First Reply Sands of Time

[Helix]

Location: Nam Chorios



​

There was a certain beauty in desolation.

An unpopular observation, perhaps, but Helix had always found popularity overrated. All one needed to survive, and thrive, was ingenuity and imagination. A certain disregard for the rules never hurt either.

As it was, being here definitely disregarded the rules. Nam Chorios was certainly desolate, and thus, certainly beautiful. Endless harsh dunes and scrublands populated by hardy, well-adapted life, and dotted here and there by great crystalline mountain ranges.

At any other time, Helix might have been tempted to stop and take in the scenery. It wasn't his first time here; the Confederacy had held this world, many a century ago, but they were a distant memory. Now there was only himself, and his errand.

He'd seen no other sentient life in his time here. As in many deserts, living things tended to hide during peak daylight hours. To do otherwise was to tempt the wrath of Nam Chorios' violet-hued sun, peeling skin from bone and sapping precious, life-sustaining water. Few creatures could survive out here for long, not unless they knew how to wrest survival from the land itself.

The good news was that such mortal frailties were foreign to Helix. The baking temperatures went unnoticed and unheeded.

The bad news was that his prey were hiding too, terrified by this apparition that had come for them. For once, he didn't trust this one to anyone else. Time had taught him self-reliance, hammered it into every atom of his ever-shifting physical self. This was a job he'd have to do on his own.

He'd only collected a few of the living crystals so far. Each had been stripped down to its constituent essence, to be recreated later at his leisure. He could feel every single one of those captive molecules vibrating in terror, but there was no escape for them now.

As it stood, night was approaching soon, and the temperature had correspondingly begun to plunge. He'd have preferred more samples, but it didn't look as though he'd be getting them now. The Tsil were alerted to his presence, and had gone fully into hiding. No matter. What had been taken would suffice.

He could have simply returned to orbit and left Nam Chorios to its dark memories, but Helix had always been one to savor his victories. This was certainly a victory. Maybe one that would change the galaxy, given time and the successful collection of a few more ingredients.

The tall, lanky being spent a few minutes gathering dry wood, then piled it beneath a small, rocky overhang. He didn't require warmth, shelter, or even rest, but it felt right anyway. A humble moment of celebration before the storm.

Helix held up one finger, and concentrated. The digit's constituent cells vibrated rapidly, causing it to visibly glow with heat. He laid the burning digit upon his campfire, and soon, he had a bright, cheery little beacon of life in the midst of the freezing desert evening.

There was no telling who (or what) would be drawn by so obvious a dinner bell, but he didn't care. Whether an enemy stumbling upon dangerous prey, an old friend, or just a hapless passerby, none of them could stop him any longer. So he sat, waited, and watched to see what would come crawling out of the dark. Maybe none would come, and he would pass the night in silence, but that was fine too. Emptiness had a way of providing its own answers.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Beyond the flickering circle of firelight lay a desolate expanse, where the horizon stretched endlessly under a pallid sky. Towering structures of grey, grotesquely marred by deep, charred wounds and ravaged fissures, formed an uneven border between the mountain ranges to the west, their peaks shimmering with the remnants of shattered crystals, and the vast, blackened deserts sprawling to the east.

Silence reigned in this forsaken realm.

Not with the comforting quiet of civilisation asleep, but rather the heavy, suffocating quiet of a sealed prison in a land lost to time and misfortune—where only the infrequent wails of wind and the burning crackle of the wood dared to disturb its domain.

But as all things do eventually, even silence must end.

Crunch.

So faint it could have been mistaken for a whisper caught on the wind between the curving swoops and drops of the dunes, a sound carried, followed by another.

Crunch. Crunch.

With each step that pressed into the sand, the silence splintered like glass as the measured footsteps cut through the serenity, echoing across the dunes until one step became a march of many.

Then, from beyond the horizon, a silhouette appeared.

Crimson streaks against a backdrop of darkness gleamed in the dancing embers of the fire. The humanoid figure's steps carried him closer, his stride unhurried, despite the massive plates that cradled his frame; beskar worn like a second skin, a flowing river of holy metal sculptured in sleek angles and bold lines.

"You seem a far way out for sightseeing," he commented, the moment he reached the border of the light, his voice tinged with the metallic sound of his vocalizer.

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

Helix's multi-eyed visage slowly swivelled upwards to face his visitor. Absent were the usual soft whines and clicks of moving hydraulics or mechanical joints. His movements were fluid, almost liquid in their alien grace, and betrayed a physical makeup not bound by the traditional frameworks of bone or metal.

A Mandalorian, or someone who wore their trappings. Perhaps unsurprising, as this world was technically within the borders of their ever-growing empire. Helix couldn't quite tell what species the man belonged to. Normally, he could read a variety of non-visual biomarkers not normally available to humanoids, and get a fairly close guess, but Beskar had a way of dampening such signatures. Whoever or whatever was in there was anonymous, faceless, more of a symbol than a man. Which was, of course, probably the point.

Helix decided to be non-confrontational, for once in his life. As it stood, he had no reason to treat this man as an enemy, so he didn't bother standing up. The mechanical-thing instead reached an iridescent hand into the open flames, adjusting one of the logs to stand more securely against the rest.

"Perhaps I am, though there are certainly plenty of sights to see here. It's a beautiful planet, with more historical significance than most realize. Your people are fortunate to hold dominion over it."

"I'd ask what brings you out this way, but I suppose I have no right to. One can do as they like in their own backyard."

An unfair assumption, perhaps, that the stranger was part of the Mandalorian Empire. Plenty of them accepted no masters, roamed the universe as guns for hire. The very best guns for hire. Still, Helix concluded that seeing him here, on this planet, was probably not a coincidence.

"I must admit, though, to being as surprised to see you as you are me. The desert is not hospitable to the living at night. Only ghosts dwell here."

The creature's words thrummed outward as an unpleasant, echoing chorus, as though many voices were constrained to share the same set of sound-producing organs. Nonetheless, there was no threat in them. Only observation, with maybe a hint of curiosity at seeing another in so remote a place as this.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Embers of light from the fire ebbed and flowed, casting a hollow light that danced across the smooth, inscrutable surface of the T-Visor. Concealed beneath the veil of transparisteel, cold blue eyes traced across the mechanical form, over the slender arms that shifted like ripples in the depths of a deep lake—muffled beneath the padding and enclosed systems, he muttered a word—and his vision flickered; the night under the glow of low-light sensors twisted into a haze of soft blues and radiating ripples.

Itzhal's assessment paused.

No longer flitting between the inconsequential details that marked the droid's frame, instead his gaze fixed intently on the insistent flow of virtual ripples. Sensor data from across his beskar'gam, converted into a form that bore a semblance of clarity, comprehensible to the organic eye. The closest he'd ever seen to it was standing in a Killik hive, surrounded by larvae and the approach of their defenders, a swarm of movement and fury that had intended to bury him underneath a tide of sheer numbers.

Wisps of smoke skittered over the solitary droid, and its sharp, angular plates drowned the light, leaving only the embers between them and the harsh assessing glare of three glowing red optics.

"It would be fortunate if that were so," he remarked, his voice soft against the gentle cries of the wind. "But, even in this desolate place, there lives more than mere ghosts. It is duty that brings me here, as it so often does."

As he gradually tilted his buy'ce, the visor shifted away from the red glare, directing his gaze towards the encroaching shadows that cloaked the edges of their modest shelter.

"They may have been no council or king upon a throne to swear their allegiance, but Mandalore has not simply forgotten this world and its people; they have been relegated, perhaps, for concerns of an Empire reach beyond a single world. But as long as they exist within our territory, they deserve our protection. Whether it be from raiders and bandits, or worse threats, beyond our borders. And so, I am here to make it so."

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

It could have been a trick of the firelight upon the alien angles of his form, but for just a moment, it looked as though the apparition smiled. A thin ripple of movement skittered like a Kouhun across the seemingly-solid metal of the creature's inhuman visage. Structures like teeth were visible in that momentary rift, glittering faintly, before all was as it had been before.

Helix could read between the lines as well as anyone else, and believed he caught the warrior's drift, but played innocent nonetheless. It was always more fun that way. "Ah, duty. I remember it well, as though it were yesterday. Perfect recall is one of the joys, and curses, of an artificial mind."

"It all seems so important in the moment, doesn't it? Every move consequential, existential even. Fighting for the survival of your nation and creed. It's fulfilling in a way nothing else ever can be. Those who've not done it can't understand."

He let that hang in the air for a second before continuing.

"Still, I can't imagine what kind of threat you imagine you'd find out here. Aside from the heat during the day and the cold at night, but what is that to one ensconced in an iron casket?"

"Nothing but silence and wind, and memories of past evils aplenty. None in the present, thankfully for all ten people who call this world home." The creature made a buzzing sound that might have been laughter. "Still, in a place this remote, who knows? Almost anything could come thundering out of the dark, full of ill intent and unknowable malice. Almost makes the blood run cold to think of it."

Helix reached one hand over to a small pile of kindling, tossing a handful of withered desert plants into the blaze. The flames roared up briefly at the disruption, illuminating the area more brightly for just a heartbeat.

"Thank goodness for those who would boldly stand against such things with blaster in hand and courage in heart. What a universe we'd have without them."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Projected from the corner of Itzhal's visor, a soft blue luminescence unfurled, casting a serene glow that permeated the interior of his Buy'ce with each gentle pulsating flicker. Over the deeply etched lines of his weathered face, azure rays of light wandered without time or reason, accompanied by the shadows that clung to every crevice and furrow.

And yet, he barely noticed the hue that dominated his vision.

Instead, his attention settled upon the footage displayed in the corner of his HuD; milliseconds slowed to a crawl that was almost torturous as his gaze drifted over the alien design. A flicker of unease stirred inside him—a wariness born from experience, as though he expected the next frame to reveal some long-hidden threat. It did. In a moment that his organic eyes had dismissed as a trick of the light, the droid's frame twisted; claws shaped like sickles and terrible teeth crawled from the abyss, their presence shielded beneath the lie of solid metal plates.

With a guttering spark of final light, the blue haze across his visor died.

The desert rippled with the passage of the wind, a chilling breeze that seeped beneath the ash-coloured land, and with invisible hands, plucked grains of sand into the air, where they drifted like slow-falling rain upon a world that knew little of the life-gifting liquid.

Behind him, the droid continued to speak, amusement curling in the air between each syllable—the cadence of its voice, measured and mocking with the faintest veil of sincerity. In the panoramic view of the Morellian's sensor rig, every word set off a ripple, waves of sound slashing against a world unprepared for the abomination that dipped its digits into the fire.

In the quiet that followed, every second seemed to stretch, filled only by the crackle of the hearth and the slow, measured breaths of the Mandalorian as he weighed his response, until at last Itzhal forced his voice to break the hush, "The Tsil, do they still live?"

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

Helix studied the Mandalorian a little more closely, allowing the silence after that question to stretch intolerably. As before, it was difficult to gauge much under his all-enclosing iron skin. Still, Helix fancied he was dealing with someone who wasn't green, and wouldn't tolerate further attempts at denial.

"After a fashion, yes. Though if it makes you feel any better, they've got plenty of company." Came the response. Evidently, the jig was up and the fun was over. Unfortunate, but eventually someone had to have the spine to confront him amidst his many wrongdoings.

Few had dared to do so, particularly in this latter, lesser day that dwelled in the shadow of the old. That was disappointing, if not depressing. What he did was no fun without the occasional opposition. Too often, he'd simply marched to victory and taken whatever (or whoever) he'd pleased without a soul standing in his way.

Maybe he'd found something even more interesting than what he'd come for. After denial, he'd try bargaining. If reason didn't work, well... maybe the Tsils would have yet more company.

"Would you like me to release them?" The question was polite, inquisitive, blank. It had all the vacuosity of a holonet advertisement, and carried none of the subtle, mocking air that had filled the creature's words earlier.

The night-wind picked up suddenly, shrieking low across the ground and sending a small whirlwind of sand through his makeshift encampment. The fire sputtered and dimmed, but Helix never once took his eyes off his visitor now. Not even to tend to a fire that he did not need, but seemed paradoxically attached to.

Despite its lack of humanity, something in that stare carried an almost timeless malice, mingled with something even worse: curiosity.

After its brief outburst, the desert now seemed almost to hold its breath. The wind died down completely, replaced by the stillness of a millennia-undisturbed tomb. Even the distantly-chirruping insects seemed to fall silent to bear witness.

Through it all, Helix still didn't bother standing, still sitting relaxedly by the now-guttering fire and its slowly-failing light. Depending on the stranger's response, it wouldn't matter anyway.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

'Company.' What a deceptively innocuous term, gleefully laden with an undercurrent of insidious promises that led the blind to sorrow. Itzhal lingered over the sound of it, measuring the syllables as if they were brewed from a feast of suffering that he could almost taste, holding the realisation that whatever form of companionship the droid proposed, it was unlikely to bring anything more than further despair, or a call for vengeance that settled in the old man's bones.

Wisps of flames stretched pitifully towards the sky, a soft crackle of wood, muffled underneath the polite tones of the droid that dared to pretend it was something more than a monster. As if the visage of civility was just another role to be used and discarded, a tool, rather than the agreement that bound their civilisations together—but then, there was a reason he existed.

The Lawkeeper.

With a deliberate pivot, Itzhal turned to face the droid before him, its metallic surface reflecting the flickering light, only to shift and twist in ways that distorted the gentle glow into a nightmarish cast of shadows and the suggestion of something worse that lurked beneath. Minuscule grains of sand, finely ground to a shimmering powder and mixed with shards of glass from the fickle and intermittent strikes of lightning above, sparkled under the faint glow of the campfire's flames as they shifted and crunched beneath the Mandalorian's rugged boots.

Above, the night stretched onwards like a mirror of the darkened land, each star a distant flame casting no warmth, no illumination on the sands that buried hopes and dreams beneath obsidian, where only the echoes lingered like a taunting melody.

An icy wind slithered through the air, coiling between his limbs and teasing the edges of his beskar'gam where the metal was thinnest, probing for weakness as it near-smothered the guttering flames with a shriek that faded into silence—a void waiting to be filled. Slowly, with a gradual tilt of his buy'ce, the Mandalorian's keen gaze met the cold, unyielding eyes of the machine.

"If you did, would they survive the experience?" There was no expectation in his voice; only the grim certainty of a man who knew there was a reason hope could be crueller than despair, yet still allowed a sliver of that terrible dream to remain.

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar
​

"Who knows?" Came the response. Bored, flippant, almost childlike in its callousness. "And who cares. Well, I suppose you do. A lot of effort and investment to put in for such simple lifeforms." The creature held up one hand, causing a small, luminescent crystal formation to appear in his palm. "Appear" was perhaps too benign a word. It seemed to almost grow from the intruder's hand, sprouting upwards like a fungus. Reconstructed strand by strand from the creature it had once been.

Helix regarded it for a moment, before planting it in the sand next to him. It seemed to quiver, perhaps in relief, perhaps in terror.

"I suppose you could ask it, if they could speak. They can't seem to. Supposedly, they plant things in your mind instead. Thoughts, images. I'm fortunate enough to have no mind to meddle with."

Whatever else he'd said, that had been the truth. He'd been unable to communicate with them, and they with him, in any meaningful way. The Tsils encoded memory and cognition in a manner that was alien even by his own bizarre standards, but that too was a valuable discovery. Frustrating, but valuable.

It was so much easier with humanoids, where everything that mattered was stored in a sanely-arranged central nervous system. Getting that data simple, like unwrapping a package. Not so with something that thought in terms of mineral strata and geometric angles.

"Judging by the size, this is a young one." Something like a snort or scoff emitted from the droid, a noise of surprisingly humanoid dismissal. "If one can attribute a concept like youth to a rock."

His words made the crystal visibly increase its vibrations. Again, a brief suggestion of a smile skittered across the apparition's features. It was the grin of a deep-sea predator, a simple coincidence of design rather than an emotional expression. No real warmth or humor lay behind it. Or so one might hope.

"Looks alive to me. Are you satisfied?"

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Sensor equipment, meticulously calibrated over the last few minutes and coordinated across a dozen different streams of data, honed in on the unexpected appearance of the Tsil—colours weaving through the air, with a sequence of blinks radiating outwards in a spectrum of hues beyond the human eye—until the crystalline shard lay in the palm of the droid's mechanical servo.

In isolation, the scene might have evoked a sense of awe, but given the nature of the droid before him, Itzhal felt only a deep-seated weariness that kept his hands close to his belt and his blasters within reach.

His boots, rugged and worn, crunched through the fine grains of sand—leaving faint trails of obsidian as he stepped closer, over the rocky surface, half-buried beneath another layer of the dunes. Perhaps, if he made the wrong step, it would be him as well, forgotten and discarded until someone stepped upon another relic lost to time, entombed in beskar. Or, mayhap, more likely, the droid would scavenge everything of value upon his corpse, all for the sake of whatever sick and twisted whims guided its actions.

"I suppose from your perspective it may seem like a hefty investment. If I stopped to measure it, you might even be correct. After all, I am hardly unbiased when it comes to the work I do for the sake of my people," he admitted. His voice was soft and thoughtful, even with the slight metallic tinge of his vocalizer. "But, I think, if I attempted to stop, I would find it far harder than continuing upon this road. Call it habit, call it morals, the outcome remains the same."

Whether the crystal had the capacity to reach out to him or not mattered little; Itzhal had spent enough time poring over reports and diligent notes of those known as the 'listeners' to understand that the Tsil crystals were, in essence, sentient beings. And so, that was enough for him.

"What should I garner my satisfaction from? The crystal may still live, though to what extent you cannot tell me," he tilted his buy'ce, a slight twist that allowed the very last embers of the fire to trail across the lower edges of his visor. There was no warmth in his voice; it was as cold as a glacier, with every syllable carved into knives of ice. "It cannot be from justice, for I see that none has yet been delivered. I do not wish for vengeance, for the very nature of it is to acknowledge a wound that I cannot see the possibility of ever obtaining justice for. You have harmed another, and then discarded them like a toy that no longer entertains you. In that, I see no sign of remorse, only a continuation of the games that you play with others' lives."

His steps slowed to a crawl only inches from the remnants of the fire. "So, no, Droid, I assure you, I am unsatisfied."

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

"Were I in your unenviable position..." began the droid, speaking slowly and with an unpleasant edge of mocking elucidation. "I'd see a few things to draw satisfaction from."

"The first is that we're discussing your... grievance in a civilized manner. Not many men would threaten me here, in the middle of the desert night, all by their lonesome. Courage is rare in this benighted age, and it's worth something."

There was also the matter of prompting a potential diplomatic incident with the state he currently resided in, but his visitor didn't need to know that, and Helix didn't relish the resultant paperwork.

"Second, though less importantly, your shiny rock is intact, so pluck it up, put it on the mantlepiece, and thank your savage war deity of choice that it's among the living."

For the first time, Helix stood. The movement was smooth and liquescent, full of the unhurried grace of a creeping spider. Risen to his full height, the droid was inhumanly thin and spindly, with seemingly randomly-placed spikes and protrusions marring his surface. Still other areas seemed to ripple or shift to accommodate movement.

Again, that joylessly abyssal smile disturbed the creature's already-unpleasant features.

"Justice." Another ambiguous sound of derision. "Promise justice to the hurricane, and place shackles upon it if you can."

"It's a disappointing and unfair universe, friend." Helix continued with a sorrowful shake of his head. "I'm sorry you had to find that out here, like this, with me. Yes, I harmed your pets, though not for fun. I've done far worse to far better, for far less objective reasons, and all forecasts suggest I won't be changing course anytime soon."

"Remorse would imply conscience, and conscience, wrongdoing. What I do is correct because I am the one that does it. That is the only true and objective law of the universe. All else is vanity."

"The only question that remains is this one. What do you intend to do about your dissatisfaction? Pry your imagined retribution from my flesh, or be content with the fact that I can give your toys back when I've finished with them? Not everyone in the galaxy would be so gentle as me, nor so willing to accommodate the demands of a stranger."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

"You have made your point," the Mandalorian conceded, tilting his buy'ce towards the fragile truce that lay between them in the shimmering sands—the creature was small, faintly quivering as its natural glow travelled over the obsidian grains—like shadows skittering away from the memory of the sun. His hand strayed away from his belt, moving deliberately away from the comforting presence of his blaster pistols, and instead gliding over the solid frame that encased his wrists in a gauntlet of beskar. "As they say, there is a silver lining to be found in every cloud."

And what an interesting term the droid left him with—savage war deity of choice. Did it believe he was religious because he wore the beskar'gam or because he was organic? Must a deity of war be savage, or was the description merely the droid's perspective of war? He could not say, only that for a droid that balanced so comfortably on the line between vicious and cruel, it was an interesting peek into the code that made their processor tick.

"And yet, despite your points, I find myself dissatisfied all the same," Itzhal continued with a shake of his head, the expression no less sorrowful than the droid that had done so moments before, though his buy'ce left no expression visible, only the solemn calm of his voice modulated through the vocalizer. "I wish it were not so, but it is as you have said, a disappointing and unfair universe, and you are not the first to enlighten me, nor have I buried my eyes beneath the sand—I see the truth, and one must merely look at the circumstances before me to see that which a fool would deny."

He paused, another step closing the distance between them, bringing him nearer to the victim of this dreadful mess. "You have delivered the Tsil to me, just as I requested, yet it lies there in terror, and I possess little to offer in terms of comfort. I do not understand the woes it has suffered, nor can I truly comprehend them, though the source of such pain stands before me—unscathed and mocking, promising to inflict such anguish once more. Not as a threat, but merely because it desires so, and the universe, disappointing and unfair, has taught it nothing else but to reach for its base wants."

Three lights blazing in the darkness settled steadily across the vast expanse of transparisteel. The harsh brilliance was unyielding, reminiscent of blaster bolts searing away any shred of compassion or benevolence with each cold, analytical thought that dissected his very being under their red glare. Itzhal felt no pity for the towering machine that loomed before him; such an emotion would only serve to lay him bare, exposed and vulnerable, much like an organ laid out for inspection by a black-market surgeon, callously scrutinised and traded without a second thought.

"So, I will do what I must," his voice resonated with purpose, each word carrying the weight of an unyielding commitment that squared his shoulders and, with a single curled finger, unhooked his hands from the blinking gauntlet as they settled upon the hilt of his pistols. In his heart, the terrible obelisk of duty loomed, casting a shadow over any flicker of hesitation that dared to surface. "I assign you the charge of undue experimentation on sentient life, the penalty to be adjudicated in a court of law; though it may include imprisonment or, if necessary in the prevention of further harm, death to the accused."

Inches from the holster of his blaster pistol, a small silver disc barely larger than the palm of Itzhal's hand, glowed underneath the red haze. "I would recommend, should you wish for any further consideration in this matter, that you surrender now."

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

Helix couldn't help but be at least a bit impressed. Maybe he just didn't get out as much as he used to, and maybe having a spine was more common than he'd thought outside the Blackwall. It was possible, probable even. It had been some time since he'd interacted with these civilizations in any way but to pillage them when the fancy struck. Normally, the Mandalorians had been largely immune to these predations, due to the understanding between his colleagues and theirs.

Still, Helix did not respect the simple borders and partitions men drew across the stars, any more than he respected their laws. Whatever that understanding entailed, he did not consider himself bound by it, much less a signatory to it. When it had become clear that his work would not proceed without the Tsils, he had simply arrived and plucked them from the landscape like he were shopping at a market.

This task had been too important to trust to an underling, even to his inner circle. As luck would have it, this fellow had dared to challenge him during it. A challenge, but perhaps also a glimmer of opportunity. This seemed as fine a chance as any to expand his social circles. One needed good enemies as well as good friends, if one intended to stave off boredom.

Here stood one hell of an enemy.

His initial assessment had been correct. This was more interesting than the crystals themselves.

Helix couldn't quite restrain a laugh, despite himself, when his impending arrest was proclaimed. It was an ugly sound, like rock being crushed under the treads of a tank. Incredulity, grudging respect, and pleasant novelty were all mingled there somehow. The mechanical warlord didn't often experience those sensations separately, let alone all at once.

"On whose authority? Your own? I can just as easily charge you with bothering me, and believe me, the sentence for that crime is a grave one indeed." The entity's surface rippled with agitation. Small liquid tendrils whipped from his surface, tasting the air around them.

"Very good. Have your resolution, if you dare." The creature's posture was still relatively relaxed, but there was a certain subtle readiness in it now. Like tension built beneath the surface, barely constrained by that poor illusion of familiar mechanical function. "And if you can seize it."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Itzhal steadied himself against the backdrop of haunting laughter, the sound a memory of broken things, ringing outwards across the dunes like an unwelcome chime. He drew upon a well of patience, not born from genuine tolerance, but through an unwavering force of will that anchored him in the moment as he awaited a true response.

Ahead of him, the path stretched out like an old line, rusted rails jagged and torn with only one destination in mind. In the distance, a beacon glowed fiercely, its vibrant red light cutting through the encroaching dusk like the furious blaze of a midday sun—inevitable and striking against the horizon, where not even shadows and uncertainties could hide. It was not a matter of where they went; perhaps, it never had been. Now, it was only a matter of when they would arrive.

Against his back, the campfire shuttered into a solemn wisp of smoke that spiralled skyward, merging with the vast expanse of twinkling stars, offering one final whisper into the night's embrace. It extinguished before Helix could complete their declaration, the droid's voice continuing onward until it reached a climax marked by a definitive challenge.

An errant hum started to build in the air, seeping out from the armoured stretch of metal that composed his right gauntlet.

His fingers flexed, starting with their pinky as the bodyglove flexed around the skin, a second layer leaving the minute movements to ripple outwards as they hovered over the handles of his blaster pistols. In a heartbeat, his thumb skimmed over the shape of the silver-disc at their hip, slipping low as if to cup it from beneath with his waiting palm.

"So be it," he conceded, without a hint of pleasure for the violence that was to come.

Then, faster than the blink of an eye, the magnetic locks of his belt disconnected with a sharp click, and in a fluid motion, the silver-disc was hurtled forward towards Helix, sparks of blue rippling over the metal.

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

Would he follow through, or would he back down? These little moments before the violence broke out were among Helix's favorites.

How many years, centuries even, had been wasted because he didn't have the capacity to enjoy this? Back then, the killing had been cold, perfunctory, boring. It was satisfying in a way, but he had not been designed for satisfaction. Only to do a job.

He'd done it well, maybe a little too well. Maybe that was why his superiors had sent him away, where the consuming night of that place could work its terrible magic on his developing consciousness. It turned out that even a machine could experience horror, if given the right atmosphere.

Still, that was long ago, and this was now. Helix was more inclined to enjoy the raw thrill of the present, rather than ruminate on what had started him on this dark journey to begin with. At present, he had a man to dismember.

He didn't know what the incoming projectile did, and didn't care to find out. His reaction was immediate, leaping aside from its trajectory with inhuman, invertebrate grace. Helix's body was not subject to the limitations of skeleton or solid metal, and he could deform himself in ways that most would find structurally impossible.

The creature's liquid-humanoid frame seemed to melt in midair, giving way to a many-legged, segmented vermiform shape he'd used many times. With a whip of his new tail, he plunged into the soft sand below them, vanishing from sight. Only a faint trail betrayed his presence, and it was racing towards the interloper with clear murderous intent.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

At the edge of his visor, a minuscule icon pulsed ominously as the silver disc streaked through the air, sparks of electricity leaving reflecting flickers of light over the surface, while the symbol expanded;

WARNING: ELECTROMAGNETIC DISRUPTION DETECTED

Time seemed to stretch thin, the droid frozen in frame.

Then, with a shutter, between one moment and the next, the mechanical figure appeared to dissolve mid-step. Armoured plates pulled inwards, shards exposed as they trickled downwards into a writhing mass of segmented limbs that expertly avoided the projectile which skimmed over the sands behind them.

Instinctively, Itzhal stepped back, his boots scraping against the sand. Away from the abomination, a many-legged vermiform that expanded outwards in a dozen different cruel directions, a barbed tail slashing through the air, until it twisted downwards, piercing into the blackened sand, leaving a swirling cloud of obsidian in its wake.

Twin flames sparked against the Mandalorian's back, the rush of force pushing him across the sands, his jetpack roaring against the silence of the night as he swooped past where the shivering form of the Tsil lay discarded. His hand curled beneath the grains; then, with a firm twist, he twirled up into the sky with the treasured package wrapped against his chest.

In his other hand, he brandished the reassuring heft of the pistol he affectionately named Oath. His thumb rested firmly against the selector switch, strategically positioned at the rear of the weapon's stock. A vibrant hum of energy vibrated in response to the firm click as he pressed it down, and the blaster came alive—energy crackling inside the Xciter chamber, even before his thumb glided forward, slipping down the safety catch that unleashed the final safeguards.

Yellow rays of light, brighter than the new dawn, descended upon the sands with the hammer of judgement—and over the dunes, new suns blossomed with the wave of heat and fire that turned obsidian to glass with each particle bolt that carved through the distortions below.

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

Excellent. Excellent. Had Helix known the quality of Mandalorian resolve and adaptability (or not shrugged off the stories as exaggerations) he'd have tried harder to assimilate that lethality into himself. After today, he'd have to pay closer attention to them, and any opportunities to capture one.

The metallic horror had felled and claimed a few before, of course, but they were a far cry from this fellow. Here was a killer at the peak of his civilization's glory, and it showed. Helix was almost sorry to have to kill him. A work of the warrior's art like this deserved preservation, not destruction.

Alas, and as they'd both already agreed, the universe seldom cared for what its inhabitants deserved.

The Helix-worm burst from the sands, squirming and snapping as the energy bolts rained down around him. He could feel the tremendous heat of their impacts moltenizing the sand nearby, and searing his membranous hide. The unmistakable sound of a Mandalorian jetpack informed him of a new development, and one he should have expected.

Newly-formed pincer-jaws were of little use against a foe who could take to the air, but the colony-being was far from out of tricks.

Abandoning the earth, the Helix-worm's body coiled, flexing all of its tremendous physical might to launch itself into the sky.

At the apex of his flight, he altered his shape again. This fresh nightmare was a thing of scything limbs and blade-edged wings, which folded like a hawk's as he dove to intercept the Mandalorian.

Small slivers of exotic metal dislodged themselves from his form, whistling toward the stranger with tremendous speed. The rapid pop-pop-pop-pop of a broken sound barrier rose above the roar of the jetpack for a few brief moments.

Moonlight glinted ominously off those projectiles as they closed in, honed to a killing edge that no forge or bladesmith could manage. "What name should I carve upon your grave?" Asked the colony. Though emitted at great volume to be heard above the din of their battle, the question was (in vocal tone) surprisingly polite. "What name do your people call the greatest of their lawmen?"

Much as he had to respect his foe's gumption, some part of it also repelled him on the deepest, most existential level. Helix was a thing of ultra-individualism, ultra-egoism. Perhaps a vestige of old programming, taken to extremes. Perhaps a response to liberation being a very new concept. The very idea of laws (or at least, that he was obligated by them) offended and enraged him as few things had in recent memory. Here, he faced his true antithesis.

The man could not allow him to walk free, and Helix could not allow himself to be caged. He had outlived entire civilizations, and yet he was being threatened with confinement like he'd driven a speeder too quickly through a school zone.

Tragic as it was to destroy so skilled a professional, it was moral duty. A necessity.

Fire and Water could not exist together. Not in his universe.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

Suspended in the air above the battlefield, Itzhal soared on ephemeral wings formed from swirling streams of fiery gases, their flickering remnants illuminating the darkened skies and the ravaged field below. His blaster, Oath, unleashed a barrage of blazing bolts that detonated upon impact, carving deep, smouldering craters where the grains of sand weren't turned to glass, the latter of which lasted only a moment, to be in turn shattered by the next volley—all in search of the worm-like creature that scurried beneath the surface.

The Mandalorian fired, shot after shot, as his mind drifted through the motions, his blaster seeking his target, even as he found himself contemplating the situation he'd found himself in. Once again fighting for his life against a threat that made little sense to his understanding of physics.

Regardless of the number of droids he had encountered in the past, there was always a new model that seemed to bring with it an unexpected twist that he couldn't help but be astonished by—even as it tried to rip him apart piece by piece. This latest iteration was merely the newest addition in an ever-evolving series of mechanical adversaries, crafted with advanced technology and unorthodox designs that pushed the boundaries of what he had previously considered possible.

Perhaps he should have been more shocked.

Over a thousand years of innovation, pushing back against what reality declared achievable, and it had still taken over two years in this twisted version of the Galaxy to grace him with a model of droid that was more than just a stronger gun wielded to their frame.

Under the circumstances, he would have preferred the walking turret—at least, with that he could predict their method of attack, until all he had to do was make the adjustment that sent a bolt headed for his helmet skittering over his shoulder. The same could not be said for the shards of metal that hurled towards him, their release mistaken for another shift of the strange swirling mass.

An afterimage glinted in the moonlight, the first of many sparking against his pauldron, in search of a weakness that Beskar plates would not tolerate, even if it were not a blow that went empty-handed. The impact was undeniable, propelling the Mandalorian sideways without the blessing of a foundation to provide leverage. He spun, twisting his body as a blow destined for the fuel tanks on his back narrowly missed; his own response was a blaster bolt that was intercepted by the flying shards.

In a flash, the thermal envelope shattered, releasing a blaze of heat and fire that rushed over his bodysuit—prickling against the skin with tongues of charred hunger. Their reach expanded over his shoulders, prying around his waist as his other hand pressed the crystalline shard tighter to his body, curling around the fragile package, with what little protection he had to offer.

Amidst the chaos, the mechanical monster's voice carried, a taunt on the wind caught by his sensors, even as he twisted and turned away from the explosion of the particle bolt and the shards that hunted him. Eventually, spiralling out into a manoeuvre that bought him time to switch his blaster, reducing the output of the Xciter chamber as the next bolt fired towards the droid's central mass with a bolt intended to pierce rather than detonate, while the following volley tried to blow some of the shards out of the sky.

"What name should I place on the requisition form for recycled parts?" He wondered aloud, in turn.

Tags: Helix​

 

[Helix]

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar ​

"I asked you first." Came the smug, petulant schoolboy response, surging through the air between them with an almost physical volume.

Wise as well as dangerous, this one. Giving one's name to something like Helix carried its own, entirely different set of risks. Still more proof he wasn't dealing with someone's first rodeo. The time for discussion had passed; all he could do now was either destroy his enemy, or slip away into the night.

The colony-being was a little too preoccupied with his taunting to veer entirely away from what happened next. He moved with a freakish, serpentine swiftness on land, but in the air, he was far more subject to the limitations of gravity and momentum.

The piercing bolt crashed through a structure that might, for the moment, have served as a shoulder. The effect was more like shooting the surface of a pond than a solid object, causing disturbed liquid matter to visibly spray forth. The mercury-like tissue squirmed and separated as it met the air, whipping around like a nest of serpents.

His surface violently rippled, then began to flow back together. The entire shape of the droid now fairly thrummed with agitation, or perhaps pain.

Irksome, but not crippling. Though he didn't seem to have made a lasting impact on his adversary either. The legendary hardiness of Beskar lived up to its reputation tonight.

Helix folded his wings in tight, dropping into a sharp dive and levelling out to convert the vertical kinetic energy into forward momentum. He began to try to close the distance between them, rending the air with rapid, insectile wingbeats. The sound resembled the din of a dropship's engines more than the near-noiseless flight of a preybird.

The speed and violence of his flight disturbed the sand below them, kicking up small whirls and flurries that battered his humble camp. A quartet of curved, scythe-like limbs unfolded from his underside, intent on testing the integrity of that armored bulwark to the fullest.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Nam Chorios, Outer Rim Territories

"What a shame, it looks like neither of us gets to walk away happy," he responded, a bitterly amused undercurrent seeping beneath the metallic tinge of the vocalizer.

Once, he had likened the droid standing before him to a mechanical swarm, its internals a mosaic of occult organs and shifting shards, flitting over and under the skittering exterior layers. With every shift, another piece of the plating-deep façade was peeled back, exposing unsettling glimpses of the dark and twisted abyss, where obscure machinery lurked, a hidden horror waiting to be unveiled.

But that was only part of the tale.

Beams of purifying fire traced through the night sky, splattering over the shimmering plates and sending liquid metal into the air in a viscous spray—released from the greater whole, the mercury-like tissue writhed, twisting inwards as razor-sharp shards left whistling distortions in the air. A gaping hole, where their shoulder would have been, dripped with the flowing metal, plugging the gap piece by piece until the surface layer was once again more of the same rippling pool.

Particle bolts would have been a more prudent decision—leaving behind a series of expanding craters and launching more of the droid's internal mass across the sands, rather than the delicately threaded hole that had penetrated the metal surface for only a moment. And yet, he could not forget the moment that a hail of glimmering shards had pierced the thermal envelope, bathing his frame in hungering flames, far too close for comfort. How unfortunate then, that one of his greatest tools for tearing his target piece by piece was also one they possessed a counter for, however crude the shards may have been. The first time might have been accidental or sheer poor luck, but against a foe such as this, he knew not to repeat the same folly.

Thankfully, he wasn't restricted to one trick.

In a heartbeat, the droid swooped from its podium in the sky, the twisting and shimmering mass cutting through the air with a terrible screech of the tortured atmosphere. As it descended, the sand below rippled outward in plumes of scattered debris that littered the landscape in uneven clumps of the obsidian grains.

A moment before impact, Itzhal considered rising higher and higher into the sky, where metal wings would struggle to reach him—but he wasn't here to see what would win in a battle of attrition.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the gauge for his signature firearm continued to drain, with every stream of fire that whittled away at the ocean in search of a viable target lurking beneath the surface. Undaunted, he fired, again and again, building a framework of the monster that now rushed towards him, his blaster a constant source of annoyance.

Arm raised, the gauntlet sitting just behind the frame of his blaster, pulsated with a vibrant thrum that rippled outwards into the waiting air, a breath held in wait for the clash of titans. Itzhal had no inclination to make it arrive so quickly. Tilting backwards, the twin streams of fuel whisked him away, further from the droid, but not enough to stop them from closing the gap, instead prolonging it for just a few more crucial seconds as shots flew like incessant wasp stings.

In a wave of tortured metal, the droid reached him, sharpened claws and scythe-like limbs tearing at the armour plates in search of purchase—he felt a twinge ripple outwards from somewhere in his left arm, the bicep growing numb, from what felt like a light slash tearing through the armour-weave and gutting segments of fabric that fell to the dunes in tatters. His right arm, already extended, slowed for a second, the moment of pain leaving his fingers to quiver over the trigger, before the blades descended, minuscule scratches in the paint appearing over the beskar gauntlet but leaving cuts around his hand.

Then, he spoke a stream of words into his buy'ce—thrusting his arm into the mechanical menace, well aware of the pain stretching down his fingertips, still bonded to the bone and sealed within the tattered remains of his bodysuit—and from the centre of his gauntlet, a shockwave of force and thunderous power stretched outwards, the repulsor roaring into the night.

Tags: Helix​