Junction No Disintegrations | BSS & THR Junction of Nar Vaadu Super Hex and Bothawui

[Aiden Porte]

2A
Lorn Reingard Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr Sal Katarn​

The rhythm broke, not in Aiden's favor.

His pivot came half a heartbeat too slow. Sarad's blade crashed through, the diagonal strike biting across Aiden's chest. The heat seared across, the armor taking the blunt of the impact yea saber still scorched pierced skin, just barely, carving a line from his left shoulder toward his right hip. The world lit white-hot with pain, the smell of scorched fabric, armor and skin filling his nostrils.

Before he could fully recover, the second blade found him. Lorn's golden saber, swung with merciless precision, swept in low. Aiden tried to drag his own blade down, but Sarad had already stolen the rhythm of the fight, his redirection leaving the Jedi's guard a breath too wide.

The arc struck across his abdomen, protected via armor once more, not deep enough to cut him in two, but enough to tear through armor, cloth and skin, burning a line of agony across his belly. Along the way his crystal at its center was shattered. The crystal giving aid to much of Aiden's strength and will, yet even as it shattered and he could feel the loss, it was replaced with his own impenetrable will.

The Force itself seemed to shudder at the blows, Aiden's presence flashing with pain. His knees buckled, his saber dipped.

He staggered back, gasping, his free hand clutching at his abdomen where the blade cut him. Pain flooded him, a living fire threatening to drown his focus. Yet even through the haze, his grip on his saber remained unbroken. The blade hummed defiantly, its azure glow wavering but unextinguished.

Aiden gave a shuddered breath as he gripped his lightsaber with both hands, staring down Sara.

"My light is my own, it will never yield to darkness."

 

[Kingsley]

Koda Fett Quinn Varanin Drystan Creed Tohu Kira Veylan Sibylla Abrantes Liana Organa Decarii Tithe

"Rrrawk! Y-y-eah, pal. You g-got th-this."

Kingsley nursed a bloody beak from Koda's tough love but eyes wide with terror glanced around at every dark corner. He did not like the echoes of whatever might be approaching. Relief surged through him when the mandalorian volunteered Drystan to handle things here and was expelled in the form of flatulence somehow more nauseating than his normal odor.

Long thin talons scampered away after Fett. While his partner in crime took a more direct approach Kingsley was notorious for his cunning plans. There it was. Floating over the senate hall on repulsorlifts dangled a chandelier that called to the bird like a virgin mountain peak waiting to be deflowered. He fired a grappling hook at the ornate fixture and leapt off the balcony.

Here is what Kingsley imagined: he sails over the combatants before landing nimbly on his feet before Queen Kalantha with a rose in his gleaming beak. She swoons at the display of machismo right into his arms and he carries her out the front doors bathed in confetti and flower petals and streamers by a jubilant local crowd.

Here is what actually occurs: Just a few seconds into his daring swing the chandelier's repulsorlifts exceed maximum weight tolerance and fail. The very elaborate and expensive ornament shatters into thousands of glass pieces but not before Kingsley's grappling hook snaps transforming the bird into a living projectile.

"Rrrrraaaaawwwwk!"

From his perspective the senator and her advisors appeared to be approaching rapidly. Kingsley flaps his wings uselessly in a panicked attempt to avoid a painful collision he's powerless to stop.

 

[Sars Sarad]

2A
Aiden Porte | Lorn Reingard | Sal Katarn​

---

Defiant to the end, it was stereotypical of so many Jedi.

Nonetheless Sarad had learned to grudgingly respect Aiden Porte and individuals like him. Their willpower, even in the face of certain defeat was impressive.

He didn't press for a victory he was already self assured of, two strikes was enough.

A comment caught Sarad by surprise as Aiden stumbled back, his knees buckling as he held his abdomen. Something about darkness and how Aiden would never yield like a pseudonym Aiden was using to describe Sarad. He chuckled...

"My name is Sars Sarad."

...Sarad wasn't a Sith, he wasn't some acolyte that followed the will of the Dark Lord. The tenants he followed were far more complex, anomalous even. At the moment it just so happened that the Black Sun allowed him to pursue the path he'd chosen relative to their own goals.

He deactivated Lorn's lightsaber, the will he'd used to cause its resplendent blade to burst into life withdrawing and having the opposite effect.

The Lightsaber in his right hand rose, aimed towards Aiden and crackled as it caused the atmosphere around it to distort as though it struggled, attempting to shed the form granted to it by the stabilizing ring and focusing lense in the hilt of the weapon.

Sarad wondered how long the mind could control the body, how long willpower could force a man to stay on his feet when his legs wanted to crumple beneath him.

"Remember this day. Next time I may have to take your lightsaber as well."

...the emotion he displayed earlier, the pleasure he took from someone attacking him unrelentingly had drained into indifference.

He wouldn't finish Aiden, not today.

A Nod, accompanied by a mastery of the force that flashed in the corner of his eyes sent another wave to crash against his opponent. This one was far weaker, far less focused. It only intended to toss Aiden aside.

The Battle was ending now.

Eyes glanced in the direction of Lorn Reingard and Sal Katarn prompting Sarad to call out...

"We're done here!"

...before he shifted and prepared to leave with his new prize, alongside the knowledge that the Black Sun had surely triumphed.

 

[Sal Katarn]

He willed it to drive the mercenary into the shattered crater floor, to wrench the revolver from his hand once and for all.

A blast of energy separated them, with Lorn flying off while Sal's own duster managed to deaden some of the Force impact again.

A brilliant and blinding ray washed over Sal's visor and although it tried to darken and polarized reflexively, that cost Sal in the moment. A crushing telekinetic blow slammed into him and drove him to his knees in an instant. He grunted with the pain screaming from his ribcage and shoulder. But for his Terentatek hide duster and that would've crunched him into the ground with enough force to pulverize bone or bust some spinal cushionin', Katarn suspected.

As it were, he could hardly do much as the Jedi used the double distraction to yank the gun from his already half-numb fingers.

Sal could only watch grimly as the revolver smacked into the Jedi's extended hand. Once again, he was looking down the barrel of his own gun. Only this time it was loaded with one last round. Of Krayt's Breath.

"Hell."

Sometimes them's just the breaks.

"We're done here!"

Katarn grunted.

Easy for him to say.

Aiden Porte Sars Sarad Lorn Reingard

 

[Dominic Praxon]

The wall collapsed in an instant. Duracrete shattered with a deafening crack, the wall beside them bursting apart in a storm of dust and stone. Dominic swung around just in time to see the shape surge through, its fist drawn back for Marcellan’s skull. Dominic's hand reached out, pulling Marcellan backwards, barely missing the impact of the attack.

“Down!” He barked, shoving Loria and Elenara toward the floor as shards rained around them. His holdout blaster snapped up, a flash of silver catching the dim emergency light, and bolts spat bright into the gloom toward the intruder.

Rubble tore loose overhead. A jagged piece of duracrete spun through the air, straight for Elenara’s face. Dominic’s body moved before thought, he threw himself across the narrow space, shoulder slamming into her as he raised his arm. The impact of stone caught him instead, cracking against his forearm and grazing his temple. Stars filled his vision, but his body stayed between her and the debris.

Pain burned down his side, but his voice came steady, iron-willed. “Stay behind me!”

He forced himself upright, blaster steady even with his limp, his free hand bracing against the wall. His eyes found Loria’s in the chaos, giving her a look sharp with both resolve and reassurance.

“Bastila!” He snapped toward Bastila, but there was no doubt she was fully aware. A thumb flicked his comms alive. “Xandyr, hurry. Now.”

Still between the Sorelles and Mercy’s looming shadow, Dominic squared his stance. He would not yield an inch. If the Senate halls demanded blood tonight, then it would be his before theirs.

Loria Sorelle Mercy Xandyr Carrick Bastila Sal-Soren​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Sal Katarn | Sars Sarad | Aiden Porte​

The revolver felt wrong in his hand. It was heavy and brutal, its grip alien to fingers trained for the balance of a saber. His arm trembled from the sheer weight of pain dragging through every nerve. His bare chest rose and fell in ragged heaves, blistered skin at his side still smoldering where the gel had burned through armor and cloth. The acrid sting of burned flesh clung to him, mixing with the dust and blood that streaked his face.

His eyes cut first to Sarad. The sight of his golden blade, his blade, resting in the marauder's hand, carved something raw through him. Another saber lost, another fragment of himself stripped away. A growl threatened his throat, his body itching to surge forward and tear it back, but his breath hitched. He remembered his Master's old words: "A saber is a tool. You are the weapon. You are the will."

The memory steadied him, though it did not ease the ache.

He turned his focus to the man before him. Sal Katarn, broken but unbowed, still clad in that ragged duster, his visor dulled from the blinding flash. The mercenary was down, battered by the Force, ribs screaming with every breath, yet still dangerous. Always dangerous.

The revolver rose in Lorn's grip, its barrel locking on Sal's center. His fingers tightened, sweat and blood slick on the trigger guard. His shoulders shook as he fought for breath, the muscles along his torso rippling with strain. He felt every beat of his heart in the burn at his side, the trembling of his arms, and a deep resolve pooling within his chest.

"You're under arrest," he rasped, his voice raw, carrying the steel of command even through exhaustion. His eyes, sharp despite the pain, did not waver from the visor across from him.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. Hands up. End it here."

The revolver stayed steady, though his body screamed with each passing second. The crater around them burned with smoke and ruin, Sarad's retreating presence tugged at the edges of his senses, and Aiden's battered but unbroken form glowed faintly at his back.

This was all that remained. The end of it, or the beginning of something worse.

He pressed the command again, quieter but edged with unyielding will.

"Make it easy."

 

[Sal Katarn]

"Make it easy."

A pause.

A moment where Sal took in the carnage around ‘em all. The blood and the destruction.

Made him wish he’d been good at anythin’ else. Anythin’ at all.

Even moisture farming.

The duster felt heavy on his shoulders. Sal tilted his helmeted head.

“Nah.”

Then his hand dove into the folds of his duster for the cortosis knife at his hip.

Lorn Reingard

 

[Jaa Ardan]

​

"Who gave you the impression I give a chit about your trust?" Jaa, who cared far more than he would ever admit, snapped.

If there were anything to be said about Jaa Ardan, it was that he allowed his temper and his pride to govern his words and deeds. Truth be told, Jaa had no issue with the man. Until this moment he found himself rather impressed with this King's man. Huge, hulking, and scarred, first impression was to think of Seldan as a hard or dangerous man or worse a man who wished to be thought dangerous.

He was gruff, for a certainty, with a voice like gravel in a blender. His height and scarred visage added to that gruffness but his speech and his disposition as they patrolled had been kind enough. He'd been genial and conversational, where many in his position would have been harsh and distrusting–as would've been their right. Jaa Ardan had taken offense where none was intended, as was his way.

Until this moment Jaa had thought him a fine man, and after witnessing the man put down their enemy with such precision and efficiency, Jaa thought him a damn fine soldier as well.

The reality was that he admired the man's conviction and his commitment.

In truth Jaa envied his position.

"Cover!" Seldan cried, throwing himself against a pillar on the corridor's right side. Jaa had already hidden himself behind an identical pillar on the left side.

For several seconds time seemed to stop. They stood stock still in an uneasy unnatural silence, Seldan's armor scraping slightly on the stone, the only sound brave or stupid enough to exist. It was though all of them, even the very stone of the corridor itself held their breath expecting to plunge into deep cold black water.

The tension exhaled in a storm of blaster fire. Slabs of scorching scarlet superheated plasma slammed into the stone sentinels shielding them. Showers of smoking scorch seared shingle rained upon Seldan and Jaa both, stirring their shields to shimmer softly.

Thump-thump-thump-thump, click, hiss, whirr, Thump-thump-thump-thump

It was an all out assault on not only their lives but all their senses. Every rip from the turret was like thunder from directly in the storm, rattling his teeth and likely making it so he would never hear as well again if he survived here. Each burst illuminated the dark corridor to the point of blindness. The stone struck by the blasts fire was turned to dust and that dust burnt away becoming some acrid stink that burned the nostrils and eyes by the following volley and yet it was worth their lives to leave their cover.

Soon enough it would be worth their lives to stay put. Perhaps thankfully the turret seemed to favor Veruna's man.

My luck isn't all shit then

It was a small comfort but comfort still.

Thump-thump-thump-thump, click, hiss, whirr, Thump-thump-thump-thump

He had an idea of the rhythm now, he was certain.

Four rapid volleys, eject the spent fuel canister, expel excess gas, power up again presumably after a reload.

He recited it in his head as it happened for a third time.

Thump-thump-thump-thump, click

The corridor was plunged violently into darkness once more, Jaa chanced a glance around his cover, rifle firm against his shoulder, moving with such precision it seemed as though he were born with it attached to him. The weapon's unfamiliar weight was rapidly becoming a comfort of its own.

Hiss,

Jaa's eyes were hardly given a chance to adjust to the rapid changes in illumination before time was up.

whirr

Jaa threw himself back behind his cover, rifle held close, eyes shut tight.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Even through closed eyelids Jaa could see the corridor bathed in red, could feel the heat of the fire, the shaking of the stone, could smell the rent ozone. He forced himself to ignore it all attempte to recreate in his mind what he'd seen when he chanced to poke his head round the pillar.

There was to his recellection another three sets of pillars before reaching the turret. Twenty feet from his pillar to the next and a further twenty to the pillars after that. Even in the dark and with just a glance Jaa Ardan was an experienced enough rifleman to be able to count twenty feet. There'd been movement too at the end of the corridor now that he thought of it. He was certain now that whoever had brought and placed the turret was still there feeding the machine fresh fuel cells.

"We can't hold this choke point," Seldan growled. "That thing will chew us to pieces."

The turret opened up again.

"We flank it, or we die here."

Fucking patience, will you? Jaa thought, desperately hugging his frame to his cover.
Thump-thump-thump-thump

"You said you keep pushing forward, Corellian. Prove it. Find us a way around here. I'll keep this bastard's eye on me. Move, damn you!"

Click

Jaa Ardan kept from behind his cover and sprinted up the corridor.

It's only twenty feet. Only twenty. He told himself as he ran. Frantic listening for the

Hiss

Jaa Ardan was sure he cracked a rib, throwing himself against his new cover. His chest rose and fell furiously but there was no time to catch his breath. Jaa lifted the rifle and swung around his cover, he stood as open as he could be, rifle raised, vision blurred and untrustworthy as his eyes refused to adjust to the new darkness left from the absence of the firing turret. Jaa trusted his instinct and previous glance. His rifle cracked three shots and for a moment Jaa thought he'd managed it.

Whirr

Fuck! He threw himself back behind cover and the turret fired to life again, this time uninterested in Seldan, the fire concentrating on Jaa's hiding place.

Thump-thump-thump-thump, click.

Jaa threw himself around the pillar again.

Hiss

Crack-crack went his rifle, a figure in the dark fell, Jaa Ardan was sprinting again, all thoughts of cover gone, it was time to see an end to this.

A new figure was hunched over where the first fell

Crack

Jaa missed the first shot crack the second did not fail. Jaa was now at the unloaded turret. He exhaled in relief and immediately was thrown into panic when arms grabbed him around the throat from behind.

Ardan you fucking idiot.

In his relief he'd miscounted. There was another combatant and now he was going to die in the most embarrassing way. How hard was it to count to four?!

Crack

Seldan's rifle lit up the corridor and Jaa could breathe again. His enemy lay dead at his feet.

"Clear," Jaa called down the corridor coughing.

Voices and tentative footsteps could be heard further down the hallway traveling up from the direction Jaa and Seldan had come from. They were getting closer but the sound of the turret made their approach curious and now it was Jaa and The King's Man who held they advantage.

They were the rock and the hard place.


Seldan Rourke

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Sal Katarn​

Lorn's jaw clenched. He saw Sal's arm twitch, the telltale dive for steel. A low grunt tore from his throat, half fury, half the ragged breath of a man pushed to the edge. Pain screamed through his ribs and scorched flesh as he shifted his aim, but he didn't hesitate.

The revolver cracked in his grip, its recoil jarring through battered muscles. He fired, targeting the arm reaching for the cortosis blade. His teeth bared as he forced the shot true, he couldn't risk a counterattack, he had nothing left.

"Damn you," he rasped, his voice raw. The words were both a curse and a lament. The choice was made, and so was his answer.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Ever had a bunch of plasmatic gel stuck to you that just burns and burns and burns and no matter how bad you try to swat it away it just won’t get put out? That’s what happened to Sal’s arm. Only he didn’t try to swat nothing away.

He let it burn, a hoarse scream ripping from his throat as the gel heated up the leviathan hide bracer of his hand, cooking the meat within.

Sal fought through the pain, eyes wet and stinging, and pulled out his dagger with his other hand.

Jedi should’ve gone for the kill shot.

Weak.

And that’s why he would die.

Katarn started toward him, the cortosis knife held in his one good hand as gel burned through the other.

Lorn Reingard

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Sal Katarn​

Lorn watched, his eyes widening with every step the mercenary dragged forward. Smoke streamed from his ruined arm, a blade glinted in the other. He won't stop, the realization sliced through him, a chill colder than the burning wound in his side.

His breath hitched, heavy and ragged. With a growl of pure desperation, he hurled the spent revolver into the dust. His hand snapped out, the Force lashing. The second revolver tore free from where it lay across the crater, slapping hard into his palm. The grip felt foreign, heavy, yet it represented his last chance.

He raised the weapon, his arm trembling, the barrel wavering. The distance between them shrank with each of Sal's staggering, relentless steps. For a heartbeat, doubt sliced through him: Was it loaded? There was no time left to wonder. With teeth bared and every muscle straining against the agony, Lorn squeezed the trigger, aiming for the chest, a desperate prayer that this would finally be the end.

 

[Aiden Porte]

2A
Lorn Reingard Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr Sal Katarn​

The wave hit him like a final hammer stroke. Not the bone-shattering torrent Sarad had unleashed before, but enough to strip away the last of his strength.

Aiden's boots skidded across the stone as the Force dragged him back, his saber flickering in a weak arc meant more for instinct than defense. He tried to plant his feet, to dig in, but his battered body betrayed him. His wounds screamed with every motion, his chest and abdomen aflame where the blades had cut.

He stumbled once, then again, and finally his knees buckled. The saber hilt slipped from his hand, clattering against the dirt, the azure blade vanishing with a hiss. The courtyard tilted in his vision, smoke and fire blurring together until he collapsed fully, staring up to the cracked ceiling. Sarad's voice carried over him like a sentence pronounced from afar. Remember this day. The words carved themselves into his fading consciousness, bitter and heavy.

He wanted to rise. To shout that the Temple still lived, that the Light was not his to claim. But the will of the mind could only drive the body so far, and his had reached its end. As he lay there, breath shallow, he felt the Temple's heartbeat still faintly thrumming in the Force, the frightened younglings, the defenders still fighting, the flame that had not been extinguished. It was small comfort, but enough.

His final thought before the dark took him was simple, stubborn, and unyielding: This is not the end.

Thread Exit​

 

[Blaire Sal-Soren]

She was shaken but remained unbroken and far from dead. Blaire crawled on her hands and knees to reach the guard who had tried to lift her. There was nothing to be done for the man.

His pale green eyes were glassy and unfocused, the life behind them snuffed out for good and all. She said a prayer for this man that died on her behalf and perhaps morbidly she began to rummage through his pockets.

She was searching for some sort of identification, some way to know who he was, to learn his name so she may mourn him properly. He had nothing more than a commlink, which she promptly took for herself, along with the man's side arm. Thankfully he had been skinny enough that his gun belt fit around her own waist, mostly, it still swayed and jiggled with her every step, far looser than was acceptable.

"Stay with me, Blaire. I'll get you out of this, but I can't abandon my people while they bleed in my halls."

"The people are with you King Veruna, and so am I." She assured her king, her voice heavy with determination and resolve.

Briana, Bastilia, their mother, those were the Sal-Soren women to be thought of when it came to glory earned on the battlefield. Blaire was not a warrior, nor had she ever truly been allowed to be a soldier during her time with The New Way–no matter how much she begged to prove herself–, but she did not and would not wilt from duty.

Her eyes met his and there would be no mistaking her from some delicate thing that required protecting. Aurelian told her he would see her safely through this and the look they shared would make it plain that she meant to do the same for him.

Blaire was content to follow after these fine armored fellows as they cut their way through the rabble. There was naught a safer place for her than to stand behind the strength of the sovereignty, the capital, the very republic herself. They would, she knew, make short bloody work of these up jumped, criminal vermin. What chance had a gaggle of ne'er-do-wells and mercenaries have against Naboo's finest?

Her confidence in the King diminished and doubt began to mount as she considered all that The New Way had accomplished in their effort to strike at Naboo. Compared to Black Sun The New Way had been insignificant with not even a fiftieth of the man power or resources and twice they'd been able to cause nearly irreparable damage to Naboo.

A new question gnawed at her. How many of the cowards who survived and escaped the nether event had joined the ranks of the rabble that attacked them now? Or Sepan, where she nearly lost Bastila?

A burning anger roared to life in her chest and Blaire wished it was a rifle she carried in place of Jaa's holdout pistol. She had no thoughts of keeping herself safe and out of the way. Her great desire now was to shoot and kill as many of their enemy as she could and pray to Shiraya that each and everyone of them was some former New Way bastard.

Blaire reveled in thoughts of revenge against the cowards that stole not only her father's vision but his life and her mother's as well. She took perverse and wicked joy in the thought that her face would be the last they saw in life as they died screaming.
Blaire shook off her desire for bloody vengeance, pallid emptiness and shame took its place.

Aurelian addressed his people. He encouraged them to find their courage and fight these invaders who would surely crumble once they encountered resistance. A hush fell upon the hall as though every being who heard the words of their king took a breath and steeled their resolve. She could hardly believe her eyes as she watched politicians and their staffers turn from fearful victims to a mob ready to stand and fight.

Hands clutched whatever could be held, thrown, swung, shot.
Blaire jumped from surprise as her recovered commlink suddenly crackled to life with a voice she could not recognize.

"Hello? Hello?! Can anyone read this channel?! Three of us are trapped in the office of Sybilla Abrantes! We are under attack by a lone intruder! If anyone can hear me, please help!"

"King Veruna!" Blaire cried "Lady Abrantes!"

| Outfit: xxx | Tag: Aurelian Veruna | Equipment: xxx |​

 

[Seldan Rourke]

Seldan's chest rose and fell once, the last of the bodies hitting the stone floor. The ringing of his rifle still echoed in the corridor. He didn't move for a moment, braced against a pillar, shoulders square, his armor bearing fresh scorch marks. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burned stone, mingled with the faint, metallic hint of blood. Sweat traced a path down his temple, finding an old scar, but his breathing remained measured and controlled.

His eyes found Jaa across the distance, lingering just long enough to confirm he was still standing. Relief didn't soften Seldan's expression, but it sharpened something behind his eyes, a grim recognition that, for now, they were both still alive. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as he softly cursed, "Damn fool Corellian." It wasn't anger, but a release, words spat like pressure bleeding off before it built too high.

Then the comms crackled to life. A desperate voice, cutting through static, was another reminder of the wider chaos surrounding them. Seldan straightened, rifle still hot in his hands, the hard lines of his face snapping back into focus. He wasn't one to show fear, but his dark eyes held the weight of a decision already made. They couldn't be everywhere, but they damn well had to try.

His voice, low but sharp, roughened by smoke and exertion, cut through. "Cali, this is Captain Rourke. We copy." He shot a glance at Jaa, then down the hall, listening to approaching footsteps. "Hold your post on the generator. Shields failing will end this faster than any single intruder." He thumbed the charge on his rifle, the click loud in the dim light. "We'll move to clear the rest of the level."

The soldier shifted, rolling his shoulders as if bracing for a familiar burden. Pressed against the cool stone of the pillar again, he grounded himself. His voice dropped lower, almost a private murmur, aimed more at Jaa than the comm. "We push, and we don't stop. Eyes up, no mistakes. Every second we waste, someone dies screaming."

His face was set in grim lines, a man forged by war and tempered by loyalty. He gave Jaa a single, curt nod, the closest he offered to trust. Then, Seldan stepped from cover, rifle raised, shoulders squared like a wall of flesh and iron, ready to lead them back into the storm.

Jaa Ardan | Cali Ziiva​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

The commlink crackled, and Aurelian froze for just a heartbeat, long enough for the sound to feel like a physical blow. The plea for help sliced through him, a sharp internal conflict between his duties and his instincts. He could see the immediate choices laid out like a grim map: the hangar, a natural bottleneck for safety, or the Assembly offices, a labyrinth where a trapped delegation could be cut down before any help arrived.

His mind raced, a mix of cold logic and raw emotion. Part of him, the soldier, urged retreat and preservation. Get the majority to safety, deny the Syndicate the spectacle they craved. But another part, the man who couldn't stand to let a single cry go unanswered, argued fiercely against it. His heart pounded, a visceral mix of anger and something deeper, more personal. He wouldn't abandon them to be slaughtered in a corridor while he shepherd the panicked to safety.

The decision made, he turned abruptly, decisive. "Commander," he commanded, his voice hard as iron, "take half the men. Escort them to the Royal Hangar... civilians first, no arguments. Clear a path and don't waste time." His order was sharp, and the guard responded instantly and without question. Aurelian watched them go, a moving wall of armored protection guiding the terrified toward safety.

He turned back to find Blaire beside him, her shield humming faintly in her hand, her eyes wide but steady. For a moment, he took in the swirl of fear and determination on her face. A protective instinct, sharper than usual, surfaced and twisted into a smile that was more a curt command. "Stay close," he murmured, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. "We're going to the offices. We will get them out."

With Blaire at his side, he moved down the smoke-filled corridor. His sword remained sheathed, but his fingers twitched with the urge to draw steel, his shield a quiet presence at his hip. The world shrank to the sound of footsteps and urgent shouts, to the small, vital lives he needed to save. He moved with the certainty of a man who had that morning chosen to be more than just a decorative figurehead; he would be the one who answered when the city cried out.

Blaire Sal-Soren​

 

[Cali Ziiva]

Friends! Seldan Rourke | Jaa Ardan
Not Friends? None
Objective: Backup Power Generator and General Bad Guy Getaway Driver Nuisance
Equipment of Note: Mobile Workshop, Lightsaber, Bubblegum Popper Gloves

​

The Zeltron blinked. Captain Rourke? "Uhh, Cutey, he didn't say he needed power anywhere did he?" Cali stared at the console screen for a long, silent moment.

"Oh, I know!" A big grin popped into being. "I'll contact City Central! I mean, these people had to get on planet somehow which means they gotta get back off again, right? And all that was probably because no one knew what was going on, right?! So I should totally tell them, right?!?" Wide eyes peered at her droid companion. Her eyes soon resumed their usually wide-open size a moment later. "Yep, I'm right!"

"Let's see... Central... Central... Cutey do you remember--?" Cali looked back at Boo just in time for the frequency number to be held up on a data pad for her to see. "You're so Cute."

Power Generation wasn't exactly a communication hotspot, so having command on speed dial wasn't a thing; but once you knew how to program the comm system to reach out to a particular party... "Hello! This is Cali under the Assembly." Time for a situation report! ...of course, she didn't know what the situation was, but, uh, she'd just make things up and go fishing. She felt totally right about them needing to escape though so that was probably the best thing to focus on. Well, best for her. The best-best thing was to focus on stopping the criminals from hurting or capturing people in the first place. Kind of hard to do from the basement.

 

[Sal Katarn]

With teeth bared and every muscle straining against the agony, Lorn squeezed the trigger, aiming for the chest, a desperate prayer that this would finally be the end.

CRACK.

The slug whistled through the air and hit like a punch in the chest, ripping through the terentatek duster easy enough and the armorweave too. Meant for blasters and energy weapons and such, not raw slugs. Not his own gun.

Katarn stumbled forward a few more steps, clutching his knife in a fist while the other hand burned, frowning. Funny. He didn't feel no pain. But his thoughts were coming all slow-like, drippin' as molasses. He took another step forward, trying to tighten his grip around his knife.

"That it?" He wheezed, "I'm Firrerreon, Jedi. Reckon you need- hrk." Blood poured out of his mouth and filled his helmet.

The knife slipped out of his grasp.

Sal tottered sideways. The pain hit. A wave of agony unlike any he had felt before in his life. Oh yeah. Them devaronian blood poison rounds. Eight petals. Hurt so bad. Couldn't see nothin' no more. Not the Jedi. Not the sky. He keeled over and hit the dirt hard, only it weren't dirt but slabs of busted up permacrete.

One o' them petals peeled off when it him. Must have hit somethin' important. S'okay. He just needed a second. The pain might be worse than dyin', yeah, but he'd always healed before.

Always before.

Just needed a minute, y'know.

Reckon he needed just a mite.

Collect his thoughts and what not.

Then he'd get up and...

Then he'd...

Then he died.

Lorn Reingard

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

BASTILA

Tags: Mercy Dominic Praxon Loria Sorelle Xandyr Carrick​

The impact of the wall splitting apart hit her senses an instant before her eyes registered it. The Force screamed a warning, one that was loud and panicked, but even then she was too far ahead, her boots skidding as she wheeled back toward the sound.

Duracrete roared through the corridor, choking and blinding the scene; in the dust haze, a shape loomed, it was fast, striking straight for Marcellan. Dominic’s bark of command cut the din, his body flung into harm’s way to shield the others. The Sorelles’ cries blended into the alarms, into the storm of debris falling around them.

And then…calm.

She blinked for what felt like an eternity as her inner self calmed beyond any natural means.

Her hand snapped to her belt, the snap-hiss of ignition drowning every other noise. Violet light burst into being, searing through the dust. The blade cast a glow across the ruin, painting her face in luminous amethyst and burning the chaos into sharp relief.

Bastila moved, not as a panicked girl in over her head, but as the Order had trained her; as the galaxy remembered Jedi to be. She slid past Dominic, cutting herself between the attacker and the Sorelles with a precision that brooked no argument. Her stance was balanced, centered, every muscle poised like tempered steel.

“Enough,” her voice carried, clear and unyielding, the sound of command carved into the dark. “You come no further.”

The shadow of threat loomed large, but Bastila held larger still, the violet fire thrumming in her hands a promise and a warning. For a moment, the corridor itself seemed to rally to her; the jagged walls glowing in her blade’s light, the dust swirling around her like a cloak.

Her saber swept up into a guard, sharp and deliberate. One step forward, planting herself firmly between predator and prey.

“Run.” She said to the rest in a tone that brokered no argument.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Sal Katarn​

Lorn froze, the slug's impact a dull thud that seemed to drown out the gunshot itself. Sal crumpled, and the sound of his dying breaths scraped at Lorn's raw lungs. His muscles quivered with exhaustion and the lingering ache of his own wounds. He watched the mercenary's body spasm, a final, futile struggle against the encroaching darkness of death. Lorn's fingers, still wrapped around the revolver, twitched. Death was a familiar companion; he'd dealt it out on countless battlefields. But this had been different. This had been avoidable. Sal had left him no choice, and that felt heavier than any wartime kill. Tears, born of sweat and dust and a deeper sorrow, traced paths down Lorn's grimy face as he rasped out a repeated curse.

"Damn you."

His arm went slack, the revolver tumbling from his grasp and clattering against the fractured stone. His knees betrayed him, buckling and dragging him down into the dirt beside the cooling body. His chest heaved, blistered skin and scorched ribs screaming with every breath, but he forced his eyes to remain fixed on Sal's lifeless form. Only when absolute certainty settled over him did he finally lift his gaze. Across the ravaged landscape, Aiden sat, bruised but alive. Relief warred with a profound sorrow in Lorn's chest, a pain as sharp as any blade. They had survived. They had pushed back the enemy. But the cost was etched into every scar, a chilling reminder that this was no victory, merely a pause.

Lorn bowed his head, sweat-soaked hair falling across his eyes as he took another shuddering breath. We can't keep paying this price, he thought, a bitter resolve hardening within him. They couldn't wait for the Black Sun to come for them again. The next time, they would have to be the ones to strike first.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Objective 1A
Decarii Tithe | Liana Organa | Cassian Abrantes
Vs Tohu Kingsley ​

She was almost through the threshold, one hand reaching for the panel to slam the office doors shut, when something heavy slammed into her side.

Sibylla cried out as the world pitched, marble floor rushing up to meet her. Her blaster spun from her grip, clattering across the stone just out of reach. The impact jarred her teeth, pain sparking through her ribs, the breath ripped from her lungs.

"Blast--!"

Glass shards rained down in a storm of glittering knives as the chandelier came crashing apart overhead. Sibylla shielded her face with her arm, feeling the ripple of her shield activate, preventing the faster shards from getting through. She hit but was unable to stop the slower fragments, feeling the sting of causing tiny cuts along her skin, her own face spattered with the wreckage of crystal and dust.

The source of the collision was the most wretched smelling, flailing, avian shrieking nonsense, landing in a heap on top of her, feathers and talons scrabbling in blind panic, the shield flaring over her body in a ripple of white and red where the slower motions managed to slice through.

Her hazel eyes blazed as she looked up through the haze of broken glass and smoke. Fury burned hot, drowning the ache in her ribs, adrenaline driving her past the fear that clawed at the back of her throat.

"Get off!" she barked off, trying to shove Kingsley off her, the karlini silk of her gown baring her slender bare legs as she attempted to scamper, trying to reach for her vibroknife at her thigh before the blasted bird could attack again.