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

[Drystan Creed]

CORUSCANT: JEDI TEMPLE

The shockwave caught Drystan by surprise—both the speed and intensity of it lashing out with brutal force. He brought his arms up in a guard, enough to reduce the impact somewhat, but the wave landed true, fulfilling its intended purpose of launching him to the other end of the hallway, where he slammed into the wall with such force that a massive crater formed at the point of impact.

That hurt.

A quick internal check revealed nothing broken—but his shoulder had been dislocated, either during the launch or on impact.

For most, it would have been a crippling injury. But for Drystan, it was merely a matter of muscle and bone—resetting it with perfect control and without so much as a flinch.

Where did that power boost come from? It didn't feel like it had come from the man himself. Drystan narrowed his eyes, frustration creeping in as something clawed at the back of his mind.

He shook it off. He had been sent flying through these halls—it was only fair to send something back.

Immediately, his left arm shot forward, the blue node on his palm beginning to glow with brilliant intensity. This time, his right hand—now crackling with golden sparks—slammed down onto the forearm of his prosthetic in a vice-like grip.

In martial arts, the term "synthesis" referred to the integration of different styles or techniques to achieve a higher level of fighting—something Drystan had mastered. But this was a different kind of synthesis. One between the Force and technology.

A second later, the hallway lit up.

A brilliant blue beam tore through the corridor—larger this time—accompanied by a storm's worth of golden lightning. It was hot—hot enough to turn his black metal arm red from the heat, hot enough to melt the stone and metal of the corridor into bubbling pools of molten rock as it passed through.

This was the essence of synthesis: to create something greater, grander, and far more devastating than the sum of its parts.

Meliant

 

[Khronas]

NEW JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
Dark Side Elite Armour | Sith Sword

Talon Draven | Voldran Molf | Kaleb Sunwalker | Darth Bellum

Under the onslaught of Dark Side Elite’s attacks, the Force nexus broke open.

Darkness flooded out of the vergence and began to consume the New Jedi Temple. Khronas, still kneeling before the artefact, felt the powerful wave of energy wash over him, temporarily relieving the pain of the plasma burns he had suffered while fighting his way through the temple. No longer contained by Jedi embuements, the powerful corruption seeped into the roots of the temple and began to rise, a boon for all Darksiders fighting their sworn enemies and a sign of the darkness that would soon engulf the profane planet.

Several Jedi had fought their way into the nexus chamber and were engaging his peers in pitched combat. The Siniteen unsheathed his Sith Sword and laid it across his knees, ready for combat, but the Lightsiders appeared more than be accounted for. Instead, Khronas maintained his dark vigil, chanting ur-Kittât scriptures as he meditated. Behind his blinded and bandaged eyes, he saw the threads of time aligning, pointing toward an inevitable outcome - the Sith's conquest of Coruscant.

His studies of the future had been so focused on achieving the mission of breaking open the nexus that he was momentarily unsure how to proceed. Never one to head into the future blindly, Khronas explored the branching pathways of his destiny. The Sith’s failure to capture Coruscant a year prior had been redeemed. With the nexus corrupted, the Senate in the hands of the Sith’ari Darth Solipsis , and the Alliance civilian fleet being massacred above, surely the hand of fate could not steer the battle in favour of the Jedi.

However.

A seed of doubt had been planted by Klar , the Jedi who had eluded his precognitions and almost struck him down. None of Khronas’ careful planning, none of his premonitions of victory, had shown him the young Padawan and their heated battle. Was it a fluke, a statistical improbability made manifest, or a sign of a deeper failing, a sign that his worship of time had not earned him good graces with his one true master?

This would require further study. Khronas dived deeper into his meditations, swimming through the dark currents of the Force nexus as Sith and Jedi fought around him.

Soon, he would know the future.

Soon, the fate of the galaxy would become clear.

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings, Seer Stone, Wayfinder's Flare, Engagement Ring
Tag: Rikuan Rann Thress

Eve had barely caught her breath when a voice called out.

"Head's up, Angel Lady!"

She looked up just in time to see Rikuan soaring through the air, scrap metal whirling behind him in a cyclone of kinetic force. The impact that followed was thunderous, a burst of shrapnel and sparks ripping through the next line of Dark Troopers. Eve blinked once, then let out a small, breathless laugh through the smoke. For a moment, the war outside fell away, replaced by something lighter.

"Show-offs," she murmured with a glint of dry humour, eye flicking between the two as they regrouped nearby.

The lull was brief, just long enough to feel the cost. Ash and smoke hung in the temple air, catching on the vines curling through broken stone and shattered glass. Eve’s chest rose and fell in rhythm with the Force, her blade still lit at her side, its hum steady as breath.

Then she felt it. A ripple, faint and frightened. Her eye snapped toward the stairwell just ahead. Beneath its broad, arched base — half-shielded by fallen marble — a boy peeked out. His wide eyes locked onto hers, and he lifted a trembling hand, waving silently.

Eve's heart clenched. She lowered her lightsaber slightly and strode across the debris. Blaster fire echoed in the far halls, but for now, this corner of the Temple had gone still. As she reached him, the boy scrambled out from under the stair, voice hushed and urgent.

"P-Padawan Vale, it's the others. They're— they're hiding upstairs. In the m-meditation chamber. Isola... We got separated... we couldn't find her—"

A bolt seared toward them from across the hall. Eve spun and deflected it cleanly, the strike snapping her back into motion. She turned back to the boy, expression resolute as she knelt to place a hand in his shoulder.

"Show me. We'll get them out. I promise."

She offered her hand, helping him to his feet. With a sharp glance over her shoulder, she raised her voice just enough for Rann and Rikuan to hear.

"On me. We’ve got younglings pinned upstairs."

Then she turned, tunic catching the breeze as she followed the boy up the stairs, lightsaber still drawn, every step guided by the Force.

 

[Katherine Holt]

Objective 2: Stop the Empire
Location: Senate Rotunda, Outside Data Core
Gear: Armour, Physical Crossguard Lightsaber
Tags: (Direct) - Ellayina L'lerim | Closed
(Indirect) - Ran Serys | Ren | Darth Solipsis | Shannic Wulf | Sahar
​

The redhead gritted her teeth at Ella’s words. She wanted to yell; to shout at her that she was wrong. But Katherine knew it would only go to prove her right. There was a part of Katherine that knew the blonde was something some truth, or at least something that she genuinely believed in. But Katherin didn’t want to listen.

“You’re conveniently forgetting a part of that. Intent.” Katherine replied, trying to keep her tone even but it came across as a bit ‘snappy’. “Yes, she’s using the Nexus; which yes is of the Dark Side. But it’s how, and why she’s using it. To give hope to those who are fearing for their lives, strengthening those of us that are here to defend. Not like you and your masters, who’d use it to destroy and oppress!”

Katherine rolled her eyes at Ella’s comment about presumption of innocence. In her eyes, there was nothing at all innocent about her opponent.

It brought a small measure of satisfaction, seeing the blonde having difficulty putting weight on her now injured leg. But it was quickly forgotten as the oppressive combined presence of Solipsis and Prowler washed over them again. Katherine held fast, but she could feel the weight of it pushing her down, trying to get her to give up.

Moments later however, she felt the Light overwhelm the Dark and settled over her shoulders again. It was Valery again, but this time Katherine could feel another presence assisting her. It was familiar, it was…

Master Vanagor…

He was gone.

The towering Jedi had always been a warm and welcoming presence whenever they had spoken, rare as it had been. Very knowledgeable and open to answer Padawans’ questions. Just as she had been once upon a time.

He was a resolute shield of the Light.

The rageful haze that had fallen over the redhead, began to dissipate…

Katherine closed her eyes, half paying attention to what Ellayina was shouting. She focused on the Light, on both Valery and Caitlin. But not just the fallen Master, but of the memories of those that had held him up until the very end.

The winged Jedi raised her free arm up, calling the Force to her in the same motion. With her free left palm open, she directed it out towards Ella in a powerful Force Push. Intent on hurtling the blonde flying backwards, right up until her back hit the far wall of the data core room.

“All this talk, and yet here you are serving Masters who are literally corrupting themselves with how they use the Force. You might think you’re striving for something different, trying to learn the Force in ways they aren’t. But they’ll discard you all the same. Sith thrive off toppling one another, what do you think they’ll do to someone even lower on the food chain?”

Katherine walked into the room, hand still raised ready to knock Ella back if she tried to stand back up. Lightsaber still ignited, gripped in her right hand, the redhead glanced around the room. Just then the commlink in her helmet crackled to life.

[Mayday, mayday! We’re in need of assistance. Enemy forces are bearing down on our location. We have civvies trying to reach transports. I repeat…]

The last of the rageful haze finally lifted.

Without missing a beat, Katherine threw her lightsaber out into arc, its yellow blade carving through terminals and consoles in a violent spray of sparks. If Ella was going to still try and steal information now, well…Katherine had just made it that more difficult.

She spared one last look at Ella, before lowering her hand. “Til we next cross paths, L’lerim.” Katherine had no doubt this wouldn’t be the last time.

The armoured Jedi turned on her heels and marched out the door, breaking into a sprint as she headed towards the Senate Rotunda's main entrance. Intent on heading towards the GADF and civilians that were in trouble.

 

[Meliant]

New Jedi Temple - Coruscant​

Objective: Survive Drystan Creed!

​

Meliant stood, haggard and slouched, and watched Creed reset his arm. Even from here, Meliant heard the grotesque pop of bone returning to socket. Incredible. Was this the truth of the matter? That the power of the Force was meek in the face of a panoply of armor and cybernetics? That would mean Meliant had been wrong: wrong to shuffle off his mortal coil, wrong to forsake everything for the transcendent purity of his unliving state.​

​

No, that couldn't be the case... And yet... He felt something heavy coiling within the pit that once held his stomach. Doubt.​

​

Feeble and irresolute, Meliant heard his master's voice. It cut through the din of battle and the miasma of the Dark Side Elite's amassed rituals, rang around in his empty helmet like a chime.​

​

Had it all been for nothing?​

​

He sensed the Force welling up where Creed had landed. Something new and different, as it always was with the former-kaggath hopeful. Another blue beam tore through the air, coursing now with golden lightning. Power. More power. It was all the same, wasn't it? Energy bouncing around. The beam arced right for his head. Meliant held up an open palm and the beam crashed into that instead.​

​

Its progress came to a near-halt as it struck his hand. Glowing-blue cracks ruptured along his arm as it slowly continued, intermingled with little golden lightning arcs. He took the power - all of it - and made it his own, fed on it like everything else. Drained it to the last atom.​

​

The beam fizzled out, and Meliant dropped to his knees and then his hands. More cracks and fissures lined his armor, still glowing, still occasionally sputtering out a stray arc of lightning. The black steam was rising out again. Couldn't hold it all. Couldn't keep it together. Too much.​

​

But there was still one move left to make.​

​

A secret technique, long forbidden by his former order on pain of gruesome death. But Meliant had cast aside those bonds, those restrictions. Now he was free to use it as he saw fit. And so he did.​

​

Meliant grabbed both his lightsabers off the ground and - with stumbling start - fled as fast as he could.​

Zaavik Perl Tayiji Drystan Creed Allyson Locke​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Engaging: Voldran Molf​

"Look, and you’ll understand why…"

Cora would look.

Not because he'd told her to. Not because she wanted to peer into the soul of the man who'd unleashed a wellspring of violent energy through the temple.

Voldran's blade would sever the vines binding his leg – they were, after all, only plants. There was nothing particularly hardy about the flora that crawled through the temple, but they served as a poignant reminder that life and Light side of the Force were intertwined.

Cora drew her blade and surged forward, swinging her saber down upon Voldran in an overhead arc. The blur of bright blue plasma came to a halt against Shadow Lord's sword. Deadlocked.

The Jedi's lightsaber hissed against metal as she pressed forward. There was nowhere else to look but head on, into the grim face of a young man who wore his sorrow like purpose. Blue sparks from their clash leapt in the reflection of red eyes. Little beads of crimson trickled from Cora's forehead, momentarily obscuring her vision, and then she saw.

A pallid complexion dipped in ink. Snowy white hair black as night. The only feature unchanged were his eyes – irises as red as the poppies grown over the body of Caltin Vanagor . The longer she stared, the hazier his form became, like a specter that was caught between one plane and another, never quite belonging to either. Tiny etchings surfaced from the fog, unreadable at first, and she was slow to recognize their shape.

When she did, she gasped. A small, hollow sound from the back of her throat.

Sith runes, stamped upon his soul like a brand, wrought by some terrible misfortune. Some stepped into the Dark willingly, but others still were pushed and dragged and all but forced to thrive on their anger and sorrow if they wanted to live.

That was what she saw – familiarity. She saw a man who'd been abused by those who were supposed to protect him, much like she had been. She saw someone who was fighting against a shackle that sought to close itself around his heart.

Cora's saber continued to press against the blade, and she spoke from between gritted teeth; "Did someone force you to do this? What would happen if you refused?"

 

[Zantra]

Post #6
| Location | Galactic City Spaceport
| Objective | #1
| Allies | GE/DSE
| Tags | Tansu Treicolt & Talsin Lota

Zantra pivoted, sabers in motion -- cables snapping wildly behind her like metallic whips, she was focused on keeping Talsin at bay with violent frantic precision; she had to think through each action in order to apply her defense.

Then -- The angle she didn’t see...

Tansu’s strike landed in a wide, arcing sweep, it was a raw blow with a purpose. It carved across Zantra’s back, just above the shoulder. Synthskin burst open in a hiss of sparks and black-ish fluid, slicing into the top part of one of the recessed servo-ports.

Her left cable stuttered mid-extension, convulsed and then jammed. Locked at its current length; she could retract or extend that one.

Zantra shrieked in pain, stumbling sloppily forward from the hit, posture broken. She thought to twist her body in response -- but it was too late.

Tansu drove forward, tackling her with all the force she had left, like there hadn't even been a break in combat.

They collided hard and plunged through the ruptured hull breach, am opening in the hangar’s skin torn open by the violence of this chaotic scene.

Outside, the world was also chaos. The exterior landing platform stretched wide beneath a fractured dome of flickering shield fields. Wind suddenly whirled in through the breach. The deck was seemingly heat-warped, slanted, and half the safety rails had been melted down to jagged nubs, or something similar.

Tansu hit first, shoulder-first, and skidded across the surface in a painful drag -- Zantra could hear it, despite being occupied with her own flailing body.

She slammed down next, hard, rolling uncontrollably. Sparks trailed in her wake. The jammed cable snagged against the edge of the platform, or tried. With a final jerk, she tumbled over the ledge completely. The cityscape of Coruscant below opening wide below her, the silhouette of skyscrapers and smoke, creating a maw of darkness...

Gone.

Seconds, they seemed like hours...Tansu had been somewhere recovering.

While she slammed the debris down to cut off Talsin’s shape, making him vanish behind it completely...

The entire platform trembled beneath the sudden shift. Groaning. Shaking.

A beat.

For a moment... silence.

Then…

A snap-hiss behind her.

Cables lashed upward, latching onto the edge like a desperate hook, one had been jammed and seemed shorter than the other, but they still worked in tandem. From the shadows of the smoke-choked cityscape below, Zantra rose, pulled up by her own body, by the weaponized thing she’d become. The servo on her back sparked violently, whirring and grinding as it levitated her to the top of the ledge, where she hung for a beat, suspended by ferro arms, her layered robes shredded, back scorched, eyes molten...and full of intensity.

Tansu’s stance widened, one hand bracing against the vibrating deck. Her breath ragged, her saber glowing in her palm like a promise...she was going to will herself through this regardless.

"You can't have him," she spat. "He's mine."

Her cables flung her onto the platform. She landed hard, but upright, her sabers igniting mid-fall as the snatched themselves into her orbit telekinetically, humming against the crackle of fire. Her limbs shifted smoothly back into motion, but there was evidence of pain. She was more irritated that it had gotten this far.

Zantra moved, her cable-arms trailing behind her like serpents, extensions of her intent. They cracked forward. The second cable moved independently, catching corners and rail stubs, letting her slingshot across the deck towards Tansu, like an enraged spider. Her silhouette blurred as she flipped overhead, saber trailing behind her mid-spin, and her free blade, being controlled, darted toward Tansu with inhuman precision, to draw her attention to the left, as Zantra slung her way down behind Tansu from her overhead flip, landing in a crouched position. She propelled herself up, following up with her second saber, telekinetically slashing for her neck from behind, using the momentum of her pounce to add weight to the wide arc.

She moved like a dark whirlwind. Because beneath it, or somewhere far, the dark side amplified.

Somewhere behind her, the Jedi Temple had started to further rot out from the inside. The dark nexus awakened; her dark allies were twisting the Force across the city.

And she felt it. It surged through her veins, and amplified her irritation. Her saber strikes blurred. Her voice deepened with shadow. She didn’t want to prolong this, especially because she didn't care for the girl, her target was Talsin.

But Tansu…was still here. She'd have to be the target of her fury.

This fight had become too much of a distraction; it spun too wide. This wasn’t the plan. Her body screamed beneath the strain, the damaged servo sparked again, sending a jolt up her spine -- but she forced it down. For the next thirty seconds or so they'd both have fight more beautifully than they had this whole confrontation to come to a conclusion, lest they both fall with the slanting platform.

She'd seen how scrappy Tansu was so far, she refused to underestimate her being able to counter, so she lashed out with her jammed cable, which could only go so many feet now, to follow their close quarter bout, it whiplashed for the Jedi to force her toward the more uneven, slanted portion of the platform.



----

Spoiler: Storyline Themes

Synopsis: War erupts across Coruscant, and a secret assassin closes in — but some destinies are always just out of reach.
Backdrop: A 'How Liberty Dies | GE Invasion of GA held Coruscant Super Hex' Story

• Identity being erased or rewritten under pressure
• Being "seen" or "acknowledged" in a world of deniable assets
• Duality of pursuit: emotional distance vs physical chase
• Ghosts of past orders (Jedi, nobility) vs instruments of a new regime

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Sid Berik DT-1966 DT-7747 Abraxas Colt Veno

The lift shaft groaned beneath him as he ascended the final stretch. One more level to go... Just one more....

The Control Spire's uplink relay chamber was exactly as the forgotten schematics promised as it stood octagonal, ringed with dead consoles, its central pylon still humming faintly with rerouted energy. Dust coated everything. If this place had been touched by Imperial hands, it hadn't been recently.

Braze exhaled hard, slamming the heel of his boot into the rust-welded access panel. It popped free with a screech, exposing the tangled mess of coolant tubes and bypass circuits beneath. Ancient Republic tech, retrofitted with back-alley slicer scrap. He'd seen cleaner guts in a Tattooine junkyard. Still, it would have to do.

His fingers worked at cutting into bundles of insulated wire, hard-splicing the relay into feedback, rerouting the shield signal through a diagnostic loop. The code was old, but it spoke the same language as the Force. Patterns with in the currents. Break the rhythm, and you broke the system.

Warning lights flickered red as the system protested his intrusion. A klaxon stuttered somewhere deep in the tower overhead. Braze twisted the final relay node, drove his palm flat against the exposed core, and pushed.

​

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Ession, Gulag Era.


(Battle of The Heroes intensifies)

Nathan attacked Alja Rippen relentlessly, systematically, and only Alja's greater experience with her own style kept him from cutting her down with his, a rough but well put together mix of Form One and Form Three. He attacked quickly and chaotically and she found herself being pushed back through the burning temple.

Nathan was wasn't mad, she realized. To him, this really WAS just the appropriate response to everything he had experienced today.

Alja felt a pang of regret. She knew Nathan would try to kill her as long as she drew breath. But what choice did she have. She had tried to end the fight before it started. Had hoped the Bloodscrawls would see reason.

Alja had been beyond disappointed when they had not surrendered.

And the wrongness of someone like Nathan going after her stung.

The pair fought through collapsing debris as the army outside shelled the outer battlements. But Nathan kept a laser focus on killing her It took genuine physical efforts on her part to slap aside his blows.

But Alja was not about to lose to a Padawan, however skilled.

So she started fighting back.

Her counter attacks were swift and rushing, and Nathan was suddenly put right back on the defensive her slashed and spins keeping him on the back foot constantly, driving him into one of the Castle Gardens, crumbling under the assault. More troops stormed the building, but the security forces were worth every bit the money they were paid and their natural loyalty. Nathan would look back on them as the unsung heroes of the battle, turning the castle choke points into a meat grinder for invading Essonian troops as long as possible.

But for him...

...he was simply bound by family loyalty to kill Rippen.

...and he was losing now.

He knew he should be running, trying to flee instead of fighting. But he couldn't. Not until Rippen died.

Even if it meant he would die too...

Alja pushed him back with heavy yet elegant, clean swipes, giving him no opening. It was a testament to his Soresu that she couldn't yet find an opening but that would not stay true forever. He was talented, but inexperienced.

"You have no chance, Bloodscrawl..." Alja warned getting him into a blade lock with one hand and superior reach and height over him, blue grinding against pink plasma.

Out of the corner of Nathan's eye, he caught sight of his grandfather going out to meet Elaine as she directed the invading forces. He walked calmly to her, even as she cut down another member of his family who attacked her

Alja took advantage of Nathan's momentary distraction, winning the blade lock and managing to slightly scorch his robes.

"Your family is lost, dying for nothing. All because they think they and only they are suited to protecting something so immense, deciding behind the backs of their peers what is best for them. As if we are not fit to decide our own fate...as if we are supposed to leave it to the mercy of 'your' family's wisdom." Alja snapped.

She attacked him again and this time he barely fended her off, improvising by punching her right in the face were he had inflicted her still fresh lightsaber scar. She immediately attacked him again, but he used his Soresu training, dodged left and elegantly spun his brother's blade in a one handed motion.

Alja screamed in pain as he inflicted a lightsaber scar on the other side of her face.

She stumbled back. Nathan didn't hesitate and leapt for the killing strike, aiming to behead her.

She managed to block his strike one handed but he started rapidly bashing his blade against her, taking advantage of the obvious pain she was in to drive her to one knee while he kept hammering his blade against hers.

"We will die to prevent that weapon from falling into your hands! No one can control it! Not the Graysons, not Tear, and certainly none of the rest of the Ashlans!" Nathan snapped.

"Do you know the level of arrogance that takes?! The unbridled gall?! And you can wonder why our reaction is so excessive from your point of view?!" Alja demanded, as she deflected his blows, half blind from pain.

She finally managed to roll out of the way of his next slash, shocked as he managed to parry her slice for his knees, brutally kicking her in the jaw and almost dislocating it from the strength of the impact.

She rebounded and rose just in time to parry a stab for her face. Nathan struck only to kill. He had immense strength, shockingly high levels of stamina and the slightest mistake had put her once more on the back foot. Worse, Nathan was learning rapidly from their exchange. He was starting to anticipate the angles of her strikes, now either dodging or parrying.

When her next slice came for his wrist, he parried it in exactly the way she would have and counter attacked with a crude, lesser version of a Makashi slice that was nonetheless accurate enough to almost take her head off, and she only barely dodged the slice, holding the blade in a Fool's Guard to create some room.

Nathan watched, eyes narrowed, pulling his blade into an Ataru ready.

His eyes pulled back to that window, guarding. His gaze drew to the window where he had seen his grandfather.

He saw him in the far distance talking to an absolutely still Elaine, gesturing angrily. Evidently, the time for talk was past for his grandfather drew his lightsaber and Elaine drew hers.

The exchange was very brief.

Elaine beheaded Nathan's grandfather in three blows.

He turned to her.

"You Ashlans are no Jedi. You Ashlans aren't anything!" Nathan snapped. "You're nothing but tyrannical frauds!"

"The Bloodscrawls are selfish subversives who think they know best for everyone else!" Alja cried back. "Look what that behavior has gotten your family!"

"Everything we have ever done has been to safeguard the Jedi! If that means protecting you from yourselves, than that's what we do..." Nathan replied coldly. "You're the ones who gathered an army! You're the ones who sought to impose your will on something you can't understand and will never control. You're no different from the same type of Jedi that caused the Galaxy to turn against the Order during the Clone Wars. You, The Graysons--you'll always shoot yourselves in the foot in the end and make enemies out of people who didn't want to be...LIKE YOU HAVE TODAY!!!"

He teleported behind her for a stab for her spine. Alja barely parried it, Nathan's Form 1 hammer blows targeting every zone on her body with such speed and such randomness that it took every ounce and decades of experience at Makashi to fend off his attacks. But she could counter attacks also, and even as he drove her back through the greenhouse, their spinning blades cutting through rare plants, her counter attacks gradually began to interrupt his aggressive sequences more and more and she began to dance around her foe, forcing him to block whe he wanted to strike, forcing him to dodge when he wanted to lunge.

Part of the ceiling came down and forced them both apart for only a moment before he was trying to cut her in half again. Their blades locked once more.

Nathan snapped his head forward and headbutted her, making her stumble back and parry the stab for her heart on instinct before their blades locked.

Alja got desperate.

The very same click wave move Thomas Barran would fail at centuries later, Alja would succeed at here, due to Nathan's inexperience.

He was flung hard into a wall, his brother's lightsaber tumbling free from his hands. She strode over to him, cutting his brother's lightsaber in half...

"It's not too late, Nathan. Help me put an end to the fighting." She said, telekinetically lifting him to face her.

Nathan's response was to spit in her ruined face.

She hurled into the wall to stun him again.

"I gave you every chance, Nathan. I want you to know that. Everything that happens from this point forward is on you. You will never be a Jedi now..."

She Force pulled his temple guard lightsaber from his belt back to her hand.

"You don't deserve this anymore..." she said firmly, confidently. "You'll be lucky if life with hard labor in Essonia's dungeons is all you get...I myself will advocate you receive the harshest punishment possible, Bloodscrawl..."

Nathan only spat in her face again. This earned him another telekinetic slam against the wall.

Just then another Essonian about his age burst into the greenhouse...

"Master! They're butchering us! The infantry and the commandos have already been driven back three times!" a sand skinned and dark-haired young man exclaimed. He stopped when he saw how Nathan had disfigured once beautiful looks.

"Master--?!"

"Nathan has refused to surrender. Perhaps if his father realizes we have his only surviving child he will call off this mad endeavor of his. Take him, Demici." she said to Tiberius Demici, a very distant ancestor of Pietro Demici and Cesare Demici , who was also her Padawan...

Nathan gave roar and teleported to her side, the green saber of Demici activating as he brutally yanked his temple guard lightsaber out of her hand before kicking Alja into a rack of pottery.

"Surrender, Heretic!" Tiberius commanded, as Alja rose and stood by his side.

"Surrender? To an Ashlan?" Nathan spat bitterly.

"I would rather die screaming..."

"We are more than happy to grant your wish!" Tiberius yelled, charging ahead of his master.

"No, Tiberius, NO!" Alja yelled.

Nathan held out his hand and a small rope of green Electric Judgement slammed right into Tiberius. Due to being generated by the Light Side, wasn't capable of causing pain or killing anyone unless the target was a Dark Side User.

But it was still powerful enough to stun Tiberius and knock him out cold.

Alja stared at Nathan in pure surprise...

Nathan activated the yellow blades.

"Indeed, you are powerful, Nathan..." Alja whispered.

"You look like someone beat you with the Essonian Stick of Ugly..." Nathan spat, going into a Soresu ready.

"Let's go..."

Alja Force Jumped for him and Nathan allowed himself to be driven backwards, content only to block.

He could feel it. She was genuinely angry.

Though he knew it to be fundamentally dishonorable, he would try to make her angrier. Because he knew full well he wouldn't be able to beat her if she kept a cool head.

And besides, she had transgressed against him in such a fundamentally callous and dishonorable way that Nathan was of the opinion at this point that the Jedi Code had no authority in his response to that...

When someone breaks the rules like Alja did, your only response was to treat the rules like suggestions that you were free to ignore...

Nathan calmly parried her slices and stabs, going into the circle of protection like his Father had taught him...and letting himself be driven in deeper to the slowly being destroyed Castle...



Present...

Nathan stood back still in the Ataru like Ready Stance as The Bloodhound questioned who he was.

Nathan didn't respond. He advanced, slowly. The more he took up Barran's time, the more he clearly enjoyed the duel, the greater a position Nathan was in to screw him over, as well as this ship.

The ship boarders he had brought with him had a good chance of success, but Nathan had prepared more than one means of success.

He had studied the Bloodhound before daring to come aboard. A cunning commander, and a daring, skilled duelist.

But Nathan had found a flaw, just as surely as Thomas would find some of his during this encounter.

Thomas enjoyed his fights way too much for his own good.

Whereas Nathan was clinical and focused on the larger goal of a given conflict. Thomas likely didn't realize he was in a custom Jedi Trap of Nathan's own making.

That by answering Nathan's challenge at all, Thomas had opened the doors to jeopardizing the safety of the Sepulchre itself in this indulgence of his...

Nathan's silence did give a sort of answer though as he slowly carefully closed the distance on Thomas.

The answer was this: He was someone that didn't seek glory, and wasn't in it for anything else but to win it.

But most importantly...

He was someone who didn't wish to be identified.

Nathan listened to the Force, deciding to obey it in this important matter. His blade dipped forward a centimeter towards Thomas.

When the Force told him finally, to strike, that was when he struck in a heavy power slash aimed for his face, using Force Valor to make his blows have even more kinetic force to their already tremendous strength as well as the extreme level of speed.

It was deflected but he kept obeying the Force, heavy power slashes and chops in the strong style crashing like meteors against Thomas's blade defense, each strike designed to sabotage Makashi 's defensive angles and parries. Strong Style did not look as elegant as Djem So...it's blows and techniques were far more crude in their delivery, wide and with heavy reach, lacking sophistication beyond serving the purpose of an effective means of attack.

But make no mistake... Nathan was a master of Strong Style as taught by Jax Thio .

And in the hands of a Master...

Strong Style might very well be deadlier than even Djem So. Every Zone on Thomas's body was under threat. Nathan was trying to go for a Mou Kei (The infliction of cutting off multiple limbs from an opponent) totally focused on killing Thomas, the speed with which the blows were delivered resembled a melee version of something akin to machine gun fire

Meanwhile...

The sounds of blaster fire slowly drew closer to the bridge, the screams of the dying outside heralded the arrival of the biots, who had crushed all opposition thus far.

Moira knew the score. Knew it very well. They were to try to take the bridge if at all possible...

...but if they could not...

Then at least they would be able to distract the Maw Warriors and the rest of the crew from the absolutely fethed up plan Nathan had in store for the flagship of Darth Solipsis .

The door the the bridge was blasted inward by multiple proton charges, sending shrapnel flying everywhere into the Bridge as the Biots, led by Moira, immediately opened fire with their blasters, not just bent on killing bridge staff and defenders, but on doing as much damage to the bridge as possible...

Meanwhile, the two Antony-Class Battlecruisers, ancient but powerful relics being piloted mainly by primitive Droids so that Nathan would not lose too many organic personnel, with only a token force of Clone Defenders for boarding attempts, drew ever closer to the vessel, under heavy fire.

But they, even they, were not the true threat.


Gym Halpern

Valery Noble

Vera Noble

Braze

Corazona von Ascania

Katherine Holt

Zark San Tekka

Ko Vuto

Ran Serys

Alicio Organa

 

[Veno]

Their roles had been divided into the defenders and the detonator, or rather the one that finished the mission. It made him out to be something of a coward, in that Veno was quick to accept the role that would leave others to die on his behalf. Some were just believers, and believers died for the cause. He wondered if those aptly named troopers were dead yet, having left them to hold that narrow kill zone. Defendable, absolutely, but not forever.

In an odd twist of fate, their mission was not even required in order to disable the planetary shield. A Jedi, a rogue Jedi, or of some other nature, had entered with the intent to disable the shield on their own. If Veno ever saw them in there, he would have assumed them to be some kind of hostile intervention. This was their planet, after all. But, Veno had since left the spire with the explosives planted at the key structural points of the tower. He made it to a safe distance.

Had there been much of a point in informing the death troopers? Maybe, and someone with a kinder heart, or heart at all, might have made an effort to notify the soldiers of the incoming explosion. Veno simply assumed they were dead and thought it a wasted effort.

On a stolen swoop with its engine still whirring and warm, Veno looked over at the spire with his detonator in hand. Regardless of who was in it or around it, when he pressed down on the detonator it exploded and began to crumble. And with it, the planetary shield fell away.

Sid Berik - DT-1966 - DT-7747 - Abraxas Colt - Braze

 

[Taam Moghul]

Equpment: Kta Dom Lya, Lightsaber, Cathar Armored Jacket, Cracken Survival Kit, Jedi Utility Belt

Tag: Wymar

From atop the fallen, scorched scout walker, Taam's amber gaze swept the scene. He gripped the greatsword in his powerful hand, the heavy blade like a an anchor to which he held as the world around him heaved and burned with savage conflict. He watched as imperial forces surged past, colliding with the desperate GADF defenders along, and now within, the Temple.

Then his gaze fell to his foe. The imperial knight lay amid the debris that had been caught in Taam's explosive Force push. though clearly battered and weary, the armored warrior didn't remain sprawled out, like so many dead around him. He climbed to his feet, the jedi knight's lightsaber still in his armored grip. Taam scowled and grunted as he watched. It was clear he had dealt the enemy champion a hard blow, but what burned within that man would not allow him to quit. Taam saw the imperial slowly straighten himself, hthe jedi light saber ignited in his hand to taunt it's owner.

But the Force knight didn't make his way back to battle Taam. Instead, Taam watched as the imperial turned and surged through his own men to the front line, engaging in the larger conflict as he hammered against Alliance defenses. Taam roared. Their duel was not a microcosm of the greater conflict after all. It was tactical, each knight attempting to affect the efficacy of their allied troops. Each seemed to determine that that particular tactical moment had passed. Taam has become separate from his forces, and the imperial knight had gone to join his own.

A sudden sound erupted in the Cathar's head, a scream in the Force, dark and cruel. He winced, dropping him to a knee. The partially healed lightsaber wound pounded painfully at his side, as if prodded by a tormentor. Out there, greater forces were in a batter within the flow of the Force. But relief came again in a boost from Valery Noble, a few words spoken through the Force that revived so many beluegered combatants.

"Hold to the light. You are not alone."

The battered imperial knight had taken an Alliance position. Across the ranks of imperial troopers between them, The blue-eyed warrior turned to taunt the Cathar once more. But the leoline jedi no longer stood atop the broken walker.

Taam and leaped down from atop the AT-ST. A rear guard of stormtroopers had targeted him. The big Cathar deflected thier barrage of blaster bolts with the songsteel sword, and then leapt behind the burnt walker. Gathering his will again, the Force alive and coursing through him, through the armor, through the sword. Again it was expelled with savage force against the walker. The hulking wreck shot forward, skidding across the pavement, ramping over debris, until it overcame the rearward stormtroopers, crushing many, flinging others. Taam continued to feed the momentum of the Force push, his legs like tree trunks, feet planted in broken concrete, his arm extended, hand splayed, claws extended.

When the giant, boxy missile came to rest well within the ranks of the enemy, Taam darted off at an flanking angle, avoiding another barrage of fire as a blur of movement too fast to target. Finding a thinly manned wedge in the enemy assault, Taam again charged into the fray from behind them, the heavy Force-imbued blade cleaving through troopers like a farmer's scythe, bursts of the Force clearing a path as bodies were flung from his path, until he was able to reach another Alliance position.

 

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Friend: Ibaris Varanin Darth Solipsis
Foe: Nathan Bloodscrawl Caltin Vanagor

HOW LIBERTY DIES - PART EIGHT

​

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

'You hinder yourself in silence, Jedi.'
​

Although the fighting spirit of the Jedi's Strong Style iteration was a worthy test, the test to strength and endurance alike was beginning to lose it's lustre, making the Khan yearn, once more, to face a higher-echelon of power, and to an entirely new extreme. Even playing to close-cut counters for opportunities to plant pyschological seeds, the Bloodhound couldn't help but chuckle with murderous whimsy, but calmed his mirth enough that he prefaced,'Ask yourself this, whether now or later, doesn't matter much.... But here goes-', trailing off in renewed efforts to focus on the fight at hand.

The masked knight was utilising the constant attack-momentum of Skywalker's famed Strong Style, and utilising it well enough that the one-eyed Woad could feel that urge to unsheathe the Promise once and for all, to meet that strength of pressure with a strength of his own. But practice was appreciated, experience against the strongest, and on the adversary's preferred echelon of power at that, all such means were coveted with the goal of breaking through every ceiling. Seeing for himself that there was more to this foe, feeling the impact of every ultramarine strike against the surface of his autumn, it was then that Thomas realised he had found the closest thing to a perfect opponent, though only hope could foresee a future that allowed them to fight again.

'In his hour of need, would an archer remove a bodkin from his quiver?'

​

Meeting Strong Style in the middle with offence of his own, the sudden push of strength would bounce the Jedi's blue to one side, providing a rare window of opportunity for the Khan in this moment, another of the wild gambles on which the one-eyed Woad was ever willing to wager. Much akin to the attack that nearly sliced his face in two, the Bloodhound began to see that both instances of the same attack were the efforts of betting men, giving himself all the more reason to shoulder-check the Jedi, following up then with an upward-slashing expression of an adversary's appreciative rendition. But just as Barran was able to evade the original, so too would the knight escape the close imitation - just in time for the ship to start pulsating from one side.

The broadside barrages had begun, and just like clockwork, the battle for Coruscant would begin to fizzle out with explosive fanfare after this, marking the first retreating shots of the last phase with intent to leave the last of the planetary assault's largest scars that day. However, this would not be received well by the Bloodhound, for any semblance of relief was unwelcome on highs of excitement, prompting a growled,'I hate t'say it, but that's yer cue t'head back... But first, afore ya go, here's my case against silence in battle - INCANTATION!!!!', before thinking to engage again with his lightsabre.

For he had switched it off, leaving it's ultramarine counterpart alone in the dark - though only for a moment.

'AaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAATH-BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEITH!!!!'
​

As the glowing orange hue burst the room into light, and with an impacting, thunderous, rattling clash against their durasteel-covered surroundings, wide-reaching flashes of orange lightning would give the Bloodhound's position away, conventiently just too far away to act without approach. Expressing his proficiency at higher echelons like a cannon shot in the process, the Khan had just offered a sample of a power he knew the Jedi was suppressing throughout that fight, making a Promise of what the Jedi would expect to face someday; and with it, and quite vehemently at that, a demand of what he expected of the knight in the second fight.

​

From right-pauldron rest, the Promise was then slung over the scapular plating on the Khan's shoulders, then with his free hand, the backward twirling flourish stretched outward as he bowed in an act of sporting, noble showmanship. This was quite the revealing display of commitment, both to the decorum of unspoken chivalric code and to a rivalry that was barely in it's infancy, an inward revelation of which had him relishing the next encounter to a near-insufferable extreme; but alas, it seemed as though they were done, fated for conclusion as soon as the two flagships started listing under firepower pressure, a last hand of cards, patiently played.

'Good luck out there, Jedi.... You're gonna need it.'

AUXILIA
V

​

ABOARD THE MV: HEART OF MAR'ZAMBUL,
CORUSCANT, GALACTIC DEEP CORE (902 ABY)

<"Glare to Dreamer! We're covering, awaiting your order.">
<"Good, stand by for the final order.">​

'BRIIIIIIDGE!!!! MAN YOUR FETHING STATIONS!!!!'

​

For the first time, Capaq would see his superiors in action, seeing why they had become so revered since the tribal victory on Bastion, seeing more than the small morsels of insight offered in their sparring sessions together. However, it appeared as though the other Keshig-Leaders had been allocated elsewhere on the ship, drawing the defence of the bridge into a precedent of focus on the 2nd Auxilia this time, an opportunity into which both Farnum and Capaq fully intended to leap. This was their moment to shine against the greatest possible threats, against a higher calibre of foe than the Galactic Alliance had ever thrown against them so far, and if the Keshig-Leaders could hold out against that, the prestige of their cadre would likely soar skyward before the smoke cleared.

​

'Keshigs, ready yourselves for a fight!'

'Ch'usci!'

'Ükhel!'

Whether the Trilunars could hold out against the tactical advance of their foes defended entirely on their chances of jumping their opponents on entry, and though those chances were slim, the Darkhans (and their ever-willing subordinates) were willing to bet it all on that one opportunity to turn the battle's last moments into a bar-brawl, a trench-fight for control of the bridge. Not only in the process of testing their luck, but also in their gamble on the effectiveness of their Khan's,"Heathen Imbuement", over the blades of the Darkhan's aides, their intent to hold the line would be made clear from the offset; but despite their wily ways, the Trilunars knew they were up against someone capable of sweeping entire access-hallways, a foe representing a worthy extreme of dread as the Imperials defending the bridge perished outside.

Hubris, as all the Darkhans knew, would serve the Mawsworn to no benefit that day, not with the Sepulchre at stake, and certainly not against whoever was tearing their way toward the bridge at the time. This was likely to be an equivalent to an elite-level threat, and whenever that creeping sense of impending danger continued to rise, like bile in their throats, the Darkhans always knew their gut instinct to be true; fortunately both Capaq and Farnum could sense this in their own way, casting knowing glances to their commanders as they stepped forward to hold the line, though there was still a calm, healthy focus on the task ahead.

'On my mark, Imperials!'

<"Glare, on my mark.">
<"Standing by.">
<"All broadside guns! Ready for salvo! Ready, aaaaaaiiiiim.... FIIIIIIRE!!!!">
​

In a two-fold eruption of firepower, the wide dispersal spreads within both arcs of fire would work to combine across a wider target-area, and with it they culminated three objectives in one, loud implementation; firstly, to fire upon the shields of the boarding-party's support flotilla, secondly, to aim the wider shots beyond the nearest opposing ships, toward whatever remained of Coruscant's civilian fleet. But on the third, the most important task of which, the sheer one-sided recoils would work to distance the two flagships from the boarding flotilla, to distance the boarding party from their one and only escape-lifeline.

[Clunk]
[BOOOOOM!!!]​

'Keshiiiiigs - ENGAGE!!!!'

-[EXIT THREAD]-

 

[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

"And if, in the process, it consumes and destroys souls - that’s still a forgivable Jedi act. I see. Good to know. So, shall we start calling the Sith Empire the Jedi Empire now?" the woman asked with biting sarcasm, even through the pain.

As Ella was not particularly adept in the Force - and with her injury severely limiting her movement - she had no chance to dodge Miss Holt’s attack. The blow sent her crashing to the floor, landing several metres away. She tried to get back on her feet, but her wounded leg made even that a struggle. The burn from the lightsabre sent searing pain through her body with even the slightest movement. It wasn’t just a burn; the wound had torn into muscle as well, and every twitch, every contraction of the fibres felt like being branded with molten iron - or stabbed by a thousand tiny flames.

Because of this, she was utterly unable to stop whatever it was the other woman had planned. But Ella was still Ella, and she couldn’t resist offering one last retort in response to the woman’s words.

"In my eyes, the Jedi do exactly what you just described… and the Light Side is every bit as corrupt as the Dark." she said through gritted teeth, the agony twisting her voice.

She could only watch, helpless, as the woman tore through the equipment in the room. Indeed, this would make things far more difficult. MANIAC swiftly analysed the situation, and the AI confirmed that it had lost contact with the machines and had ultimately failed to breach them. Ella merely bared her teeth in a bitter grin when Holt bid her farewell and departed. Oh yes - Ella had no doubt their paths would cross again.

One of them would come looking for the other.

Once she was finally alone, and before even attempting to move, Ella applied a painkiller and tissue regenerator to the wound. It wouldn’t heal her immediately - but it would dull the agony. Only after this did she attempt to rise. She waited a minute or two to allow the medication to take effect, then searched the room for something she could use as a makeshift cane. Her leg still throbbed viciously, but she had no choice. She had to keep moving.

She had lost this room - but there might yet be another. Another place where she could access the data she needed. Just to be safe, she activated her cloaking device, and set off towards the next potential target. Somewhere out there, the system might still be vulnerable to her.

She was a L’lerim - And they were stubborn. They never gave up.

Last post.​

 

[Voldran Molf]

Information and Tag

Shadow Lord, Prince of Nightmare, Dream Lord​

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

Objective: Corrupt the Nexus
Location: Jedi temple, Coruscant
Equipment: Armour | Sword || OPBC-01m
DSE Infiltration Team: Kaleb Sunwalker | Orran | Talon Draven | Prowler II | Darth Bellum | Khronas | Darth Solipsis | Open
Enemy: Corazona von Ascania

Voldran still had just enough time - just barely - to bring his sword up after slicing through the vines, right before the young woman attacked him. The lightsaber and the blade met with a sharp clash, then held firm. It was as if time itself froze, the two blades and the two figures locked in a tense, unmoving moment.

Behind the helmet, his red eyes stared straight into the woman’s blue ones. The ritual, the fighting, the pressure - it all weighed on him, beads of sweat trickling down his face and brow.

"I keep trying… but I’m just a puppet. Every time I resist, it’s like I’m yanked back and forth by strings…" he said quietly, regret clinging to every word.

He wasn’t strong enough. The constant struggle with his darker self, and the ritual had already drained him to his limits - and he didn’t want to find out whether giving in to that darkness would grant him power. What if there was no way back?

But the closeness of his opponent now carried a risk.

Partly because Voldran was exhausted, and partly because the demon within him - always hungry - sensed its chance. It wanted to consume, to vaporise the Jedi. And as the blades remained locked, Voldran’s body began to blur, turning to smoke - his form distorting - until the girl might’ve seen the shape that haunted her nightmares.

"NO!" he shouted, not at the girl - but at himself.

His jaw clenched tightly, armored fingers gripping the hilt of his sword like a vice. His knees buckled slightly, the blades inching closer to his face. He fought it - the internal storm of power and temptation surging like crashing waves in the Force itself. His breath came in sharp, laboured gasps, rasping and ragged - and the Force around him swelled with the intensity of the conflict.

But then… the smoke began to withdraw. His form solidified again - he returned to himself, whole and corporeal once more.

He looked up through shallow, shuddering breaths, then with all the strength he had left, he tried to shove the girl back physically - and followed it with a telekinetic Force push to try to send her flying farther away.

"Stay away from me… I don’t want to hurt you! Go - run, while I can still hold it back!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

C O R U S C A N T
JEDI TEMPLE STEPS:
SWORD FROM STONE

Engaging: Darth Apophion ​

The barrage of rubble shattered at the skillful defences of Apophion, spinning his whip at such blazing speed that it formed a protective shield around him. Just as the make-shift artillery was spent and Thurion reached for his sword, a fissure swallowed Anarion whole and closed itself shut once the deed was done. Were he not standing in the middle of a battlefield, the Lion would have mourned the loss of his eternal companion. But he knew the integrity of the Sunlight Blade would not be compromised by mere duracrete and steel, and retrieving it was only a matter of time.

"You should not have done that," he said, cracking his knuckles.

Without missing a beat did the Lion charge his opponent unarmed, activating the Wings of Glory to close the distance at a moment's notice. The whip came at him again, this time trying to disorient by targeting his head. What would have shattered ear drums was greatly muffled by the audio receivers of his helmet, filtering out the worst of harmful noises. He closed the distance quick enough to avoid a second whipcrack, engaging in hand-to-hand combat in lieu of a weapon.

"That sword was a gift," he said, shoulder-charging Apophion to open him up. "...from my firstborn SON..." he continued, following up with an upper-cut intended to break ribs upon impact. "...my beloved BROTHER..." he threw another punch, looking to dislocate Apophion's jaw. Finally, he delivered a powerful Force-enhanced kick towards Apophion's core that had the potential to liquify organs and send him flying.

"...AND MY WIFE!"

Roaring in rage did the Lion smash his fist through the ground at his feet, creating a vast rift in the duracrete from which a blinding light beamed as if the sun itself lay buried. He stuck his hand inside the chasm and pulled out Anarion anew, raised from the depths unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. Golden flames danced along its blade, and he raised the hilt to his face, touching it with the forehead of his helmet.

"You will never know the glory of love, and for that, I pity thee!"

Then, with a lightning-fast flourish, Thurion sent several arcs of light towards Apophion capable of purging corruption of the heart and soul.

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

CORUSCANT | GALACTIC CITY SPACEPORT | BAY 12
objective uno​

Hold on, Tan, I am coming. I promise.

Tansu fought the intrinsic desire to roll her eyes. Her guy could not take a hint. She'd literally blocked him from being a part of the fight to save his own skin, and he was already promising to get right back in. Take a breath, dude.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed her agitation aside and focused on the very real threats she immediately faced — both environmental and assassin. Tansu's footing wasn't stable, her ankle still sore, her breathing ragged. But she held her ground. She had to. The longer she had Zantra's attention, the more chance Talsin had to be safe.

Please skedaddle. She pleaded back to his promise, vying for him to get away. She'd figure it out. She always did. Tansu lived life the same way she played Sabbac — all in every hand and never thinking about the next round. And right now, all her cards were down in front of the horror that wanted to kill her boyfriend, but was furiously stuck with her on a rickety-ass platform.

The Sith moved like a creature unbound, all whipcord fury and storming hate. She blurred through the smoke in a whirling aerial flip, sabres orbiting one angling to draw Tansu's defense left, but she didn't bite. Instead, her sabre came up to block the real strike behind her, spinning into a parry as she pivoted into a crouch, absorbing the impact with a grunt and planting low to the deck. Sparks flew. Heat licked at her arms. The jammed cable slammed down, nearly catching her wrist again, and she rolled sideways, letting it gouge the floor where she'd been.

The deck trembled again, a sharp tilt throwing her off-balance as another explosion ripped through the hangar behind them. Was that Talsin? What was he doing?

"This place ain't gonna hold!" Tansu yelled over the din, as if in warning to the assassin. Once again, all her cards were out and visible. Her intentions unconcealed.

And if that weren't clear enough, she took a backward step, one, two, then pivoted to a sprint and leap to what was left of the guardrails. A chunk of railing came loose under her boot, and she shoved off it harder, leaping high and hard, out into the open air.

All her trust was in momentum and the encroaching feeling of Talsin fulfilling his promise.

____________________________________________________________
OPS: Zantra | GE
ALLIES: Talsin Lota | GA
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

IV SEPULCHRE

On guard at the qabbrat door, in silent carnage, Ashin's cane slipped. Jaccath caught her elbow at once, his knobbled Massassi hand hard through her armourweave robe. He eased off as she regained her balance. Between the strength that others had drawn from her to augment their work, and the blood and focus she'd dedicated to her brief visionary ritual, she felt every one of her hundred years.

"I told Mercy," she said to Jaccath. "About the dice."

He let go of her arm and began clearing bodies with sweeps of his huge feet, giving clearer room to stand around the door. The ship shook with whatever ships shook with. Ashin had no idea who was commanding or really what the ship was facing. She regretted not insisting on that chair. It would have kept Ibaris safer than some token guarding at a locked steel door. The raiders would never have made it aboard if she was in command, she figured. Well, maybe. Mistakes happened.

"The dice, Captain?"

"The Empire as a Cantonica twenty-side against the Sith as three cubes. Chaos, not a trending to the mean."

"I remember the conversation now," Jaccath said. "What did we roll today?"

He was humoring her as was his way. She patted his arm. "Leave off," she said, and he stopped shuffling corpses around on the bloody deck. "The die's still rolling and I've never known the future. But I'll tell you this much. We didn't roll another damn eleven."

 

[Darth Apophion]

Objective: King of the Hill

Enemies: Thurion Heavenshield

​

Thurion spoke, then charged shoulder lowered for a crushing check. But the Sith was already moving, pivoting smoothly to the side as the armored bulk rushed past him. The Jedi was fast for a man his age, but the armor made him too rigid, too bound by mass and momentum. He followed the miss with an uppercut and a sweeping hook aimed at the jaw, but Apophion had already stepped back, letting the strikes cut nothing but air. By the time the Lion attempted a kick, Apophion was well outside his reach, disengaged and untouched.

He waited.

In the lull, Apophion allowed himself a moment to breathe and draw upon the dark side, letting it pour through him like cold fire. All around them, death and despair hung thick, and he fed upon it in silence as Thurion retrieved his blade from the earth.

The Jedi muttered something about never having known love.

Apophion's eyes narrowed, and his reply came sharp, like a blade turned inward.

"No. I have known the love of family. And it was your kind, the Jedi, who took it from me."

As Thurion raised his blade and summoned arcs of purging light, Apophion reached into the maelstrom of the Force and drew it to him. With both hands, he conjured a force barrier not raw, but tempered, fortified, forged from the pain of all that had been lost. The arcs struck, and this time, the barrier held. Light met shadow and shattered against it.

When the last spark faded, Apophion stepped forward.

"Look around you."

He gestured to the burning sky, to the crumbled stone, to the corpses strewn across the temple grounds.

"You are already defeated. Your great charge has faltered. Your temple lies in ruin. Your brethren lie dead. The city-planet burns. And all of it, every last ember, was born from the choices you and your Order made across the long century."

His voice was cold, but not without sorrow.

"You could have surrendered. You could have asked for their lives. You could have tried. But you didn't."

He took another step forward, the vermilion blade still ignited at his side.

"Because deep down, you never believed in peace. You only believed in war. You are not a king. Not a prophet. You are an old man whose time has passed, whose purpose is ashes, and whose family has already left him behind."

Apophion had spoken his truth, but the silence that followed was not peace. It was built in his lungs, in his chest, in the marrow of his bones, as if the very Force demanded release. The darkness swirled around him, not as chaos, but as intent as will sharpened to a blade.

He closed his eyes.

The suffering of the dying. The anguish of the fallen. The sorrow of the betrayed. All of it rushed toward him like a tide. The Force bent, not by instinct, but by command. He was no wild acolyte casting rage like a torch in the dark. Apophion wove his wrath, his sorrow, his pain through the force measured, precise, and vast. His fingers curled into fists, trembling under the weight of what he summoned. The Force bent, buckled, and screamed around him. Dust rose. Rubble lifted. The air twisted. Lights dimmed.

A Force Maelstrom.

Apophion stood at the center of the storm, his arms now outstretched, cloak billowing in the wind. Around him, rocks, shattered duraccrete, corpses, and discarded weapons spiraled in orbit, drawn upward in defiance of gravity. Sparks of crimson and violet danced across his gauntlets, crackling at his fingertips. The Maelstrom slowly pulled inward, all the debris and energy concentrating in a dense, howling sphere at its center. The sound of the Force rose to a high-pitched scream, like an unnatural siren. Then, Apophion unleashed it.

The sphere exploded outward in a tidal wave of telekinetic devastation, a shockwave charged with Force lightning, molten shrapnel, and psychic anguish. The air ignited. The Temple cracked further at its foundations. Stone was atomized on impact. Bolts of lightning forked outward in concentric rings, lashing indiscriminately at anything in the blast's radius.

The crater left behind would be remembered not as a wound in the Temple, but as an epitaph.

 

[DT-7747]

​

​

| Location | Power District, Coruscant​

| Objective | Infiltrate and Engage ​

​

The deathtrooper continued to move, guided into the fray by the scent of blood and war. With the placement of the detonators having been completed, all that was left was to hold the line as the GA had finally sent troops to fortify the energy grid. Sid Berik had ordered they fortify the positions and hold against the incoming enemies, 7747 having hunkered down with their E-11D rested against cover to better stabilize their aim for the incoming hostiles.​

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When the inevitable came, 7747 happily greeted it, letting loose with a steady staccatto of blaster fire, bolts cutting down enemies as they walked into their killzone. Death was delivered with such cold and uncaring regard for whoever was unfortunate to become caught in its way. Bodies continued to stack and pile high as the enemy tried and failed to overtake their position, red and blue bolts flying across the stretch of ground they were holding. ​

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A bolt flew through the dust as 7747 had emptied their gas cartridge, having slapped in a fresh one to continue their defense. It struck the deathtrooper square in the helmet, their welded helmet shattered as 7747's head snapped back with the impact as several more shots struck them in the upper chest, sending the soldier onto their back. ​

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Stillness and silence lingered amidst the sounds of war and bloodshed, their blaster held loosely in their hand as they were sprawled on the ground. The sounds of the detonators going off as Veno had triggered the explosions to set off a chain reaction of failures across the energy grid and by extension the planetary shield echoed in the distance. ​

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Had their service finally been fulfilled? Was their neverending war, finally over? Would the soldier once known as Cara Dalgas finally know peace?​

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No... Fingers curled around the grip of their blaster, tightening as what remained of their desecrated heart had new life breathed into it.​

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Rise... The deathtrooper's torso lifted from the ground, head snapping forward like a puppet awaiting its master. The spirit of war called upon them, his ever faithful legion to continue to serve.​

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All Hands Unto War... They rose to their feet, blaster leveled as they resumed the battle, their blaster firing to the drums of war, like a soldier that had never left the combat zone or died. ​

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The war never ends. Not for as long as their master decreed it so. A horribly disembodied voice croaked from the shattered helmet they wore, a mixture of an aged female soldier and broken vocabulator echoing the will of their master, ​

"A̶ll ̸h̷and̶s̷ ̴u̴nt̴o war̴ .."

Sid Berik | DT-1966 | Abraxas Colt | Veno | Braze​

 

[Zaavik Perl]

NEW JEDI TEMPLE - CORUSCANT
「Streaks of blood are turning somber...」
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Allyson's pain was exquisite. It fueled Zaavik's onslaught, striking downward onto the limbs of her bow with rabid succession. He didn't hear her shout at him over the sound of his strikes and grunts, nor did he see her lips move behind the flashing swaths of crimson light. When she disappeared, his saber kept going, plunging into the tile and sending a burst of sparks in all directions.

An arrow sank into Zaavik's shoulder, sending a spike of pain down his stumped arm. He didn't react; no flinching, no sound. Immediately, the Force felt non-existent. It wasn't a strange feeling; the suppression collar he'd been forced to wear for the last several years had made him quite familiar.

"Zaavik, you were DEAD. How the fuck are you alive?"

Slowly, Zaavik turned around. His singular eye still burned with the magmatic corruption of the Dark Side. Clear of the Dark Side's influence, his rage was reduced to a simmer, but the hate remained. "Dead to you, maybe," he replied with hair-raising coolness. Plasma hummed over his shoulder, cutting the arrow's shaft off just above the wound. He took slow, deliberate steps, approaching Allyson with a confidence that disregarded his inability to use the Force. He didn't need it. The null grew closer and closer as he did, threatening to mutually cut off his former master from their source of power.

"Your tricks won't save you this time. Let's finish this, once and for all."

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Allyson Locke | Tayiji | Drystan Creed | Meliant​