Kaeshana Continued

[Darth Metus]

Thus was the pride of the Imperial Remnant.

A king held high by the blood of his subordinates. A man laid low by the assault of an animal. Before their very eyes, the monarch was taken off of his feet by the Behemoth's attack. Duraplast collided with the man, causing him to smack into the floor with a satisfying thud. While true, those behind [member="Tanomas Graf"] were hardened dogs of the military, to see one's liege taken off his feet must have stung. It must have pecked at that pride the Remnant clung to so fiercely. As satisfying as it was to entertain the thought, the Behemoth did not sacrifice much time to it. After all, the onyx-clad liege quickly scrambled to his feet and mounted another offensive.

His blows were numerous and rapid - each aimed at one of the behemoth's extremities. Malok was careful not to push too hard against this offense, lest he fall victim to the supreme cutting power of a lightsaber. Rather, he relied upon the natural properties within his hammer, Grond. At first, the Behemoth gave ground, allowing the initial series of blows to miss their marks. Molten slashes then maimed the walls and ground of the corridor - better them than Malok.

Then, a blow came screaming for Malok's dominant arm, providing an opportunity at last. He drew back Grond and thrust it forward, meeting its head upon the center of the blade. The central repulsor and shockwave generator rods responded to the sudden collision, resulting in a force that could easily reduce solid stone into rubble. When applied to a man, or rather Emperor, it had the power to easily shatter the bones within his hand, wrist, and forearm...assuming he kept hold of the lightsaber.

Once again, Tanomas had a choice to make - sacrifice his arm or his saber.

Yet Malok was not done. The battle had stirred his blood. It inspired his body to sing to the Force, making a silent plea lost upon his own mind. The Darkness eagerly responded to his call, empowering him to Act. It guided him forward, no different than instinct itself, manifesting as an offhand thrusted forward. Power shrieked from Malok: a telekinetic wall launched directly at the Emperor's core. A full impact could easily unseat the man from his solid footing and send him careening backwards...

...And into the hail of blasterfire launched by his subordinates.

OOC: This is my previous post from the Rebellion, let's pick right up where we left off!

 

[Tanomas Graf]

No.

Tanomas was done making choices. He had been thrown around like a ragdoll for decades, ordered around by faction after faction and suffering many defeats. He defected from the 'First' Order because he was going to break the cycle and be the leader himself, which he just so happened to do. He is the Emperor of the Imperial Remnant, and he wasn't going to let some mongrel with a hammer kill or maim him. Graf was going to end this duel on his terms and win the battle against the Order; No ifs, ands, or buts.

Instead of allowing the hammer to shatter his lightsaber, he reared the blade away and backpedaled from his opponent a few steps to get out of melee range. As for the attack that came next, he could not stop it. He manifested his power into a barrier capable of absorbing the telekinetic shockwave enough to only push him back a good meter and a half. Instead of rage flowing through the veins of the old man, he had calmed himself with the help of his lightsaber crystal. Rage made one sloppy, prone to errors, which the man could exploit against this beast.

Obviously that hammer that this beast was holding was lightsaber resistant, or else he wouldn't of attempted to smash his saber with it. But it could have a weakness other than lightsabers. A plan hatched in the old man's head as he rapidly began to flourish his blade from side to side, slashing the walls and leaving molten durasteel in their place, and by the time he thought the animal would be sufficiently confused. He let out a large-arching torrent of powerful force lightning directed at the hammer and its owner, with some spilling out even behind the ape.

[member="Malok"]

 

[Darth Metus]

The Behemoth was many things.

A leader. A commander. A prince. Yet a base mongrel, he was not. This truth showed in his daily life. It was epitomized by his dealings, professional or otherwise. It was lived on the battlefield. This day, aboard his precious Avenger, the so-called Emperor would learn this truth. Amber eyes narrowed at the sight before them - an armored "liege" who slid back only a meter in response to his rage. What's more, the hail of friendly blasterfire was deflected, sent scattering all about the corridor by wild flourishes of the saber.

Yet in the end, the Admiral gave ground.

Malok held his hammer aloft, bracing against a potential assault by saber. Yet the old man leaned upon the Force, manifesting his power in a manner synonymous with rage. Electricity flew forth from his hand, raced across the corridor, and slammed viciously into Grond's head. Stray sparks flew, the lightning conducted, and Malok had enough sense to wrench his arm back. His natural strength sent the damaged weapon back into his line of subordinates - they could recover it later.

In response, the same motion brought his fingers to the rear of his belt. He clutched a staple of his arsenal, a sonic grenade, and hurled the explosive forward. The ongoing torrent of electricity acted as nature demanded thus, attracting to the nearest source of metal instantaneously. Detonation was instant, creating a concussive impact that would easily unseat both combatants and send them hurtling backwards into their respective subordinates. Malok had utilized this play before. Once. The combination of his size and armor was enough then to prevent any grievous injury...and they would do so again.

Yet that didn't stop the room from spinning once he landed among his fellow Ma'alkerrites. Pain was a reality of the tactic, as would a trip to a bacta tank...but for now, he could fight on. [member="Tanomas Graf"] would most likely have a worse time. To utilize lightning required a pronounced sum of focus - and that would prove to be his undoing. How, then, could a man encapsulated by his tactic respond to an instantaneous assault? How, then, would he not feel the very same as the Behemoth? Self-proclaimed nobility did not bestow godhood, after all.

For a moment, Malok's subordinates provided their Commander a brief reprieve. Their shields were raised, their blasters unleashed hell all the more, and even the fallen Grond was plucked from the ground. As for the downed Ma'alkerrite, he slowly sat up with nostrils flared. His dominant hand reached down, clutching a "gift" from his mentor. Thus far, he had been fighting like a soldier. Now...it was time he fought like a Sith.

(OOC - Pardon the delay, didn't get a tag good sir)