Mission Shattered Dawn - Tempo of War Pt. III [LS/GE/HR/BSS]

[Subject 1503]

HAD ABADDON, THE DEEP CORE
Aboard the Death Star III

Veno
​

Veno was learning, even if it required an occasional reminder for him to understand his place. Certainly, it helped that the one who had awoken him seemed to misunderstand the clone's own place. He would certainly not correct the title his guide had begun to use - even if he was no true Sith, at least - not yet. To be Sith meant to be something, to have a name, he was a weapon. Perhaps to one who did not wield the Force it would make little difference - Jedi, Sith, Witch, what was the true difference between any such philosophy save the colour of their blades?

To one who understood the Force as he did, the difference was obvious. Not so to the myriad sentients across the galaxy who were too weak to bend it to their will.

Without a word, the clone followed after Veno as he led the way, and he felt the pair growing closer as they moved. The klaxons continued to blare, and they passed bodies littering the hall - Stormtroopers, crew members, the mark of where his prey had come and gone. He did not have to wait long before he found them.

As they stepped into the Detention block, the pair of Jedi were huddled by the control console - bodies and blaster burns riddled the floors and the walls, the guards had stood no chance against the pair that turned to set their gaze on the freshly-awoken warrior and his guide. As a pair of lightsabers activated, the warrior took a moment to observe them both.

The older of the two carried a bright, golden-hued blade, though its hilt was a sleek, simple design in contrast to the brightness of the blade. He was Anomid, clad in dark, padded robes which swelled slightly at the neck to make space for the bulky vocalizer mask he wore, bald and with an intensity about him - he was a warrior too, though only one of the Jedi. The younger was a Bith, carrying a blue lightsaber of a more intricate design to her master's. She was truly young, with fresh robes, he wondered if she had ever left her temple before now.

"Surrender! We do not wish to destroy you." The Master's tinny, mechanical voice echoed through the vocalizer box he wore as he made his warning. There was a slight, barely-perceptible shift to his stance, the slightest quiver to the Bith's arms as they both readied themselves. He could feel the fear, he relished it.

"Distract the younger one for as long as you're able." Inexperienced student as the Bith was, he'd seen little about Veno thus far that impressed him. His offsider would surely perish here, but he could at least do so while being useful. With his command given, the warrior raised his hand and let a pulse of energy surge outward, flinging the two Jedi away from one another - the Master slammed back into a wall, and the Padawan surged down a nearby hallway, separated.​

 

[Veno]

Something of a groan grumbled out from beneath his face-plate, accompanying his sagging posture. "You got it," he said, though it was more of a mumble. "One dead Jedi coming up."

He took off after her, with the blue of the blade lighting up the dimly lit hall. "You know, I've killed a Jedi before. Shot 'em straight between the eyes. Granted, an Ithorian, but..." he shrugged, bringing his blaster pistol up and a grenade in his other hand.

The sounds of a whirring lightsaber, crashing metal, blaster fire and a grenade is what came out of that hallway.

Subject 1503

 

[Subject 1503]

HAD ABADDON, THE DEEP CORE
Aboard the Death Star III

Veno
​

And so, the warrior was left with his prey.

As Veno took off after the Padawan, he watched the Master move, attempting to cut the man off and stop them from being separated. Crossing the distance, he put himself in the way of the Jedi, cutting a wide arc with the knife to force him back and prevent the advance. The Master took a step back, lifting his blade into a readied stance, but he made no move to close the distance just yet.

"This is your last chance to surrender, you can't win - you don't have your lightsaber." The Master's attempt at a warning continued, it was as much driven by a sense of fear as it was a sense of duty, the Jedi and their feeble attempts at pacifism, at preventing violence.

"I don't have my lightsaber, no..." He confirmed. "But you do."

He lunged forward, stabbing toward the Master's gut as the Jedi parried the blade. It was a masterful effort on his opponent's part, the lightsaber caught the blade, turning to the side and driving upward to force it from the clone's grip. It clattered to the floor, but before the Master could make another strike, the fresh-awoken warrior kicked him hard in the side.

His Jedi opponent recovered quickly, and the Master swung his blade in an overhead cut which he ducked to the side to avoid. It was followed by a wide slash that he back-pedaled from, and a lunging stab he side-stepped before he caught the Jedi's wrist. He'd intended to disarm the man, but the dense shape of the Anomid's vocalizer mask slammed into his mask, it was more disorienting than it was painful, but it served the purpose of forcing the clone back, creating enough of an opening for the Jedi to send a blast of energy toward his opponent. He felt the wind suddenly rush toward him, and he was launched across the room hard enough to put a dent in the wall.

He dropped to a knee, but the Jedi didn't relent in his attack. Charging forward to take the advantage, he brought his golden blade upward and swung it clean down, it came in a steady arc - and stopped just short of the clone's masked head.

The Jedi's arms shook, a tension to them. He had not been the one that stopped his blow, he had been stilled right before striking his opponent proper. It was a stasis the clone could only maintain for so long, but it was long enough. He moved in a blur, ducking to the side to avoid the slash when it finally came, his hand stretching out across the room to pull the blade he had lost toward him. It didn't make it all the way to his hand, the Jedi moved too quickly to cut down toward his arm, forcing the unarmed warrior to dodge to the side once more.

But this swing had been wide, his opponent was growing frustrated, irritated that an unarmed opponent was giving him such trouble. His fist came up to drive into the Master's diaphragm, forcing the Jedi back with a wild slash to make distance from the clone. It didn't matter, he didn't need to be close, he'd sent the Master in the direction he wanted. He held his hand out again, calling on the knife - and watching as the Jedi stilled and stiffened when it buried itself deep into his spine.

Falling to his knees, the Master's vocalizer box ticked and groaned a few times, attempting to summon words as life left him, nothing came out - and as he fell forward onto the ground, the clone's gaze turned toward the hallway his guide had vanished down, he'd at least distracted the Padawan long enough...​

 

[Kann]

"A nice trick," the Jedi said, wide open to be slain and Kann didn't hesitate; said no words, only seized the opportunity and cleaved at the man from top to bottom.​

Rakaan Horne

 

[Rakaan Horne]

He pushed in swiftly, closing the distance before the blade could come crashing down. A wiser move might have been to pull back, a part of him whispered, though his grip had already seized the sword arm of his foe. He squeezed, knuckles whitening as he pushed forwards with an effort to sweep the leg from underneath.

Rakaan reached out with a punch to the helmet, then to the Force in an effort to regain his lightsaber.

Kann

 

[Veno]

He was violently ejected from the route he tread mere moments before, hoisted up into the air and sent hurtling through it. He came soaring towards the middle of the detention center, though with his blaster raised and helmeted head cocked to the side, squeezing the trigger before crashing into the center console with some combination of a meaty thwack and a metal ding.

The lightsaber hissed as it retreated into its hilt, clattering against the floor as the wielder slumped beside it with a steaming hole in her head.

Veno chuckled sinisterly, only interrupted by his own complaining as he tried to move. Rubbing at his neck, he dragged himself to his feet. "Ow," he whined, "Did you get your... huh. So you did."

Subject 1503

 

[Subject 1503]

HAD ABADDON, THE DEEP CORE
Aboard the Death Star III

Veno
​

His gaze turned to follow the shape of Veno as he flew out from the hallway, managing to take a shot even as he came crashed into the console. He felt the life leaving the Padawan even before the sound of the body falling rang out - and though the stoic visage of his mask certainly wouldn't reveal as much, he was, in truth, impressed. All he'd seen of the man that had awoken him prior to this moment had been far from impressive, though fresh Padawan or otherwise, he had killed the Jedi when he expected Veno to fall.

Perhaps he would be useful, after all.

"I did." He affirmed as he stepped toward the body of the Master, his fingers stretching outward to catch the lightsaber as it rose from the floor and settled into his hand. Immediately there was a disquiet that settled over him as he touched it, a warmth to the hilt and a presence in the blade that defied him, the light of the kyber crystal within which rebuked that one that had killed its master.

Lifting the hilt, he brushed his thumb over the ignition switch and activated it, letting the golden blade thrum to life once more and cast its light over him. The blade itself almost seemed to swell in its form and light. Even before he had begun, it resisted him, but that would matter little. The kyber would bend to his will, and the blade would be his.

"Ensure the prisoners are secure, this will take me but a moment." Another command, for a moment's focus, more than anything. Whether or not Veno moved to leave him be, he deactivated the lightsaber and focused open it, opening his palm and letting it float delicately into the air. He focused on the fear of the two Jedi that had fallen, on his hatred of them, he focused on the conflict that permeated the station and the space around it, channeling all of the emotions into the crystal itself.

It resisted.

Flashes came to him, images of things utterly unfamiliar - savannah plains and mountains, green fields around a deep lake. Places from a life unknown, lost. A vision of the Imperial Center, of the Jedi Temple when it stood in earnest - the appearance of a woman, completely unknown to him. The Light Side of the Force called to him, pushed against him, desperately surged for anything that might make him pause, but there was nothing that found purchase. Those memories were not his own, the one they belonged to? Long dead.

He was a servant of the Empire, a warrior, and an acolyte of the Dark Side. He would not be denied.

Across the detention block, durasteel panels creaked and bent, lights burst as if overloaded, and a console or two holding a cell closed threatened to pop and release those within. The Dark Side flowed from him, into the Lightsaber he'd taken and into the cells beyond - even to those lacking in Force Sensitivity like Veno, it would have permeated the air with an unpleasant chill.

But then, it was done. With a slow breath, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease, he felt the resistance cease. He felt the Light die. Thumbing the activation switch once more, the blade burst to life, though its golden hue was gone - held before him was a bright blade of solid crimson. Now he was appropriately armed.

​

 

[Kann]

This Jedi was fast, unpredictable too. He lunged at Kann, grabbed his wrist, and swept his legs out from under him. Kann hit the floor with a thud, gritting his teeth.

The blue blade appeared in the Jedi's hand, glowing in the dim light. Kann snapped his hand forward to grab the Jedi's wrist, pulling him down and leaving them locked together.

Precious seconds passed before he figured that slowly but surely the Jedi would overpower him through raw strength. He kicked up with both feet to send the Jedi off him and liberate himself from this lethal stranglehold.

If he succeded, he would be quickly up on his feet and try to lay a barrage of swings and blows to keep the Jedi from regaining his initiative.​

Rakaan Horne

 

[Rakaan Horne]

Launched up and into the nearest wall, Rakaan grunted from the impact and began to slump against it until booted feet met the ground beneath him. He ducked in time for the red blade to sear a glowing burn into the wall behind him, returning with a swift kick sent towards the chin.

Rakaan pressed backwards in an effort to an open space, only for the blast doors to open and reveal something of an open chasm within the Death Star. Walkways lined the edges, high and low, with systems on spires connected by bridges. A squadron of storm troopers, pointed, and said "Blast him!"

The Jedi propelled himself into the air, landing on a center spire as the storm troopers continued to fire at him.

Kann

 

[Veno]

He cackled something cruel in the face of a woefully terrified prisoner, seeing their cell shudder and shake behind the red ray-shield. "You're so dead," Veno sputtered, as their cell closed in on them, and then collapsed into a pile of jagged metal rubble. The prisoners were secure, mostly. Those that survived the display, that is.

Veno had come to see it only once before, to more devastating effect. If that meant the wielder had less or more control, the assassin could not say. His grasp was enough to admire it, to yearn for it and understand the wielders themselves to some faint extent. To understand the Force, however, was far beyond his means.

"Yoho!" He called from nearly across the room, "Look at you! I made the right call pulling you from that tank."

Subject 1503

 

[Darth Vinaze]

OBJECTIVE II: FINAL DAWN
​

Tags: Vireth (soon)
Attire: X

The innermost sanctum of the Deathstar's church was little more than a meditation room for its resident Sith Lord, a small, dark room with a large viewport out into space with just enough room for Vinaze to conduct his work. The room was candlelit, the air suffused with the billowing smoke of Jedi incense, the scents of which the Prophet had come to enjoy since the conquest of Tython. To one unfamiliar with Sith ritual, distinguishing its scent from any other the Sith employed would be difficult.

The Church of the Dark Side's facility itself was one of the larger single-purpose sections of the station, and it was an integral part of the daily function. Beneath the paintings of the Emperor on the walls and the Imperial flags draped down replica ancient-style pillars, the Empire could find solace in their dark work. Workman, commissar, and soldier alike came to kneel before the altar and be absolved of their doubts, reminded of the immensity of their duty, and the immortal legacy they would be granted when they were known as the men and women who built the greatest power in the universe.

The Prophet sat cross-legged in deep meditation, attuning himself to the currents of the Force that wrapped around the superweapon. The passionate emotion was fear, and in the dark of his mind he fed deeply and greedily on the fear that the Church of the Dark Side had instilled upon this place. He imagined how sweet it would taste when billions of souls shuddered at the sight of the battle station. It excited him. He had not personally witnessed the destruction of Csilla, nor of Panatha, but they had sent the Force reeling with death. The legends told of the destruction of Old Alderaan at the hands of the first Deathstar, and the great disturbance in the Force it has caused. If they were to succeed, and to surpass the legacy of Darth Sidious, he would relish in the wounds they were creating.

Deep in thought, deep in focus, a revolting feeling shook Vinaze. His eyes snapped open. Where there had once been the endless expanse of the cosmos, only occasionally interrupted by a passing Imperial Star Destroyer, was entire fleet. The Force shuddered, the concentrated power of the Light emanating from the arriving ships pushing up against the immense cloud of darkness that engulfed the dread sphere.

Vinaze was pulled from the edge of the abyss, the dark serenity of the void in which he sought to place his mind when he meditated. Anger welled up within him.

"The audacity!" he exclaimed aloud, then heard the shuffling of people from outside his door.

"Kissai!" he called in Sith tongue for a priest. The door behind him whooshed open and a finely adorned man in veils rushed in and bowed, even though the Sith Lord's back was turned to him.

"My lord! Enemy ships have..."

"I see them!" Vinaze cut him off with a snap.

"Who are they, m'lord?"

"Jedi. Rats crawling from their hole." Vinaze stood to loom over the priest. "Do you smell their desperation, masked as hope? They have finally realized it's now or never." he inquired, knowing the priest's connection to the Force was only strong enough to warrant his position above the unblessed, and worth nothing more. But Vinaze could feel how palpable the thing the Jedi called Hope was, but it was too late. The Deathstar was fully operational.

"M'lord, you should have known the Jedi would attack."

At the priests words, Vinaze launched into a rage. His gnarled gray fingers stretched out, grasping the priest's throat with the Force.

" I should have known?!! Do not speak to me with such insolence! Such doubt! WE knew, all along, that the Jedi would try something like this. Do not mistake ME for the fool, when it is our enemy who dives headlong into their deaths! When we are done here and these interlopers are dead at our feet, then we will spread the fear of this battlestation across the galaxy!" Vinaze finished his passionate monologue only to find the man hanging from his force grip had gone limp. He dropped the corpse to the floor and stepped passed it, out into the church. A handful of onlooking priests saw what had become of their fellow, and averted their eyes from the Sith.

Vinaze marched through the church and into the halls of the station. He needed to get to the main control center. The time of all times was upon them, it seemed, when they would learn if all their efforts would be rewarded. From high above, the New Sith Order would watch as their new Empire crushed the foolish Jedi...

 

[Kann]

The Jedi caught Kann on the chin, rattling his whole head and for a second the world went black. Kann blinked twice, staggering in place and the Jedi was already gone, scurrying through the door into what a sign above it said Level 12 Core Shaft Corridor.

Kann hurried after him. He saw a dozen stormtroopers pour in, summoned by the blaring claxons, blasting now as the Jedi leapt onto a spire standing tall in the center of the corridor.

Kann smiled again, stopping in his tracks, watching the Jedi fend off the onslaught. He swung the tattered short cloak over his shoulder, channeled the Force into his gloved palm and slammed it on the ground. Around him, the durasteel walls and floors began to crumble, turning into feeble iron as the carbon molecules were surgically drained and fed into the air.

Art of the Small.

The technique that defined him — small, insignificant, forever chained to the whims of the great, the large, the strong.

He relished the resentment, the angst, that crumpling feeling of inferiority and let it fan the flames of the dark side, watching everything fall apart.​

Rakaan Horne

 

[Reiner Ghadi]

Theme

Progress...

It was a word often on the mind of the Director of Science, long before he had even stepped foot into that fateful meeting helmed by Alars Keto . Even before he had abandoned the sinking ship that was the Galactic Alliance and their Senate. It was a word at the forefront of his thoughts for as long as he had worn a uniform, regardless of who's flag it represented. It was burned into his mind with the constant, banging rhythm of a guttural war drum, pounding against the inside of his temple, urging him to push onward.

Progress...

The very word seemed to ease the pain and frustration constantly bombarding Reiner's mind. So much chaos... it had overtaken the whole of the galaxy. Such had been the case for longer than even he could remember. War... after war... after war... all in the name of some ethereal, unquantifiable perception of the galaxy. The Force... what a troublesome thing. An agent of chaos... a harbinger of doom... even if others say otherwise. Jedi... Sith... Witches... Crusaders... they were all the same to him. He could only hope that after bringing the galaxy under the thumb of the Empire, that he could follow in the steps of Irveric Tavlar and bring Kyber Dark to the entire whole of the galaxy. That would be the only way to achieve stability... security...

Progress...

"Sir."

The officer tore Reiner away from his thoughts, snapping him back to current events.

"Yes?"

"The Jedi... they've infiltrated the facility."

His cold, iron-grey eyes narrowed as he turned toward the young man.

"And I'm just finding out about this now... why?"

He was only met with stammering murmurs.

The Director let out a sigh...

"Give me your sidearm."

"Sir?"

His hand extended.

"I gave you an order."

A blaster pistol exchanged hands before being immediately place against the head of the officer. Reiner's finger squeezed, and the young man fell to the floor.

Reiner spun around to those within the control room.

"Are WE BLIND?! LOCK THE FACILITY DOWN!"

He tossed the blaster to the floor.

"And for the love of the Empire, someone get this useless corpse out of here!"

He let out a deep breath, grounding his mind as he recited his never-ending mantra.

Progress... progress... progress...

 

[Cortana]

The Axis had given her no plan, just a single command -- "Seize opportunity."

The trajectory of her path had changed drastically since spending time with Davik Haize

Cortana gripped the hull as the battle ramped up around her, starfighters streaking through the air in all. Her boots locked against the plating, and below her, Jedi shuttles tore into the hangars. Imperial cannons lit the black.

She wasn't here for the Jedi, nor here for the Empire. She was here for the Axis.

Tonight would decide if she remained an apprentice, or became a Shadow.

Then her magboots released with a soft click. Cortana planted a charge the size of her palm against the plating, thumbed the primer, and waited. There was no countdown, just an eerie silence before the hull split open. The blast was tight, but controlled, and likely overshadowed by the chaos outside.

She slipped through the breach into a maintenance conduit -- a sharp stink of ozone fill her lungs. Emergency lights flashed blindly across durasteel walls. She crouched low, and listened. The conduit carried sound, boots hammering on grates, a clipped Imperial voice over a commlink: Cargo deck secure. Black Sun operatives moving material. Jedi resistance expected near reactor sector.

Three threads. Three opportunities.

 

[Rakaan Horne]

He swelled up in the Force, as if able to consume and swallow it whole while it began to swell around him. In that regard, he was the opposite of his opponent -- incapable or unwilling to make use of the feeble art of the small. Be a beacon, and the light of it lashed out from the ends of his fingertips, seizing a generator that creaked and groaned overhead as it became crumpled, spark, and came free.

The storm troopers shouted, "Look out!" and dove much too late. A large, heavy hunk of metal crashed down into their catwalk, splitting and shattering it as their broken bodies fell into that deep, dark void beneath them.

Yet, it all began to come down. Shifting from durasteel into raw, pure iron. It fell apart, unable to hold itself, unable to connect to itself. The ceiling collapsed, clattering around Rakaan and he vanished behind a tide of metal. Moments passed, ticking by until a rumbling groan shifted out from underneath. The metal rose, revealing Rakaan beneath and with both arms pressing against the weight of it with the Force, a terse look set across his strained face. He heaved backwards and then forwards, hurling the mass of metal at the Sith with a grunting groan of exertion.

Kann

 

[Kann]

Panting, grinning, savoring the victory, Kann watched the iron tomb of the Jedi. Fitting that he was buried underneath the discarded scrap of an engineering abomination. He turned on his heel, departing for what awaited him next.

A few steps away, he suddenly stopped, a rush of ethereal wind blowing past him from behind. Kaan half-turned his head to glance and saw for a fraction of a second six tonnes of scrap flying at him.

Then everything turned black as the storm of iron picked him up, flung him, across the whole length of the corridor from before, into a wall. The wall collapsed and Kann fell into a chasm.​

Rakaan Horne

 

[Rakaan Horne]

"That's, that." Rakaan said between laboured breaths, landing with something of a thud on a still intact walkway. He peered over the edge into the chasm, seeing only the blackness of below. It was enough to make him content, it seemed, as he turned to move deeper into the Death Star and cause more mayhem.

Kann

 

[Ceton]

Was he a fool? Perhaps. That remained to be seen. But he was a Lightsworn. Was there any other option for him? No. Did Ceton at all research just who the Dark Side Elite were, or the Church? Oh Force no. He operated on vibes and vibes alone.

And being a bad ass in a half shell.

And carrying another half shell.

For Light and Life was his mantra. Even if he was the Gardner here of what life was worth keeping. He knew not every stormtrooper was a full believer. But they were fighting to keep something called the Death Star working. Did they know it was called such?

Again. This Yinchorri was a blade master not one who read all the briefings. Blunt tool. Like his shield. Throwing it was designed to scatter and slow the troopers. But he really wished he had it. Battlemind kicking in and enhancing his step. He moved so that the crates were a glancing blow. Throwing him to his shell as he used the momentum to dodge several of the bolts. A kick of one foot, and a throw with his spare hand, a hilt ignited into a blue blade as it created an arc through the mass. His yellow crossguard doing what it could to block bolts. His tougher than human skin taking several burns.

The team in his ship, lightsworn hopefuls and Alliance Irregulars who were looking to be more aggressive were pouring out to meet the fight.

Ceton spin until he could safely get himself up, the blue blade flying back to him.

"Big trick is I've got friends." And if he was Vin Hyperfuel, he'd have family. Ceton paused only briefly as his team came to support him and he changed his guard, blades moving to deflect more bolts before he hurled the blue one at the Dark sider so it would tumble end over end.

Deonis Laythar

 

[Deonis Laythar]

Objective II: Final Dawn
Tags: Ceton
​

Spoiler: TL;DR

Deonis parries the thrown saber with his staff, empowered with Force Weapon.
Deonis throws the parried lightsaber back at Ceton with the Force, point-first, like a spear.
Stormtroopers fall back and set up a killing ground in the hangar, firing E-WEB heavy repeaters at the attackers.

---

The Jedi was resilient. Deonis could give him that. Even after being clipped by two thousand pounds of cargo crates, and burnt by multiple blaster bolts, he hardly seemed to slow. A second lightsaber appeared in his hand, the blue blade working in tandem with the golden one, spinning and deflecting and slicing. Any ordinary being would be dead several times over, but this one held his ground while reinforcements spilled out of the shuttle behind him, waiting for them to catch up. Apparently he'd merely outpaced them in his eagerness to do battle; that recklessness was the reason he now sported blaster burns.

"Friends..." Deonis replied, lip curling in dark amusement. "How quaint." The Jedi hurled one of his lightsabers, the azure one, end over end at the Church Magistrate before he could say more. It was a narrow attack; throwing it horizontally would have given it a greater chance of striking. Still, the supernatural speed with which the blade flew at Deonis's face could easily have allowed it to kill him, carving through his face mid-snarl. But Deonis was not an ordinary man. He felt the ripple in the Force as the attack came at him, and through the Force he granted himself time to react. He did not dodge; he raised his staff.

The staff was mere metal - and simple durasteel, not phrik or cortosis or beskar. The lightsaber ought to have cut right through it, as easily as a hot knife through bantha butter. But Deonis channeled the Force through his palms and into the ceremonial weapon, visualizing the burning might of the Emperor flooding the durasteel. It was a technique known as Force Weapon, and it gave the staff strength and power beyond the sum of its very ordinary parts. When the Jedi's blade struck the metal, it did not slice through it; it rebounded, seamlessly parried with a contemptuous cross-body sweep by the Church Magistrate.

"Do your friends know how impossibly outnumbered they are?" Deonis asked, gesturing broadly at the colossal space station around them - one that made the Jedi's little shuttle look like a gnat beside a bantha, or even less. He raised a hand, grasping the lightsaber that the Jedi had thrown with the Force. "Do they know that you brought them here to die?" With a shove of Force energy, he threw the lightsaber back - point-first this time, like a spear. The weapon zoomed back toward its owner, aiming for his heart. It would be deliciously ironic to see the Jedi laid low by his own weapon, Deonis mused. Truly amusing.

The stormtroopers in the hangar bay gradually fell back, moving toward their secondary positions: the chokepoint exits that led deeper into the battle station. There, they had set up E-WEB heavy repeaters - a half dozen of them, pouring heavy fire into the oncoming Lightsworn. Other troopers fanned out around the big guns, adding their small arms fire to the withering barrage. The open hangar, with virtually no cover between the invading shuttle and the exits, was a perfect killing ground. Could the Lightsworn attackers, so limited in number, cross so much open space while under heavy fire? Not without casualties, Deonis knew.

If they sought to desecrate the Emperor's holy weapon, he would make them pay for every meter they advanced.

 

[Subject 1503]

HAD ABADDON, THE DEEP CORE
Aboard the Death Star III

Veno
​

With a flick of the switch, the blade dissipated once more, and he lowered it in his grip as his attentions shifted back toward Veno. The one that had freed him from his stasis was irritating, he lacked a respect for his betters - but there was more to him than that. Insufferable as he was, he was capable, there was potential to him. A reason to let him live, even if was as simple as distracting Jedi and guiding him about the station.

"You have served me well enough for now, continue to do so, and you may be rewarded for it." Such was the great promise any acolyte of the Dark Side could grant their followers, serve well, and bask in a glimmer of greatness they might otherwise never achieve. It was an exchange he suspected Veno would have few problems with.

Stepping over the body of the fallen Master, he waved his hand and let the force carry the knife from his back and into the air, steadily letting it float through the air toward the assassin who had freed him. "You may need this, there are more Jedi on board, we are not finished until they are dead."

​