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<"POP SMOKE-GRENADES BEHIND YOU!! I REPEAT, POP SMOKE-GRENADES BEHIND YOU!!!">
As expected, their need to beat a fighting retreat had made itself present all too soon, with the Blue-Heart's first line doubling back to their second defensive-line, the last of it's like to be seen before reaching Maximillian Heights rallying-point. The walking-wounded would do their best to carry their friends to the lingering medical-APCs as the Major's guard-detail, the majority of QM-Company and the remaining uninjured-soldiers covered their extractions to Fort Imperator, but the long-route the able-bodied would take meant that it would be a while before the medics returned for more. By the time everything hit them full-force, all fell into place as Erskine hoped, incurring fewer losses than he anticipated; though the wounded still managed to fill all the medics' APCs, the troop-numbers still looked promising as they held firm on their fighting retreat towards the Maximillian Heights.
Despite the small losses they'd incurred, the damage inflicted by the rear-guard actions of the Blue-Hearts had shown to be much more costly for the Sith Empire's first waves of sith troopers and sith-spawn, unaware that Barran's fighting-retreat was implemented in a way that would leave his enemies constantly exposed to the turret-nests that covered every stretch of pavement between the spaceport and Maximillian Heights. With one medivac between their starting-point and the Heights, (intercepting their route at the midway checkpoint) Barran's men would hold that checkpoint to cover their APCs' escape; also marking entry to the last three lines of retreat in their attempt to link with the other Galidraanis, a tough fight that tested every Blue-Heart who remained to stem the seemingly-endless flow of ordnance and sith-troopers. These freaks scrap for control o'er their auld Capital, aye. But they're aw dyin' for it's decayin' husk! Senseless, so it is.
<"NEXT WAVE INCOMING!!!! OPEN FIRE!!!">
As soon as the next contingent of Sith-troopers began their next advance, the Blue-Hearts began to fire and maneuver in response, using the Cataphracts and every other view-obscuring landmark and doorway they could find along the way; not that they had to wait for long to have the pressure relieved somewhat, as the last stretch of streetway would have support sallying out from the Maximillian Heights, in the hopes they could reach Barran's rearguard before it was too late to save them. Once all was said and done, with everyone safely behind Tal's defensive perimeter, Barran realised that the ones sallying out to aid them were being led by one of Tal's subordinate officers; ordered to defend Maximillian Heights until further notice, the ice in the eyes of the Northern-Galidraani told that the officer had already resolved to hold firm regardless of who or what would be thrown at them.
<"I SEE YOU, BARRAN!!! JUST FINISH YOUR MANEUVERS FOR NOW, WE'LL REARM YOU SOON ENOUGH!!!">
<"Heggy to Blue-Heart Alpha! QMC Fire-teams 1 and 2 still hold the spaceport towers! Uncontested since we missed the signal to leave, milord. My apologies for that, but every rifle here is happy staying put. Best leavin' the dodgy pot-shots ti yer best, eh? Standing by, QMC Alpha out!">
Having beaten back the sith-troopers' attempt to overrun the Heights' outer perimeter, the Northerners and the Blue-Hearts began reorganising and arranging medical transports, with kind help from a battalion who had guessed already that Blue-Heart Battalion intended to follow their Lord-Commander to Fort Imperator. However, much had changed in the mind of Erskine after CSM Heggy's holographic message from within the Imperial Gate spaceport's seemingly-overrun perimeter, bringing out an air of irritability despite his cordiality around the men; reallocation would be needed, though it had taken more than a moment to decide who would be the best unit for the task, as they would be ordered to sneak their way back to the seemingly-deserted spaceport. Yet something happened, dragging the Lord-Major back from almost boiling over into full-blown rage; the recognisable digital bleeping of droids reached his ears over the din of the reorg's hubbub, bringing back memories of Jorie's droid-actions on Kynachi as Erskine ran to Tal's former command-building.
'JOSIE, READY UP!!!! Time to turn that,"S", into an,"R", once-and-for-all!'
To gain an affirmative response so quickly had shocked Barran to begin with, but he remembered that Jorie's ability to patrol unnoticed, and that ability to see their enemies from the farthest distance, both would be greater than a vast majority of units in the area; the young Leftenant would be safe if he picked his routes carefully, and the Lord-Major would have his unit (along with the CSM's two best fire-teams) well-supplied for the next few days of the battle. Erskine's real fight awaited him elsewhere, but he knew exactly what his men were all preparing for; and so Major Barran looked out across to Fort Imperator itself, fully aware of the fight he'd have to endure on his way there. I can only hope you actually made it, milord.
In their advance towards Fort Imperator, there had been exchanges of fire, though the less-numerous stormtroopers had been quickly assaulted into full-rout without much trouble. The true scene that shocked them was the trail of destruction left by (what had become quite obvious to every Blue-Heart present) an effective fighting-retreat, as Barran's men struggled to find any Galidraani corpses among the near-endless piles of dead sith-troopers and sith-spawn, one of the few grisly sights that could ever lend rock-steadiness to the shakiest of Blue-Heart hands. 'Starting to think we've let our own standards drop, milord.', Captain Shugg muttered, watching his Lord-Major's flank as he did his best to walk around the piles of charred-and-bleeding enemy corpses. After veering back again, the affable adjutant leaned in to whisper,'If it weren't for all the Sith-insignia, and the occasional Galidraani corpse here or there, I'd say this was a massacre.', before facing the barrel of his rifle forwards again.
Hand-signalling a general halt, Lord Erskine pulled his holographic-device from his pocket and set it out to record, putting his index finger against his lips in clear sight of his subordinates. As they all found fitting cover to stand or crouch behind, Barran cleared his throat as he switched on the device, leaning forward as he said,'Open transmission; Major Barran to Punished Hound! Expect our arrival in roughly twenty minutes or so, dependant entirely on how much resistance we encounter on the way. Hold your arcs-of-fire to the northeast bearing, Blue-Heart Alpha out! End transmission....'
A Sith turned from the dark is a life saved and an enemy defeated. Jedi by circumstance, altruist by choice, Zaavik felt it was his duty to preserve life. No matter how vain or risky the effort, he would do what he believed he must. Should it be the death of him, at least he died on his feet with good in his heart and soul. The prospect did not frighten him as much as it once had.
How could nothingness possibly be worse than this?
The Shadow skulked across the hangar, making a beeline towards a fighter vessel. The ladder to the cockpit clanked under his footfalls, ascending closer with every step. A voice called out from behind him, resonating off the walls of the empty hangar and into his ears, causing him to freeze.
"Zaavik!?" The voice of Ryv
was unmistakable. "You missed the brief, I- What are you doing?"
Zaavik sighed. Busted. "Leaving," he replied plainly, taking another step on the ladder.
"Cold feet, huh? Cmon, let's talk about this, no need to go deserting us."
"No, it's not that. I uh-" Zaavik dropped off the ladder, boots smacking into the durasteel flooring beneath. A turn was made to face Ryv, a few steps forward made to meet him. "There's something I gotta do. I don't really know how, or why, but I can feel it. The Force is pulling me somewhere, the call is-" He paused, looking down to the floor with an odd camber to his lips before looking back up to his fellow Jedi. "It's really loud, Ryv. I can't ignore it."
The Sword of the Jedi made a face, placing a hand on his hip with an inquistive raise of his brow. "Something, huh?" His tone was laden with more curiosity than doubt. "What's this something, then?"
"Saving a life."
No deception emanated from Zaavik to Ryv's empathic sense. The Kiffar let out a breath and smirked slightly. "Fine, I'll cover for you. Just don't get in over your head, okay?"
"When do I ever?"
Ryv blinked in silence, a blank stare regarding the Zeltron with disbelief.
Zaavik smirked, chuckling at his own joke. "I'll be fine," he insisted, hastily climbing back up the ladder and climbing into the cockpit. Certainty in his statement was a facade, for the Knight truly didn't know what to expect. A certain dread was hidden behind the pull the Force assaulted him with. It was better not to dwell on those feelings, anyhow. "Thanks," he offered as he slid the pilot's helmet over his head and looked down to Ryv.
The Kiffar nodded in silence, arms moving to cross over his chest. Engined blared as the vessel started up. Artificial winds danced wildly in all directions as the fighter slowly raised from the floor before tearing forward through the atmospheric shield of the hanger. Zaavik disappeared as a spec against the endless void of space.
FEL REDOUBT // BASTION SECOND BASTIONFALL Darth Daiara
"No entry, Jedi." A Togrutan Imperial Knight rebuked Zaavik's request with clear contempt. This entrance to the Redoubt was guarded only by the Knight and an accompanying Stormtrooper. Other forces were scrambling to prep defenses and take positions, leaving the actual present security rather lacking.
"Listen, man, I'm on your side, I'm just trying to-"
"We said no entry," the Stormtrooper helmet vocoder distorted voice doubled down with his Imperial Knight comrade.
"You forget, we are only allies against the Sith. You are not entitled to our facilities, we are not friends."
Zaavik threw his hands up halfway and sighed with feigned defeat. "Yeah, whatever," he replied with a facade of concession. He took a step backward, turned his back half to them, and pulled out his commlink, pretending to make a call. Both guards eased up, thinking the Shadow had given up. Cybernetic hand brought the comm up to his lips as his other hand made a sneaky wave at his side, index and little finger flicking up and down.
"You will let me into the redoubt," he spoke firmly.
The Stormtrooper's posture went slack. "I will let him into the Redoubt."
"What?"
The guard turned and tapped at the door control, punching in a code that caused the massive door panels to begin to slide open with a loud groaning.
"'The hell are you doing?"
Zaavik crept up alongside the Trooper and quickly reached forward to switch his blaster to stun. "Blast him," he commanded calmly.
A hiss of white plasma erupted from the Imperial Knight's saber hilt as the realization took over. The first shot was parried, the magnetic containment field of the saber sending it flying wildly into the air. The second shot found purchase, slipping past the saber and slamming into the Knight's gut, sending him crumpling to the ground unconscious. The effectiveness of New Imperial Troopers proving once again capable of overcoming the lightsaber.
Zaavik scoffed smugly. "Veina," queen, he quipped as he looked down at the Togruta. The Jedi offered a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, the metal of his prosthetic clattering against plastoid shoulder pauldrons. "Good job. Take a nap, huh? You've earned it."
"You got it, boss!" The Stormtroopers knees gave as he folded to the floor. Armor clacked and clamored against itself, followed by the hollow thud of helmet onto concrete. Snoring echoed inside the hollow shell, vocoding outward as a digitized static. A long step over the two unconscious guards heralded his waltz through the foyer of the Redoubt.
Corellian Coin rolled around between his fingers. Ethereal screams, wails, and other horrible sounds of the past echoed through the halls, courtesy of the coin's imprint. It was nothing short of gutwrenching, but he had no choice other than to endure. The echoes and visions carved a clairvoyant path toward his intent, a macabre road for his likely vain quest.
Staircase, corridor, left turn, corridor, right turn, stairs again. The former Sith Academy had looked big, but on the inside, the scale was even more impressive. Remnants of Sith iconography still lingered, the efforts to chip them away in favor of the Imperial Codex still ongoing. It was no wonder it had taken so long, he'd felt as if he'd walked miles already.
Every new scream he heard, every new cry, every new spatter of blood he saw evoked a unique grimace all their own. He'd heard about it, but the first-hand recollections were a lot worse than he thought. Zaavik was still in a coma when this all went down. He wouldn't have ever imagined the ordeal to be this horrific. Yet, somehow, it didn't feel wrong.
Another corridor, this time the coin granted him the sound of laughter. A familiar voice that reverberated from father ahead, echoing in a repetitive rhythm further and further down the hallway. Pace increased, pointed boots slogging against the tiles with their own impactful reiteration off the hard interior walls.
Disfigured digits lightly caressed a durasteel door. Eyelids closed, opposite hand clenching the coin as he focused internally. In the back of his mind's eye, red-hued locks danced against momentum through the threshold. The coin was practically humming, a subtle vibration buzzing in the center of his palm.
This was it.
Fingers slid down to the door control. A pulse through the force willed the mechanisms to clear, forcing the door to hiss open and click at the apex of it coming ajar. Slowly he walked forward, what was once a significant space had been reduced to a linen closet. Towels, vestments, rags, curtains, and the like. It could have been much worse, they had to store the dismantled Sith Iconography somewhere, or at least, whatever they couldn't burn.
Situating himself in the center of the room, Zaavik turned to face the door and dropped slowly to his knees. He sat on his feet and placed the coin in front of him. Both fists retreated to his knees as his eyes closed. A deep breath would slip him into a light meditative trance.
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
Aradia had been removed from the front line. The order had been as clear as day, yet when the call for Bastion came to life... She broke her master's orders and answered. Kaalia would never understand.
She had to be there.
Her footsteps echoed through the familiar hall, goosebumps prickling over her skin. The siege of Bastion rang on beyond these now insignificant walls, but she did not yet join. Something drew her forward-- an intangible string pulling tight at her chest.
No one had survived the Imperial's attack. She knew that. Yet every corner she turned, her eyes searched, almost desperate for a lock of blonde hair-- a familiar dimple. Someone. Anyone.
Bastion Academy had been purged.
Tula had not survived.
She stopped short at juncture, a Fel tapestry hanging where an Empire one had once resided. She could see its faint outline, the dirt stain refusing to let the past fade. She let out a pained hiss. Fire erupted across the imperial symbol. She walked onwards, her once timid steps gaining intention.
Did they really think they could erase her with no consequence?
Ideas bubbled forward, smothering the pinching that built in her tear ducts. She had been in enough wars to know that pure brute would not win this school back alone. She had to--
She stopped short, a familiar set of doors appearing before her. In her brooding, she had not paid attention to where her feet had taken her. The path had been instinctual. Habit. She swallowed hard, the pinching in her tear ducts redoubling as she stared at her old dorm door.
Her hand raised before her, moving as if it were in a dream as it entered the old code.
Visions of hatred and desperation flooded over his mind in dreamlike watercolors as he meditated. Pain echoed from the coin in front of him, he could feel it like it was his own. The screaming was loud enough to hurt his ears. Gurgling in the throat, he couldn't breathe. Something tightened his grip, not letting him leave this meditative state. Blood, the blood was everywhere, a growing pool of ichor crimson.
She died here. Through her own eyes, he could only watch.
The hissing of a door jolted him from his meditation at the very moment she'd slipped away in the vision. An invisible smog of force energy flooded the tension laden atmosphere as their eyes met. Alive and well despite what he'd seen, there she was. Zaavik gasped in both shock and vital need, he could not breathe during that forced recollection. The weight of the force around them proved too much for the old Corellian Token. Metal cracked, small grains of shrapnel bouncing off the floor with a high pitch ding. The half-sundered coin flipped into the air from the ground.
Zaavik's hand flung forward, fumbling around with the coin for a brief moment before snatching it from the air. His other hand raised slowly, fingers extended and palm facing out pacifistically. With one fluid motion he stood up slowly from his knees, his feet planting firmly against the ground. Token deposited into his jacket pocket, and then the same hand mimicked the non-aggressive gesture of the other.
"Relax," he implored softly. "I'm not to here to hurt you or anything, I just want to talk, that's all." Either hand dropped to his side once he felt he'd made his intentions clear. "I know you must be feeling a lot right now," he began, trying to take the empathy approach. He couldn't help but immediately the second guess whether or not that was the right approach. He made a face, shaking his head to himself. "Look, fuck it, whatever, just hear me out, okay?" A turbolaser smacking into Ravelin in the near-distance shook the Fel Redoubt. "While we still have the opportunity?"
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
How.
Her eyes screamed the question as the coin flipped through the air. It hit flesh, the noise muted but resounding as he caught and pocketed it. "You," she breathed, meeting his gaze.
Feeling a lot? That was one way to to put it. She stumbled a step back, at first expecting another attack. It was the shock alone that stopped her from drawing her saber, though the hatred she possessed for her growing arch enemy flared in her nostrils.
"Are you stalking me?"She accused, flabbergastion next to follow. He was in her old room. And it-- Her attention tore to its dusty shelves, pain lashing through her-- it had been reduced to nothing more than a linen closet. Her fury turned back on him. She raised her hand, her fingers clenched. A pulse of the force slammed into him. She stepped in, the door closing behind her as she bore him down.
"What. Are you doing. In my room?" She demanded. A telekinetic grip started to clench down on his throat.
The Jedi's head crept backward forcefully as the invisible grip tightened incorporeal fingers around his throat. Facial features twitched initially, but his resolve steeled and his regard remained covered by a convincing illusion of being unphased. "Ma'am, this is a linen closet," his wispy, air deprived vocalizations managed to quip in facetious contrary through the invisible restraint. Probably not a good time for jokes, the little voice of reason in his head scolded. A real shame too, as his wit had just formulated a pun involving 'breathtaking'.
"The coin," he explained. "I followed what it offered." A small cough rasped out of his airway. His hand slowly crept down to the saber on his belt, hovering over it with a twitching finger. "I told you, I'm just here to talk. I've seen what happened here, it showed me." His eyes narrowed as he drew a large breath laboriously through her attempt as suffocation, only causing the grip to grow tighter.
"Let me go," he rasped dryly. "I told you, you're not in any danger," yet "I'm not here to hurt you," unless I have to. It was always the omitted bits that were the most important. A universal rule between Jedi and Sith. There never had been any such thing as total honesty, and especially not between the faces of the Force's spiritual coin. A gulp struggled down his throat. "I don't blame you if you don't trust me, but I've let you go twice, haven't I?"
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
The quip earned him a rattling, one which his only his talking halted. She seemed to teeter in that moment, a crazied edge to her eyes as the urge to squeeeze rocked her. And there it was again. The hunger. It was growing less frightening, if only cause the Jedi served as something more pressing to mistrust.
"-- I've seen what happened here, it showed me."
Shock rippled over her features. The grip released him. He was left to gasp at the gifted air, the sithling staring skeptically at his cornered form. "What could you possibly have to say to me?" She uttered, distaste coating every word.
He was the enemy. His kind murdered her kind relentlessly. Everything she had known, they had stolen from her grasp. She was a kid, nearly purged for religious wars and deeds that were not her own. And he owned it.
They bore each other's scars. They were two sides of that same coin and they could never be made to see eye to eye. That was not how physics worked. The mention of what he had seen left her needing to know more. For a moment, she'd bite.
"You have thirty seconds."
Her saber jumped into her palm, the blue hue lighting up the room. Jedi. It was an embarrassing punishment in response to the saber he had taken from her. Wouldn't it be appropriate if she killed him with it in turn? She pointed it at his chest.
A quiet, stifled gasp quietly compensated for the lack of air in his lungs. Chest and shoulders rose with each subsequent breath in an exaggerated fashion. "Foitan banas," fuck's sake, he bleated as he rubbed his throat with his right hand.
Five seconds had passed.
"Thirty seconds?" Zaavik scoffed, upper lip curling with vexation. "This is gonna take a lot longer than thirty seconds, you're just gonna have to deal with that."
Five more seconds passed.
He sighed. No preparations as to what he was going to say had been made prior. This entire endeavor had been spontaneous, and he was playing it by ear for better or worse. "No tricks," he reassured begrudgingly. He showed his hands, turning them once over and them back, keeping them where she could see them. "You're torn up about what happened here, it doesn't take an empath to figure it out. I get it, I really do. I've been there too, believe it or not. Not just losing everyone, but to death's door as well."
Five seconds left.
"The residual echoes gave me a vision; I saw you die here, in the courtyard, nearly drowning in your own blood. I don't know how you're still here-"
Time's up.
"But I know it wasn't the work of any Sith."
Zaavik had been counting the seconds in his head, he was ready to snap his hand down to his saber if he had to. Yet, still he continued regardless.
"I know you don't want to let anything like that happen again. Not even just to yourself, either. But you're on the wrong path. The Sith do that kind of shit on a planetary scale on a near-constant basis. I can see the good in you, you mean well, but you're misguided."
There was a pause, Zaavik gauging the atmosphere before his next sentiment.
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
Her heart pulsed in her ear, the tip of her saber subtly wavering with each internal thump thump thump. That wasn't what she was expecting to hear. Her thoughts raced, her eyes searching for a sign of mockery. The boy was as serious as stone, an earnest edge to him imploration. He saw her. It disarmed her.
Was this an apology?
The saber lowered a centimeter, her chest puffing in distress as he painted a picture of that day. She didn't like to think about her death. She didn't like that he knew about it. Standing before him, she felt vulnerable. Raw.
Confused.
It distracted her from an off set of words, her gaze boring into him-- Hungry for recognition, desperate to feel whole again. Thirty seconds had come and gone, and he still held her attention.
"How?" She asked, her voice tight and mistrusting.
Getting this far was unexpected. Every expectation was that she'd try to strike him down the moment he finished speaking. At least he was getting somewhere. It was a much better start than he could have realistically hoped for. Though, he was beginning to understand that the closer he got, the thinner the tightrope would get. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for anything other than a full send. Beyond the walls of the redoubt, the battle raged indifferent to this encounter. Every breath taken in silence was time wasted.
"You're in pain. Desperate to scrub a layer of soot from your skin that won't wash away. Hate won't be a solvent, it'll only bring you more suffering. I know what happened was wrong, horrible, but we can do our damndest no make sure nothing like it ever happens again. You don't trust me, I know, and to be honest, I'm not exactly your biggest fan either."
Zaavik slowly offered out his hand. Durasteel-cortosis alloy glittering with a weathered sheen beneath the artificial light overhead.
"But it's my duty to help you. Not just as a Jedi, but as someone who's been exactly where you are. That wound will fester forever, it's not something you can just forget, but you can soothe it. It would be unfair and dishonest to try to convince you otherwise. We can't ever make it right, but we can do right by you. Come with me, leave the Sith behind, open your eyes to a better path. You can make a difference this way, a crusade for vengeance isn't going to save anyone, it's only going to eat you up inside."
He had her. He really did. His words hit feelings she had never been able to give names to. He said it like it was. He validated her, no excuses. No blame on her.
Goosebumps speckled up her arms, a surreal prick of emotions hitting her tear ducts. For a moment, it felt okay. To feel. To hurt. It was horrible. It was wrong! And she deserved to hear it-- she deserved-
"Come with me, leave the Sith behind,--"
Her expression froze, the emotions bleeding from the planes of her face. And that was the exact moment everything he had to say meant diddly chit.
"You're trying to recruit me," she said, a dangerous edge to the emotionless statement. She beheld the cornered jedi, the tight rope he walked held taunt, moments from snapping.
Or maybe it already had.
She left him to sweat it out, her hand clenching on her hilt as she took a single, harmless step towards him. "Why?"
Daeron continued to approach the bulkhead and its control room. The massive steel door before Daeron easily dwarfed him. It he could open Tunnel B-1, a large military force could pass – such as the main force near Darth Ledgermayne
.
Double checking, Daeron pulled out a holomap. Some of the subterranean caverns popped into view. Beyond this immense barrier was a path with two other bulkhead doors that lead to the enemy rear. If the intel that lead to this holomap was genuine and accurate.
After tucking away the palm sized holomap emitter, Daeron stood before the control room’s rusted door. He examined the keypad. Low power, inoperable. Daeron pulled out his lightsaber and began to cut away to try to get access to the control room…
You believed in immortality—the promise of an Empire everlasting, built upon the backs of your citizens. You were wrong. The galaxy is not a game to be played by sociopaths and sycophants. You bleed the innocent dry and bathe in crimson ichor. You rip and tear, stripping them to the bone, consuming the bounty stolen from those unfortunate enough to cross your path. On the day of your assembly, I promised your end. Forces far greater than the Sith Empire have risen, ready to tear down your kingdom brick by brick. You did not listen. Now you have tasted defeat. It is sickening, isn't it? You wish to wipe away the shame of your many failures. I reach beyond the realm of the dead to remind you of the truth. The Sith Empire is doomed. The sunsets on your Empire, and no matter how hard you fight, no matter the depths of your despair, there will be no salvation.
This is the Promised End. Annihilation awaits. Accept your fate, lie down, and die like the cowards you are.
From the skies roared unmatched fury. Great balls of flame battered the battlements. Towers fell, torn asunder by the Sith-Imperial war machine. Durasteel gave way, screeching as it bent back and crashed to the city streets. Buildings collapsed beneath the onslaught from the heavens. Roads cracked apart. Trees splintered, unrooted amidst wave after wave of explosions. Stormtroopers charged about the city, their white armor stained from the everpresent smog fallen over the city. Ash fell like rain, painting everything a dull gray. Flames spread throughout Ravelin, their orange glow enough to cut through the onset of shadow. Flashes of reds and greens pierced the empty cloud as New Imperial Stormtroopers engaged Sith-Imperial Legionnaires.
And still, his statue stood strong.
Perhaps a testament to the Bloody-Handed's strength, the memorial erected in Vaulkhar Once Zambrano's honor remained firmly planted before Fortress Imperator. Lone soldiers retreated to the Fortress, only to be paired up with others who'd lost their brethren. Nothing more could be done for the Empire's bravest. They were outnumbered, their Imperator was missing, and the Sith could not have chosen a better time to engage their enemy. The Order's defeat at Dantooine weakened their control of the sector. It was impossible to gather together the entirety of their strength, as many fled every-which-way in hopes of eventually regrouping to continue the fight.
Cotan's arrival spoke volumes of a friendship the Bastard longed to experience anew. Their time together, after Vaulkhar had suffered a grievous wound wiping away his many memories, could only be described as an enlightening period in his life. Then known as Ven, the Bloody-Handed learned what it meant to love and be loved. He fought beside others who would sacrifice everything to see him safe. It gave him the courage to seek out his only son, the greatest gift given to the forlorn Jedi Master. To watch the boy grow made the decades of horror and uncertainty worth it. There was nothing left for the Lord Executor. He'd lived a full life, one that carried him across the stars on many an adventure.
Or so he thought...
Bastion, their Empire's greatest victory, was threatened. The Sith-Imperial Regime believed the tide's had turned in their favor. A baleful wave echoed throughout the force, a disturbance felt even by the dead. And so he rose. Vaulkhar took form on the physical plane, his body an ethereal manifestation of a cosmic power far greater than any one man. Within his translucent fingertips that power thrummed, ready to be released, aimed at his foes. With it, the Bloody-Handed knew he could turn the tides of this battle. He was at peace, in a state of Oneness that no mortal could ever hope to imitate. But such was not the way of the dead.
Vaulkhar walked amongst the living once more, not to fight the Empire's battles or slaughter their enemies. He would be their beacon. They would rally to him, strengthened by his presence, reminded the Will of Defiance was Undying.
When the Je'daii's words reached Vaulkher, he turned to watch his departing friend. Cotan had a history with the Zambrano lineage nearly as long as his fallen friend. Many within the galaxy sought their destruction. It was only right, beneath the fallen Bastard's gaze, that Cotan would take to the field and cross blades with Vaulkhar's killer. The Je'daii would not be alone when that time came. No one who walked the streets of Ravelin would face the threat of the Crimson Saber isolated. Vaulkhar Once Zambrano would stand beside them.
Their Lord Executor had come home. And now it was time to eradicate the roaches crawling through their city streets, no matter the cost. Those not deadened to the force's omnipresent touch would feel a once insidious presence, now comforting, at peace with the world. A voice came to the stalwart Imperial, familiar to some, unknown to others. It was firm. Each word spoken carried an almost prophetic weight to them, as if it was not a matter of if, but when.
"Before the New Imperial Order rose to prominence, we were but a nuisance to the Crimson Shadow. They believed us no more than seasonal cleaning, a pest to be washed away in a miasma of poison and disease. When we took Mygeeto and Muunilist, the Sith Empire tasted defeat. Their Emperor, a man who claims himself the Sith'ari, fled to the deep shadow, hidden from the fury of the Imperial Man. Though the Sovereign-Imperator and Lord Executor do not stand beside you, take heart. You have not been abandoned."
"When we stormed the beaches of Dubrillion, we slaughtered the Sith and their loyalists by the thousands. They fled the field with their tails between their legs, whipped dogs, broken by a greater power, not unlike their master. When we took to the streets of Ravelin, we fought not only for ourselves but for the memory of the true Imperial. We fought for men and women crushed beneath Sith tyranny over millennia. You are not alone. For on our darkest day, the trillions massacred by the Sith stand beside you. I, Vaulkhar Once Zambrano, Lord Executor of the New Imperial Order, stand beside you. The Sith Empire will know defeat at Bastion. And we will see it through to the end. We will show these disgusting creatures the Will of Defiance is not so easily shattered as the Rule of Law."
As the armor had finally landed smoke from burning fuel stations covered the sky as shops and storefronts lay in rubble from the gunship attacks however reports from ally storm troopers flooded theairways from reports of a guard still holding out in areas of the city to turret nest making any gain a bloody and costly slog. Ty radioed the Gunships
"Any gunships ally sector Alpha 5?" "This is spooky Sir just finished gun run on targets over." "Roger spooky i need you Dropsome missiles on the buildings in that area Our trooper friends are getting hammered" "I got 2 discords 2 clusters 1 hex missle over." "Drop em all on their heads i want no survivors so our boys can push threw, Bring the rain."
the sounds of the heavy gunship flew overhead and breakneck speeds as Ty watched in satisfaction upon the buildings getting hammered by the cluster munitions followed by the discord missiles containing buzz droids before the hex missile coated the buildings with a chemical agent trihexalon.
"Spooky to Hades actual fire mission success permission to touch down rearm and refule over" "granted spooky see you soon"
ty got over the coms and contacted any sith troopers he could "alright listen up you should be able to push threw there without issue just make sure youdont breath in the gasses i had a aircraft drop some dragons breath on those SOB's giving you trouble."
looking at the Apc's as the EE brand biodroids filed into them with the tank destroyer leading them Ty got in contact with them telepathically "listen up i want you to clear those turret nests anyone not wearing ally or your uniform is a kill on site order if they run they are a NIO if they stay and fight their a well disaplined NIO Ty out."
Braxtant Run // En-route to Bastion. UT-75sE Troop Transport / Stealth Insertion Craft; Codename: Dorn One.
Sigma Squad - Alliance Navy Commandos: Null, Whisper, Dynamo, Wrecker. Seconded to the Strategic Intelligence Agency.
THEN
The silence within the troop compartment was deafening. None dared speak a word after the Agency had given them this particular assignment. For the last time they were deployed to the world of Bastion, the Commandos of Sigma Squad were almost killed in action. A single Sith, enraged at the betrayal of those they considered friends, nearly carved through the Four Soldiers with relative ease. Wrecker, the largest of the Commandos, suffered a concussion that seemingly dulled his erratic personality. The experience apparently fractured his psyche, and the shrinks back home were doing all they could to mend the damage. Some would even consider those neural scars enough to discharge the Soldier from the military. But, some strings were pulled, and some documents were forged. The Commando was still a part of the Squad and a brother-in-arms; they’d never abandon him to some white padded cell simply because he wasn’t as chipper as before.
Dynamo and Whisper came out of the ordeal relatively unscathed, especially after spending a week in a Bacta tank. Minor abrasions were healed, broken bones were mended, and ruptured flesh was stitched back together. Gideon, on the other hand, suffered the worst during his deployment on Bastion. He was the one to fight against the Sith head-on with a pilfered Lightsabre. Untrained as he was, the Commando managed - somehow - to hold his own against a trained practitioner of the Darkside. Yet, in combating this Sith warrior known only as the Betrayed, Gideon lost an eye as a portion of his skull was smashed against a nearby wall. His vision started to turn red before it faded entirely out of his right eye. There were some nights that the Commando shot awake as the crunching and popping sound filled his dreams.
But, there was a portion of silver lining attached to such trauma. The Alliance Military gratefully paid for a cybernetic eye to replace the one Gideon lost. The cyberneticist even went as far as reinforcing the fractured part of his skull with a metallic mesh and plating. He whispered something inaudible as an armoured digit gently brushed across the inflamed flesh. Even though it had been months since the surgery, there were times that his body sought to reject the cybernetics. He found that ironic, especially after killing wounded Imperial Officers in the field for the potential of their cybernetics not taking and costing - at that time - the Republic a handful of credits. If only Lanik Dawnstar could see him now.
“Sir?” an all too familiar voice said, shattering the deafening silence and pulling Gideon’s mind back to reality.
“What is it, Whisper?”
“We’ve got an incoming and encrypted transmission from the Agency,” Whisper stated, mere moments before throwing a device towards the centre of the Troop Compartment. “Sadly, we don’t really have a choice but to accept.”
Gideon nodded. That meant the transmission was coming from someone up-high. Even though they were loaned out from the Alliance Navy, Sigma Squad had a good working relationship with the SIA. They often teamed up together to achieve mutually beneficial results. In fact, that was part of why they were given the assignment to deploy to Bastion. The only thing was that the Agency refused to provide any more details on what was transpiring. The Commandos assumed that their mission involved some form of extraction, as the New Imperial Order wasn’t their allies - nor were they really their friends either. A tenuous armistice between the two governments and tensions would likely flare up if any Alliance-aligned Intelligence personnel were uncovered.
It was then that the thrown device thrummed with activity. Within moments, the concealed holoprojector was uncovered as the instrument began to activate. The disembodied and distorted face of their Handler materialized before their eyes. The face, though framed with a hue of blue, was that of a woman. Gideon couldn’t make out the details, but the jaw’s sharp, angular build was enough to make the distinguishment.
“Thank you for taking this assignment, Sigma Squad. With our War with the Sith Empire renewed, most of our assets are in play - leaving few options for this critical mission.”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “Critical mission?”
The woman’s head dipped slightly. “Yes, it seems that while you were in transit, there have been a few developments that have changed things. Our assets in the Sith Empire have uncovered an armada heading towards Bastion. One cannot move that many ships without someone talking, and thankfully - we’ve got listening ears in the right places.”
It was then that Dynamo tore his gaze away from his medic bag and spoke with his Alderaani-drawl.
“So, the Sith believe that taking their forces away from the Bryn’adul and our Stygian Campaign will benefit them in some fashion?”
The Handler nodded. “It would appear so. I’d wager that they fervently believe striking at Bastion will snuff out a portion of their opposition, leaving them free to strike at their enemies elsewhere. Sadly, I doubt it’ll amount to much. Especially as we’ve received word of Victory in the opening phases of the Stygian Campaign. Seems like your friend Tycho has made quite the name for himself, Dynamo. He’s even gone on to earn a Golden Starbird from the Chancellor herself."
The Medic nodded graciously. Clearly, it was good news, and it did the man well to hear it.
“Now,” Gideon said, seeking to bring the conversation back towards their mission. “Can you tell us about this special assignment or critical mission as you’ve now classified it?”
“Of course,” the Handler nodded. “I’ve been instructed to classify this special assignment as a critical mission. We have assets on Bastion that are at risk with the looming Sith-Imperial armada. As you have no doubt guessed, the Agency wants you to extract these assets before they’re uncovered by either the New Imperials or their Sith counterparts. They have certain files that won’t do anyone good if they fall into the wrong hands.”
“Indeed,” the Handler replied. “And I fear that it will only get worse as I relay the following details.” She paused then, as her fingers undoubtedly pulled up the relevant information that she was meant to communicate. “Some of our informants have mentioned rumours that are circulating around New Imperial Command, something like the Imperator isn’t on Bastion.”
“Tavlar’s a focal point for his people to rally behind,” Gideon stated, almost absent-mindedly. “If he’s not present for this battle, then the assault could turn for the worst for our begrudging acquaintances.”
“Rightly so, Null. That means you’ll have to achieve your mission with all the alacrity that can be mustered. You should prep your team for a worst-case scenario as you might get stuck behind enemy lines. I’ve made sure to load up a selection of Holo-Shrouds for you and your team to use during this assignment. There are three preset selections for you and your team to choose from that have been transmitted and subsequently uploaded.”
Wrecker’s voice emanated from somewhere nearby, which drew everyone’s eyes towards the sullen Commando. The man was holding one of the Holo-Shroud’s in his hands and slowly cycled through the options.
“Blackblade Shocktroopers. ID tags and all. Taken from the fallen at Castle Blackblade during the Sun Guard’s advance. New Imperial Stormtroopers. No ID tags. And then Ravelin Paramedics with New Imperial documentation.”
The Handler dipped her head once more before cocking it slightly to the side. Gideon supposed it was her gesture of thanks or an expression of pity. “Aye, thank you, Wrecker. We’ve managed to procure these disguises for you, should your armour’s adaptive camouflage be rendered null-and-void. You will have to police any identification or code cylinders off any Stormtroopers you’re likely to encounter for the New Imperial disguises to work. Still, the others should suffice for this scenario.”
“Nothing grim about that,” Whisper chimed in again, knowing all too well that there were going to be massive casualties on either side. A sharp, narrow-eyed glance from Gideon silenced any further comments, however.
“I’ll be transmitting the rendezvous coordinates to you momentarily. But, as we’re unsure where the Sith will make planetfall - we included over a dozen contingency locations that were assigned to these assets before their missions began. Once you’ve located and extracted your targets or the data they were storing - should they be terminated - I’ll leave your method of exfil up to you. If you wish to stay and fight, this U-wing will remain on station to support you however you deem fit.”
Gideon could do nothing but nod. A part of him wanted to only extract the Agency’s assets and return to the Core Worlds. But, deeper down, there was something else that began to fester. A bubbling hatred coupled with the seeds of revenge, threatening to sprout into actions that the Commando would regret for some time down the road. It seemed that the Balmorran Soldier had much to think about for the remainder of their journey.
“Very well, Handler. We’ll take it from here.” He paused for a moment as the words began to linger in the air. Without ceremony or fanfare, Gideon roused his helmet from its nearby resting place and crowned himself accordingly. As the man’s eyes were bathed in the activating visor’s false-firelight, the Commando turned once more towards the transmitter. Gideon terminated the encrypted call with a voice more aggressive than before and modulated by the helmet’s annunciator by uttering a single phrase.
:: End transmission. ::
Bastion // Ravelin - The Continent Capital City // Residential Sector. Equipment: See Signature Hyperlink. Objective: Extract SIA Assets from Bastion; Resist the Sith Empire. "Allies": The New Imperial Order. Enemies: The Sith Empire, and their Ilk.
PRESENT
The stock of the Commando’s service weapon kissed the armoured padding beneath his pauldron as the blast doors slid open to reveal the Chaos beyond. The rifle was in its standard configuration and was outfitted with a tactical flash suppressor. While it would leech some of the weapon’s lethality, the trade-off was made in favour of enhancing the concealment capabilities of the adaptive camouflage. Every edge they could garner in this mess would be to their advantage, especially with hostile forces undoubtedly lurking around every corner. As the light within the troop compartment shifted from a soft crimson to a more pronounced green, Gideon was the first of his Cadre to disembark from the hovering vessel. With dust and detritus billowing all around them, the Commando threw himself into its tenuous embrace with practiced ease. Scant moments later, his armoured boots impacted the ground with a muffled thud. The sound of his arrival was drowned out by the looming Insertion Craft and the relatively distant Chaos of planetary conquest.
With a wordless command pulsed across his squad’s encrypted connection, the rest of his brothers-in-arms followed suit. As their boots collectively touched the ground, they joined their commanding officer in sweeping their surroundings for potential hostiles. While the vessel’s sensors indicated that this sector had already been evacuated proceeding the Sith Empire’s arrival, one could never be too careful. What made matters worse was the Insertion Craft was disguised as one of the Sith Empire’s landing craft. It was a miracle that they managed to make it planetside, let alone unmolested by the New Imperial defences. But, it seemed that a single drop ship wasn’t a concern to either interstellar superpower, and they were left to their own devices.
When the Commando team departed, the Sith Imperial disguise began to fade. The dark metallic projection dematerialized and was replaced by the white-grey hues that were commonly associated with the New Imperial Order. The disguise it took wasn’t that of a military vessel, but rather an Imperial ambulance - just another vessel that would likely be found within the residential sector. Ideally, this disguise was meant to lessen the chances of being considered as a military target as the Battle for Bastion unfolded. But, as the Sith Empire had hypocritically proven time and time again, their rules of engagement seemed to ignore the differences between combatants and non-combatants.
No wonder their people were rebelling against the Sith Empire in such numbers.
As the holographic transformation was complete, the Commandos of Sigma Squad began their insertion. They waited until the hovering vessel departed and the resulting dust storm to subside before they activated their adaptive camouflage. Through the trickery of light and sensor-warping polymers, the Four Soldiers seemingly vanished from sight - leaving only their phantasmal outlines in their wake. It wasn’t perfect invisibility like the various cloaking devices that operated on stygium or hibridium crystals. Still, it would serve their needs well enough in an urban war zone such as this. Even the most trained eyes would have to make a double-take to spot their phantasmal forms, but by then - it would be too late, as the Commandos would’ve moved back into the shadows.
They would use that fact to their advantage as they moved through the SectorSector towards their objective. While it would’ve been easier to disembark on top of the rendezvous point, such recklessness would’ve only brought attention to their mission. It was supposed to be as covert as possible and dropping in on top of the New Imperials as a Sith Imperial lander would only result in catastrophe. Thus, it was smarter for the Commandos to take an additional measure of time to move through the City, using the rolling evacuations to their advantage. With all eyes peering outwards and towards the heavens, it should be easy to move in and accomplish their mission without raising any alarms.
Naturally, there was a potential possibility for failure. That, thankfully, was already accounted for with their HoloShrouds and cover stories. Should they be discovered - either by the enemy or the New Imperials - they’d swap one holographic disguise for another and hopefully continue onwards from there. And so, with an uncertain future dangling before the false-firelight of their holographically shrouded visors, the Commandos of Sigma Squad entered the fray. Their primed rifles were shouldered, and their heads were on a swivel, checking every corner they came across with practiced ease. It was unlikely that they would encounter resistance as they advanced through the Residential Sector, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t keep themselves aware of their surroundings.
For, who knew what sort of traps would’ve been left behind in the evacuation’s wake?
"Recruit you?" A humorous scoff slipped wryly from between his lips. "Ostensibly, maybe. Though, not even I would be so naive to think I, or anyone for that matter, may make a Jedi out of you." Zaavik smirked briefly, his glare softening in a non-aggressive fashion. "I thought about it, and maybe I'm wrong, but I just don't see it." The offered hand dropped halfway, making room for her approach while also retreating in a paranoid touch-avoidant gesture. Ironic, given the nature of the gesture in the first place.
"I'm sure plenty would've said the same about me, though." Truthfully, he himself was quite possibly the worst excuse for a Jedi he'd ever met. Knighting had felt like a sham, war hero commendation too, he didn't deserve anything. That's why he was trying to earn it now, make a difference. Whether it was the truth or his own twisted perspective on himself changed nothing. What he'd done all the way up to where he stood now couldn't ever be changed. You had to live with these things.
"I just want to help you, like I said. Jedi or otherwise, just not a Sith. The Dark Side is voracious, and it devours you with every passing second. So too, is the hate that you bottle. Mine has already eaten more of my than I can ever hope to get back. I don't want that for anyone. Not even a Sith."
"Major Barran to Punished Hound! Expect our arrival in roughly twenty minutes or so, dependant entirely on how much resistance we encounter on the way. Hold your arcs-of-fire to the northeast bearing, Blue-Heart Alpha out!"
The white of his cloak had already been stained, marked with the last moments of Sith-Imperials and their disgusting spawn; their ire proved ineffective as Vostok overwhelmed them with unfiltered prejudice, unhindered in his purpose. "Copy Blue-Heart Alpha, current position is clear; I will aid in closing the gap, see to it that these... wastrels and their malformed offspring suffer. They've not yet learned their lesson. Punished Hound out."
Pummeled cadavers and bolt-scorched Sithspawn littered the pavement, the smell of copper and sickly sweet death filled the Dark Trooper's nostrils. Sweat dripped from his brow as his eyes cautiously scanned nearby structures for movement, nearby skirmishes providing much unwanted auditory dissonance and uncertainty; stray blaster bolts struck against Vostok's side, glancing off as he turned his attention towards the source. A squad of Legionnaires chanced upon him, all rushing into position as they continued to attempt a wall of suppressing fire.
It began with a steady and deliberate walk, heavy greaves depressing the ground beneath him as Vostok gradually began gaining momentum. A volley of bolts slamming against his chestguard in defiance, yet it would not alleviate nor halt their immediate demise.
Evolving into a reckless and barrelling mass, the Dark Trooper's jump pack ignited and briefly propelled the behemoth of armor forward, his fist connecting directly with a Sith-Imperial's torso, their armor shattering from the kinetic intensity; a surge of viscera burst forth, the Sith apologist's comrades maintaining a surprising resolve and morale, continuing their assault as soulless eyes now fixated upon them. Brandishing his own form of flattery, Vostok readied his rifle and squeezed the trigger, dispatching a few more of the would-be warriors, their bodies now joining the populace of stiffs inhabiting the streets.
This was his design, his work. A spectacle of his enemies dead before him, their final memories his to hold forever. Justice would indeed shine over him in the eyes of the common people, as his actions themselves were righteous; however, this was his mask - his falsehood. Justice suited his narrative, and with it he would destroy until nothing remained.
Bastion Ravelin Secondary Hospital
Morgue Area #3
Present
It was dark, for a brief moment, the old man would stir as he could barely feel anything, save for feeling rather constrained. He was tied up into something...no, encased into something. He struggled, his own body feeling like it was into a large ball. Grimacing a bit, he struggled till he felt something poke through, giving some form of breathing space. Did he have a cutting tool? Grabbing onto what may have made the hole, he tried to slice through with it as he started to feel like he was completely flat as a board. Now he knew he was laying on something...the ruffle, it was a bag, a body bag? Did they honestly believe he passed on? Then that would mean that the cold air...he was in the morgue. Feeling his space out with his hands, he felt something brush against his hands. Was this part of his body? It felt attached to his head...somewhat smooth as well. So far, he felt no hair but given how the serum worked...having no hair would not be a surprise in the first month or so. Giving another hard kick, he could feel that the door would not budge.
Not panicking, the old man would focus in the Force to look at the lock holding him in place. It was...rather difficult to say the least, like his power was diminished. Usually this only take seconds but now it was taking a full minute, the mechanism while being so simple, was now just very difficult. Then, it would click as it would slide on open and light would turn on, blinding the old man as he cried out in a bit of pain. The eyes had not yet adjusted, they felt new...felt different. Grabbing onto the fleshy sides of his face, he slowly leaned upward as those eyes of his would adjust. Everything felt blue and white...but soon, everything started to shift into focus. There was no one around, the place was deserted completely and it was eerily quiet.
Shaking for a moment, feeling the cold breeze hit his new exposed skin, the older gentleman would walk over to a nearby mirror that was situated over a small draining table. Moving it, he would find out how he was no longer older...but younger. There was tails on his own head, it felt heavy and...they were like horns. Crane had turned into a Chagrian successfully, the vial was correct. Checking out his entire body, he felt for the first time in over a decade...much more mobile and not as feeling bad over his body, he felt fantastic! Lifting up the tails for a moment, he checked out each cranny and admired at himself a bit. The feeling of being a new man, was exciting as it was interesting. What did a Chagrian groom? Was there hair at all later? There was many questions but the biggest one remained as he realized it.
9,000 feet above Ravelin, everything seemed rather peaceful. The calm before the storm. As he gently nudged the controls of his TIE Mauler to the left, Uriel had a hard time fathoming the terrible struggle millions of lifeforms waged in the orange tinted clouds below him. If there had ever been gods country -at least for Uriel- this was it. As far as he was concerned, this was as close to heaven as he’d ever fly. Above the clouds there was just him, his wingmen, and the sun… He glanced down at his scopes to confirm that below the clouds, this was anything but the case.
The crackle of his comms brought Uriel back to reality. “Three minutes to the target zone. Finish banking maneuver and adjust target coordinates three clicks south of Fortress Imperator.”
“Confirmed, course set.”
As the three TIES descended into the dark clouds, precipitation clouded his cockpit windshield. Uriel’s palms tightened around his control stick, and his heart started racing a little quicker. He hated clouds and the claustrophobic feelings the grey white fog gave him as it obscured his vision. A millennium later, Uriel’s tie screamed through the grey clouds to see a torrent of motion below. Straggling ships thronged around the center of the city, full of civilians anxious to make it off planet or to the other side of Bastion where coming and going at a rapid pace. Off in the distance, thick black smoke and the occasional explosion signified that the Sith assault was well underway, tinting the sky a gloomy grey hue. From local soldier talk, Bastion itself had been ill-prepared for a military invasion by the Sith and their confederate allies. Their only hope was the Seventh fleet… If they arrived in time.
“All right, we’re over Ravelin City center now, looks like we got civie ships in the area evacuating. Be mindful of those. Let’s stay over friendly air as long as we can. I’m going to send a quick communique to HQ letting them know we are in position and awaiting orders. Switching channels.”
“Come in 19th company, this is Granger Actual, escorted by Granger 1 and 2. In holding formation near 6,000 ft and awaiting targets, over. We'll provide fire support to other in need platoons if you have no need for us, just keep coms open.”
A barrage of green laser fire screamed past the ties and smashed into the city below, green fire enveloping a whole block of Bastion, replacing it with a crater.
As Uriel adjusted his sweaty, gloved hands on his directional stick, he just asked one thing.
Dear god, or force, or whatever you are… Bring me home. Or at least help me take some Sith with me. I don’t want to die today.
The tunnels were cool and damp, far from the humidity that seemed to cling to the monsters below. Slow drips from the ceiling made puddles on the floor. The sound of Imperial Knights splashing about was the only thing that echoed through the tunnels -- the only thing that Xeykard could track them by.
Concealing his presence was difficult. To hide one's hate, one's pain -- especially that which was so potent as a Sith's -- was a daunting thing indeed. But to match his hate and his pain, he had his will. The will to stay quiet, frozen, in a state of near-hibernation as he clung to the tunnel's ceiling, as ever in wait for prey.
His heart quickened its pace as the splashes drew closer. The dim light of their sabers opened his eyes; the dull warmth of the plasma warmed his blood. A breath escaped him, becoming mist on the moss. The warmth grew. He breathed deep. His heart began to burn, just as the pain in his left hand grew. The hate came back. His brow furrowed. It grew and grew and grew, his burning hatred for them. For the traitors. For the weakness that had allowed them to grow so far. His hate grew, and grew, and grew.
Then, he let go.
The shadow fell from above, at the center of the group of knights. Like floodgates being opened his hate poured from him, unbound by the attempt to hide; a raging river, a sudden storm. He landed with a grand crash; slamming into the ground, he threw out his arms and sent a wave through the Force to launch his enemies away. In the same fluid motion he ignited his lightclub, the weapon very nearly giving him enough reach to touch the walls.
The light revealed him; a crimson beast, his tail flicking above the puddles on the floor. A feral roar escaped his lips. Those who felt despair only had it deepen, and those who still held their convictions knew that this was their test.
The New Imperial Order had sacrificed too much to take Bastion. Men he called his brothers in arms had perished, simply becoming another notch on one of the many war monuments on Bastion to recognize their sacrifice. It was a costly but necessary lesson they had taught the Sith.
The hubris of the Sith Empire was unwarranted and their self-propagated idea that they were the true rulers of the galaxy. The true successors and legacy of the great galactic empires before it.
No.
The truth--the inalienable truth that the New Imperial Order would sacrifice each and every single willing soldier to uphold--was that the galaxy belonged to the people. No matter the extreme lengths the Sith went to force people to forget or believe otherwise, people like Gordon were willing to die to remind them. Remind them that the galaxy belonged not only to its oppressors but to every man, woman, and child.
He had never been a sentimental idealist, only a cold, calculating mechanoid of logic. When he had been abandoned by his commander in the Sith Empire and surrendered to the New Imperialists, Gordon was just trying to survive. Press-ganged into the Imperial Armada as a lowly Ensign, he had simply hoped to follow the tides of war, learn what he could of their technologies, and escape. Yet when he found himself tortured and broken on Orinackra by his Sith captors, one Stormtrooper Captain risked everything to save his life. An untrusted and unimportant Ensign.
And so, Gordon finally accepted the New Imperial Order as a true family, a band of brothers and sisters all fighting for a single cause. He participated in the first invasion of Bastion, a horrific affair mired with bloodbath and tragedy. They had risked it all to take Bastion.
And today, they would do the same. Every able-bodied individual took up arms to repel the Sith invasion. And so, Gordon boarded a haphazardly repaired TIE/INx Interceptor, in hopes that he would tip the scales in their favor, even by the smallest margin.
He remembered his good friend and CO, Captain Hugot Tyvek VII. They had fought together on the verge of life and death that fateful invasion of Bastion.
Gordon took a deep breath and remembered his words.
We can only hope.
As the TIE/INx Interceptor bolted through the hangar doors and soared past fringes of Bastion's exosphere, Gordon analyzed the chaos of war once again. Like the first battle of Bastion, the calm stillness of space was instantly overturned with burning metal and a fierce storm of laserfire. Most prominently, the gigantic behemoth of the Gorgon slowly impeded into the battlefield, surrounded by a dense fighter screen of Sith-Imperial TIE-Interceptors.
To Gordon, it was peculiar. Both sides utilized the effective and iconic design of the TIE Interceptor yet stood on entirely different sides. Despite the remarkable identical aesthetics, the newer TIE/INx Interceptors of the New Imperial Order held a bleeding technological edge: they were the superior instruments of war.
However this was meaningless in the true scope of the battle. The battle was ultimately one between the heart and soul of its soldiers. The side with the stronger will would win, proving themselves as the true possessors of the Imperial legacy and rightfully claim the crown of the Empire: Bastion.
With this in mind, Gordon throttled the engines, zipping forward to engage the starfighters and interceptors of the Sith Empire. As soon as his targeting computer locked onto one such Sith-Imperial TIE Interceptor, he fired the first volley of proton torpedoes.
Staring down the occupant of the TIE, a strangely colored humanoid Seela Leini
, he methodically prepared his propulsion systems to engage in a wingover to re-engage the Interceptor if his missiles missed.
His photoreceptor shone brightly as he continuously calculated the most efficient maneuvers and tactics to maximize the combat effectiveness of his lone TIE Interceptor.
A Sith turned from the dark is a life saved and an enemy defeated. Jedi by circumstance, altruist by choice, Zaavik felt it was his duty to preserve life. No matter how vain or risky the effort, he would do what he believed he must. Should it be the death of him, at least he died on his feet with good in his heart and soul. The prospect did not frighten him as much as it once had.
How could nothingness possibly be worse than this?
The Shadow skulked across the hangar, making a beeline towards a fighter vessel. The ladder to the cockpit clanked under his footfalls, ascending closer with every step. A voice called out from behind him, resonating off the walls of the empty hangar and into his ears, causing him to freeze.
"Zaavik!?" The voice of Ryv
was unmistakable. "You missed the brief, I- What are you doing?"
Zaavik sighed. Busted. "Leaving," he replied plainly, taking another step on the ladder.
"Cold feet, huh? Cmon, let's talk about this, no need to go deserting us."
"No, it's not that. I uh-" Zaavik dropped off the ladder, boots smacking into the durasteel flooring beneath. A turn was made to face Ryv, a few steps forward made to meet him. "There's something I gotta do. I don't really know how, or why, but I can feel it. The Force is pulling me somewhere, the call is-" He paused, looking down to the floor with an odd camber to his lips before looking back up to his fellow Jedi. "It's really loud, Ryv. I can't ignore it."
The Sword of the Jedi made a face, placing a hand on his hip with an inquistive raise of his brow. "Something, huh?" His tone was laden with more curiosity than doubt. "What's this something, then?"
"Saving a life."
No deception emanated from Zaavik to Ryv's empathic sense. The Kiffar let out a breath and smirked slightly. "Fine, I'll cover for you. Just don't get in over your head, okay?"
"When do I ever?"
Ryv blinked in silence, a blank stare regarding the Zeltron with disbelief.
Zaavik smirked, chuckling at his own joke. "I'll be fine," he insisted, hastily climbing back up the ladder and climbing into the cockpit. Certainty in his statement was a facade, for the Knight truly didn't know what to expect. A certain dread was hidden behind the pull the Force assaulted him with. It was better not to dwell on those feelings, anyhow. "Thanks," he offered as he slid the pilot's helmet over his head and looked down to Ryv.
The Kiffar nodded in silence, arms moving to cross over his chest. Engined blared as the vessel started up. Artificial winds danced wildly in all directions as the fighter slowly raised from the floor before tearing forward through the atmospheric shield of the hanger. Zaavik disappeared as a spec against the endless void of space.
FEL REDOUBT // BASTION SECOND BASTIONFALL Darth Daiara
"No entry, Jedi." A Togrutan Imperial Knight rebuked Zaavik's request with clear contempt. This entrance to the Redoubt was guarded only by the Knight and an accompanying Stormtrooper. Other forces were scrambling to prep defenses and take positions, leaving the actual present security rather lacking.
"Listen, man, I'm on your side, I'm just trying to-"
"We said no entry," the Stormtrooper helmet vocoder distorted voice doubled down with his Imperial Knight comrade.
"You forget, we are only allies against the Sith. You are not entitled to our facilities, we are not friends."
Zaavik threw his hands up halfway and sighed with feigned defeat. "Yeah, whatever," he replied with a facade of concession. He took a step backward, turned his back half to them, and pulled out his commlink, pretending to make a call. Both guards eased up, thinking the Shadow had given up. Cybernetic hand brought the comm up to his lips as his other hand made a sneaky wave at his side, index and little finger flicking up and down.
"You will let me into the redoubt," he spoke firmly.
The Stormtrooper's posture went slack. "I will let him into the Redoubt."
"What?"
The guard turned and tapped at the door control, punching in a code that caused the massive door panels to begin to slide open with a loud groaning.
"'The hell are you doing?"
Zaavik crept up alongside the Trooper and quickly reached forward to switch his blaster to stun. "Blast him," he commanded calmly.
A hiss of white plasma erupted from the Imperial Knight's saber hilt as the realization took over. The first shot was parried, the magnetic containment field of the saber sending it flying wildly into the air. The second shot found purchase, slipping past the saber and slamming into the Knight's gut, sending him crumpling to the ground unconscious. The effectiveness of New Imperial Troopers proving once again capable of overcoming the lightsaber.
Zaavik scoffed smugly. "Veina," queen, he quipped as he looked down at the Togruta. The Jedi offered a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, the metal of his prosthetic clattering against plastoid shoulder pauldrons. "Good job. Take a nap, huh? You've earned it."
"You got it, boss!" The Stormtroopers knees gave as he folded to the floor. Armor clacked and clamored against itself, followed by the hollow thud of helmet onto concrete. Snoring echoed inside the hollow shell, vocoding outward as a digitized static. A long step over the two unconscious guards heralded his waltz through the foyer of the Redoubt.
Corellian Coin rolled around between his fingers. Ethereal screams, wails, and other horrible sounds of the past echoed through the halls, courtesy of the coin's imprint. It was nothing short of gutwrenching, but he had no choice other than to endure. The echoes and visions carved a clairvoyant path toward his intent, a macabre road for his likely vain quest.
Staircase, corridor, left turn, corridor, right turn, stairs again. The former Sith Academy had looked big, but on the inside, the scale was even more impressive. Remnants of Sith iconography still lingered, the efforts to chip them away in favor of the Imperial Codex still ongoing. It was no wonder it had taken so long, he'd felt as if he'd walked miles already.
Every new scream he heard, every new cry, every new spatter of blood he saw evoked a unique grimace all their own. He'd heard about it, but the first-hand recollections were a lot worse than he thought. Zaavik was still in a coma when this all went down. He wouldn't have ever imagined the ordeal to be this horrific. Yet, somehow, it didn't feel wrong.
Another corridor, this time the coin granted him the sound of laughter. A familiar voice that reverberated from father ahead, echoing in a repetitive rhythm further and further down the hallway. Pace increased, pointed boots slogging against the tiles with their own impactful reiteration off the hard interior walls.
Disfigured digits lightly caressed a durasteel door. Eyelids closed, opposite hand clenching the coin as he focused internally. In the back of his mind's eye, red-hued locks danced against momentum through the threshold. The coin was practically humming, a subtle vibration buzzing in the center of his palm.
This was it.
Fingers slid down to the door control. A pulse through the force willed the mechanisms to clear, forcing the door to hiss open and click at the apex of it coming ajar. Slowly he walked forward, what was once a significant space had been reduced to a linen closet. Towels, vestments, rags, curtains, and the like. It could have been much worse, they had to store the dismantled Sith Iconography somewhere, or at least, whatever they couldn't burn.
Situating himself in the center of the room, Zaavik turned to face the door and dropped slowly to his knees. He sat on his feet and placed the coin in front of him. Both fists retreated to his knees as his eyes closed. A deep breath would slip him into a light meditative trance.
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
Aradia had been removed from the front line. The order had been as clear as day, yet when the call for Bastion came to life... She broke her master's orders and answered. Kaalia would never understand.
She had to be there.
Her footsteps echoed through the familiar hall, goosebumps prickling over her skin. The siege of Bastion rang on beyond these now insignificant walls, but she did not yet join. Something drew her forward-- an intangible string pulling tight at her chest.
No one had survived the Imperial's attack. She knew that. Yet every corner she turned, her eyes searched, almost desperate for a lock of blonde hair-- a familiar dimple. Someone. Anyone.
Bastion Academy had been purged.
Tula had not survived.
She stopped short at juncture, a Fel tapestry hanging where an Empire one had once resided. She could see its faint outline, the dirt stain refusing to let the past fade. She let out a pained hiss. Fire erupted across the imperial symbol. She walked onwards, her once timid steps gaining intention.
Did they really think they could erase her with no consequence?
Ideas bubbled forward, smothering the pinching that built in her tear ducts. She had been in enough wars to know that pure brute would not win this school back alone. She had to--
She stopped short, a familiar set of doors appearing before her. In her brooding, she had not paid attention to where her feet had taken her. The path had been instinctual. Habit. She swallowed hard, the pinching in her tear ducts redoubling as she stared at her old dorm door.
Her hand raised before her, moving as if it were in a dream as it entered the old code.
Visions of hatred and desperation flooded over his mind in dreamlike watercolors as he meditated. Pain echoed from the coin in front of him, he could feel it like it was his own. The screaming was loud enough to hurt his ears. Gurgling in the throat, he couldn't breathe. Something tightened his grip, not letting him leave this meditative state. Blood, the blood was everywhere, a growing pool of ichor crimson.
She died here. Through her own eyes, he could only watch.
The hissing of a door jolted him from his meditation at the very moment she'd slipped away in the vision. An invisible smog of force energy flooded the tension laden atmosphere as their eyes met. Alive and well despite what he'd seen, there she was. Zaavik gasped in both shock and vital need, he could not breathe during that forced recollection. The weight of the force around them proved too much for the old Corellian Token. Metal cracked, small grains of shrapnel bouncing off the floor with a high pitch ding. The half-sundered coin flipped into the air from the ground.
Zaavik's hand flung forward, fumbling around with the coin for a brief moment before snatching it from the air. His other hand raised slowly, fingers extended and palm facing out pacifistically. With one fluid motion he stood up slowly from his knees, his feet planting firmly against the ground. Token deposited into his jacket pocket, and then the same hand mimicked the non-aggressive gesture of the other.
"Relax," he implored softly. "I'm not to here to hurt you or anything, I just want to talk, that's all." Either hand dropped to his side once he felt he'd made his intentions clear. "I know you must be feeling a lot right now," he began, trying to take the empathy approach. He couldn't help but immediately the second guess whether or not that was the right approach. He made a face, shaking his head to himself. "Look, fuck it, whatever, just hear me out, okay?" A turbolaser smacking into Ravelin in the near-distance shook the Fel Redoubt. "While we still have the opportunity?"
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
How.
Her eyes screamed the question as the coin flipped through the air. It hit flesh, the noise muted but resounding as he caught and pocketed it. "You," she breathed, meeting his gaze.
Feeling a lot? That was one way to to put it. She stumbled a step back, at first expecting another attack. It was the shock alone that stopped her from drawing her saber, though the hatred she possessed for her growing arch enemy flared in her nostrils.
"Are you stalking me?"She accused, flabbergastion next to follow. He was in her old room. And it-- Her attention tore to its dusty shelves, pain lashing through her-- it had been reduced to nothing more than a linen closet. Her fury turned back on him. She raised her hand, her fingers clenched. A pulse of the force slammed into him. She stepped in, the door closing behind her as she bore him down.
"What. Are you doing. In my room?" She demanded. A telekinetic grip started to clench down on his throat.
The Jedi's head crept backward forcefully as the invisible grip tightened incorporeal fingers around his throat. Facial features twitched initially, but his resolve steeled and his regard remained covered by a convincing illusion of being unphased. "Ma'am, this is a linen closet," his wispy, air deprived vocalizations managed to quip in facetious contrary through the invisible restraint. Probably not a good time for jokes, the little voice of reason in his head scolded. A real shame too, as his wit had just formulated a pun involving 'breathtaking'.
"The coin," he explained. "I followed what it offered." A small cough rasped out of his airway. His hand slowly crept down to the saber on his belt, hovering over it with a twitching finger. "I told you, I'm just here to talk. I've seen what happened here, it showed me." His eyes narrowed as he drew a large breath laboriously through her attempt as suffocation, only causing the grip to grow tighter.
"Let me go," he rasped dryly. "I told you, you're not in any danger," yet "I'm not here to hurt you," unless I have to. It was always the omitted bits that were the most important. A universal rule between Jedi and Sith. There never had been any such thing as total honesty, and especially not between the faces of the Force's spiritual coin. A gulp struggled down his throat. "I don't blame you if you don't trust me, but I've let you go twice, haven't I?"
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
The quip earned him a rattling, one which his only his talking halted. She seemed to teeter in that moment, a crazied edge to her eyes as the urge to squeeeze rocked her. And there it was again. The hunger. It was growing less frightening, if only cause the Jedi served as something more pressing to mistrust.
"-- I've seen what happened here, it showed me."
Shock rippled over her features. The grip released him. He was left to gasp at the gifted air, the sithling staring skeptically at his cornered form. "What could you possibly have to say to me?" She uttered, distaste coating every word.
He was the enemy. His kind murdered her kind relentlessly. Everything she had known, they had stolen from her grasp. She was a kid, nearly purged for religious wars and deeds that were not her own. And he owned it.
They bore each other's scars. They were two sides of that same coin and they could never be made to see eye to eye. That was not how physics worked. The mention of what he had seen left her needing to know more. For a moment, she'd bite.
"You have thirty seconds."
Her saber jumped into her palm, the blue hue lighting up the room. Jedi. It was an embarrassing punishment in response to the saber he had taken from her. Wouldn't it be appropriate if she killed him with it in turn? She pointed it at his chest.
A quiet, stifled gasp quietly compensated for the lack of air in his lungs. Chest and shoulders rose with each subsequent breath in an exaggerated fashion. "Foitan banas," fuck's sake, he bleated as he rubbed his throat with his right hand.
Five seconds had passed.
"Thirty seconds?" Zaavik scoffed, upper lip curling with vexation. "This is gonna take a lot longer than thirty seconds, you're just gonna have to deal with that."
Five more seconds passed.
He sighed. No preparations as to what he was going to say had been made prior. This entire endeavor had been spontaneous, and he was playing it by ear for better or worse. "No tricks," he reassured begrudgingly. He showed his hands, turning them once over and them back, keeping them where she could see them. "You're torn up about what happened here, it doesn't take an empath to figure it out. I get it, I really do. I've been there too, believe it or not. Not just losing everyone, but to death's door as well."
Five seconds left.
"The residual echoes gave me a vision; I saw you die here, in the courtyard, nearly drowning in your own blood. I don't know how you're still here-"
Time's up.
"But I know it wasn't the work of any Sith."
Zaavik had been counting the seconds in his head, he was ready to snap his hand down to his saber if he had to. Yet, still he continued regardless.
"I know you don't want to let anything like that happen again. Not even just to yourself, either. But you're on the wrong path. The Sith do that kind of shit on a planetary scale on a near-constant basis. I can see the good in you, you mean well, but you're misguided."
There was a pause, Zaavik gauging the atmosphere before his next sentiment.
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
Her heart pulsed in her ear, the tip of her saber subtly wavering with each internal thump thump thump. That wasn't what she was expecting to hear. Her thoughts raced, her eyes searching for a sign of mockery. The boy was as serious as stone, an earnest edge to him imploration. He saw her. It disarmed her.
Was this an apology?
The saber lowered a centimeter, her chest puffing in distress as he painted a picture of that day. She didn't like to think about her death. She didn't like that he knew about it. Standing before him, she felt vulnerable. Raw.
Confused.
It distracted her from an off set of words, her gaze boring into him-- Hungry for recognition, desperate to feel whole again. Thirty seconds had come and gone, and he still held her attention.
"How?" She asked, her voice tight and mistrusting.
Getting this far was unexpected. Every expectation was that she'd try to strike him down the moment he finished speaking. At least he was getting somewhere. It was a much better start than he could have realistically hoped for. Though, he was beginning to understand that the closer he got, the thinner the tightrope would get. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for anything other than a full send. Beyond the walls of the redoubt, the battle raged indifferent to this encounter. Every breath taken in silence was time wasted.
"You're in pain. Desperate to scrub a layer of soot from your skin that won't wash away. Hate won't be a solvent, it'll only bring you more suffering. I know what happened was wrong, horrible, but we can do our damndest no make sure nothing like it ever happens again. You don't trust me, I know, and to be honest, I'm not exactly your biggest fan either."
Zaavik slowly offered out his hand. Durasteel-cortosis alloy glittering with a weathered sheen beneath the artificial light overhead.
"But it's my duty to help you. Not just as a Jedi, but as someone who's been exactly where you are. That wound will fester forever, it's not something you can just forget, but you can soothe it. It would be unfair and dishonest to try to convince you otherwise. We can't ever make it right, but we can do right by you. Come with me, leave the Sith behind, open your eyes to a better path. You can make a difference this way, a crusade for vengeance isn't going to save anyone, it's only going to eat you up inside."
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
He had her. He really did. His words hit feelings she had never been able to give names to. He said it like it was. He validated her, no excuses. No blame on her.
Goosebumps speckled up her arms, a surreal prick of emotions hitting her tear ducts. For a moment, it felt okay. To feel. To hurt. It was horrible. It was wrong! And she deserved to hear it-- she deserved-
"Come with me, leave the Sith behind,--"
Her expression froze, the emotions bleeding from the planes of her face. And that was the exact moment everything he had to say meant diddly chit.
"You're trying to recruit me," she said, a dangerous edge to the emotionless statement. She beheld the cornered jedi, the tight rope he walked held taunt, moments from snapping.
Or maybe it already had.
She left him to sweat it out, her hand clenching on her hilt as she took a single, harmless step towards him. "Why?"
"Recruit you?" A humorous scoff slipped wryly from between his lips. "Ostensibly, maybe. Though, not even I would be so naive to think I, or anyone for that matter, may make a Jedi out of you." Zaavik smirked briefly, his glare softening in a non-aggressive fashion. "I thought about it, and maybe I'm wrong, but I just don't see it." The offered hand dropped halfway, making room for her approach while also retreating in a paranoid touch-avoidant gesture. Ironic, given the nature of the gesture in the first place.
"I'm sure plenty would've said the same about me, though." Truthfully, he himself was quite possibly the worst excuse for a Jedi he'd ever met. Knighting had felt like a sham, war hero commendation too, he didn't deserve anything. That's why he was trying to earn it now, make a difference. Whether it was the truth or his own twisted perspective on himself changed nothing. What he'd done all the way up to where he stood now couldn't ever be changed. You had to live with these things.
"I just want to help you, like I said. Jedi or otherwise, just not a Sith. The Dark Side is voracious, and it devours you with every passing second. So too, is the hate that you bottle. Mine has already eaten more of my than I can ever hope to get back. I don't want that for anyone. Not even a Sith."
A dry laugh caught in her chest, his words earning a near roll of her eyes. "Oh when you put it that way. I'm flattered." She kept approaching, her lazy yet pointed as she drove him back. There was no window in this room. There was no escape spare the door at her back. She bounced the saber in her hand, the tip held off to the side.
"You know. For a moment I thought you might actually be decent. But I'm so stupid," she cursed, her head shaking in passionate dismissal. "Such an idiot to think I could actually get understanding out of someone like you. You spout the craziest chit, you know that? As if I'd abandon the people that need me." She pointed the saber his way, its length bouncing haphazardly as she gestured. "The people you want to kill." The blue hue reflected in her eyes, intense as her fury broke free.
"You will never. Speak. Of my pain. Again," she uttered, her voice rasping with righteous indignation. Firey hot tears boiled over, the wounds of her past laid open and bare. It was his fault. For prying. For being a prick. For taking part in the systematic murder of people-- he was no savior. He was no hero. She didn't buy his excuses. She saw him as he was and she held him to it.
"I hate you!"
She descended on him in a flurry, streak of red and blue as she went to deliver a silencing blow across his neck.
A grimace materialized over Zaavik's face when the laugh reached his ears. The final thread on the rope had finally broken. Whatever silver he had on that tongue of his clearly hadn't been worth its weight in words this time. Fingers twitched, muscles in his body near-trembling with anticipation of whatever twitch-reaction he'd need to make next to save his skin.
Every opportunity he had to retort was stifled by her continual rebuke. Words had probably outgrown their usefulness now. Cerulean eyes followed the blue droning of saber tip as she whisked it around with the camber of her words. He wasn't listening anymore. She was going to strike, it was clear, all attention reallocated to the secret top priority of this entire endeavor: not dying.
Couldn't help but hear that part, though. Visions of the saber's trajectory flooded his middle-consciousness with a pang of danger only split-instant before she began to strike. Eyes widened suddenly, head reeling back along with the bending of knees. Spine and sinew contorted suddenly into a low backward lean, slipping just beneath the would-be deathblow. He snapped back up, snatching his saber on the way up and sending the viridescent blade screaming to life with the distinct hiss that only a lightsaber could make.
A step back sought to put space between them, but his back bumped the wall halfway in. He pointed his saber forward in a defensive gesture and half-shrugged wryly. "Well, welcome the club then, I guess."
Syd Celsius awoke to an empty bed aboard The Absolution of Loste . With the invasion of Bastion to commence, Laertia couldn't resist the chance to deal a psychological blow to the heart of NIO territory, and further damage their collective two front war ambitions. But she had craved being in Syd's arms for a while, alone, before that.
Laertia didn't really care if the Sith reconquered the NIO. The way she saw it, either way they'd have to fight Imperials after the Bryn'adul eventually. If only they had been willing to call a temporary truce. But they wanted to fight. Damn it all. And Ryv
and the NJO wanted to believe the stupid two front strategy could work.
She was going to Bastion to try and disabuse them of this notion. In fire and in blood, in a blatant attempt to inflict so many casualties on the enemy at Bastion that they would have to seriously re-assess their total prospects for victory.
As a warrior operating with Confederacy credentials, Laertia had pledged herself to House Li-Ves in a covert fashion, her membership not publicly known. There was no structure she fit into except 'Maybe Military'. A warrior simply fighting for what she felt was a proper approach. Even if it meant going right through her own.
Syd had done something similar at Dantooine and now both were in the same boat for fighting for what they believed in.
And what they believed was that a two front war would be absolutely ruinous.
Syd showered, slipped on her bronze gown and went to look for her. She had a pretty good idea of where Laertia was, in the armory after she couldn't sleep any further. Syd didn't hold it against her...Laertia, she had discovered, was a restless sort. Especially lately. Her lab experiments with Nine Lives
had eaten up a large chunk of her time, especially with her "Next Generation Droid Army" Program. Their time together as of late had been brief, but Syd was learning more and more...
She had even introduced her to her pets finally. Syd didn't know she could love animals until the Rabbit called Cortosis startled nuzzling against her hand.
Laertia had asked her to sit this battle out. Syd hadn't wanted to but she had agreed to do so. Laertia wanted to take as much of the NIO and NJO's wrath upon herself as well as the GA rather than involve Syd in the reclamation of Bastion. Or her student, Starlin Rand
who Laertia kept having nightmares about watching him lose his hand to Cotan Sar'andor
. Bad, bad nightmares that would repeat. Even Syd could feel some of those nightmares now. She had those nightmares about Starlin herself. Only difference was the frequency. Syd had more nightmares about it than Laertia ever would.
The Force Spawn found Laertia in the Armory as expected. Syd's brow raised as she saw Laertia in her black armor looking at a large transparent stasis canister full of what looked like mercury.
"Hi Syd..." The Black Knight said to her.
"Is that what I think it is?" Syd asked, walking up to it. "Your Special Project?"
"One of them..." Laertia answered. "Just going over finishing checks before activation..."
"Are you sure you don't want me with you at Bastion?" Syd asked.
"I'd rather everyone be more pissed off at me for what I'm about to do than pissed off at you. If we can deal a severe enough defeat at Bastion we can probably severely damage their morale. Victory through sheer attrition."
Laertia's head lowered.
"Why don't they understand?" She asked. "Aren't they supposed to put the Galaxy and The Force before their war with the Sith?"
"Its not easy for them to dissociate such feuds with pragmatism. Certainly not for Ryv. I honestly don't think he cares how many worlds the Bryn'adul kill while he fights the Sith. So long as the Empire falls before the rest of the Galaxy inevitably does to the Bryn'adul, I think he could die in peace." Syd snorted.
"That's why the NIO have to be destroyed. Refusing a temporary truce endangers everyone. The NJO...it will be a tragedy." Laertia admitted.
"Laertia, you can't expect inflicting sheer attrition on any group of Jedi will convince them to the negotiating table..." Syd cautioned. "They will only dig their heels in, no matter how much you whittle them down."
"Then I whittle them down to the point they can't fight back and then force them to retreat. If they will not set aside this feud, then I shall do my best to batter them into irrelevance."
"Careful, Io. That doesn't sound like you..." Syd cautioned, wincing as she felt Laertia's spirit harden. "Maybe you're taking this too personally..."
"How else am I supposed to take it when I feel they put us all in danger throwing our lives away on each other?" Laertia said in a tone seething with frustration at what she was about to do. "They expect me to waste my time fighting Sith while trying to organize a meaningful campaign and Alliances against the Bryn'adul? Feth 'em."
"Laertia!" Syd gasped. "Those people want to save the Galaxy just as much as you do! You and I fought their enemies for years! Even if our paths have diverged, you can't forget that! 'I' can't forget that!"
"They'll forget us if they kill us. We'll never be remembered as anything but stepping stones on their road to 'Peace'. Why should I treat them with any less than contempt if they refuse to temporarily unite?" Laertia asked bitterly.
"Laertia--"
"I refuse to die for their grudges. I refuse to let them senselessly carry out these battles without making them pay as steep a price in blood as I possibly can to make them quit fighting. If they will not unite, then they will stay out of the way."
"Its impossible...you'll only drive them into a frenzy against you. Against us. Haven't you considered the consequences of what we have already done?" Syd asked, getting more concerned.
"Of course I have!" Laertia snapped angrily. Syd frowned and Laertia went quiet.
"I'm...I'm sorry...I didn't...I shouldn't have been so snappish...Please forgive me..." Laertia whispered remorsefully. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."
Syd went over, feeling her deep distress, hugging her.
"I've seen worse..." Syd assured her. "Its okay...but you and I have crossed a line..."
"What about Starlin?"
"I'm working that out..." Syd answered. "Laertia...I don't care about the NIO. Kill them all you like. But please...don't kill Jedi unless there is no other way..."
Laertia nodded, still guiltridden at letting even a word of frustration into their interactions.
"I promise, my love." She assured her. And she meant it. But she knew Jedi would take issue with it. She knew some would die. She would try for Syd's sake.
(Cutaway of J. Jonah Jameson laughing uncontrollably)
Laertia hugged her, then turned to the Container.
"What is it?" Syd asked.
Laertia hesitantly opened the system up.
"The Future..." Laertia answered somberly, pouring mercury like liquid out onto the floor, taking off her helmet.
Syd stepped back as each globule of mercury like liquid pooled together, the high tech Laminanium Nanites the "Liquid" was composed of began to flow upward into a humanoid shape, taking the form of a slim young woman with brown hair and silver eyes and somewhat exotic features, body made to resemble her wearing a slimmer, shinier version of Laertia's spiky black biker garb.
The Nanite Android smiled as it stared at her creator.
"If this was a chat, I'd have just entered it!" The Android said in a bubbly cheerleader like tone that had a faint metallic quality in its background. "Hello Mother!"
"Welcome to life, Daughter. Your designate is 'Lura'. You are Serial Number One off the Factory Line...and today, you shall follow me into Battle." Laertia spoke.
"What are her abilities?" Syd questioned.
Laertia turned. "Would you like to give a demonstration, daughter? You don't have to if you don't want to."
"It's okay!" Lura giggled. "I don't mind!"
Lura held out her arms, which melted into the shape of steel colored swords, before reforming into jacket covered arms.
She stepped forward, looking Syd over, before the surface of her body rippled into chrome for a split second before she turned into Syd wearing a copy of what Syd wore.
"What are her abilities?" Lura asked in Syd's form and voice before , breaking slowly down into mercury like liquid and flowing around Syd, reforming back into her factory appearance over the course of a minute.
"Impressive...most impressive..." Syd admitted, looking wryly at Laertia. "Mother-Daughter bonding session?"
"My idea of it..." Laertia admitted, glancing at Lura.
Lura nodded happily and broke down into a puddle, flowing out of the armory for the hangar.
Laertia pulled Syd close to her by the waist, kissing her. Syd pressed her lips against Laertia's as fiercely as she could.
"Return to me. Please..." Syd whispered.
"I will fight my way back to you..." Laertia vowed, kissing her again, fingers running through fiery hair as she felt her spirit surrender to the caress from Syd's. Syd took the chill of her lover's soul into herself, the Force Spawn wrapping her arms around her, knowing the moment had to end but not wanting it to...
Something strange happened in that instant. In the moment of intense passion, their bond had gotten stronger, strong enough Laertia instinctively channeled some of Syd's regenerative abilities. The scars across her face and scalp sealed up, and suddenly her black hair wasn't quite so dark, her face not quite so gravestone pale, but still pale. But in that instant both also got fleeting, momentary glimmers in the bloody acts long past. Laertia saw men and women burning without context, and Syd saw people getting decapitated by Laertia in many of Laertia's memories...
Syd pulled back in surprise, her own appearance having been altered slightly. Her flaming hair had turned a very dark brown itself. Then she noticed Laertia's face.
"Laertia...your scars--!" Syd exclaimed.
Laertia immediately went to a mirror and stepped back in shock. She looked at Syd, walking to her.
Instinct pulled their lips back together, Laertia letting an impassioned Syd instinctively uncross some wiring in her brain, their power merging and mixing in the other's flesh and flowing back to its source
And for a split second...Laertia's flesh rippled just like Syd's could.
"I had almost forgotten what my face looked like, without scarring..." Laertia said with tearful eyes, not noticing what had happened to her body as she embraced the strange creature that was Syd...and feeling something light up in her brain...
(Plasmid Acquisition Theme Plays.)
(Laertia has leveled up!)
(Laertia's Bond with Syd is strengthened!)
(Laertia can now learn and use Magic Spells and Rituals!)
(Laertia learned a New Force Power!)
(Spells Acquired!)
Bond Benefit: SOOTHING PRESENCE
As long as Laertia is in Syd's general proximity, her chance of suffering a migraine drops to almost nothing, with barely noticeable pain should one occur
Enhancement: MAGICAL CAPABILITY
Laertia can now use and learn magical spells!
Force Power: NUERAL STORM
A psychic attack capable of momentarily overwhelming the senses of organics en masse and stunning them for a short time. Cannot affect Force Adepts. As skill grows, more people can be affected
Spell: CARD SHOWER.
Throw out "cards" of Etherial Psychic energy en masse with high speed and accuracy. One minute cooldown. As skill improves, more cards can be thrown.
Spell: ICE LIGHT
Summon a magical light in one spot that lowers an area in a twenty meter radius to severe near freezing temperature. Lasts 007 minutes. Used as a form of area denial.
Laertia finally forced herself to end the lip lock before she got it in her head to pull Syd's dress off and repeat their prior evening, which given how eagerly and animalistically Syd was returning the kiss, was clearly something Syd wouldn't have minded. But Laertia still didn't understand what had happened. She was too busy trying to force her mind back on the battle.
"Let me help you there...I'll follow you into hell..." Syd whispered, eyes glittering.
"Bastion is my fight, my love. Rest. We...we'll figure out what the hell just happened later. When I return."
Syd pressed her lips one more time to Laertia. "For luck..." Syd whispered.
Laertia felt a powerful need to return home alive become more powerful. But she at last found the strength to pull away from Syd. But only just barely as she at last put on her helmet.
Bastion awaited her.
Present...
"Aggggghhhh, I've never been in a battle before! Who do I chop up first?!" Lura squeed with great enthusiasm from behind Laertia's cockpit seat as they exited hyperspace on the side of Confederacy Forces. The battle was already underway...
The weapons on the Fury Interceptor-based warship cut loose on hoardes of NIO starfighters, the ship a reflection of its owner's nightmarish destructiveness as it blasted apart swarms of fighters, taking some laserbolt hits as well as missiles, but its laser amd ion weapons chewibg through them as it advanced, a black stone cast with inexorable force like a river towards the planet, even as swarms of fighters blocked its path, flyibg circles, only to be targeted by the missile launchers, and decimated as it smashed through their attempt to destroy it like they were a bunch of Tom Hiddlestons getting smashed by an extremely pissed CGI Special Effect all at once. She dove through the Atmosphere, still encountering NIO starfighters, which she blasted apart with ruthless abandon, before turning her guns on NIO troops fighting in the streets, blasting them apart along with any materiel, Lura gawking at the destruction her mother could inflict and grinning.
"Get 'em, Mom, Get 'em!" Lura squeed. "Kill them all! Take their red orbs for weapon upgrades!"
Laertia obliged her, feeling strangely indulgent and doting and fired missiles into the squads of troops below as she flew past them, taking fire, some of which got through the shielding, denting and scratching the armor, but doing nothing to stop the black beast raining death upon NIO forces trying to defend Fortress Imperator from advancing Sith, blasting away at defense turrets, even as the ship sustained more damage, dodging what fire it could, before retreating behind CIS lines, landing at a forward operating base while transmitting I.D.
Both quickly got off the ship while the suspicious Commander walked up to her in full armor.
"Knights Obsidian told us you were coming. So this is The So-Called Black Knight of Nar Shaddaa...I've heard of your savage cruelty in battle..."
"All War is Cruel..." Laertia replied as troops moved past them to the field of war.
"But crueler still to strike down ones you fought beside..."
Laertia scoffed at the subtle distaste for what he obviously considered treachery.
"A full quarter of your Adepts are likely defectors from elsewhere who likely did worse than I..."
At this, the Commander chuckled dryly.
"You got me there..." he admitted. "I've met some fethed up people in this business..."
"Lead the way to the ones who need killing..." Laertia said quietly activating her inverted green lightsaber...
Location: In approach to Fortress Objective: Massacre Allies: TSE and allies Enemies: NIO and allies Tags: Looking for opponent
Some came to bastion with great purposes in mind, heartfelt defense, hateful assault, some worked through the cogs of greater powers merely eeking out their pathetic existence. But for Lirka, Champion of the Dark, Mistress of Moridinae, Slayer of Kin, Empress of Thustra, and a thousand other titles? There was no such great purpose, she existed here for one purpose: slaughter, wholesale and without mercy. For she cared not for the tribulations of moronic sith cultists and the traitorous zealots of the Imperials, she never had...but still, today she moved on Bastion with a fury unmatched even by the blazing supernovas of the Galaxy.
She remained surrounded by the black armored chaff of the Empire, the Legionnaires disgusted her now: they were nothing, just little meat-slaves for the Empire to throw into the gears of the enemy until they clogged with gore, they were not her Children, the stolen generation from Moridinae, but her Children were gone now. Broken, slain in the endless tide of Imperial conflict, while others were simply thrown to the wind after the fall of Moridinae. It made her blood boil like molten lava, carnage...she craved carnage.
The landing craft thundered through the atmosphere, many of it's sister ships exploding into flaming debris to rain upon the city below: her own craft rumbled and shook from the defender's barrage, but Lirka remained deathly still: a blizzard of icy hate among the chaos of battle, eventually the craft landed with a thud. The legionnaires poured out right into the guns of the enemy, the chaos was blissful, but in the end the barrage of laser fire merely pinged off the Sephi's powersuit, burning against the beskar chestplate. She snarled, and finally her icy calm broke, her words amplified a thousand-fold: the challenge shouted to the defenders echoing like thunder in a storm.
"Vori, sharas-shasos! Come and face the End of All Things!"
Crude, simple, and insulting. Just the style she loved to roll with.
The Moff turned and walked to be parallel with the Grand Moff who had just finished speaking in response to Drybis's previous question.
"Negative, for now. You may proceed as planned, Moff Lyken.".
"Soon this insignificant New Imperial rebellion will be crushed, and crushed it must be. Swiftly. We cannot afford to keep dealing with the New Imperials while the Bryn'adul threaten the other side of our holdings."
"Yes Grand Moff, these New Imperials are a nuisance, but will be dealt with shortly, I'm sure of it". "And as regards to the Bryn'adul, well, by the time we quickly crush the false imperials and the pathetic alliance, they wont stand much of a chance".
He stopped to let Aut-X speak again as the super tactical droid turned his head to look upon the battle hardened Moff.
"I've studied your record with great interest, Moff Lyken. Preform well in this battle, and I will see to it you are well rewarded for your dutiful service to the Empire. Bastion will certainly be in need of a new planetary governor, no?"
Drybis supported a small grin while the Grand Moff spoke of how he had studied his career. He always liked it when he received respect and acknowledgement from his superiors. It gave truth to part of his purpose in the hectic galaxy. Something to strive for, something to gain. The Grand Moff's next line, gave him mixed feelings. He had already achieved the highest honors he could receive in his mind, besides being a Grand Moff of course. He personally would be more inclined to accept a demotion back to Command Ranks with the Navy as an Admiral or Lord Admiral. However, this at the moment didn't really matter. Drybis was focused on crushing these traitors and punishing them into oblivion. If that meant bombarding the world to ensure victory, well, so be it. Still, he more or less humored the idea of becoming Bastion's planetary governor. It was a job he would accept, but probably in his later years. He wanted to spend these current years of his prime out in space, guiding the fleet to glorious victories. Then again, he should not bring this up now, or maybe ever. He was dealt his hand in life, and he would play it the best he could.
"Thank you Grand Moff, that is most generous of you". Now he responded to his last line, "Ah", he said with a quiet chuckle, "yes it would be sir, yes...it...would". He grinned as he responded to the Grand Moff's line, appearing to have a typical evil villian mischievous look upon his face.
He saw the New Imperial fleet commencing their defense formation, "Pathetic", he thought to himself.
It was time, the battle was to begin!
"Colonel"
"Yes sir"
"Is Vantai advancing her forces?"
"Yes sir, the Gorgon is moving to engage the Rae Sloane with her Battlecruisers in tow"
"Good, command the 2 Tammar-class Corvettes to join our formation here".
"They still haven't responded".
"Alright, Ill send Helix, prep Obsidian & Ember for immediate launch"
"Yes Moff Lyken, right away".
He now pushed one of comm buttons to contact a few fighter squadrons, and firstly, Helix Squadron, led by Group Captain Vaeghar.
"Captain Vaeghar"
"Yes Moff Lyken, I read you, over".
"Good, your squadron fueled and ready"
"Sir, you know me, we're already running patrol circles around "The Wrath".
"Excellent Captain, expected nothing less, here are your orders". "You will report if the Tammar-class corvettes in sector A-12 have survived or are destroyed". "Once that is complete, regroup at rally point Xalek"
"Xalek sir?", said the somewhat confused Group Captain.
"Yes, is that a problem Captain?"
"No sir, no problem".
"Alright, good luck Captain".
Kesran now quickly pushed another comm to another squadron. This time he didn't have time for specific, just sharp ones that would get the objective across.
"Sir, it seems that Admiral Var Koon is in command of a large part of their defense line".
He knew of Admiral Var Koon, he was probably the only Admiral of the NIO, that Drybis really had much respect for. He was dangerous and extremely effective. The Imperials would not have stood a chance if he was not on their side in Drybis's mind. So eliminating him was the best option. He would find a way later on perhaps.
"Thank you Ensign, return to your post".
Seconds later, Commander Arandis appeared on the bridge holo.
"Commander"
"Moff Lyken, orders sir".
"Yes commander, your orders are to lead the Vanguard of the fleet's assault, break through the center at all costs, punch a hole so we can split their forces in half and batter the rest".
"Understood Commander?"
"Yes sir, permission to being attack"
"granted Commander, good luck, and grant them a brutal death"
"Yes sir, Commander Arandis out".
He now looked at the Imperial Fleet and he now contacted all of the ships that had not been given orders yet. "All ships here at the center line, this is Moff Lyken, begin slow advancement to the Imperial fleet, once they are in range, open fire with all available forward batteries and deflectors, pound their fleet, they cannot hold off our immense firepower for long". "We will pound them until they break, and they will break".
"And any ship who gets a secure channel to our ground forces, alert me immediately!".
"All squadrons begin attack, full-speed, complete objectives, no surrender, no retreat!"
He now stopped again and he looked back at his adversaries, "Ok New Imperials, your move", he said softly under his breath.
ANS Ouroboros 3rd Sector Fleet "Battlegroup Kenobi"
Resupply and Reinforcement of Braxant Run
There was a lot to do on the Ouroboros in between battles. More than a mobile weapons and fighter platform, the Ouroboros was a sort of mobile headquarters for the entire war effort in Sith Space and as such, it was also a part-time supply depot. Marines from different units and detachments roamed his halls and supply officers dashed back and forth through the corridors. The trams were working double-time just to move supplies and shuttles were constantly flying in and out of the hangars. It was a hectic time for the GA flagship, especially with its main gun destroyed and most work still being done out of the secondary CIC after the ship's catastrophic weapon failure at Korriban.
And Dracken had to oversee it all.
The door leading to the bridge hissed open, revealing a bridge buzzing with so much activity you'd think they were under attack. Dracken entered, a pair of marines flanking him and a supply officer from the 203rd Mechanized Battalion to his left, holding a datapad and chattering non-stop.
"-and the shipment of replacement parts for our TZ/01s weren't accounted for, which is going to put strain on our units attempting to hold key systems in the Raioballo sector. They're already strained as it is after the loss at Dantooine and-" Dracken wasn't really listening to her. He was working on autopilot, taking a datapad here, signing there, giving a bio imprint here. When they made it to their destination, the command table, the admiral stopped and brought up a recent scan of the system. Something was agitating him, tickling the back of his neck. It was causing all the hairs on his body to stand up and he couldn't figure out what it was. He'd felt like this just before Korriban too. The officer was still yapping but was just as involved in her work as Dracken was in his.
"And I really think that-UMPH!" she bumped into the admiral's back , but he was unmoved. "Sir, respectfully, did you hear a word I said?"
"Rest assured Lieutenant, you'll get your supplies." He turned and nodded to one of his guards who in turn nodded and took a step forward. "Corporal Willis will escort you back to your crew. I'll look into-" Alarms started blaring and now the bridge was really scrambling.
"Sir! Reports from New Imperial Early Warning systems are sending us silhouettes of an incoming fleet!" And with those simple words a routine supply run had shifted into a battle.
"Get a message out to the fleet before they start jamming us!"
Turbolaser shots flashed across the CIC's viewscreens and explosions rocked the vessel as stray bolts cracked across their shields. They had been pushed back behind Bastion's defenses, the sheer volume of ships overwhelming the initial defense fleet. An admiral had lost his life in one of the New Imperial vessels and so command of this small sector of the battlespace had been given to Dracken until a higher ranking New Imperial admiral could take control. It was odd, looking at his tactical display and seeing Imperial-style star destroyers colored in Galactic Alliance blue rather than the allied green the NIO typically was displayed in.
The help was appreciated, as the Ouroboros had only come with a small escort, most of which was lost in the initial assault. He watched nervously as his plan was set in motion.
"Order first TIE bomber squadron to make their run. When they've gotten a fair distance out we'll send in a couple of Nimbus-gunships. Make sure their crews are on standby."
Captain Miles
98th New Imperial Fighter Wing - Dice Squadron
Engaging: Seela Leini
Captain Miles of Dice Squadron, a very average squadron even among averages, spun his TIE Interceptor around, pressing hard into his etheric rudder. His squadron flew in a loose formation on escort duty for a flight of TIE Bruisers. He hated flying escort for bombers. He was meant to fly and click heads, or eyeballs in this case, not float tethered to a herd of flying bantahs. He sucked his teeth accidentally over open coms.
"Shouldn't you be setting an example for us oh Captain my Captain?" quipped Dice 6. Miles rolled his eyes before replying.
"Make sure we're loose and ready to jump when they start coming. I might hate herding but its our herd. Not one of my bantha's getting snatched by these no good jaggath. Let's show them what real pilots are like. Deter in pairs only, no hero work out here. We ain't the GA." A resounding whoop came from the coms as they neared the enemy fighter screen. Miles' hands tightened on the yoke. This was it.
Location: Tunnels beneath Ravelin, close to Library. Objective: Recover abandoned artefacts, slay the unworthy. Equipment: Sith Warblade, Unspecified Talismans, Glorious Golden Mask. Writing With: Elpsis Kerrigan
His dismissively implied offer rejected not by word but by deed, Aurum spun in place, glittering robes shrouding his form only to solidify further, his will briefly imbuing the already alchemised fabric with supernatural strength far in excess of mere durasteel... strength than came at the expense of mobility. The woman knew her Sith-hunting, however, as the nature of the plasmatic-flechette made clear.
Golden robes looking somewhat worse for wear but revealing nothing of what lay beneath, a gloved hand reached out the instant her barrage ceased, mystical conduits glowing a deep crimson as it directed and focused his will - heat leaving his surroundings, condensing around the woman.
Had he known her particular aptitude, he would likely have opted for a different approach, but what was done was done - even as he hoped to see a charred corpse hit the ground, he anticipated the worst by lunging forward, sword leaping from its sheath and slashing towards her if she still stood.
There was a time for posturing and a time for life and death struggle; the moment she raised that shotgun the situation had shifted.
An hour ago... The cruiser was silently slipping in the great nothing of space, the Great Black, the home of any spacer. Except the Pride of the Emperor, nothing disrupted the emptiness of the void. Its shields were up, weapons ready to open fire, pilots preparing to scramble at any moment. On the main deck of the ship, every officer was rushing to his station, clearing the path for Captain Gallius Orcana to enter.
When he did so, it was with a decided step and few nods of acknowledgment that he made his way to the forward of the bridge. He greeted his second-in-command with a slight smile, then focused on the holoterminal next to him. Lit up, it showed side by side the order to rally Bastion and bolster the Third Fleet, and an intercepted and distorted communication from Bastion to the 501st Legion that was deployed on the other end of the Imperial territory.
"Now now now... What do we have there ?asked Gallius, slowly bringing his fist under his chin into his favourite stern attitude. - It seems, sir, that Bastion is withdrawing its best troops from the Bryn'adul front... But what for ?replied Jax, a blunt man ranked Lieutenant and serving as the second-in-command for the Pride of the Emperor. - Obviously, Bastion is requesting help. They are calling the rest of the Seventh Fleet, the Lord Executor and all his best troops in order to defend our capital. This means...Gallius said, thinking as fast as he could, This means it is time for us to rush there too... We were ordered to rally Bastion and bolster the Third Fleet, but now they are seemingly calling out help to every Imperial that can come to them. So we are to depart as fast as possible."
Lieutenant Jax saluted, hiding his discomfort the best he could. "Aye aye, sir, I will prepare the vessel for the jump. - Quickly, Lieutenant. The days of our capital may be numbered by this daring foe... And I refuse to stand aside for that Second Battle over Bastion. I was there for the first, I can't miss the second. - I understand, sir. We are departing right away, saluted again Jax, before going to the team that monitored the navicomputer, half-running despite all navy standards. Gallius watched his Lieutenant rush to the navicomputer station, then grabbed his comlink and opened a communication with every loudspeaker of his beautiful Pride of the Emperor. He choosed his words for a few seconds then spoke up.
"Officers, soldiers, technicians, pilots, crewmen of the Pride of the Emperor. This is Captain Gallius Orcana speaking. We have intercepted a transmission coming from Bastion and recalling the finest troops of the Empire to the capital. Such act can only mean one thing : invasion. We were coming to Bastion in order to bolster a battered fleet, but we are now rushing to defend our homeworld. This is going to be a battle for survival, and for victory. Whatever fear you could have, suppress it. Whatever doubt you could have, strangle it. Whatever distraction you could have, throw it away. This vessel has been what it is only because of its crew. As such, I want today the best crew of the Empire to serve on my ship. During this battle, you will be the ultimate line of defence of our world, of our Empire, of the ideology it stands for. All hands on deck, ready for the fight. All pilots to their station, ready to scramble. We are preparing to jump into hyperspace. As soon we will be out, the battle will be at its peak for us. Choose your tagets freely unless you have been told otherwise. Be ready to react quickly at any danger coming. We stand, we fight, we die, we win for the Empire !"
And as the transmission ended, the cries of the crew echoed in the corridors of the whole ship. Though they disliked their commander and his harsh methods, every single man and woman on this ship knew that not only did their survival depend of the talents of their commander, but also that their homeworld was at stake. As such, no one would back up, no one would exchange a glorious death above Bastion for a miserable life as an imperial outcast. They all knew it was the fight of their lives. They were determined to die for the Empire, and they would do it gladly.
As the echoes of the cheers faded, Gallius ordered the ship to make the jump in hyperspace. He stared as the stars became light filaments and distorted in white stripes. He was coming back home, to where he belonged. It was the fight for his home, a home he had defended with every ounce of strength and fury, a home he would not let down. For the Empire, he would stand and fight, even at the cost of his own life.
Visions flooded in his head, as he saw his mighty cruiser sink in a trail of flames and debris. He clenched his fist and tightened his jaw. If it was to happen, then so be it. He would dive in the skies of Bastion with his ship if he had to. He would, again and again, defend this jewel of a planet, relentlessly. It was for the Empire.
"For the Empire", did he utter a last time as the vessel jumped in hyperspace, bringing him and his crew to an unknown fate.
They were not supposed to be there. As the Pride of the Emperor left hyperspace, he lost no time to find ennemies to fire upon. He was taking the Sith fleet from behind, surprising even his allies. As the Cuirassier-class Cruiser jumped in the fight, every gun on the ship opened fire on the nearest target, while the deck officers analysed the situation and tried to find the suitable target.
Gallius and his officers were trying to understand the battle and how the Imperials defended themselves from this assailant. It took nearly a second and a half for Orcana to understand what was going on. "The Sith Empire has returned ! he yelled, as a sudden anger ran through his veins. He began to perambulate, wanting to use his rage for something good. Launch our fighters ! They're to protect us agaisnt ennemy bombers until we come up with a battle plan.
And so it was done. The TIE Interceptors were waiting to scramble since the beggining, and after few moments, the small loadout of fighters was flying around the Pride of the Emperor, ready to intercept and destroy any incoming threat.
While the fighters were leaving the hangar, the main weapons of the ship dealt broadside after broadside to any Sith vessel passing by. About a minute after the ship had left hyperspace, Gallius formulated a plan. "We are to pierce this Sith fleet from one end to the other. Full speed, we need to join our comrades that are the other side of this fleet."
The vessel did not lose his momentum, and leaped forward as its thrusters brought it to full speed as quickly as possible. This extremly daring and dangerous tactic would let any Sith vessel nearby open fire on the Pride of the Emperor, but Orcana trusted the speed and the thick armor the ship had. Gallius trusted his ship, and demanded from it to resist until it had joined the Imperial fleet. While the fighters made sure the cloud of avid Sith bombers was kept at bay, Gallius Orcana observed by the observation pane the tremendous spectacle. The orbit of his beloved planet was in ruins, the rests of the spatial defences were floating between Sith and Imperial spacecrafts. As far as he could tell, the planet itself had also sustained great damages, especially around the capital, Ravelin. He thought for a second of his parents, but focused on the cold void that separated him from his ennemy.
Again, visions and memories flooded his mind, and he saw briefly moments from the past, himself betraying the Sith armada, Janus dying in a burst of flames, his last and powerless scream echoing on the imperial holotransmissions. He saw, again, the mighty Pride of the Emperor diving through the ablazed skies of Bastion. He could feel himself clamped to the observation pane as he fell to his certain death. Yet he felt pride in it. It was what he ultimately desired, dying with his ship. If he died for the Empire, then he would be happy.
"For the Empire", he uttered again.
His ship flew through the Sith fleet, leaving in its wake a trail of destruction and death. Its fighters were taking minimal damage, but the Cuirassier had become the focal point of the rear Sith fleet. While the shields and armor held, it would not be long until some major damage occured. The only thing the Imperial ship could do was going faster and faster.
Surfing on the battlefield, Orcana laughed loud and clear when he saw the speed his ship was going to attain. He could not resist, it was an urge to jest at his hated ennemies while he was victorious. It was only the start of a long payback he wanted to inflict upon them for defiling the glorious and near-sacred ground of the Imperial capital. He made sure the holoprojectors depicting his hunting board were lit, and opened a large-emitting comlink radio frequency. Every person on this orbit would hear him, and while it was encouraging the Imperials, it would destroy the morale of the Sith, he thought. He had to try this bluff, as if it worked, Bastion was saved.
"Hello there, to all and every person on the orbit of our sacred Bastion. This is Captain Gallius Orcana of the New Imperial Order speaking. I am ahead of an enormous reinforcment fleet that is coming here to chase the Sith scum that assault our sacred soil. No mercy will be given to the fools who try to destroy our identity and our Empire. As I did at the last battle for Bastion, I promise you Sith commanders that I will claim one of your heads. No one remembers Lord Janus who perished that day, but rest assured I betrayed him with great pleasure. His last, pitiful cries still echo on my ship, and I seek to add one of your voices to this fledgling collection. Flee while you can, for your doom has finally arrived."
Satisfied with how he mocked the invaders, Gallius returned to his commanding duty and his ship continued his rush through the Sith lines, as one of the deck officers chose to continue that large-emitting radio emission, flooding the ennemy's comlink and transmissions with the last, desperate cries of Lord Janus.
Willan Tal
Zakaria Black
Enedina Tal
Vostok Grauv
Djorn Bline
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Creuat
Tyrell Paxxus
Kolson Vrask
Meko Sorrin
FN-999
