle, heart rate steady, visor flickering with data feeds that were already going dark. Comms. Navlink. All collapsing one by one under the rising curtain of planetary shielding.

Too late to turn back now.

Boom.

The pod impacted. The entire structure heaved, metal groaning. Dust. Fire. A clash between building and hull. Then after a beat, there was silence, a quiet unheard on this ecumenopolis in years. DT-1966 shook off the heavy daze, rattling his cage he bounced forth igniting the breach charges. Kaboom, the charges went off and blew the hatch.

The Death Trooper emerged like a ghost. No words. No hesitation. They were trained for this moment, the pinnacle of the Empire's work.

He lifted his rifle, scouting the outside with a lean.

DT-1966 dispersed into cover, black armor blending into the smoke and debris around him. No backup. No evac. No way out. Only forward. DT-1966's voice, garbled and twisted through the Death Trooper modulator, finally rasped over the squad's private channel:

"D̴̛̬R̷̥͐̈́Ȍ̷̠P̴͈̓ C̶̥͝Ö̸̬́N̸̛̘̈́F̸͕̾I̴̡̓R̷̠̍M̶̡͘E̶̱̔D̵̺͒… H̴̥͐O̴̞̅L̴͈̐D̸͈̚ F̶̨͘O̶̰͌R̴͎̔ Z̴̹͠E̶͇͂R̶͔͋O̸͎͗-̴̢̎S̷̤̿I̶̯̓G̴̛͕N̸̺͐A̸̳͠L̶̘͝"

He moved.

"N̶͈̚O̷͇̓ C̴͎̾A̴͓͐L̶̳̍L̷̪̓ B̷̼͋A̵͓̕C̶̱̀K̴̘̀.̷̙̆ Ŕ̸͜U̴̡͒N̷̘̅ B̶͖̍L̶͔̓A̷͚͂Ć̸̯K̷̳̀ N̴̻͒Ḯ̴͈G̴͍̏H̷̝͌T̴̎͜ P̴̳͝A̵̢͒T̴͈͗T̵̳̈́E̵͕̎R̴̻̈́N̷̤͝."

DT-1966 moved to the edge of the building, he could see the smoke nearby from the other pods. He would move to regroup.

 

[DT-7747]

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| Location | Residential District, Coruscant​

| Objective | Infiltrate and Engage ​

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DT-7477 felt their pod rattle as it broke atmosphere, silent while their flying tomb began to heat up on entry. The team had been tasked with infiltrating the surface, and had managed to do so before the planetary shields had been raised following the sudden incursion on Coruscant. Their task was a simple one; locate the energy grid that powered the shield and render it inoperable. Lifesigns showed stable, the heat of atmospheric entry illuminating the dimly lit pod. The pod's automated voice chirped at them, indicating their imminent arrival, flashes of red reflecting off their welded helmet. Brace. Brace. Brace. Impact in three..two...one... CRASH. The deathtrooper lurched forward in their harness as the pod crashed into the side of a building, tearing through duracrete and finding itself lodged into someone's living room.​

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The pod hissed and vented as steam escaped, depressurizing as the pod door flew off, DT-7747 stepping out with their E-11D hefted in hand, a stunned family of three huddling and shirking in free. The ominous gaze of the trooper's green visor fell upon them as they scanned the rest of the room, ensuring there were no threats. ​

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The husband, a pale green Rodian, grabbed a knife off the counter and proceeded to lunge at 7747, prompting the trooper to let their weapon fall on their sling as they raised their arms to intercept the frenzied attack. It all happened so quickly, the Rodian having their arm twisted and broken before promptly being swung around, one of 7747's hands raising to cover their mouth while the other unholstered their sidearm. The barrel pressed against their side as two muffled shots went off, silencing the father as they immediately went limp, crumpling to the ground. The wife was ready to scream, clutching their child and averting their gaze, only to be stopped by 7747 leveling their sidearm directly at them with one hand while the other raised to where their mouth was in a gesture signaling silence. ​

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The woman cowered in forced silence, hugging their child tight in their arms, squeezing their eyes shut. 7747 moved for the door, not even glancing as they squeezed the trigger and fired off a muffled shot as the mother fell dead, shot in cold blood with no remorse, their child, now an orphan clutched in her cold arms, wailing. No witnesses to alert the Alliance that there were infiltrators and saboteurs arriving, 7747's entry very easily being mistaken for some drunk driver accidentally crashing their car. By the time the authorities and paramedics arrived, 7747 would be long gone and by then, it would be too late.​

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The pistol went back to its holster as 7747 picked their rifle up from its sling, a hand raised to their helmet as chatter came over the comms. The rendezvous was set and their target marked; 7747's radio clicked twice in acknowledgement signalling the rest of their squad that they were en route, not a word spoken as they moved to regroup with the rest of their unit. The Alliance thought that the Dark Empire had fallen when they reclaimed the Core, but they had become too blinded by the rotting from within to notice that it had returned a stronger Galactic Empire, further empowered and emboldened by powerful Dark Forces. There would be much bloodshed in service to war, a long-awaited tithe paid to throw the Galaxy in turmoil once again.​

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This wasn't simply a return. It was a reckoning.​

Sid Berik | DT-1966 | Abraxas Colt ​

 

[Connel Vanagor]

BATTLE FOR CORUSCANT
CORUSCANT
SENATE BUILDING

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]


JUST ABOVE THE GALACTIC SENATE DISTRICT – NIGHT

A thunderstorm looms like a war drum over Coruscant’s broken skyline. Fires rage across the distance. Civilians scream below. Starfighters weave in and out of burning towers. Lightning flashes illuminate the ruins of a once-proud city. And in the distance, high above all... the Galactic Senate Rotunda stands wounded but not fallen, its dome scorched and cracked.

INT. RAVEN DROPSHIP – APPROACHING GALACTIC CITY STARPORT – NIGHT

OMEGA SQUAD is locked and loaded. Connel Vanagor sits opposite Michael, both masked, both silent. Gabriel is listening in on comms, trying to slice into Imperial traffic. Azrael flicked the primer on his explosives. Sariel’s gloved fingers adjusted his cloak and long rifle. Raphael loaded a fresh power core into his rotary blaster like he’s winding up death itself. Jeremiel checked the vitals on his HUD, and then glanced at Michael. They nodded.

The dropship rattled.

The Pilot (They call her “Uriel”) yelled out over comms:
[Touchdown in ten. They're jamming orbital support, and the local precincts are gone. This is it.]

Connel was calm as he looked up.

They think they're ending something. Let's show them what beginnings feel like.

STARPORT – NIGHT

The dropship hit the deck like a thunderclap. The ramp slammed down. Omega Squad burst into a storm of fire and rain—blasters, turrets, screamers, everything’s waiting for them.
But they moved like ghosts.

Gabriel sliced into a nearby surveillance tower mid-run, rerouting local feeds. Azrael tossed a detpac mid-air—it stuck to an enemy armored walker’s undercarriage—BOOM—it detonated in glorious violence, hurling wreckage through the rain.

Raphael bellowed as he unloads his rotary cannon into a barricade of ISB troopers, chewing through permacrete, bodies, and steel alike.

Sariel, silent and unseen, fired from behind cover—each shot a kill, each pull of the trigger an execution order.

Jeremiel pulled a wounded Temple Guard behind cover and injected him with a stim before catching a charging Sith trooper with a scatterburst to the chest—blast. down. dead.

Connel, in the eye of the storm, threw Percipience in a glowing arc, bisecting a speeder bike in midair. He called it back with the Force, and without stopping, activated Alpha and Omega, the twin sabers flaring as he reflected fire and cleaves forward—his body a dance of pure lethal grace.

BRIDGE TO THE SENATE BUILDING – NIGHT

The Senate Skybridge is a funnel of death—mines, barricades, Imperial snipers on speeders. The Dark Side Elite’s shadows whisper at the edges, waiting.

But Omega Squad pushed.

Gabriel dropped a slicing spike. Accessing turret systems—rerouting control.

I’ll clear the forward block. Raphael—how loud do you want it?

Louder than their lies.

Azrael’s charge blew a hole the size of a speeder into the barricade. Connel and Gabriel rushed in—Sabers and carbine in one, a storm of Force and fire in the other.

Voice (broadcasting across Coruscant):
“The Senate is gone.”

Gabriel snarled under his breath. Lying sack of—

Not if we shut them up first.

STEPS OF THE SENATE ROTUNDA – MOMENTS LATER

The squad reached the bottom steps. Above them—Imperial Special Ops, Dark Side acolytes, rogue Senators under Sith command, a corrupted broadcast rig preparing to beam the Emperor’s face across the world.

No speeches. Just stop the signal. He raised his blade.

Mount up, Omega!

They ascended the steps into hell, sabers, rifles, grenades, faith—all weapons of equal measure. The fate of Coruscant’s soul was about to be decided.

GALACTIC SENATE BUILDING – MAIN LOBBY DOORS– NIGHT

The doors didn't simply open—they’re obliterated by Omega Squad’s entrance.

A blastwave of kinetic force sends Imperial troops scattering before they even know who’s come to kill them. The grand lobby—once a place of debate, diplomacy, and democracy—was now a kill zone. Statues of Old Republic heroes crumble as blasterfire cut through the air like lightning through dry timber.

Connel Vanagor is already mid-air, Shortsaber ignited, his body twisting as he sliced through an Imperial commando's torso and threw his shortsaber into another’s faceplate. The saber bounced off, returned to his hand—a whip-fast second strike ended that man’s life.

Michael was a blur, rifle raised and Gabriel’s data-spikes flicked like knives into security terminals. The Senate’s holo-emitters now scream with static. [They were gonna stream this—Emperor, Vizier, full psyops package. Rewiring the rotunda now. No backup. We're it.]

Azrael dropped a seismic mine mid-run, then charged forward and PUNCHED a trooper’s helmet in, cracking it like glass. With his other hand, he pulled the detonator—boom, the mine leveled a marble pillar and the five ISB agents using it for cover.

Raphael didn’t stop moving. The rotary cannon spun—a chorus of death that shredded everything not wearing blue insignia. A fleeing Dark Side cultist tries to raise a shield—
too slow.

Too loud.

Too dead.

Sariel was quiet but devastating, perched on a balcony—each round a punishment for trespass, each kill shot cold, clean, and fast. He didn’t whisper. He didn’t miss.

Jeremiel used a downed speeder bike for cover, patching up a bloodied Padawan, then turned and fired his sidearm directly into the throat of a Sith sympathizer, shielding the Padawan from the spray. He then said to the Rodian, You don’t run. Not from this. Stand up. You’re part of it now.

AND CONNEL?

He was not just fighting.

He was erasing.

Every step he took is another life lost. Every kill is precise—a severed spinal column, a blade through the heart, a Force-assisted crush of bone and armor. His armor was soaked, his mask cracked at the brow, but his resolve? Absolute.

And beneath it all—he’s uneasy. He feels it. Something’s not right.

A low vibration in the Force, a shiver in his lightsaber’s hum, like a scream trapped in time. They’re stopping the attack. Killing the operatives. But this isn’t it. This isn’t the end. This is the cover.

He finished one last saber sweep through a wall of stormtroopers—limbs flying, screams dying—and froze.

The Senate floor doors are sealed.

A massive broadcast relay pulses with Sith glyphs and blood-red wiring. It wasn’t built by engineers—it was forged, like a ritual circle more than a terminal.

Connel said out loud, but really to himself. This isn’t a message. It’s a spell. A pulse of dark energy rolled outward, flickering through the power grid.

Gabriel was in the back, catching his breath. What? What did you say?

Connel didn’t answer. He raised his hand. The floor trembled.

The glyphs resisted his will. They pushed back.

We’re not stopping a transmission, He shook his head. ]We’re interrupting a resurrection.

The lights flickered red. A cold presence slithered behind the walls.

And then—a voice.

Not mechanical. Not mortal. “You are too late.”

The Senate dome began to shift—a holographic face, masked, emperor-like, formed midair.
And Connel raises his saber once more. Was it him? Was it a fake? Did it matter?

Then let’s be late... loud.

TAGS • TAGS​

 

[Rannan Kol]

Objective: Searching for Vera Noble
Location: The Jedi Temple & Surroundings​

---

The Prophet.

A Rumor stretching up from the lowest levels of Coruscant.

Like a phantom he'd hidden right underneath their noses. Now, as the flames of war burned across the ecumenopolis he ascended. As Starships darkened the skies amidst turbolaser fire and fighters streaked through the air he ascended to join the Sith as they assaulted the crown jewel of the galaxy.

He might have been stopped; the Grand Master of the Jedi, Valery Noble had met him in the darkness deep below the tower structures that filled Coruscant. Their meeting had been ---- inconclusive. If she had bothered to search for him again the Grand Master would find that the Prophet, Kol had moved on. It was a game best played in stages.

Now as footfalls came upon the surface of Coruscant again, his vision drawn to the stars the Prophet let his mind extend outwards. Like a muscle the mind required exercise, without exercise it weakened; he had always exercised his mind. To those capable of seeing in different spectrums they might see an aura pulsing around him, inky tendrils stretching out from him like limbs seeking to touch the minds of others and spread like a virus.

In the chaos of battle Kol found effortless to move around opponents and side step potential conflicts. When someone came close the vision of an ally might flash ahead of them prompting them to veer off, enemies might not see him at all in some cases. He wasn't wiped from their minds, he wasn't invisible but against the unsuspecting it was easy to convince their minds that he was inconsequential which was almost like being unseen.

He heard name that struck a chord with him, Caltin Vanagor ; he remembered fighting the Jedi Master during a similar battle on this world. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Alas, they would need to wait to fight again.

With his mind outstretched, flowing outwards and expanding itself beyond the limitations of the physical he sought someone in particular. He'd never seen her, not in the flesh anyways but he knew her; he knew she had visions. It had been her mothers fault, her thoughts had instinctively turned to her daughter when Kol had invaded her mind once and he had seen Vera Noble there. Now was the day and now was the time that he went to seek her out, beckoning her with a mental cascade that would whisper her name across the Jedi Temple while he whispered in a sibilant tone...

"Where are you?"​

...the Apostle's Vestments settled across his frame with a sense of belonging, the adornments almost alive in a sense. The Dark Sacraments resting at his sides, over his hips waiting to be summoned to his hands. He hadn't called them. Not yet. Where he planned to take them they might need their weapons.

 

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Friend: Ibaris Varanin
Foe: Nathan Bloodscrawl

HOW LIBERTY DIES - PART ONE

​

ABOARD THE IV: SEPULCHRE,
CORUSCANT, GALACTIC DEEP CORE (902 ABY)

'Messy....'
'Money well-spent, you mean? Better it be mercs than ours.'
'Shut up, Rook.... We need them for future campaigns, or rather - needed.'
​

The second wave of landings, though predictably so, had incurred much more flak than it's forward-operating predecessor, stealth could only work to a certain point after all. When a grand fleet appeared, many had known that all-things surreptitiousness often went out the window soon after, this the Dark Side Elite's majority would be able to see from the surface, in bright, vivid detail. A worthy sacrifice it was, and though it would amount to quite the high cost in credits for the Mawsworn, the loss in manpower would not count quite so irksomely with the implementation of mercenaries considered, but there was more than mere trivial details to consider that day.

'Lads, can we not?'

​

His previous defeat on the planet's surface was still fresh on the mind, but for all he had suffered since, the Khan had grown stronger from it, from base-level, all the way to the latest of power-ceilings. The power bestowed by Solipsis was still yet to be mastered properly, but if push was fated to shove, Barran knew he could reach for it within, though this was but many means of holding his own whilst temporarily overseeing Ibaris Varanin's security-detail. For any daring to board the ship, there would be a varied mesh of Mawsworn and Imperial waiting for them, but in his ever-perpetual need to improve Tribal prestige in the eyes of his peers among the Dark Side Elite - the Khan would offer himself up as the ship's duelling champion.

'Camera-droids HIGH are set, Great Khan.'
'LOW set too. Will be watching, Great Khan.'​

'Remember, lads. This isn't entertainment - its a learning experience for our champions.'

Under other circumstances, there would have been many risks that went with leaving one of the Sepulchre's docking bay's open, but for as long as the Bloodhound stood to hold it, the trap-like nature of the Khan's idea would be made quite apparent before long. Even Varanin's personal bodyguards could sense this, chuckling among themselves in anticipation, and even continuing to do so as they left with nods of encouragement before the slide-doors closed behind them, mingling well with the attending Trilunars who left with them. Only Rook Darkhan remained with the Bloodhound by then, placing the Mask of the Golden Skull in place before he could leave, naturally leaving the most-important armour to last, marking the procedure's completion with a pressurized hiss.

<"Greetings, Lady Ibaris. Bloodhound Khan speaking.... Yes, your eyes do not deceive you, the door to Docking-Bay 6 is, in fact, open, but this was done with twofold intention. Firstly, to bait any over-ambitious boarding parties into my path, but also to keep an open rallying-point for any-and-all Elites suffering fight-ending wounds, or whatever is expected by the end of the operation.">
​

'You're good to go now.... Good luck, my old friend.'

 

[Domaric Mordane]

Allies: The Dark Side Elite
Enemies: Engaging Connel Vanagor (Eventually)

The sky screamed.

Tens of thousands of drop pods howled as they broke through the smog-choked heavens of Coruscant, each one wrapped in fire and metal, descending like judgment. The orbital space above writhed in chaos as capital ships locked into brutal combat, turbolaser bolts carving molten trails across the void. A theater of violence, distant but deafening, casting flashes of war across the clouds.

Inside one of the first pods to breach the lower atmosphere stood General Mordane. His armor was sealed, and his visor was down, framed by the crimson interior lights and flickering descent projections. The storm around him did not shake him. He clamped his gauntlets onto the magnetic restraint bars, his shoulders squared with determination. The white armor of the 323rd shone in the dim light, polished like the teeth of a predator. They were death incarnate: trained, massed, and ready to be unleashed.

His pod screamed toward the surface, and through the atmospheric haze, the duracrete jungle of Galactic City began to take shape, a battlefield that once ruled the galaxy now reduced to a wretched corpse choking on its own history. The ancient Senate Building loomed below, a relic turned makeshift shelter for the desperate and displaced. Today it would become the beachhead of a resurgent order.

The pod hit hard, the shock dampeners straining to contain the force. The hatch blew outward, and Mordane exploded from the chamber like a warhead, slamming into a straggling Alliance trooper mid-sprint, driving him into the ground with a brutal, armored shoulder. The man didn't rise. Mordane didn't look down.

Blaster fire erupted around him as more pods crashed into the surface, vomiting stormtroopers into the ruins with mechanical precision. Sunfyre was fully engaged, laying down suppressive fire, forming spearheads to seize intersections and funnel civilians away from the perimeter. It was fast, brutal work backed by flame, smoke, and the agonized shrieking of a city that had not known peace in decades.

Mordane's boots crunched through broken transparisteel as he moved with purpose toward the Senate. This was where the forward operating base would be raised. Command shelters, weapon emplacements, rally points, all of it. This would be the knife driven into the gut of the city.

And beyond it—the Jedi Temple.

That was the true prize. Not the ghosts in its halls, nor the knowledge they clung to, but the symbolism. To burn the Temple was to burn the myths that the Alliance allegedly stood for: Freedom. Peace. Democracy. Sunfyre would not rest until its spires were reduced to ash and bone.

Mordane paused, watching a flight of TIE Reapers scream overhead as they dropped payloads of auxiliary forces into the blast zones. His HUD scrolled with sitreps, damage assessments, and casualty readouts. None of it slowed him.

Regardless of the casualties, in spite of the resistance, when the smoke cleared, only the Empire would remain.

 

[Ren]

​

He fell two stories from an airspeeder.

His robes flapped out around him. The wind tore at his fur. The dome of the senate building raced up to meet him. Jedi Knight Renard Fenn immersed himself in the Force. He closed his eyes. Gravity twisted. His feet struck the dome first and he rolled, small form tumbling to spill out his momentum. He came up standing, his lightshoto in one hand.

The diminutive Amaran stood atop the dome of the Senate building - which had been abandoned for some time now. The shadows reported that there were significant cultists setting up inside the building.

Ren refused to call them imperials. What empire? They were a rump state of disaffected remnants, angry at the loss of what had once been. In the name of their anger they now torched cities indiscriminately, executing kill orders across their sectors of space in a mad quest for vengeance.

I don't know how to help them, how to save them, how to redeem them. People so poisoned by hatred that it penetrated the very essence of their being, while they steeped their bodies in blood.

So instead, the Jedi activated his light shoto and cut a hole in the ceiling of the dome, then dropped inside, following a series of small ventilation shafts.

Down below, he could feel malevolent presences of terrible power. Ren was not the Order's foremost duelist. Not their strongest in the Force.

He was merely a Jedi Knight, sent to stop evil.

Darth Solipsis

​

 

[Prael'rs'akinc]

Objective: 3, Cinders
Location: Coruscant High Orbit
Tags: Open

Commander Prae'lr'sakinc was 10 hours into an 8-hour shift on the bridge of the ANS Void Lance when the alert klaxon rang throughout her task force. Imperial ships were emerging from hyperspace on assault vectors, and this already long day was about to get even longer.

Palming a couple of Simm tablets in one hand, Elrsak slapped the battle alert with the other. As the pitch of the alarm shifted from a general alert to a battle alert, the acidic bite of the rapidly dissolving pills uncomfortably coated her throat.

"All hands to battle stations! All pilots to their fighters! Retrieve and check seals on combat VacSuits and helmets!" She spoke into the intercom before crossing to the bridge locker and starting to don her own.

These corvettes were not like the large cruisers, even a small hull breach would result in a larger percentage of the ship decompressing, and crew losses hit even harder. Once Elrsak had her VacSuit on, she turned to check the seals on another bridge officer's while they, in turn, checked hers. As she returned to her station, the other half of the bridge crew in turn left their stations to suit up, ensuring smooth operation.

Pulling up the tactical display Elrsak saw, with pleasure, that none of her corvette squadron had gotten bloodthirsty and jumped the gun. They had moved into a loose harassment formation, ready not to engage in a battle but sucker punch the Imperial ships and move on quickly. Their X-wings, in the enlarged sixteen fighter squadrons, formed into a larger cloud around the corvettes, they were the real weapons these ships carried. None of them dipped down towards the planet; ground-based squadrons would intercept dropships, they would be engaging in dogfights and dropping munitions on capital ships.

Spoiler: Void Hounds, 900m

Bel Iblis-class Corvette - ANS Void Lance - Undamaged
Captain - Cmd. Prael'rs'akinc
Nova Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)
Aurora Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)

Bel Iblis-class Corvette - ANS Void Dragon - Undamaged
Captain - Lt. Vero Olen (M Human)
Thunderbolt Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)
Hellstorm Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)

Bel Iblis-class Corvette - ANS Void Tracker - Undamaged
Captain - Lt. Kandra Thorne (F Human)
Stormhawk Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)
Viper Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)

Bel Iblis-class Corvette - ANS Void Stalker - Undamaged
Captain - Sr. Lt. Trov Nee'Fray (M Bothan)
Vanguard Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)
Marauder Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)

Bel Iblis-class Corvette - ANS Void Hunter - Undamaged
Captain - Lt. Ronis Daival (M Human)
Wyvern Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)
Cerberus Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)

Bel Iblis-class Corvette - ANS Void Talon - Undamaged
Captain - Lt. Rik Hamne (M Human)
Saber Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)
Dagger Squadron: GAX-75 X-Wing Starfighter (16/16)

 

[Sid Berik]

​

Coruscant – Upper Levels
Drop Pod Deployment – Comm Silence Active
Death Trooper Squad "Vanta Six"
Operatives: , DT-1966 , DT-7747 , DT-1966 l Abraxas Colt


His drop pod was first. Sid was leading the team, the squad of troopers- all who went by their identifiers, save for him. His armor was new, but he wasn't. Sid was a veteran now, a Sergeant to boot. They chose him to lead the mission as a testament to his faith in the Empire-

He was honored by the selection, as much as he was terrified of failure.

His drop pod rattled, sound dampeners preventing his eardrums from exploding both within the pod. The heat was extraordinary, even at this low of atmosphere. Coruscant's atmosphere was dense, heavy, and polluted- the small windows on his pod were immediately dirtied by it. He couldn't see the moment of impact outside, but the distance to coordinates flashing across the small screens inside the pod let him know that he was close-

BOOM!

His pod violently slammed into a structure, skidding along. Flat, a platform. He groaned, finding himself face up at the sky. Or at least, he hoped. Being face-down in this endeavor would be a death sentence. He hit the hydraulic release button, hissing- then his door went flying off, violently. It clattered on the ground, several hundred pounds flung violently through the air. He crawled out, quick and quiet. He grabbed the E-11D, priming it. His HUD was intact, but comms were shot with the atmospheric interference. At least, long-range comms. Short-range comms were up, but they were jumbled- he was picking up too much from the planet. Workers, Alliance, panicked families-

Too much to use effectively.

1966 was at the rendezvous first, as Sid made his way over. The only identifier that Sid was the NCO of the squad was a small red stripe on the back of his helmet. Otherwise, they all matched. He took a deep breath, taking a knee, crouching in an alleyway with 1966. The battle above raged, and Alliance personnel were beginning to move- though, notably, up above them in levels. He couldn't see the other pods from here, though he saw smoke in some places. No confirmation of anyone else but the two of them.

He put two fingers up to his helmet at his eyebrow to 1966, then pointed down.

Get down, stay down, it's just the two of us.

He waited for the rest of the team. Or what've remained.

 

[Balun Dashiell]

HOW LIBERTY DIES | GALACTIC EMPIRE VS GALACTIC ALLIANCE
LOCATION: Coruscant, The Jedi Temple, Main Entrance
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Echo Stone, Lightsaber
NEARBY ALLIES: Jonyna Si , Caltin Vanagor
ENEMIES: Voldran Molf , Rannan Kol , Domaric Mordane

Balun stood not so far away from Jonyna Si and Caltin Vanagor , two other far more experienced Force Users by comparison and those who are still members of the New Jedi Order, unlike himself, who had left at the young age of fifteen. Yet despite how long it had been since he called this Temple home, it was those like Valery Noble that still kept Balun thinking back on the Jedi of Coruscant as his second family. While he had decided that the Jedi lifestyle wasn't the right choice for him at the time, they were still his people, and he would forever be there to fight for them when they were in need.

Having returned to Coruscant under these circumstances so few years after the last devastating attack that he had fought to defend against was sickening. Balun stood off to the side of the entrance to the Jedi temple, within the interior to the left of the wall as he awaited word of the Empire's arrival and instruction from Master Vanagor and Master Si; They were his superiors here, both in rank and this being their home field. His shoulders were already tight with the tension of the coming battle, the stress and the reality of the situation. The brutality of open warfare and the likelihood of death. Younglings dreamed of Jedi of legend, heroes of action, but those stories were a far cry from the true nature of Jedi service in the field of war.

Balun had made sure to tell his father Judah Dashiell before he had departed from Joiol. Judah hadn't been happy, but Balun hadn't the time to stand around and discuss it when he had received the call for assistance. The New Jedi Order had his frequency thanks to his past history as a former Padawan Learner, as well as his connection to Grandmaster Noble. That they had gone to the effort of reaching out to him spoke loudly enough to him to deem it so necessary that he could not deny them. His Son, Kellan Dashiell , remained safe at home with the rest of Balun's family.

The muffled sounds of explosions shook Balun from his thoughts as he turned to glance back towards the entrance, noticing distant blasterfire between quaking charges. From the sounds he was hearing, he could only assume that the Imperial Fleet had started to hit the surrounding area with orbital fire, yet as he leaned out to gain a better look from behind the entrance, Balun realised that what he was hearing was the violent landing of Troop Dropods, slamming into the pavement of the city surface before Imperial Troopers started filing out and opening fire on anything and everything within sight.

"Speech"
'Thought'​

 

[Artam Macek]

WEAKNESS MUST BE PURGED​

Objective: 3, Cinders
Location: Coruscant High Orbit
Tags: Open


In the skies above Coruscant, the shadow of the Empire cast long over the Alliance's light. Dark, foreboding, they did not come with anything but revenge on their minds and in their hearts. Sheer focus, sheer will drove the Imperial war machine. It was not hope. It was not desperation. It was not love.

It was fury. Revenge.

A desire to purge the weakness that had plagued the Deep Core for far too long. The Empire was not malicious in it's actions, it was simple dialectics. The antithesis meeting the thesis. The Alliance propagated itself as the moral authority, as the righteous beam of light and freedom. But freedom, true freedom, Artam knew caused only suffering. True suffering. Infighting. Corruption. Not the betterment of their civilization, no, the betterment of the Senate.

So, the Empire came.

The bigger animal. The antithesis to the Alliance's question.

Artam pulled the throttle forward. Shadow Squadron came through the pitch-blackness of Coruscant's orbit, arriving with the other contingents of Imperial Naval forces. Across his viewport, he saw streaks of light, cruisers engaging, corvettes moving, fighters moving to and fro. He breathed in deeply, his oxygen flowing into his helmet. He clicked on his transponder, switching to the encrypted Shadow Squadron channel.

"Shadow Four, standing by."

 

[Abraxas Colt]

​

Tags: DT-1966 | DT-7747 | Vireth
Objective 2: With Thunderous Applause
Location: Coruscant

​

The fires reflected brilliantly in Commander Colt's visor, like twinkling lights that marked the beginning of the end for the Galactic Alliance. He stood in the cockpit of Inferno Squad's custom CX-902 Dagger, watching through the viewport as their pilot flew them in close over burning buildings toward the Senate District. Their mission was of utmost priority: deploy at the Senate rotunda, infiltrate the heart of Alliance politics, and defend the Emperor's broadcast. A seed of pride welled in Abraxas' chest as the Storm Commando saw the domed roof come into view, slightly obscured by smoke and embers.

"Approaching LZ," the pilot announced. His voice was distorted by static, but Brax could understand him well enough. "Once - kzzzt - deploy, there's no - kzzzt - coming back for you."

The commander nodded. Inferno Squad knew the stakes, knew that the Dagger couldn't provide an exfil if things went south in the Senate building. This was a one-way-stop, all-or-nothing. By now, the planetary defenses were peppering the airspace. Flak shook the exterior of the Dagger as it cut through the air.

"There," Abraxas said, pointing. "Set us down on the eastern landing pad."

Though 'set us down' was far more figurative than literal.

Inferno Squad, suited up in hardened Storm Commando armor, dove from the Dagger's rear-facing cargo bay. Each of them hit the metal surface of the landing pad hard, rolling to minimize the impact and rising to a kneeling position the moment they had their bearings. The commandos fanned out, forming a spearhead with Abraxas in the center. Only two targets entered their line of sight, a pair of Alliance Senate Commandos still in ceremonial robes and mane-like helmets; they were easy work for Inferno, who dispatched them with haste. Twin blaster bolts, emerald green in color, slammed into each of the Senate guards, crumpling them to the ground like ragdolls.

"Targets down."

"Copy," Brax returned.

"Objective?"

"Rendezvous with Vireth before regrouping inside the rotunda," he answered.

 

[Koyi Freetaa]

Objective: 1, King of the Hill
Location: In Front of the Jedi Temple
Tags: [Direct] Open
[Indirect] Voldran Molf / Caltin Vanagor / Jonyna Si / Rannan Kol / Domaric Mordane / Balun Dashiell

Sgt. Koyi Freetaa had been waiting for this, not for the battle that was slowly unfolding around her, but for the chance to prove that she was not the kark-up that her chain of command believed she was after the Maclunkee's incident. It was perhaps this perception that had her and the crew of her GATE-13 walker, MAD STOMP, moving ahead of the supporting units to get on station before anyone else. In the passenger compartment, three squads of Infantry and an Engineer squad were being tossed around as Koyi had ordered her driver to prioritize speed over stability, pushing the walker to its limits.

Koyi kept her eyes, or rather sensors, on the sky. Her walker wasn't equipped with the anti-aircraft gun, just the standard Mass Driver Cannon, but she was anxious to find where the enemy would be putting down and what she'd be up against.

"Driver! Slow us down!" She shouted and kicked the driver in both shoulders, using the ancient signals of armoured commanders tracing back to the earliest armoured vehicles from before comms systems could ensure clear and fluid communication. Koyi had her crew learning these signals by heart in case something ever cut off the radio.

MAD STOMP slowed to its regular combat speed, the crew and passengers no longer being tossed around like a chef was trying to evenly coat them in seasoning. In the back, the infantry that had been grumbling loud enough to be heard over the walker clanking and rattling started to grab their gear and prepare to deploy and take up defensive positions around the front steps of the temple.

Spoiler: MAD STOMP status

GATE-13 Tiger "MAD STOMP" - Undamaged
Sgt. Koyi Freetaa
Crew:
Commander - Unharmed
Driver - Unharmed
Gunner #1 - Unharmed
Gunner #2 - Unharmed
Gunner #3 - Unharmed
Gunner #4 - Unharmed
Gunner #5 - Unharmed
Mortar Operator - Unharmed
Missile Operator - Unharmed
Mechanic/Crew Chief - Unharmed
Medical Droid - Unharmed

GA Infantry Squad 10/10
GA Infantry Squad 10/10
GA Infantry Squad 10/10
GA Combat Engineer Squad 4/4

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Okuma Milogen | OPEN

​

Protocol Obedience:
"Loyalty buried in ash."

ID: SHADOW DIRECTIVE: ASSET-773
Cover Identity: Azure Phoenix
Status: Active
Comm: <<encrypted feed>> | ~~silent protocol enabled~~
Forged / Stolen Credentials: Jasper Kai'el | Nos Voros | Bernard
Objective: Execute hidden directive; ensure breach from within. Maintain cover. Infiltrate & sabotage from within. Leave no trace.
Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant

​

The young Jedi Knight lead another man dressed in Jedi Temple Guard attire through a secret Jedi Shadow passage in to the temple. Under the effects of a rather persuasive, argument he did as he was bidden by the strange man. Lead him to the archives... this should be easy. He shouldn't be here... he should be some where else...

◆ Equipment Loadout

◆ Head & Neck
• Lightveil Circlet
• Iroai Amulate

◆ Outerwear
• Phantom Mist Projector

◆ Arm Equipment
• Right Arm: Saber-Claws Gauntlet
• Left Arm: Saberbreaker Gauntlet

◆ Armor (Integrated)
• Light Armor
• Boots
• Gauntlets
• Mask/Helm

◆ Belt
• FFS Utility Belt

◆ Weapons
• Mysterious Lightsaber
• G.O.O. Gun
• Training Lightsaber
• Utility Knife
• E.G.G.S. x10
• Thermal Detonator (Class-A) x5

◆ Left Hand Accessories
• Compass Ring
• BCA - Solid State Hologram Tool Band

◆ Medical & Consumables
• FSP - Besh (Force Suppression Drug)
• Trauma Spray
• Aspha Serum
• Reanimation Serum Aurek
• Bota M9-A2 (Berries)
• 5 lbs Bag of Thermite
• Vixen's Vault

◆ Companion
• Gidgit

◆ Starships
• Ashwing - Starfighter
• Phantomray Stealth Assault Interceptor
  ↳ Fitted with: Werlaara Stealth Suite