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

[Wymar]

P E N I T E N T
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE
Battle Armor [MODIFIED] | Lightsaber
Taam Moghul​

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BEWARE​

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GALACTIC CITY
902 ABY
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE​

The Leonine warrior sprung back into the fray and fury of violence that was the exchange of blades. A 501st stormtrooper propped his TX-60 machine gun atop a barrier, bracing it down with a gloved hand before he ripped a violent burst toward the Cathar in his assault only for his buckethead to be caved in and his body to slump over the weapon after being hit by an Alliance sharpshooter. He was pulled off of the duracrete a moment later, his weapon taken up and moved by another trooper who sent more scunion down range toward the defending GADF troopers.

The gap was gained by the Cathar's push, Wymar willfully letting himself be surged away by the force only to roll his shoulders and twirl his blade in his right hand for a ritualistic preparation to return to the fray of the duel he carried out with the Jedi. He presented himself once more in the defending stand of the Vornskr, a form which utilized the opponents aggression against him, drinking in the rage and anger only to send it back toward the attacker with a flurry of his own crimson blade clashing against the Jedi.

Contrary to what might be expected from the immense ego and hubris of a Sith, he fought in silence save for the notes of exertion and pain. His strikes deliberate, meticulous and well honed against the enemy before him. All the while, the Stormtroopers began to bound up by teams, moving forward toward the temple, cover-to-cover with another element covering the advancing ones movements. All the while, Galactic City came alight with the gaze of Solipsis heralding his new Empire.

And whether, invigorated by the speech of the Empire and dark power that seeped through all those willing to tap into it or anger derived from another source, he began to well and truthfully barrel into a need for slaughter against the knight, leaning more into his intense training in Makashi, one of the most offensive and fatalistic dueling styles, keeping his other hand free when he needed not to brave one of the hulking strikes of the Leonine Cathar to send a burst of sharding indigo lightning toward the man before sought to pull the Cathar's wrists under one of his arms in a clinch that was ultimately, a risk laden endeavor before he splayed his fingers holding the hilt of his kyber bled Imperial Kngiht blade to drain the force power and will from the Cathar with the indiscernible glossy black visor of his sallet peering into his eyes.

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings, Seer Stone, Wayfinder's Flare, Engagement Ring
Tag: Flannigan Tagge

The impact still echoed through her legs as Eve landed in a crouch, breath sharp in her chest. The hiss of her lightsaber was the only sound for a moment, until the unmistakable shatter of glass as Flannigan was hurled through the window.

She rose and crossed to the broken window, stepping carefully around scattered shards. Wind lashed at her hair, whipping it across her face as she peered over the edge.

There he was, swinging like some tattered marionette from a shining chrome cable, one arm dangling, the other just barely guiding his descent. His figure shrank as he dropped to a lower spire, flailed, then disappeared into the shattered frame of an auxiliary chamber.

Eve tsked quietly.

"What a strange man," she murmured, half to herself, half to the wind. She tapped her commlink, voice clear. "Eve Vale. One intruder repelled from the armoury. Looter. Older man, eccentric. White hair. Slippery and dangerous. Escaped through the east tower, last seen entering a lower chamber. Keep an eye out."

She turned from the broken window and began to walk, Stillness still aglow in her hand.

The Temple was still under siege. Somewhere, someone needed help.

She broke into a jog toward the main lobby.

 

[Koda Fett]

​

BOUNTY HUNTER - JEDI ARCHIVES​

Mercy - Tobi Sharpe - Zark San Tekka - CT-312 - Quinn Varanin - Braze​

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This job was not becoming any easier.​

​

The Jedi came crawling out of their holes, focusing on the intruding bounty hunters more so than the invading Imperials. Solipsis could pay him later for the distraction, for however much it was worth. In a hail fire of cannon fire, the slicer was consumed and tore up in among the piling debris with only their legs emerging to show for it. The gunslinger was seemingly worthless, being tossed back and forth, with Fett deciding that the split of this cut was going from two ways, to three, back to two, and now one. It would be surprising if this outer-rim nut even so much as survived.​

​

Now, in the form of some muscle-bound freak of a problem, was Mercy. The shockwave sent out was a momentary distraction, rippling the once-polished clean marble in a blast out towards their foes. Their - with the Sith seemingly alongside Fett for the time-being. If not for all this mess, he'd take her down too, but a fight with her was going to be more time-consuming than what these two could put together combined.​

​

"Not without my score," he warned in a sideways glance.​

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In Mandalorian armour, he surged forwards with a spark of flames shooting from his jetpack, rocketing across the ground. His rangefinder fell over the T-visor as he closed in on the Jedi Master, the lightsaber embedded in the library's data shelf. With the slugthrower thrown aside, he rushed forwards with his blaster carbine, firing yossubi gas bolts along the ground to leave remnant pockets of Force nullification zones marked with carbon scoring. Once Fett began burst-firing his carbine at Zark, his wrist rose and launched a barrage of locked-on micro-missiles in between the Force nullifying bolts, masking and blocking them from the Force.​

​

If able to reach Zark, his power-armoured and crushgaunt coated fist would fly in for a punch.​

​

 

[Khronas]

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

Klar

The moment of reckoning approached.

In threads of time were coalescing before his eyes. His deep meditations and studies of the future had not shown the interference of Klar, yet his fate had shifted to accommodate her presence. While he had deviated from his visions, the mission to corrupt the Force nexus beneath the temple could still be salvaged.

The young Codru-Ji woman’s death would be folded into his destiny.

Khronas delivered a series of withering blows, his Sith sword moving in a blur as she deflected Klar’s four blades and pushed her back against the wall. The Padawan dropped to a knee from the power of his onslaught. Khronas watched as the threads of fate around her began to fade, showing that she would not be long for this world, that her story would soon come to an end. The Dark Jedi watched the hope fade in his eyes.

He brought his sword down in a powerful overhead attack to finish the right. Klar dodged at the last moment and scrambled to her feet. She clipped two of her lightsabers together to form a sabre staff and twirled the weapon as a deadly barrier before her. The young woman, seeing her destiny moments away, taunted Khronas, describing him as meaningless.

“I only you knew, Jedi,” he spat, the name like poison in his mouth. He delivered a series of probing thrusts, testing the Jedi’s defences. Her sabre staff changed the flow of the battle, and it would take a moment to ascertain her technique. Each attack and response was another data point for his Siniteen brain to process. Soon, he would have her technique committed to memory.

“I have seen my fate, bathed in my future,” he explained, lashing out with a pair of overhead strikes followed by a feint. For a Padawan, Klar was mounting a strong defence. Was she driven to protect the weaker younglings that she had been sent to rescue? “I have borne witness to my glorious destiny. Nothing will stand in the way of what lies at the end of my path.”

His Siniteen pattern recognition skills, an evolutionary necessity developed over generations of surviving the wilds of Mileva, spotted a pattern in her attacks, an opening in his defences. He hesitated for a split second; the threads of time were tangled and confusing, lacking their usual clarity in the instant before he struck down a foe.

He pushed the concerns aside. This opening could end the fight if he seized the opportunity.

Khronas stepped forward, moving his weight to his front foot as his outstretched arm drove his Sith sword toward Klar's flank.

 

[Lyrrin]

Objective: With Thunderous Applause
Allies: Dean Walker Persephone
Foes: Open

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"Yeah maybe." Lyrrin said through a grin. Now this was the kind of respect that he wanted. Maybe his statue wouldn't be so far off if the reaction to his crowning achievement was this well received. Lyrrin had little intention of leaving the only ally he had concrete knowledge of within the Senate building so he followed close behind Dean as he announced he was going towards the Rotunda.

As the duo crossed into the hallway that would take them towards the Rotunda where there seemed to be a firefight taking place, Lyrrin put his datapad away in his belt pouch then withdrew a vibro-knife which he held point downward just in case. The blade hummed softly, the sound barely audible through the ambient noise of the area.

Soon enough a blaster bolt flew past their shared view into the wall of the hallway with a hiss, having been shot from within the rotunda. The impact mark was several yards away and didn't seem to be intentionally shot towards but something around the final bend of the hallway into the Rotunda proper.

Lyrrin passed up Dean with a swift set of steps to peer around the corner quickly, his eyes darting around the Rotunda at superhuman speed then as he pulled himself back around the corner he looked to the SIA agent "Hard to tell who is who. The ones in black are definitely the Imperials or the Sith - whatever they call themselves. But I can't tell about the others. They may be protection details from Alliance delegations. A few Senate Commandos are packed in a corner but they'll hold their own. Thoughts?" it was clear they were about to step into the belly of the beast. In comparison to many the Agent & Marshal were lightly armed.

 

[Aris Noble]

Footsteps, heartbeats. Aris could hear them all as he glanced about. Tigris had arrived, bringing with her another of the younglings. Not all of them, though. Where were they? They weren't the hardened heartbeats of trained soldiers, they were- there. Hiding in a corner was the buddy of Jax, a young wookie far too scared to even make a sound. Aris smiled softly, crouching down beside the boy as he offered a hand.

"I know it's scary. But we're not alone."

He couldn't feel the Force like he knew the others could, but he could feel his mother. Valery Noble was with them, doing her best to ensure they were all safe.

That was more than enough for Aris to keep smiling. He glanced to Xuko, who was already ushering the other children towards the water. It wasn't a bad idea, at least this way they wouldn't be in the line of immediate fire. "We'll all be alright." He wasn't speaking to the younglings this time. The tenseness in Xuko's shoulders was evident as the sunlight of a midday with clear skies. On his hip a sword emerged, floating to stay close to the pool. Seszil, ever the guardian.

Aris was on one of the doors just as it was finished being cut through in the blink of an eye. He full on kicked through the steel, sending the full metal door straight through the just about to breach troopers. Even as they started to open fire, the blasters did nothing to his skin. He brought a fist around, catching one of the Stormtroopers in a shattering of plasteel.

They weren't going to enter this room by this door, at least.

Tigris Aphra | Xuko Pagoi

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

The Last Vigil
CORUSCANT
JEDI TEMPLE

CORUSCANT // NEW JEDI TEMPLE // TEMPLE STEPS — FINAL MOMENTS

The sky was on fire.

Twin trails of ruin lit the heavens above Coruscant’s war-torn skyline—two Crucifix destroyers, relics of a darker age, descending like judgment incarnate coming from the battle above. . The screams of the atmosphere torn open. The thunder of mass and velocity colliding with inevitability.

Below them, defenders fought for every breath and heartbeat.

Yeah, he saw the bodies of those who he had felled in history.... Ashin Cardé Varanin and her mental manipulation was working and it was having an effect on him until the light that was the blast from Thurion Heavenshield snapped him out of it.

Jedi stood shoulder to shoulder—Thurion Heavenshield, sword flashing like a sunbeam caught in a tempest. Jonyna Si, her blade a calm, lethal whisper. Connel Vanagor, with Omega Squad through the blood and smoke of the courtyard, a black-armored reaper guiding precision fury. Behind them, Galactic Alliance Defense Forces fired upward, every shot defiance.

Among them at the center of it all stood a monolith of resolve—Caltin Vanagor.

Bruised, bloodied, spent—but unbroken. His robes torn. His hands trembling. His breath ragged.
And standing beside him, where no mortal could see—Alyscia Vanagor, his daughter long since passed. A figure of light and memory, her presence calm amid chaos.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “Not again.”

But Caltin’s eyes never left the sky.

He remembered—the roar of Tython’s moon fragment shearing through the clouds. The agony it took to stop it. The cost. The hollow that followed. He had done it twice. Neither time had been survivable. He had come back through will alone.

Now, there might be no return.

“If you do this,” Alyscia said, her voice shaking now, “you won’t come back. Not even as me.”

Caltin’s chest heaved.

He stared upward, sweat streaking the soot on his brow, eyes locked on the two Crucifix Destroyers clawing down from the heavens like twin fangs of inevitability. Even from here, he could see the burning trails of plasma shielding, the distorted wake of their repulsors failing as gravity took hold.

And then he felt it—the shift. The impossible trajectory. One ship behind the other. Like dominos… no. Like blades. The second would follow the first into the city’s spine.
He reached out with the Force—reflexively—but he wasn’t close enough to repulse them, not with sheer energy. He knew that. But maybe…

A flash of memory—Tython. Twice. Two times he had stopped catastrophe. Two times it had nearly killed him.

This time?

It would.

He knew that as surely as he felt his own heartbeat stuttering from exhaustion.

“You can’t come back from this,” Alyscia said softly, her voice still at his side.

I know, he answered, eyes never leaving the sky.

For a second—just one—he hesitated.

Not from fear.
From hope.

Because maybe someone else could try. Maybe someone else would rise. There were others—Thurion, Jonyna, Connel, hundreds of brave Jedi and soldiers. The new generation.

The future.

But that wasn’t the point.

I’m not doing this because no one else can, he whispered, as the Force began to gather. I’m doing it so no one else has to.

This wasn’t about martyrdom.
This was about relief.
About lightening the weight others might carry.

If he could buy the moment—just one moment—then maybe that was enough. Maybe that moment would let someone else heal a friend, save a child, stand their ground.
And maybe, ~if one Jedi could shift the tide...

Then what could a dozen do? What could a hundred Jedi do, together, if they just believed it was possible?

He gritted his teeth, focus sharpening. One can make a difference. But together… Together, we could change everything.~

He was losing focus, but as he spoke to them through the Force, in this visage that seemed like an eternity but was a mere few moments, he was speaking to every Jedi through the Force.

He had one more thing to do… pulling a comm-link, he tapped it, and the visage of Chrysa Vanagor, his wife filled the screen. She looked at him, in shock and worry, but moreso… understanding. Babe…

She shook her head, and gave a weak smile. She knew. She knew what was about to happen, it’s why he was who he was. She lost him once, but she wasn’t losing him this time, there was still Connel. She just looked at him and told him to “kick their (censored)”. That was all that needed to be said, other than that she loved him, to which he reciprocated. Caltin turned away, his resolve hardening. With a final glance at the screen, he ended the call. The weight of his decision settled heavily on his shoulders, but he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t falter now, not when so much was at stake.

And then he roared.

With that, he reached out.

His hand rose—and everything else followed.

Shattered walkers, disabled TIEs, wrecked transports—all wrenched skyward, flung like missiles at the lead Crucifix. He didn’t aim to destroy it—he aimed to nudge it.

To shift it just enough.

Collision. Fire. Impact.

The first Destroyer’s nose dipped. It drifted sideways—straight into the second’s trajectory. The two juggernauts collided in the clouds like titans locked in a final embrace.

But now…

Now there was nothing but a falling storm of steel.

Worse.

And so—he stood straighter, though it hurt to breathe.

Then… he felt them.

Kayla and Kameron.

And Alyscia.

Hands on his shoulders, the back of his neck. He didn’t hear their voices, not exactly. But he felt them.

Love. Memory. Trust.

“You have others to think of,” Kayla had said.

I am thinking of them, he had replied. That’s why I’m doing this.

“I have to be able to look at myself in the mirror.” Caltin didn’t utter this, Alyscia did…
It wasn’t a catchphrase.
It was a creed.

A truth.

The Force exploded outward—not in violence, but in conviction. A barrier formed high in the atmosphere, visible from the surface as a shimmering wall of willpower. It caught the Destroyers as they fell. Not to stop them. That was impossible.

To guide them.

One final push.

Caltin’s body arched backward, his voice ragged and primal. His muscles tore. His lungs bled. His soul burned. The Force Ghosts around him anchored him, funneled their strength into his dying body. Still, it was his will that bore the burden.

The hulks veered—slammed slowly so he pushed harder, and harder pushing them into an abandoned landing strip miles away. His attention was solely on this now, and his fight was with this. The others, they would hold, they would push back, the ships above would hold back the attackers. Coruscant will not fall…

... even if it means I do…

The hulks crashed into the landing strip, meant for emergency landings and parked vessels. The blast destroyed hundreds of them, scorched half a district—but the Temple, the city, the people, were spared.

Then—

Caltin collapsed. He was hundreds of feet where he was initially, having followed them to ensure they fell where they needed to.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t cry out. He fell forward, a mountain finally crumbled. The last of the Force shimmered around him like a dying star. Alyscia, Kayla, and Kameron stood beside his body, fading.

But before the light left him entirely, he reached out—only to Connel, his son, his legacy.

(through the Force, soft, final)
~“Play the holovid.”~

Nothing more.

No last words. No speeches.

Just peace.

And the echo of sacrifice.

Jonyna Si • Valery Noble ~Through the Force~ • Taam Moghul (mention) • Thurion Heavenshield (mention) • Imperius Indomitus • Ibaris Varanin • Domaric Mordane
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[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]

“We Are the Fire”

EXT. SECTOR 7 – BURNED RUINS OUTSIDE THE TEMPLE DISTRICT

The city is aflame.

Every screen, every holopad, every open comm crackles with Mordane’s voice. The execution feed plays on loop. The sound of plasma bolts striking flesh. Screams. Silence. Then again.

And again.

And again.

Omega Squad watched from the shadows of a collapsed skybridge, still recovering from their last mission. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

Jeremiel looked away. Sariel stareed harder. Raphael crushed a chunk of debris in his gloved fist. Michael said nothing at all.

And Connel Vanagor?

He watched the broadcast to the end.

FLASH MEMORY – WITHIN CONNEL’S MIND

He saw the Temple again—not in ruins, but how it was.
He saw Caltin. His father. Massive. Unyielding. Smiling only with his eyes.
The words replay—not just from a memory. From the Force itself.

“If one Jedi can make a difference… then what can a hundred do?”

“Do not fight so others don’t have to. Fight so others CAN.”

“You are already better than I could ever have been.”

REALITY – BACK TO THE PRESENT

The skies exploded above the city.
The ANS Indomitable roared through the clouds, burning a new corridor through the blockade. Fighters screamed down like meteors. Dropships followed in tight wedge formations.

Across the Temple district, Alliance troops—infantry, clone units, walker divisions—watch the execution feed, and snap. They surged forward. No more hesitation. No more waiting for orders. They rose like a tide.

“FOR THE TEMPLE!”
“FOR THE FALLEN!”
Mechanized regiments reactivated their walkers, loading wounded crews back in. Crack teams rush to rescue the next batch of prisoners before the hour strikes again. Medical teams broadcast distress signals—and receive answers.

Across every channel once filled with Mordane’s poison—new voices rise. Soldiers. Civilians.

Jedi.

But Connel? He said nothing.

Not yet.

He walked through the firelight and slowly removed the last of the stormtrooper disguise.
Burns coated his armor. Blood marked his forearm. His mask is back in place. But his silence carried weight. Gravity. The men near him looked up. Some whisper.

“That’s him.”

“He’s still alive.”

And suddenly—hope spreads like wildfire.

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ABANDONED JEDI WAYSTATION – MOMENTS LATER

He heard it, through the Force. ~if one Jedi could shift the tide...
Then what could a dozen do? What could a hundred Jedi do, together, if they just believed it was possible?

…One can make a difference. But together… Together, we could change everything.~

Connel stood alone before an old statue. Jedi lost to time. Cracked. Weathered. Still standing.
He dropped to one knee.

Not in defeat.

In resolve.

He reached over his shoulder and draws Alpha. It ignited in permafrost blue. Then Gabriel’s rifle. Slung over his left shoulder. Then his hand rested on the hilt of Percipience, still sheathed.
He raised his head to the sky.

You’re wrong… he whispered—not to Mordane, but to everything Mordane represents.

We are the fire.

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CORUSCANT CITYSCAPE – LIVE BROADCAST HACK – MOMENTS LATER

The feed hijack began. Halpern’s team found the weakness in Mordane’s relay net.
It’s not political. Not strategic. Not even long.

It was Connel. Alone. Standing on the charred overpass. The wind whipping his cloak. His saber lit. Gabriel’s rifle slung. The symbol of Caltin’s legacy on his chest.
He looked up and defiantly calm, he spoke out…

You want a symbol? Then burn this into your mind, Mordane.

He raises his saber.

You want the Jedi? I’m right here.

You call this our final hour. I call it the beginning.

You can burn our homes. Slaughter our people. Twist your lies around our names. But we are still here. And we will not go quietly.

One Jedi can make a difference. You showed me that. Now watch what we do!

The broadcast cut, not with silence, but with the ignition of dozens of sabers—Jedi across the planet answering the call, echoing the legacy of their fallen… and rising into their own.

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SCENE: “Not Alone”
Location: Staging Shelter Delta-3, beneath the Temple District
Time: 29 minutes until the next scheduled execution

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STAGING SHELTER DELTA-3

The shelter was dim, lined with flickering red emergency panels and old Republic-era blast doors sealed tight. Sounds of war filter in through the ceiling above: orbital thunder, distant artillery, the occasional scream of a TIE dive.

Omega Squad was gathered around a holo-table.
Projected atop it is a grid of the city’s upper tiers—Mordane’s execution scaffold blinking red, a timer ticking down beside it: 29:12… 29:11… Connel stood at the head of the table, helmet off, face shadowed in the low light. He was not looking at the map.

He was looking at Gabriel’s rifle, resting on the table before him.

Jeremiel spoke up, his voice was low. Measured. The prisoners are held in repurposed tram cars beneath the tower’s foundation. Sixteen. Maybe more. Execution feed shows them moving the next group up now.

Connel didn’t move.

Michael leaned forward, hands on the edge of the table.

We can be there in ten. Plant charges. Hit from underneath, breach the line, get them out before the next broadcast.

Connel in a voice that was quiet, one of gravel… No.

They all stop.

Connel his voice still low, but shaking… This is my fault. The spike. The feed. Gabriel. I left that breach open. They moved because of it. Set the scaffold up because they knew we’d see it. I gave them the narrative. I let him die. I gave Mordane his stage.

Sariel crossed his arms. Didn’t look away. So what? You want to go solo now?

Connel clipped his retort. You’re not coming. This one’s mine.

A long beat of silence.

Then—Raphael laughed in one dry, guttural sound. That’s not how this works. You don’t get to carry the cross and the rifle.

Jeremiel stood. No longer passive. You think this is just about you? You think Mordane wouldn’t have done this anyway? You think we didn’t sign up for this kind of war? We were all there when Gabriel fell. We all carried him out. And we all swore we’d make it matter.

Michael slammed a fist down on the table. The holo-grid rippled. You came to us to learn stealth, and technique, but you taught us to move as one. To trust the plan. To never fight alone. So don’t you dare walk out of here like this is your burden to die for.

Connel finally met their eyes. His hand clenched on the rifle. I watched my father die to make a difference. I said I’d be better. Stronger.

Sariel retorted as cold, and cutting as ever. Then stop trying to be him.

Another silence. Then Jeremiel stepped forward, lifting a fresh gear harness—one of Gabriel’s.
You want redemption? Take his place. We’re Omega. We finish this.

Michael pulled his helmet on. Squad to target. Plan Echo-Vex. Azrael’s already planting charges under the tower. You want to save them? Then move.

---

UPPER SPINE OF THE EXECUTION TOWER – 11 MINUTES UNTIL BROADCAST

Omega Squad climbed like shadows. Their armor was scuffed. Scarred. Worn. Risen from the dead.

Azrael detonated the scaffold's eastern mooring. The first tram-car collapsed into the lower support columns—non-lethal precision. Just enough to stagger the guards.

Connel breached first, not with a saber, but Gabriel’s rifle. Precision. Fury.
Stormtroopers fell. Mordane’s broadcast flickered.

Sariel neutralized the comms operator with a silenced bolt before the next scream could reach the mic. Jeremiel disabled the relay feeds. Michael freed the prisoners.
Every shot. Every cut. Every decision—

A promise kept.

---

ESCAPE TUNNELS BENEATH THE TOWER – POST-EXFIL

The prisoners were safe, there was no doubt plenty more to find and rescur, but this was a start. The feed was dead.
Omega Squad disappeared back into the underworld. Connel lingered at the rear, rifle lowered. He didn’t speak. But now, he knew—he didn’t have to… because behind him walked a family of ghosts. One short. But never alone.

Domaric Mordane • Imperius Indomitus (indirect) • Ibaris Varanin (indirect) • Valery Noble (indirect) • Magdalena Bloodscrawl (indirect)​

 

[Ren]

SENATE BUILDING
SENATE INTERIOR CHAMBER
​

Engaging: Darth Solipsis | Shannic Wulf | Sahar
Mind Meld: Ran Serys | Caelan Valoren

With the casual flick of his wrist, invisible power surged forth like a coiled serpent. The Force pulled on Ren's momentum, attempting to yank at his frame with bone-rattling speed. One moment he was mid stride and the next, he would potentially be airborne.

"Insect."

Power rippled through the Force, a telekinetic pull that seized Ren mid-stride and sent him flying off the dais. His stomach lurched into his throat as he tumbled through empty air, the raised dais so high above, the ground so far below. He slammed into the side of the senate dome and felt something in his shoulder click and crunch at the impact. Ears flat to his skull and grimacing in pain, Ren managed a last moment inversion of inertia, sticking himself to the wall rather than sliding off. He gathered his feet under him, pooling energy in the Force into the tendons of his legs.

He paused. Froze where he was as a vision of several beings joined those on the dais. They stared at him. He looked back, blinking once, then recognition set in.

Oh.

Lives Ren took. Criminals and killers, but still lives cut short. His whiskers twitched.

I didn't have a choice... did I?

Did he have one now? The vision disappeared and his eyes refocused on the dais, through the throbbing in his shoulder, on the Returned Lord. No. He did not have a choice. There was too much hatred here. Too much will to destroy. They had to be stopped.

The mind-meld with Ran gave him a sense of their fight, allowing him to understand without truly looking.

She turned her attention to the Jedi in front of her, bringing her lightsaber to full power. She stepped forward and feigned a strike before aiming with overhead blows. Her vision clouded by the battle meditation, she saw things that weren't there, memories of a buried past. She gritted her teeth in agony and swung the lightsaber at the woman's stomach, fighting the blindness of the battle meditation and the light side.

Ran began with a series of prodding slashes and swings against the black armored woman. The longer this dragged out, the more dangerous this engagement was for both sides.

Jedi Serys would hold her own for now. He could feel her resolve in the Force. But the broadcast from these Dark Siders continued, one of them standing up and giving a speech before the galaxy.

She stood on the dais, the sounds of combat in her periphery, and she began to speak with her assured tone, cutting through the noise with her voice like the blast of a horn.

Ren prepared to jump, but felt another presence rush into the room.

He burst forth into the room with blazing speed, a beacon of white light, and unleashed the barrier before him to fly rapidly across the room towards Solipsis himself. It was followed by Caelan, though he hadn't reached the man yet. The barrier, it's lightside energy the antithesis of Solipsis' entire being, would arrive first.

Reaching out in the Force with his mind, Ren said directly into Caelan's, "Together."

With the reassuring presence of Valery Noble 's Battlemind sending them resolve and conviction, merging Caelan into the mind meld would be simple. But he had to choose it of his own accord.

And Ren was out of time.

The small Jedi Knight launched himself through the air, pushing off from the wall with a leap of inhuman speed and distance that sent him rebounding over the heads of the combatants to land near Darth Solipsis and the old woman giving the speech. Whatever the effects of Caelan's barrier, it provided enough distraction for Ren held to hold up a hand and use an old technique, causing the holocameras in the immediate vicinity to fuzz and spark out, then he darted back toward the Dark Lord, his kyber green blade a blur, feinting a thrust for the midsection, then whirling low for a slash at the knee.

 

[Ran Serys]

Wearing: Robes
Indirect Tags: Kain Aldore Da'Razel Katherine Holt Ellayina L'lerim
Direct Tags: Ren Sahar Darth Solipsis Shannic Wulf Caelan Valoren

The fire and shockwaves of Da'Razel and Kain's fight below licked the bottom of the chancellor's podium as well as the rest of the senate chamber. The floor below cracked, glass shattered with each window impacting upward as the superheated energy ran the dome. Senatorial podiums were knocked loose and the temporary housing that lined the room's levels crumbled or caught fire onto their most flammable parts. Even the floating chancellor's podium with the weight of the Jedi and Imperial Leaders buckled when the energy wave surged. Panic ensued as any temporarily housed stragglers ran from the oncoming destruction.

As Ran kept her footing through the turbulence, she watched the hovering recording devices that took in their images. The devices reeled under the pressure and heat, some slammed into walls and podiums becoming busted and broken, others malfunctioned and fell to the ground below. Any recorders that remained were shorted, some briefly and others permanently, under Ren’s use of the force. With every broken camera Solipsis and Shannic's words were interrupted by static as the next surviving camera readied to take on the brunt of their message. A message that Ran knew to be a lie. A message that the people of Coruscant knew to be a lie. Everyone from the lower level's most criminal scum, to the haughtiest of residents that lived in the highest of Coruscanti spires, they all knew the words of the Empire to be a lie. Every accusation against the Galactic Alliance, actually a projection, and a declaration of the Empire's intention. Ran would steal a moment to confirm that reality.

As the Inquisitor before her shrieked in pain, punched walls, and separated herself to fight the Jedi Battle Meditation that affected her mind, so too did Ran separate herself. The Knight reached out with the force and manipulated Solipsis' and the Vizier's main recorder so it trained onto her own visage. "Enough of your lies!" Ran said resolutely as she looked at Solipsis and Shannic in the midst of battle, yet still unafraid. The camera caught her profile, and then all of her as she turned to it. "We fight for you, against the tyranny they will inflict upon you! Hold on to hope!" Ran continued, as if she could not be moved, to the recorder before the device's lens cracked and its body melted from force and fire. The last image transmitted from it was of a blurred Ran and her shining blue blade turning and defending against the relentless onslaught of the red bladed and currently frenzied inquisitor. As she fought back, another device stepped in to replace its predecessor, this one even worse for wear than the previous, and focused on Ren and Solipsis.

Ran defended against the Inquistor's slash aimed at her midsection. She followed with an attempt at a strike of her own. She aimed at the imperial inquisitor's arm in an effort to take some capability from the skilled swordswoman. "I sense the conflict in you! Stay your blade or this will end well for no one!"

 

[Gym Halpern]

TAG: Prael'rs'akinc | Remus Adair | Amelia von Sorenn | Magdalena Bloodscrawl | Mykel Dawson | Aldo Garrick | Domaric Mordane

.

Location: ANS Indomitable, Primary Firing Deck

The silence before the shot was surreal.

Inside the Indomitable, the deck vibrated with restrained fury. Static licked along the floor grates. Energy warning glyphs flashed orange across every console. The spinal cannon’s inner mag-rings thrummed like an avalanche being caged. Plasma containment field nearing its peak. Reactor heat at critical.

“Spinal Cannon: Full Charge.”

Fleet Captain Gym Halpern stood alone at the command dais, his officers arrayed around him, silhouetted in crimson lighting. Every breath aboard the Indomitable felt measured, drawn not just from oxygen—but from history. This shot wasn’t just retribution.

It was a reckoning.

“Target confirmed. Enemy flagship-class vessel. Distance: 37,000 kilometers. Fire trajectory locked.”

Fire.

The ship convulsed forward as if heaving a spear into the void.

A beam of absolute fury lanced out from the Indomitable’s bow—blinding blue, compressed into a scream of hyperkinetic death. It broke light itself, bending around hulls, blistering sensors across both fleets. The void did not echo—but all heard it.

---

All across the void, TIE squadrons screamed into converging formations, accelerating with perfect precision. Garrick’s warships—angular, dark, and irregular—peeled from the line like surgical blades.

---

On the Indomitable’s bridge, Halpern’s command team registered the encoded burst transmission seconds after the spinal shot fired.

[PRIORITY: OMEGA]
[INTEL INTERCEPT]
[ENEMY COMMANDER MORDANE: EXECUTION ORDER—ALL JEDI OPERATIVES—PLANETARY ASSETS TO BE PURGED.]

Halpern’s blood ran cold.

Mordane.

His jaw clenched, hands tightening behind his back as the image of Omega Squad’s mission briefing flashed in the corner of his HUD—an impossible deepstrike into a cortosis mine complex, already flagged as a high-casualty deployment. Now this. Now this.

He’s trying to erase them, Halpern growled.

He turned sharply to his Onboard Troop Commander, Colonel Driin, standing at the tactical coordination platform just aft of the command dais.

Get everyone on the drops. All troopers. All Evocati. Every assault wing. Dump the manifest. Prioritize extraction of Jedi and Omega elements. Launch them into the worst of it. We don’t hold back. We dig them out.

“Sir, we won’t be able to cycle resupply.”

Then we win before we run dry.
A quiet pause, then—

“Aye, Captain. Full combat drop initiated.”

---

The planetary sky ignited with new dropships screaming down like javelins from the stars. The Indomitable’s entire troop compliment—thousands of Alliance soldiers, elite commandos, and Evocati droids—plummeted through burning clouds, heading straight for the battlefields Omega Squad had vanished into.

Mines. Corridors. Grid Sector Seven.
Where the execution order had tried to erase them, now came fire and fury.
Above, the spinal shot raced on—still seconds from impact.

---

THE ALLIANCE RISES

The Mon Mothma loomed like a second moon. The 10th Sector Armada now complete.
The Indomitable took point, spinal cannon cooling, dropships away, battlegroup spreading like a blade before the hammer.

TIEs bled from the sky. Garrick’s line advanced—but already stalled. The Vexation was dying. Mordane’s betrayal had failed to silence the Jedi.

The Empire had struck first.

But the Alliance now stood.

And the sky would not fall today.

 

[Rann Thress]

TAGS: Rikuan
EQUIPMENT: Rann's Lightsabers

Rann met Rikuan's gaze. He did not answer, the young Jedi took care of that himself.

He appreciated Rikuan's attempts to lighten the mood, even if he couldn't voice it, not right now. Talking about wanting to write whoever brought the Light a poem, doubling down on calling Rann a space hunk...he was trying.

"Thanks." Rann managed, taking a deep breath as the pair made their way up the temple steps. He paid no mind to the two masters, Jonyna Si and Caltin Vanagor besides a respectful nod as he and Rikuan ran past and into the Temple.

Even in it's current state, the Jedi Temple was impressive. Rann couldn't help but take the sight in, and this was just the entrance hall. He could feel the weight of the history of the building. It felt ancient, which of course it was. And it felt like it would stand here forever.

Unless, of course, this nascent Empire had it's way. Rann shuddered to think what they'd do to this place. It renewed his desire to fight for it. His companion continued traveling deeper into the temple, and Rann followed not wanting to get distracted too much more by the architecture. But every corridor was beautiful. He could not help but be enamored.
He wished he could have just focused on that, the beauty of this place, but the Force as always had a different plan. A charge of Jedi, all shrouded in light, emerged from the depths of the Temple and advanced towards the fight. As they approached, Rann yelled at, "No, not again!" And ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

They didn't feel quite like spirits, not this time. They were something...not altogether different but not exactly the same. He didn't trust them. Ghosts wore faces that weren't theirs. Who knew what those Jedi really were beneath the light? His past experiences

"Bloody KARKIN' GHOSTS," Rann raged, slamming his robotic fist into the ground and igniting his lightsabers. He roared in frustration as he began charging forward in a fear-driven adrenaline rage and heading towards the sounds of battle. As he rounded a corner, he came across a patrol of storm troopers perusing over the corpses of the fallen and wounded. Rann dove forward, impaling one and throwing his lightsaber to bisect another.

This place will make it's mark on you. And you, your mark on it.

 

[Klar]

​

Khronas

He was keeping the pressure up. Klar had Khronas' attention, but her ability to ENDURE that attention was no better now than it'd been a minute ago. Arguably less, considering the damage she'd taken and the fury she'd inspired in him. It was a core principle of Soresu to let your opponent wear themselves out while you weathered the storm, to guide them into making mistakes so that you could punish them. But what was the plan supposed to be when your opponent could overpower your defenses? What was the pay when they were a precision murder machine who was ideologically opposed to the idea of being sloppy or imprecise?

Perhaps the wise Jedi made choices that wouldn't lead to such a scenario. Klar didn't have that option. At the very least, though, she had his attention. For the moment, his undivided attention. Wasn't much she could do with it but maybe die, though.

Khronas spotted a hole in her attack and took advantage. Of course he did. She hadn't even known it was there, up until his lunge shot towards her kidney like a bolt of lightning. Klar threw herself to the side, earning herself a second deep cut instead of a fatal wound. The two of them MIGHT make her bleed out, though. That depended on how long the fight went, and whether she had the luxury of dying to something as slow and leisurely as bleeding out. The longer they fought, the weaker she got and the better he learned her movements. She needed to be fast, strong, and tricky - and she was losing the ability to be any of them at a rapid pace.

Creating some distance, Klar glanced past the Sith and spotted the younglings cowering. If she didn't escort them to safety, they might be found and killed. But if they stayed with her, they WOULD be killed. The terrible calculus of the decision added up to a single possible outcome.

“I have seen my fate, bathed in my future,” he explained, lashing out with a pair of overhead strikes followed by a feint. For a Padawan, Klar was mounting a strong defence. Was she driven to protect the weaker younglings that she had been sent to rescue? “I have borne witness to my glorious destiny. Nothing will stand in the way of what lies at the end of my path.”

"I'm still here, though." Klar pointed out, feigning bravado once again. Mustering all the power she could, she yanked one of her discarded lightsabers back into her hand from the floor, the blade zipping past Khronas' head and into her hand. The Jedi changed her stance up once more, holding the recovered lightsaber in a reverse grip - a defensive posture while lunging with one of her uppers to keep his interest. "Until I'm out of the way - isn't all of that just guessing? Conjecture?"

Klar gave the younglings one last glance and nod before enduring a withering blow from the Sith. She reeled from the strike and used it to retreat further down the hallway, leading him through a wide security door.

The auxiliary hangar of the Jedi temple was essentially empty - especially with a battle going on outside. There were a few droids about, but most of the fighting was centered higher up, in the better-stocked hangars. Limping, Klar led Khronas into the wide open room and down a wide path flanked by dropships and freighters due for repairs.

One entrance - the way they'd come.

One exit - the massive open wall at her back, looking out over the Coruscant skyline in flames. The streets ran red with blood, the skies filled with turbolaser fire. An unending cacophany of evacuation klaxxons and alarms blared, audible even through the weak shield that kept debris from blowing in. No real exit at all - jumping out would mean a drop of kilometers.

Staggering a bit, Klar turned to face the Sith with all three sabers forward. Her left side was covered with blood, two of her hands were shaking. She took two steps to one side, hopped up onto a starfighter to get some height, and prepared to receive Khronas' assault once more - along with an underhanded jab at his gut should he come in too aggressive and leave his core undefended.

 

[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
​

Well damn, I was hoping that would seal the door shut…

That thought was quickly forgotten however, as her target immediately slipped into a mocking tone. Katherine was glad her helmet was concealing her face, otherwise the snarl on the redhead’s face would’ve no doubt satisfied her opponent, having successfully gotten under her skin.

Here her tormenter stood, the woman’s voice still managing to make Katherine’s skin crawl. A range of emotions stirred within her like a maelstrom, spinning around and around, to a singular fine point. Make her pay.

“You ain’t getting me again, the only one who's going to fall today, is you.”

Katherine remained stationary, seemingly so at least. In reality she was allowing her armour’s Acumen HUD to scan the area they were in. Mostly pointless information, there was nothing to be gleaned that couldn’t be noted with a pair of eyes. They were in a hallway, sizable enough that Katherine wasn’t going to have issues moving while fighting. But it was going to be impossible to use her wings in any way.

Unless she could get Ellayina outside.

The HUD continued its scan further out towards the blonde woman, attempting to pick up anything and everything it could about her armour and equipment. At the same time, Katherine could feel Valery’s presence stretching out through the Force again. Only this time, a small squad of Alliance soldiers seemed to form around the winged Jedi.

However, due to the tumultuous nature of the Force; the back and forth between Light and Dark within the building, the Force-conjured troops were nothing more than flickering visages. Unable to hold an indistinguishable form.

Not that even Katherine was paying them any mind, her focus was solely on her opponent. Moments later holographic images of both Solipsis and someone she assumed was the Galactic Empire’s Grand Vizier, began to appear across the holo-displays. Stay focused Katherine.

“You’re going into a prison cell this time.” With her lightsaber in hand, Katherine ignited its yellow blade. “But not before I make you pay for what you did, even if it’s just a fraction.”

Sights set on Ellayina, Katherine strode forwards. Lightsaber ready to either strike, or react to whatever her opponent’s next move.

 

[Sahar]

​

"I sense the conflict in you! Stay your blade or this will end well for no one!"- Ran Serys

If looks could kill, Sahar's stare would've torn the Mirialan into shreds alone. She twisted her head, studying the Jedi's features and movement with the look of a predator staring down it's next meal.

"You...think?"

She said slyly, tilting her head and speaking in an almost empty, sardonic tone.

"I remember those words, a dozen times spoken, a dozen times it meant nothing."

How many times would they utter such words, cornered by Sahar and forced to fight like a cornered animal. Reason and wisdom were the mantra of the Jedi, and wasn't reason supposed to prevail over reckless violence?

No.

Violence is the language of the galaxy they lived in; it was man's inherent nature to kill and conquer, to maim and slaughter. She had come to learn this well under the scorching sun of Kandara, the desolate battlefields of the NIO's campaign of terror against the Sith and the wanton slaughter of the hyperspace wars.

"When the child is lost in the mountains, they cry out; sometimes the mother comes, sometimes the wolf."

She spoke cryptically.

"Who's coming for you? Who'll mourn you when the sky falls on top of this city and there is nothing but ash and ruin?"

Sahar lunged forward and smashed her lightsaber into the Jedi's, swinging and slashing with forceful abandon. She brought her lightsaber against the Mirialans, locking them together as she leaned forward towards the locked sabres and close to the Jedi's face, the light of the sabres and the Mirialan's face reflecting in the black visor of her mask.

"No one."

She attempted to launch a knee at the Jedi's ribcage as she pushed back, and as the stalemate broke, threw a sly sucker punch towards the side of the Jedi's head as she pulled her saber back and aimed it diagonally in an attempt to both knock her off balance and skewer her whole.

Ran Serys Darth Solipsis Ren
​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Some Guy: Isar
​

Cora squinted into the darkness, until it swallowed away Isar's dead-eyed stare.

I'm just a dream.

Just a dream.
​

A dream.

She squinted again, this time into the flare of sunlight. It was a comfort in a place where comfort shouldn't exist – but no, this wasn't the battlefield, was it? In that realization, the gentle warmth suddenly made her skin crawl. He was doing it again. Trapping her in another twisted…​

“I am so proud of you.” A voice.

A voice she would remember. A voice filled with tenderness and steadiness, with roots deeper than a mountain.

Cora turned, enveloped in a new sense of warmth. She looked up.

"Kahlil…?"

He was the father she'd never had. Quiet and steady, Kahlil Noble had shown her the support and paternal affection she'd so often sought from Marcel. Now, he was here. He was proud of her, that silent smile beaming with the strength of the sun. Cora smiled back. A tear slipped down the crinkled skin that gathered at the corner of her eye.​

...

It was like the buzzing of a fly, or the wrinkle in her sleeve. Something wasn't quite right. Was it the aristocrat in her, guilting her for feeling happy? They had something they were supposed to be doing, didn't they? Something urgent.​

Laughter drew her to the balcony.
​

Down below the balcony, a glimpse of boys playing on the lakeside. She knew those faces. Those boys. Smiling despite their clothes drenched. They looked up and waved at her. They were fishing down there. She should join them, like she had before.

Lysander von Ascania and Roman Vossari . Family to her, bound either in blood or word. But Lysander had been hurt, hadn't he? She'd watched him fall from the great wroshyr tree during the kaggath. He was better now, though. Healthy and smiling, waving at her with one hand a showing off his catch with the other. Roman had healed too, after she'd helped him back from the brink of death.

Those memories were so distant, so unimportant in the warmth of the sun on Ord Mantell. Whatever had happened had happened. They were together now. All of them. She'd make sure that they lived free. Happy and safe.

Ashla had seen it fit to give her a second chance, and this time, she'd protect them. She had to.

There was a distant curl of smoke on the skyline. If she squinted, she could see them – the jagged, charred edges of ancient buildings and blown-out windows. It wasn't hopeless, though. Everything could be fixed, given time.

Time. She had that here, too.

It was too good to be true, wasn't it...?​

...

Cora knew what this was. A honeyed trap made potent and personal.

It was the same way she'd once been lured in by a Sith Lord. Love. Love that she'd never gotten from her father, nor her departed husband.

Force, she'd only ever wanted to be loved!

She was tired. So tired. Tired of trying to keep everything together - her family, her home, herself - that it sometimes felt as though they were all slipping through her fingers like sand.

It would be easy to lean into Kahlil's embrace. To feel like she'd made a father figure proud. To see Lysander and Roman smile again, because one had felt the need to seek a Darker path while the other had been nearly ripped apart by the industrial war machine, and they never smiled anymore.
​

Cora turned away from the balcony, now facing the door. Makko Vyres was just beyond it, something told her. No, she knew. Their bond had grown so strong and complex that they didn't even need to see one to sense the other. His acceptance felt real, because it was. After everything, they'd made it work.

She'd never be able to make it up to him, but he'd never ask her to.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the door. She had the clarity, but her will had faltered.

...​

In the biodome, Cora's hand slowly lowered to her side. The vines uncoiled, relinquishing their deathgrip on Isar. Mascara and tears drew inky paths down to her chin. She stood still as stone, lips slightly parted as she gazed into the perfect abyss laid before her.

 

[Rikuan]

✦ RIKUAN ✦
"Ride the wind, dodge the rules."

LOCATION: Coruscant - Inside the Jedi Temple
OUTFIT: Tribal Jedi Robes
WEAPONS: Lightsaber
TAGS: Rann Thress | Everest Vale - OPEN

Rann had been quiet for a while now. Too quiet. Rikuan didn't push. He figured he was just processing the same thing he was. Not the battle, but the bodies. The ones they'd made. Rikuan had seen them too. Not just the soldiers falling now. But the ones in his past. Faces twisted by death, eyes asking questions he didn't have answers to. He hadn't killed many, not yet, but even one left a mark. And if he was feeling this messed up… what about Rann?

As Rikuan's muscles tensed, preparing for combat, he heard Rann yell something from behind. Rikuan's tail flicked in alarm, and he spun.

"Rann? Rann! You okay?! What happened?!"

Rikuan quickly rushed over to his new friend, tail swaying with worry. He cried out about ghosts. Ghosts? What was he-- oh! He meant those weird Jedi projection things. Didn't Rann understand they were there to assist?

"Whoa, whoa! Easy, big guy! It's fine, they're--"

Rann cracked his cybernetic fist into the duracrete. Rikuan jumped back when his crazed friend subsequently ignited his lightsabers, staying out of the way of his bloodlusted rage. He watched, completely stunned as Rann charged toward the patrol of Stormtroopers around the corner.

It was madness creeping in. The Empire weren't just tearing down buildings... they were tearing at the seams of every soul caught in the storm. Contemplation didn't matter right now - what mattered was defending the Temple. Defending Coruscant. And maybe stopping Rann from getting himself killed in a psyche-induced rage.

Rikuan gritted his teeth. No time to think. Just move. He vaulted after Rann, flipping low over a crumbled pillar and landing in stride behind him. The Stormtroopers hadn't even turned their full attention yet - too focused on Rann's initial blitz, and the spectral Jedi. Perfect.

With a quick spin and flick of his saber, Rikuan deflected a bolt back into a trooper's chestplate, then dropped into a slide between two others, slicing clean across their calves. He popped up behind them, tail flicking in rhythm with his footwork.

One of the troopers had peeled wide, flanking through the smoke, rifle raised and locked onto Rann's exposed side. Rann didn't see it, he must have been too deep in the charge, lost in whatever storm had seized his mind. Without thinking, the Makurian launched forward using the Force to enhance his distance.

His shoulder slammed into Rann's back, knocking him slightly off the blaster's path, just as the bolt cracked through the air. Pain tore through Rikuan's upper shoulder, searing past fur and flesh in a sizzling arc. The world tilted. He barely registered the impact as he hit the ground, lightsaber rolling out of his palm.

Smoke curled from the burn. His left arm went limp. Breath heaved through clenched teeth as his tail curled in reflexive pain.

"Got... your back..." he muttered, trying to save face. Rikuan attempted to lift his head, but gravity pulled it back down quickly.

Another trooper stepped into view, blaster aimed directly at him. Rikuan tried to move but the trooper was faster, slamming his boot into the Makurian's tail to keep him in place. A long groan of pain escaped his lips as his eyes narrowed, preparing for whatever was to come.

​

​

 

[Drystan Creed]

CORUSCANT: JEDI TEMPLE

"Wasn't expecting to meet a fan in a place like this," Drystan replied, calm and unfazed by Meliant's zeal. He handled his blade being caught with ease, but seemed to yield too much ground as Meliant pushed into him—moving with the momentum of his opponent's strength. But it was deliberate, done to feel for the moment when that pressure would slacken—then he suddenly surged forward with jarring force to break the lock.

It was a simple principle: defend when the opponent's output is strongest, and strike the moment it begins to fade. Everything loses momentum with enough time. And even the slightest loss of it was enough to exploit.

Still, he couldn't shake the strange presence bearing down on him, as if something was slowly sapping his strength. Not enough to raise alarm—he was still in top condition—but it warranted investigation.

Drystan responded with an upward slash. It was fast, with little windup or warning, but what made it exceptional was the sheer force behind it—akin to a battering ram.

The answer lay in the kinetic chain, and Drystan's mastery over it. The power began at his foot, grinding into the floor, then flowed upward through a twist of the hips, spine, shoulder, arm, and finally the wrist. For most, executing a perfect chain under pressure would be difficult—but Drystan did it with devastating effect.

EQUIPMENT IN BIO
ALLIES: Allyson Locke
TARGET: Meliant
ENEMIES: Zaavik Perl Tayiji

 

[Domaric Mordane]

Allies: The Dark Side Elite | Imperius Indomitus | Ibaris Varanin | Ashin Cardé Varanin
Enemies: Connel Vanagor | Amelia von Sorenn | Valery Noble | Thurion Heavenshield | Magdalena Bloodscrawl | Alexandra Feanor | The Jedi

The sky trembled with engine roar as TIE bombers carved burning corridors through the city's ruined outer districts. They came in ruthless waves, dumping ordnance without precision—markets, housing blocks, entire neighborhoods swallowed by flames and collapsing steel. There was no subtlety. No surgical strike. Only devastation. The outer city would be razed to force the enemy's final stand.

Mordane's HUD flickered with grim data: Connel Vanagor was alive, armed, and no longer hiding. The so-called martyr had become the spark igniting a widespread Alliance resurgence—thermal and spectral scans confirmed twenty-four sectors now bristling with active combatants, and ten new signatures had flared within the last hour alone. Omega Squad was entrenched deep in the Temple District, their last known position near the execution scaffold. The rebellion had evolved, morphing from scattered insurgents into a coordinated force.

Mordane's jaw tightened. The city was fracturing—not just under siege but through the indomitable will of its defenders.

"Vanagor's rallying the Alliance," he muttered. "They're turning this into a war for the soul of the city, not just the streets."

Across the network, status reports poured in with a brutal clarity. The 21st Mechanized Regiment—Sunfyre's spearhead—had pushed relentlessly through the city, but not without cost. Nearly 37% casualties since the initial landing, the regiment's heavy infantry battered but unyielding. Fires Command, the 2nd Battalion of the 1st Assault Regiment and the legion's primary artillery, had been obliterated days ago before reaching the Temple perimeter. Now, artillery support fell to the Ash Skulls from the 17th Expeditionary Armor Battalion, a fraction of the firepower it once commanded.

The 17th was pressed hard, their armored columns crawling forward through ash-choked streets, their battered vehicles bearing the scars of countless skirmishes. They provided relentless cover for the 21st Mechanized's infantry, whose ranks were thinning but their discipline unbroken as they surged toward the Temple steps.

Mordane's voice cut through the command chatter, cold and resolute "Initiate total saturation bombing on all outer districts. Hit them again. Flatten every structure, erase every hiding place. No exceptions. No sanctuaries. We burn the city to trap them within the Temple."

The roar of the TIE bombers intensified, relentless firestorms consuming the ruins. The 21st advanced methodically, mechanized infantry pressing forward with overlapping formations. Every doorway was breached, every alcove cleared with brutal efficiency. The 17th's armored battalion followed close behind, rotating fireteams to replace the wounded and sustain momentum.

Ghost Suns units swept the rear—collapsing tunnels, sealing transit shelters, purging stragglers. One squad's report ended mid-transmission, swallowed by static.

The Temple loomed ahead—scorched but standing. The 181st Infantry, a hardened veteran battalion, was entrenched beneath the Grand Promenade, shields flickering as they clawed forward meter by meter. Twice ambushed by remnants of the Temple Guard, both assaults had been repelled—yet the Jedi vanished before bodies hit the ground.

Mordane stood on a scorched balcony overlooking the devastation. Executions broadcasted across all channels, yet civilian voices were silent now—only static and ash lingered.

Varo approached through the haze. "Saturation bombing complete, sir. Temple perimeter is the last bastion. We can push forward."

Mordane's eyes hardened. "Good. All units converge on the Temple. No distractions. No mercy."

Stormtroopers tightened formation, rifles slung low, visors glowing dim in the smoke-choked plaza. The blade of Sunfyre's hammer poised to strike at the heart of democracy.

The Temple doors stood ahead, sealed and defiant.

Mordane began the climb.

 

[Darth Apophion]

Objective: King of the Hill

Enemies: Thurion Heavenshield​

The temple quaked from every blast. The marble floors began to fracture slowly, and the pillars groaned under the intensity of the battle. This place was no longer a temple or sanctuary of the Jedi. It was now a mausoleum to the dead. The bodies of Jedi, Dark, and Light lay scattered in twisted forms of agony. After this battle, no matter the victor, it would only become a crypt for those who died fighting here.

And then Thurion himself arrived. Leading the charge of a Jedi counterattack. Yet it was not the attack that drew his attention. It was the first words he spoke.

Apophion stood transfixed.

The words spoken struck him like a lash. Guardians of Ashla.

The words scraped his very bones.

The Jedi descended like angels of vengeance. Their sabers of azure and viridian raised as they charged down the great steps, led by Thurion himself. An armored-clad warrior. The Jedi rallied and charged with him in unison. The memories of Begeren rush into his mind once again. He smelled again the smoke of burning sanctuaries, heard the wailing of children swallowed in fire. Begeren had not been a battle. It had been an extermination. The Ashlan Crusaders had come bearing sermons of light, and they had offered no terms. No quarter. Only purification.

The Sith's black cape swayed in the wind as he stood against the tide of oncoming Jedi. He had sworn vengeance upon the light. Apophion would repay them for the injustice the Jedi had wrought on his homeworld. Now, here in their own sacred temple.

The first Jedi reached him, a young Zabrak with twin blades of yellow and the confidence of one who had never tasted ash. He struck high, arcing both sabers in tandem like a ritual gesture. Apophion did not parry. He stepped into the blow, caught the inner wrist with his free hand, and twisted. Bone snapped. The saber fell. With a backward sweep of his blade, Apophion opened the Guardian's throat in a crescent of red that mirrored the old moon of Begeren. The boy collapsed with eyes still full of belief.

The second came on without pause, a Mirialan woman shouting some mantra of peace. Her strikes were precise, elegant, full of poise, but Apophion saw through the facade. It was not serenity. It was pride dressed in measured form. He allowed her three passes, dancing backward over the stones, then reversed with a sudden forward stride, driving his shoulder into her chest. She staggered. His saber thrust upward beneath her ribs, piercing her lung and lifting her from the ground. He released her slowly, as though lowering her to the ground to meet the other Jedi in death.

The third and fourth came together, a pair of brothers, human twins who moved in mirrored fury. Their sabers danced like the tongues of twin serpents, blue and green weaving together in a deadly harmony. For a moment, even Apophion had to give ground. They struck in unison, using the steps to their advantage, pushing him toward the edge of the fallen colonnade.

But he had not forgotten the lessons of his own crucible.

With a breath drawn deep from memory, he reached out with his hand and released a deadly burst of telekinetic energy. The stone beneath their feet cracked, and he surged between them, blade sweeping wide. The Jedi wielding the green saber fell first, cleaving at the emitter. The wielder lost his hand and then his head. The blue saber struck Apophion's shoulder, just missing him by less than an inch. As the blade went wide, the Sith used the opening, and Apophion caught the surviving brother's throat in his hand and held it firm.

"You will find no absolution in death," he said, his voice a dirge. "Only understanding, too late to save you."

He drove his saber through the man's chest. There was no cry. Only silence.

He finally turned to Thurion Heavenshield. The other Jedi, once determined, now seemed hesitant to approach Apophion. He had slain five now, and their charge had broken around him.

He pointed his lightsaber at them, man. "You will find no glory here. Only Sorrow. This will not be your hour of victory; it will be your hour of defeat. Come now. Let me make this quick. Let me make this place and your fellow warriors of light your final resting place!" He spoke in defiance.