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She inhaled sharply. The feeling like sucking in broken glass.
Just breathe.
The pain didn't matter. It was all she could do to stay alive.
See? All better.
There was nothing to see. She was entombed in darkness.
The monsters can't hurt you anymore.
Consciousness failed her once again. Darkness gave way to more darkness.
Wake up, child.
Life made its violent return. Seizing whatever scrap of existence it could latch on to. Primal. Visceral. The basest of evolutionary instincts. To survive. These convulsions were restrained by whatever unseen confines had locked her within. But a single ray of light proved this was not all that was left.
Amani raised the only limb that seemed to work; A hand, hovered limply before the glimmer. Features were fuzzy and imperfect, but even in this delirium she could see it was unnaturally set. Mangled. But survival took precedence.
Fingers grazed hot metal, feeling their way to light, where they could find purchase. What strength she had was used to pull aside the steel panel. The pain kept her alert. She couldn't yell about it even if she wanted to. The debris gave way, and light flooded the sarcophagus. Amani gulped for air. It was impure, and ashen. But it didn't matter. To breathe was to be alive. Any marginal gain of freedom was worth its weight and more.
Suddenly she could move. She rolled to the left, the side now unburdened by wreckage. Her right arm had to be pulled along.The extent of the damage, Amani could not comprehend, but whatever synapses remained gave no response. The limb dragged as dead weight.
It was not daylight, but firelight, that she had seen. Around her, whatever was once a spaceship was now little more than jagged scrap metal. Amani forced herself on her knees, which were at least still capable of holding her weight, if nothing else. "...Kai?" It amounted to nothing more than a scratchy whisper. There was a visible struggle to force the word from her throat the second time, "...Kai…"
Muddled thoughts only worsened in fear of the padawan's fate.
Oh, Kai was fine. He'd bubbled the Force around him to protect himself from the worst of the crash, cushioning his landing and shielding himself from the flames.
<Amani! You're alive!> His cheerful response to her calls alerted her to his presence. He was sitting on the ground a little ways away from the crash site, looking relatively unharmed. <You look like crap!> he informed Amani, gazing at her mangled arm and battered body.
<We need to find another ship and get out of here before this planet goes kaboom.> He looked around, trying to find Surea among the wreckage. <Where is that ho?>
<Get ready to rain hell down on them, Boomers! On my mark we delete the shits from the face of this forsaken planet.> Rose's order rang out from the comms as information kept flooding through on her HUD. The 501st platoon adhered by digging feet into the dirt and readying rifles. It had been drilled into the troopers - shoot when you see the white of the eyes or wait for coordinates for hail.
<"Larris to Thorn! Relaying message for Captain Wyll from IMPAF-Command. Goes as follows,"We're plugging up the breaches on your left flank, potentially punching through on their end. Lord Carwood has a plan.", handing over the relevant callsigns now. Ivy out!">
Larris' voice rang in the Thorn's ear as the stalwart Chiss woman stood at the forefront of her troops. <Thorn to Ivy. Copy that. Godspeed and Ave Rurik. Thorn out.> she said.
And then the shit hit the fan.
<CONTACT!>came the relay from one of the comms officers in one of the Stormtrooper Corps platoons not far ahead of the 6th and then the hum of a lightsaber could be heard before the comms cut out. <Thorn to Aurum. Send those letters, Geier!> Rose ordered as safeties were switched in unison among the two vanguard squads of the 6th. <Copy that.> came Geier's short reply. And then particle mortar fire rained down with a booming vehemence and precision just in front of the forward trench where the Knyghts were getting ready to enter.
The bright of lightning could be seen reflecting from the trench against the dark, tempestuous backdrop.
The voice rang out across the battlefield and even through the mortar fire from the hidden 501st troopers. Crimson eyes narrowed behind the visor as Rose listened to the initial challenging cry. <Vanguard, hold!> she ordered the two squads that were standing with her. But then the next round of goading rung in her mind.
The slightest of smirks spread on the 501st Lieutenant's mouth. Oh he would be in for it. <Thorn to Weed. Disintegrations, if you please, Marshaw.> Rose ordered as she still stood her ground. <Yes, Ma'am.> came the more than happy reply. The designated rifles of the specific squad rang forth with hell towards targeted Knyghts, <<I'm waiting in the ballpark, flameface.>> the thought bit back through her mind. She wasn't as easily baited as her sister. Rose had been on the frontlines against the Sith long enough not be an idiot.
She had faced far worse than the fucker that had killed her sister.
<You're about to meet your old friend, Gilead. You guys ready to hand him his ass?> she asked Jed and the rest of the squad that had come over from the 117th. She had not been lying when she had said what she said in the command tent about the living. The dead were dead. They couldn't do shit.
Gilead, Davies, Velder, Evans - they all were still alive and had something to say. They all had their own scars from this freak that didn't have the balls to come out and face another Dorce.
"COME AND SEE, SITHSPIT! OR ARE YOU SCARED OF ME?"
it was her turn to goad him.
The bellow that rang out across the battlefield as well as in her mind. There was no way in hell he wouldn't hear it battering at his psyche. The same way that thermal did.
Drawing him out properly would give Lord Carwood ample time to win ground from the left flank. There was always a plan. With the mortars and disruptors laying down cover fire, the Sith and his forces would be cornered before long.
Sucked to be a Sith this day against the veterans of the Empire.
Location: Tython Objective: Defend the temple Tag: Erion Justeene
Silas rushed forward fearlessly with his saber aloft, his eyes soon catching sight of the Sith who had got himself onto a pillar. With a loud yell he swung it down towards the mans shoulder, almost confident it was going to hit the target. Time almost seemed to go in slow motion as his blue eyes widened from the Siths hands raising with purpose tingling from his fingers. Before he knew it, bright lightning shot from them directly into his body. Silas yelled out in agony and flew backwards away from the Sith lord, his power soon coming to show.
The padawan finally hit the floor hard, rolling across its debris filled state with every part of his body hurting. Eventually, he came to a stop to his side and groaned. He had not felt such pain for as long as he had been alive, now he was starting to feel the true sacrifice of being a jedi. At first, Silas was motionless with steam rising from his body, his young mind barely able to comprehend what he just felt. However, deep down Silas knew he had to keep fighting. He wasn't that harmless farm boy anymore, right now he was a warrior.
Still shaking slightly, he struggled to get to his hands and knees and looked over to the Sith who was surely approaching. The lightning had really took the wind out of his sails big time, to the point where it had seriously made him doubt if he could survive against such power. The teen breathed heavily and used the force to call the lightsaber to his hand, nerves beginning to set in while he staggered back up to his feet.
Wincing, he did his best to create the best guard he could. Silas was in trouble, and his expression told the whole story...
The Dark Lord hissed audibly as the valiant pair, Ryv
and Rurik Fel
, came forth to challenge him. Streams of brilliant crimson energy halted as his hand closed tight, his vision swung to the Emperor who's own hand began to collect the powerful kinetite into a bright sphere within his grasp. The Sith'ari held his guard upward, spiraling forth his hand to match that of Fel's own in a brutal mimicry of the Battle of Csaus when the duo had once before traded empyrean energies in a titular deadlock. Crimson sparks leapt forth to strike back toward the Emperor, an explosion of power rippled forth as the two energies collided sending the Dark Lord skidding back against the temple grounds.
Too little too late.
The Emperor had already found himself vaulting forth through the chaos, embodying the very concept of ORDER as he closed the gap immediately. Eyes wide open, the Dark Lord of the Sith raised his weapon in a vain attempt at defending against the onslaught to come. Repeatedly he held back the tide as the argent blade of Fel came crashing down again and again, He nearly buckled under the weight of the assault thrown against him as he felt the deep connection between the two assailants.
As the Iron Emperor steered away, preparing for the inevitable counter attack poised to strike as the Sith'ari rose. He extended out his clawed grasp of the empyrean, seizing the unexpecting Dark Lord in the grip of morichro as his body functions slowed to a crawl. Caught in a downward spiral of a failing form, his saber was too slow to repel the attack to come as he extended his willpower.
The crimson blade fell by the wayside, the argent blade cleaving through his armor as a swift devasting kick shattered what was left leaving a blood trail behind as the Dark Voice tumbled back violently.
Eyes wide open.
The Dark Lord heaved violently as he felt the deep wound and broken armor with his own hand. His eyes rose up with malice as he struggled to breathe, yet even now as the Bogan eclipsed the battleground around them, as storms ravaged the skies, and volcanic ash covered the earth below... the ritual continued, the sacrifices continued, his will could not be denied.
"REALITY IS MINE!"
The Dark Lord heaved, rising slowly with his hand outstretched to grasp the empyrean.
"MINE!"
His hand closed.
Reality around them shattered like mirrors breaking under pressure.
The game had changed. Whilst the ritual had not yet collected enough to undo the cruel reality of the galaxy, it was enough to uproot everything and crack the very foundations of space itself. Time and space ruptured, a massive fissure appeared in the space above and on the battlegrounds below.
While Coren fought off the foul, Force-borne sickness, Libertas had been advancing in his direction. The Jedi manifested a bright, blinding flash, and a suffocating aura of light. Libertas was wearing a helmet, and one of her eyes was cybernetic. As with the Terminatrix she sometimes worked for, metal had replaced flesh and blood, though not to the same extent.
The flash of light and loud noise briefly left her dazzled and disorientated. However, the polarisation of her helmet and her mechanical eye helped offset the effect, allowing her to recover. As the aura of light expanded, it burnt her. The searing light was painful as it tried to pierce the darkness. Angrily, she answered in kind as her own aura flared to swallow the light. Dark met light. A no-sell as both forces were stalemated.
She fired the wrist ion paddle beamer concealed inside her gauntlet, firing a couple shots. The weapon fired beams that could not be blocked by lightsabres, but bypassed shielding and armour and could induce paralysis. She aimed for the arm that was not cybernetic and the shoulder it was attached to. At the same time she advanced, sword in hand in order to cross the remaining distance between them.
The Lonely Isle, Lake Kaleth, Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)
TLDR:
The Mongrel reacts to the latest news
Giving his wisdom and promise of death as Erskine's only peaceful escape
Mercy eventually speaks out, inadvertently upping the stakes even more as a result
Erskine responds, states the danger he is in
Hoping to alleviate any distresses she may be feeling in these moments
'This is what we're trying to end, you know,'
His heart was beginning to race, with bile rising up to his throat intensely enough that it took visible effort for the old Woad to swallow it down, but Lord Erskine remained upright, unwilling to let his despair give off the wrong impression to one he revered as the greatest rival in his lifetime. Although there had been much in the way of contention between them before then, and with Erskine's overt use of a Mandalorian champion and Asher's covert use of Barran's firstborn considered, the point of no-return had been passed long before that day, and both warriors had known what such commitments would entail in the long run. Sacrifices unlike any they had endured before Csilla, as such extensive flayings of their souls would mark a long, arduous preparation for the final bout, the last clashing of the Galaxy's most dangerous titans, setting the stage for a fight like none the Galaxy had ever known before.
A fight between non-Force users, such that could survive attacks from Sith and Jedi alike, and with such ease that neither Erskine nor Asher needed the Force to prevail with cunning, athleticism and supreme swordsmanship. One was a Jedi-killer, survivor of the Kainate's cybernetic cruelties, and the other, an old man who made more than one Darth flinch, survivor of the most sophisticated assassin-droid in modern memory - tailor-fitted to face off again someday.
Their first fight had proven this to be true, lashing them both in the right direction like soldiers who stray out of line in the snow, like the blizzards had on Ilum.
'They'll never end it on their own, these emperors and senators and petty aristocrats. They'll just keep warring, keep you and yours fighting and bleeding and dying on their behalf, to prop up their own power.'
Damn it all to Hell, the Nether or wherever it is that old demons like me are meant to go.
He couldn't help but see the truths in what Asher was saying, but fighting back in his mind, (ever so conflicted at all times, running through juxtaposition after contradiction again and again in life) the dread was still proving quite difficult to overcome; and with the bile Lord Erskine was trying to swallow back down at the time, coupled with the creeping dread itself, the baggy-eyed, sickly sight was clearly a disappointing sight for the others to behold. Love, Purpose and the Desire for Peace, the three pillars of strength the old man leaned on time and time again to survive, becoming the very things that sapped his will to fight in these moments.
And like the wry laughter that drew his ire to even hear in his own voice, the same raw hatred would be afforded to the new weaknesses in turn - for all that weakened one with disdain towards weakness would be hated most of all.
So these would be the wages of my sins, hm?
So be it.
The Mongrel was shaking his giant, cybernetic head, unimpressed by the Stormchaser's hubristic shortcomings, though still invested enough to know the old Woad was trying to escape what Asher himself would've seen as a pointless loop, an impediment to the Great Cycle as a disgusting, loathsome lesser. As the mechanical voice of the cyborg warrior boomed,'The cycle has to move on. No more Empires or Republics. No more Jedi or Sith. No more old, corrupted structures of power. A clean beginning.', the Lord-General would also begin to see the real wisdom that forged Asher's guiding philosophy, the real driving force behind the man he knew well already. But making it worse, making him feel ultimately sicker was the fact such words were somewhat tempting conceptually, like it was one of the only plausible courses of action to end the constant cycle of pain, hatred and grief - a belief with more strength than a thousand Dark Lords.
'You tasted freedom for a moment,'
And Lord Erskine had no counter, no rebuttal or refutation to offer his rival, all he could do was listen as the world (and all fighting for survival on it) burned and died around them.
Lifting the sword in a upward blade-tilt salute, the Mongrel continued,'I saw it in your eyes, in the set of your face. A moment's hope that this might all be coming to an end.', a further proof of his grasp of the situation, a harsh confirmation that he had seen what Erskine had wanted more than anything. The old man's gaze continued to darken, casting shade over baggy, already-darkened eyelids as his mind registered Asher's stated understanding of the moment, then sighing dejectedly in an attempt to make peace with the fact his one and only safe escape from the madness had been swept out from beneath him. Lost for words, all Barran could do was silently draw his sword in silent response as the Mawite hero said,'They'll never let you have that in life, Barran. But I will try to give it to you another way.', hitting home the truth in forceful solidarity with a man living his darkest hour - the only living, breathing entity who truly understood the Mongrel's role as the Sword of Chaos.
'There is a better galaxy awaiting our souls.'
For only the Sword of Order could understand what motivated the other side of the coin, the driving force that lifted the Mongrel off the cold, hard ground every time.
'I'll try to send you there.'
Finally. Something to bring me solace, respite hiding in the pain.
'Asher!'
The Mongrel's witness spoke, and though it was in quietly exclaimed fright, the old Woad heard it as clearly as a ringing bell, as clearly as the singing Beskar of his rival's sword. Barran had heard such a tone on women before, as it wasn't just concern carrying on Mercy's voice for the Warlord's safety, there was devotion interlaced in that outburst as well. Leading Erskine to a doubtless understanding of his own, seeing a man in the Mongrel he hadn't thought him capable of being before, something, someone more to the woman who stood as his witness. This was much more life-affirming than fleeting lust or romance, something akin to the lifelong, soul-deep love Lord Erskine felt for Lady Carla, revealing another example of the spiritual, dutybound ties of a loving marriage. It was in this moment that the Stormchaser deduced his chances of winning to be much slimmer than he initially thought, as cyborgs, swords and psychological warfare were expected on the job, but the previously-admonished assumption of affection couldn't be ignored any more either.
The weapon I needed to survive Effigy, an' now the Mongrel can utilise his own against me.
'Fret not, lass. For if Iwere in your shoes, I would be quite confident in,"Asher", and his chances of winning today.... As I really don't fancy my own in this moment.'
COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 12
Colrinal Crook, Southern Kalesh Plains, Temple Valley, Tython(Late-Autumn of 876 ABY)
TLDR:
Ivy is given-free reign to help the IMPAF-Knights
Wyll rallies a sizeable contingent of Sabretooth-Troopers to their position
Orders an oblique-order blitz assault on the Burned-Legion's far-right flank
<Thorn to Ivy. Copy that. Godspeed and Ave Rurik. Thorn out.>
'Well, looks like I'm off the leash this time! But it probably means we're being left to our own devices too!'
Shooting a trooper from the Burned Legion in the face, then applying the customary double-tap as soon as his foe's limp body hit the ground, Wyll responded,'Works for me, Larris! We're applying our own pressure now anyway, so we continue as planned! WE PUNCH THROUGH THEM AND WIDEN THE GAP AS WE GO!!!!', with an excited clenching of his fists in clear sight of the others. More from Sabretooth 4th Battalion were joining the fray with every passing second, engaging every last origin point of every blaster-trail, every silhouette and sound that originated from the fog and smoke to the north. Some were even close enough to the frontlines that they would find themselves engaging in CQC with the troopers from the Burned Legion, struggling desperately as the others continued to apply pressure downrange, completely unaware of the melees springing up around them until the other shooters were also met with similarly adverse conditions, just one of the many negative side-effects to planetary ground battles.
'Alright, folks! ON ME, ON ME!!!!'
And it was a particular side-effect that was appearing to be quite an issue that day, though the irritation it would cause for petty-officers, staffers and non-coms alike would be taken in stride regardless. If it meant the difference between wasting time to their own detriment and punching through for the sake of the majority, then it was obvious that the majority would bite down on their reservations to achieve it, keeping their wits about them collectively with the Goidelic card in mind, and for the sake of Lord Carwood and everyone else who stood to benefit from making an opening for the Hobilars of Faslane.
'ON MY MARK, WE ALL RUSH THEIR LINES TOGETHER!!!! MOVING AS ONE UNTIL WE CLASH WITH THEIR LINES!!!! THE REST IS A RIOT!!!!'
A decent amount of troopers had answered Sir Martin's rallying cry already, and perhaps enough to achieve what they had been sent ahead to endeavour on Lord Carwood's behalf, and with more looking to either join the throng or to keep going anyway, (or to watch out for sudden collective southward rushes from the Mawites' end of the field) Wyll's mind was made up on the spot. This was the perfect time to strike out, in the moments when it seemed to the Burned-Legion's troopers that the Imperials had lost the impetus of their advance, and in the moments when it seemed the battle could still shift in either direction, these were the moments a sudden breach in Saevius' static-line was most likely to hit hardest. McGechin had taught his scar-faced apprentice well, and it was showing in this moment in particular, noted in particular by the looming presence of the Grave-Tusken standing back-to-back with him, nodding with approval as his stance set in anticipation.
'I'll be in my element up there, folks! Same goes for the Tusken! So don't go worrying about us, we'll be fighting with you EVERY - SINGLE - STEP OF THE WAY!!!!'
For those who saw it, many of them would fix bayonets on the off-chance they could unleash a more-personal brand of brutality in the collective northward push, taking Rosk'Aiar at his gesture on the off-chance they would be able to get up-close and personal with a few foes in the attempt to break through. For the rest though, rifles and hacking-blades alike would be held aloft in a unified mark of respect for the men leading them into their hardest fight yet, waiting for the final command as their hearts pumped with near-intoxicating levels of poorly contained adrenal hypervigilance. Some were wound up so bad they were practically bouncing on the spot, or even worse, rocking themselves back and forth as the world lost all semblance of sanity with them, caring not for consequences or the dangers in these moments, as none would (or could for that matter) dare test the true cost of hesitation under such apocalyptic conditions.
There was no turning back, there was no veering towards safety, and no avoiding the insanity in any other obscure fashion; the world was dying and the only thing that would create survival opportunities was fighting and creating enough breathing space to make the relevant preparations. But until then, the only plausible escape for them would be to shed Mawite blood in abundance, and if it required rivers of sanguine Hellishness to achieve it, all the remaining troopers of the 313th and the 501st would feel gladdened as they set to the daunting task itself without complaint, naturally relieved that their part in the fight would be simpler to play than others. And for as long as their westward access to the mountains remained open, there would always be a way to safety, a small chance of finding their way off a dying planet that was trying to take them all with it, though everyone guessed this chance would grow slimmer for every moment they wasted in their fight against the Burned Legion.
'SOLDIERS OF THE EMPIRE!!!! ON MY ORDER - ADVAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!!'
COMETS COLLIDE: ORDER VS. CHAOS - PART 13
The Reach of Kalikori, Southern Kalesh Plains, Temple Valley, Tython (Late-Autumn of 876-ABY)
TLDR:
Marić and Hassan find themselves isolated from the main force from 3rd Battalion
As their firefight lulls into a tense standoff
The Standoff verbally descends into pre-fight threats
Fight ensues, explosive bait is taken to costly effect for the Burned-Legion troopers
Flanking manoeuvre mops up the remainder of the opposing squad
'Imperials! IMPERIALS!!! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!!!! RESPOND OR DIE!!!!'
A hoarse, raspy roar cut the brief lull in a fight that had been testing the two Sabretooth officers until that point, applying fire-supremacy pressure until they were forced to reload and essentially let up on their own, giving rise to the loud, outspoken voice to the north as a result. But Marić wouldn't be fazed by such a flex of firepower superiority, nor by the brazen nature of the one calling the two Sabretooths out, giving him no reason to worry as he responded,'Yeah, we can hear you just fine! Wouldn't surprise me if everyone on the Dunes could hear you at this stage! SO SAY WHAT YOU MEAN TO SAY, CREEP!!!! CLOCK'S TICKING!!!!', reloading his own rifle in anticipation as he was in the process of answering to the challenge. Hassan would watch the other arc of fire in a bid to keep his friend from Ord Mantel safe, watching the other angle on the horizon like a hawk as Marić tried his best to bait their enemies into rushing their position, listening for any potential trickery when all had fallen again, clearly taking their opposition more seriously than his commanding-officer in these moments.
'WE'VE GOT YOU ISOLATED FROM THE OTHERS, YOU KNOW THIS!!!! AS WE JUST SO HAPPEN TO KNOW YOU LEAD THE FORCES BEHIND US TOO!!!! SEEN MANY A COMMAND-VEHICLE IN MY TIME AFTER ALL!!!!'
Branko would hear Samir sniggering through his helmet, shaking his head in the mildest of disapprovals as he prepared to make his last response, then shouting,'AND?!?! YOUR POINT BEING - WHAT EXACTLY?!?! THE ASSUMPTION THAT WE'D BREAK EASILY TO INTIMIDATION, THAT IT?!?!', to preface his true response, setting it up perfectly as the Mawites assailing them cursed and hurled indecipherable insults in almost every egregiously colourful manner. They knew more was coming, and in impatient attempts to interrupt the outnumbered officer in the attempt to stand his ground, the shouting and jeering would continue until Marić concluded,'YOU'RE SWIMMING IN DEEP WATERS NOW, SIR!!!! AND YOUR SKULL WILL BE MINE!!!!', silenced by the murderous intent alone. The promise, and the cruelty of the heart screaming it across the dunes, seemed to chill the bones of the enemies waiting in the distance, but it wouldn't be enough to stop their commander from having his final say on the matter, though much would change in his own raspy tone in turn.
'A BIT DARK FOR A GARDEN-VARIETY TROOPER, DON'T YOU THINK?!?!?! HEH!!!! MAYBE I SHOULD WATCH YOU DIE SLOWLY - IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, SCUM?!?!'
A thunderclap would light the skies above before a burst of disruptor fire kicked up the sands of the dune beyond, followed by another burst shot near it by Hassan, stating their intent for all their opposition to see and recoil away from, for all their opposition to understand their need to get the show on the road - and with such ease that the Burned-Legion troopers would be left with no illusions of weakness or fear in the process.
The world was changing, reality itself folding in on itself and creating anomalies everywhere around them, giving off nuclear-emissions that set off the rad-counters on the HUDs of their trooper-helmets, creating a living damnation of Mawite design. It was loud, and to almost ear-splitting extremes, causing echoes that seemed to warp and stretch with the mesh that reality was becoming. Objective or not, there wasn't a single soul on the ground who wouldn't be affected by it in some fashion or other, for only the most-optimistic among them would consider it something as petty as a mere hazard to be avoided, as none would ever be granted the rare miracle of being able to avert it all. Not for as long as Solipsis, and all his most powerful Force-wielding acolytes had a say in the matter, not for as long as Tython itself was fated to wilt and die from the agonies such rifts would cause, from the crust right down to the very core of the planet itself. None could escape such dread, none could escape such horror, giving the Galaxy's warriors no choice but to try their utmost to fight their way out of it.
But did the Sabretooths care, and did their adversaries offer anything of the same? The resounding answer, on both counts, would reverberate, echoing out in their actions alone as their collective, steadfast,"No".
'YOU'LL BE A TORTURE-VICTIM SOON ANYWAY!!!! WHY DELAY THE INEVITABLE?!?!?'
'I knew it! They'll want to capture us, but that's what you were banking on.... Am I right or am I right, Sir?', the Kandaran quipped through his query, reaching towards the back rungs of his utility belt for a depth-charge and silently prompting Marić follow suit in the process. The replying shots from the north would kick up all manner of gravel and dust above their heads, and would continue as the two Sabretooth officers finished setting their charges and poised their positioning to suit an aggressive fighting-retreat, giving Hassan just enough time to conclude,'I can read you like an open book, Marić. Had a feeling you'd get up to something like this, and even before we mobilised.... And you wonder why I handle your inventory now? Your injuries mean little and less now, I continued because of your crazy ideas! Lucky man, and this isn't even close to being a joke either.', providing the first layer of covering fire as soon as he was done talking.
'CLEAR TO MOVE!!!! MAKE FOR THE COMMAND-VEHICLE!!!!'
Loud and as far from subtle as it could've been executed, the bait had been applied, offering clearly-dictated intentions of falling back; however, no such intentions were ever quietly stated between the planners, as their little traps would keep them from ever needing to double back so far, so their back-tracking wouldn't last very long before the eventual explosions timed their forward-charging counter. Textbook battlefield-deception, a technique any Stormtrooper archetype could've perfected in training, but yet, one that still often ended up neglected and forgotten for fire-and-manoeuvre doctrines instead, but somehow one that stuck with the troopers of Fel's Empire, especially with those of Sabretooth Legion. And when the two depth-charges eventually detonated, the screams of agony and rage that followed would drown out any potential auditory errors in their surprise attack, cutting the opposing squad's numbers in half as the two Imperials flanked around the mayhem to catch the second-and-last wave by surprise.
'You really ought to make this quick, Branko! Our Rad-Counters are practically squealing out here!'
The double-tap procedures could wait for the others, but first, the raspy screamer's head would need to part from it's shoulders before they would even consider it.
'Ah, so you were saying? Something about,"Watching me die slowly",was it? HOLD HIM STILL, LIEUTENANT!!!!'
Surea lifted her head towards the voice. Everything about her felt weak. After unleashing the blast of lightning, her head had gone foggy. Something happened to her. What, she wasn't sure on. But she was still in the ro- No, no she wasn't. Fire crackled around her. A crashed ship? What..? Beside her the shade in red sat atop what remained of the door she'd tried to rip open, not that she herself could see it.
"Even beyond that."
She didn't need to ask why. She could see it. The Force. It was wrong. The world was twisting and turning in ways she didn't understand. Reality itself was wrong. She pushed herself up, one her rotted hand. Surprisingly, no pain.
"Gift, before I take off for a bit. This time don't go get flooded with bullets like an idiot." She cast a glare towards the voice, but they were already gone. The Acolyte pushed herself up, gazing towards the sky. Her ship, her droid, neither were in view. What did that mean? Then a voice. One. The Jedi? Surea crouched low, slipping behind the wreck. No weapons, no arm, she wasn't going to take them on, even if she was better.
How was she better, anyway?
No, don't focus on that. She tightened her one hand, glancing around for something, anything, that could work as a weapon. Wreckage? She pulled up a shard of twisted metal. It cut into her palm, though perhaps that'd be it's own blessing.
In just a span of a few seconds -- she was outside her body; it was as if she'd seen a ghost.
He features had become more noticeable the closer she got, and with her name being spoken -- she'd snapped back into reality. "Ja-Jace." No, it was him. That familiar kindredness was there, even still. This was an abnormal place to be reconnecting, but perhaps she'd been drawn for this reason entirely.
"I don't believe in coincidences, and I'm not sure ho-how this worked out this way but, feth it's good to see you." she spoke openly, "You realize you crashed right into a warzone right? The Galactic Alliance are fighting back the Maw--there's a lot to explain but are you hurt?"
She stretched around to view the crash site again, "We shouldn't stay, I'm gonna call for R0 to--"
UGHEH!
Her knees, however submerged under water, buckled at the sudden seismic quake. Beyond her ability to maintain balance, she shuffled forward as the water level around them started to drastically drain as it was pulled and pulled; The land tore itself apart all along the flood plains with the distant boisterous chants turning into screams.
The landmass underneath her started to shift, and she collapsed into the mud. The shifting mud began to pull her frame along, pulling her towards the edge of a land-tear. But she could feel that the energy overall had changed, it was in the wind. More so her senses proved true, when she started seeing doubles of the environment around them, like mirror images and then she suddenly fell forward and landed upright.
Ehuh
"Something isn't right..." she groaned under her breath, "Jace!" she called out.
But something more was brewing to the Northwest as the storm raged on...just atop the waterfall that would normally fill the flood plains
"Kahlil, I need you-" her strained words could not be turned into a sentence, as a sudden, loud rumbling around them marked the beginning of the end of the Master's Retreat. The platform they had been standing on finally buckled under the stress and damage it had taken and fell apart into the river and ground below. "Kahlil!" she screamed, but the sound of metal, stone, and glass collapsing in on itself was deafening, and for a moment, everything went black for the Jedi Master.
The Master's Retreat had collapsed, but just beyond that...the large body of water started to rear its ugly head; a series of extremely long and powerful waves caused by the large and sudden displacement of the world around it began to formulate.
She dug her hand into the elaborate balustrade. Overlooking Tython, and really appreciating it beyond the symbol it was.
"It's funny, throughout my entire career....I've never really spent time on Tython. I guess because I felt like I knew enough about it to pass, I never really felt like a proper visit was needed. In our line of work, you never really know when it'll be your last day huh? Glad I got to really see it for what it was beyond the symbol it became."
A beat.
"You know Val, I-I never really got the chance to thank you for all you've done with the Praxeum. For the friend you've become."
"Kirie, status report. Have you engaged the Imperials?"
It was difficult to keep his balance astride the toppled Maw scout walker until Zark plunged his energy blade down. Systems failed and flesh cooked. From this vantage the Jedi Master could see more experienced Final Dawn shock troops advance. Conscripts were used like ordnance to soften up their lines. Twenty battalions of the 521st Legion or a little over ten thousand marines had been reduced by attrition to something like half that number.
"Face me, Jedi!" Kovach bellowed, using the terrifying hydraulic strength of his battleframe's hulking arms to shove foes aside. He would no longer abide this disrespect being shown his honored comrades. "Face me, and know your equal!"
Zark leapt from the mangled walker and landed in a superhero pose, "Only the brightest stars burn with hearts of kyber."
Raising the imbued fragment of Tython's broken moon in his aurodium hand the Jedi advanced with slow measured steps. He brought his lightsaber down on the dread blade with Force enhanced strength and the moment their weapons clashed reality cracked around them.
Marines near Jedi Temple Ruins down to half strength + surviving allies.
Nova Corps engaging Final Dawn advance (Sith troopers/walkers).
“Gee, thanks,” Amani rolled her eyes. Here she was worried the kid was dead, then he comes out looking just fine and hits her with that. At least she wasn’t gonna have to tell some poor Jedi that she got their padawan killed.
Surea hadn’t even come to mind yet, but the reminder put her on alert. Not that there was a whole lot she could do. Amani pressed one foot forward, only to barely catch herself as she fell back to her knees. The leg was marred by a deep gash, which poured out an unhealthy amount of blood under the initial pressure. In fact, the grass around her had already received a notable dousing of crimson. “That’s not great…” She wheezed.
The sky above seemed to warp into something uncanny. Like the fabric of the universe itself was succumbing to entropy. Amani wiped her brow, only succeeding in getting more blood on her face, “...Is that actually happening… Or am I dying?” Given how this day had gone so far, perhaps they were not mutually exclusive possibilities. And yet for everything that’s happened, it felt like nothing had changed. The war still raged on. Tython was still on the verge of destruction. Knowing one was living through historic times is far more stressful than the history books could ever convey.
“I dunno…” Surea’s signature couldn’t be picked out in the planetary chaos, certainly not by Amani in her current state. “But we should go.” As frustrating as it was to say, her concern was now more focused on getting Kai offworld. Too many close calls had warned her to switch priorities. If they were lucky, Surea would fall with the planet, or was already dead. Of course, there was still the problem of Amani picking up any kind of pace soon.
<Aw, come on! Are you really going to let a little crash stop us from tracking her down?>
Surea was probably dead anyway. Amani was clearly at her breaking point. Reality was literally fracturing around them. Yet Kai wanted to keep going. Must've been the Bamarri in him, because his determination was inhuman.
<Okay, let's go then.> Kai hobbled to his feet, avoiding putting weight on his injured leg. <How are we going to get out of here? Do we just walk until we find a ship to take us offworld?>
His roar against the light that threatened the monster continued. Raging out against being cutoff from his biggest strength, if she wanted his darkness he would gladly oblige by giving her all of him, every memory, every pain, an entire lifetime of pain ready to consume her from within. Few could withstand the darkness, and he even doubted that an ancient Jedi could take in his. He felt himself infecting her mind, as if tethering himself to her. If she would deny him of his power, he would deprive her of her mind. Slowly he could feel her light ease against the darkness.
As the struggle continued the structure of the Master’s Retreat couldn’t handle the pressure of the battle. The supports giving in, the twisting of the durasteel as Kyrel could feel the intense shaking. In a matter of minutes if not seconds it would all go tumbling down. Kyrel slowly rising up, as he felt her power work against his, and in turn he felt if somehow a part of himself latched onto her. Once his darkness felt open, consuming all and just as now he made her suffer for the attempt in tampering with it.
He felt her loosen the noose around his connection, but not before it had all felt hazy. As if disconnecting in the middle of a mental download everything spun around in his mind. No doubt he couldn’t quite feel the same as he normally felt, his Voxyn and undead senses still worked and yet the shadow felt different. He also knew that in the middle of it he felt as if he just imprinted his dark shadow more in her mind, as if ridding him did not have its own set of drawbacks.
He stood still albeit shaky from the buckling of the retreat soon to collapse. Feeling the green blade of Kahlil pierce into his back, burning through his flesh he could only scream. All in that same moment the structure collapsed around them, and soon gravity had done most of the work. The blade still lodged into him he found himself crashing against the walls. Going from the floor to ceiling until it had all ended when half of the structure caved in around him on impact.
By the time Valery arrived he was buried under all the debris, slowly it had all started to clear away when the Master of Ren came to. All around them stood a hellscape, surrounding by what could only be described as apocalyptic. None of that mattered to Kyrel, as he emerged his armor and robes nearly torn through, his stitched flesh shown and in complete decay, even with stiff movements it looked like even more pieces began to fall off. The stitches on his face started to bleed as one could see an ugly scowl of the dead man.
Both of his extra arms had completely disintegrated, both reduced to chunks on the ground from the intense impact of the fall. Instead in his two remaining arms wielded his lightsaber, and in the other it seemed like a monstrous mix of flesh, and bled Kyber contorted into a blade. He approached the two angrily, even as more of him kept falling off in pieces. “You can’t get rid of me that easily… I cannot die… I am death… Allow me to show you!” He said posed to launch himself on the offensive against them both. While all around them holes formed in both the sky and earth. Apocalyptic would soon take a new meaning with the bending and destruction of reality.
The Horned Wolf heard the battlecry of his Vod resound back to him even over the chaos. He pulled back on the reins of the battle mount, the Branchlurker shrieking as he did so, whipping it's razor sharp appendages outward to shred those unfortunate enough to stand in their wake. Tor'r groaned as the beast lumbered forth, ravenously moving in the sea of prey so close yet so far from it's gullet.
The Mandalorian Warmaster of the Enclave ranks called out to his kinsmen among Clan Saxon. A vain effort yet a noble one worth respecting. He pulled on the reins again, forcing the beast to face Romul Saxon
as he beat against his war axe. Drawing the attention of the Horned Wolf, Tor'r looked on as the Mandalorian drew a short blade with his left hand and charged with dual weapons in hand. Honorable, brave, a warrior's charge.
He would ensure this one received a good Warrior's Death.
Tor'r rose his hand up and honed in his sights, leaning against the neck of the great beast as it roared and fired. Lauching his jetpack mounted missile straight for Romul before leaping off to engage one on one.
It all shattered. Like panes of glass containing all that was matter among its makeup, reality broke between them. It was a cataclysmic rip and tear at the fabrics of reality around them. His burning eyes danced between the shards of chaos erupting around him before honing in on Solipsis once more. No arcane trickery or devastation would bar Fel from his aim, his objective. To put the end to he who sought the end of all reality. Twisting columns of stone and marble contorted around him as the earth folded and unfolded upon itself in his surroundings, tarnishing his focus for a moment before he traced the path of his assail toward Solipsis.
"Let nothing block your path, Rurik. You will best him. You will end this. Let none other suffer the darkness any longer." That eerily familiar patriarchal voice said once more as Rurik set one footfall forward, using it to pulse himself to another broken stretch of earth, again and again, prancing and vaulting between the fissures in reality before soon enough it was one final stretch before his fury would be upon the Demon once more. Ever his place of solace in the thick of battle.
Under the throes of valor refining each action and movement, every fine twitch of his muscles and body as he began his relentless assault of Solipsis, every other blow accompanied by a burst of force energy from his open hand, a violent swing of argent accompanying a cataclysmic burst of energy to crack and wear down Solipsis's focus and resilience as he continued to jolt and prod his blade at whatever stretch of the Sith'ari's flesh he could manage.
"No! Not anymore! And never again! I- no one will suffer the darkness! You. Will. DIE."
Rurik says, his strained, ethereal voice barking out in vitriolic sentiment as he spoke to Solipsis, shedding his steely disciplined visage for a moment as he continued his assault. Each vord threatening to shed the shattered masque from his tortured expression with each moment.
Using a Lambent to provide a glowing amber light he followed the group as they made their way inside he kept with them as he looked around keeping an eye on his surroundings and keeping his weapon at the ready coiled around his arm for instant use incase of enemy attacking whilst taking in the sights and having his spy bugs continue to give him what information they have. He kept an eye out for any artifacts or weapons and such that can be of use for other projects and materials
Surea watched from her cover. Another advantage of her Miraluka nature, she figured. Not even needing to round a corner to know what was going on around her. Well, for things she could sense. The knowledge there were things she couldn't was still something she hadn't come to terms with. Her grip tightened further on the make shift weapon in her palm, but she made no move to strike.
No knowledge on how injured they were. They weren't her target. They had lightsabers. Was she even healed or was it some sort of trick by the specter. Was the specter even something she could trust. Too many unknowns stayed her hand. So she watched the Jedi walk away before letting her make shift weapon fall to the ground. The com she'd stolen beeped. Shattered, but still functional enough to get the code.
Annoyance flashed through her mind as she sent a message back to the homicidal droid. At least with the Force as wonky as it was, the destruction seemed to be on pause. Perhaps she could get on her ship and get the hell out of here before anything worse happened to her.
Hilal's entire face was wet with sweat, trying to maneuver through the scorching hot cataclysm. She kept her targeting system focused on the speeder though it was cluttered by a visual distortion field. That's not good, it'll make predicting her movements tougher now though at least Hilal was more maneuverable this time. The young woman accelerated through the ash filled air dodging flaming asteroids trying to keep pace with the speeder bike. For whatever reason, the enemy was closing in towards Hilal's now destroyed tank. Hilal uttered a growl, that piece chit did not know how much work Hilal put on that tank. One of her first machinery invented at ten years old reduced to smoldering ruin thanks to this chit faced nerf herder. That's one thing that they'll pay for.
Soaring through the air Hilal face the biker's direction, she had the aerial advantage over the enemy. No way she was going to meet them head on, if Hilal can stay in the air she can still survey the person despite her interference from the distortion field. She can also put massive amount of pressure on the speeder bike forcing them to react. As bad as it was losing the tank, ironically it's destruction turned the tide in Hilal's favor. Now to take advantage of it. Five missiles aimed directly at Hilal targeting missiles based on the HUD's analysis. Scowling, Hilal flew high into the air. "Reversing thrusters!" Hilal's repulsor pack forced her to rotate at a rapid pace causing to of the missiles trailing her to collide and explode from behind.
Turning around, Hilal HUD automatically targeted the nearest missile hurling straight towards her torso. Clenching her teeth, Hilal fired her blaster cannon trying to lead her shots towards the missile that was getting closer. A few shots got it to explode but the blast hit Hilal sending her careening down to towards the now lava filled planet. The alerts inside of her armor were the only thing that kept Hilal up, Bacta Pumps were cleaning her moderate wounds sustained throughout her body. Her armor was dented and burned and her repulsor pack was malfunctioning but it was otherwise stable. "Come on...." Hilal attempted to fly but the repulsor pack was sputtering with one last heave Hilal managed to maintain flight control however there were two missiles left and they were heading for her.
Staring at the enemy at the bottom Hilal narrowed her eyes allowed the missiles cover the distance and the accelerated straight to SF-3335
. "Almost there....." Hilal muttered under her breath. She was going to break off the moment she reaches the enemy, the momentum of the missiles hopefully colliding with them as she did so. Hilal reached the person's position before doing a sharp turn she smirked hoping that the missiles collided with the woman.
Khamul continued to push forth with all of the hatred he could muster, channeling that vicious energy through the lightning that spewed from his hand. As he felt the frustrations bubbling up within his opponent, Khamul could feel his own power grow, emboldened by the Jedi's moment of weakness. While they clashed in a splendid display of light and plasma, Khamul felt that presence once again. The Crusader's love had hoped to keep him on the right path, away from the temptation of the darkness. Khamul knew not the extent of their interaction, but he would not allow her to bring this man back from the brink.
"You will never see her again, Jedi!"
A large burst of energy shot forth, giving the Demon Mandalore's attack the edge as he continued his onslaught. Finally, through the clashing flash of light, he saw the man falter, his body giving way as he shot back toward the pillar of stone. As his body slammed against the ancient stone, the Unchained did something that he hadn't done in years...
He laughed.
"Where is your goddess now, Jedi? Where is her precious Light?"
As the words escaped him, the fabric of time and space began to unravel. Though the ritual was far from complete, the Dark Voice was slowly beginning to break the very foundations of reality itself. It was a glorious sight, and one that emboldened the Demon Mandalore all the more.
"The galaxy will never be the same. Today marks the beginning of a new era for all. Unfortunately for you..."
His grip tightened around Mandalore's Lament, the blade pulsating with a vicious glow as it fed off of his anger.
"YOU WON'T BE AROUND TO SEE IT!"
His jetpack ignited, sending him forward to the Crusader. As he closed the gap, Mandalore's Lament sliced downward, aiming for the torso of the fallen Jedi. With the strike came all of the malice and rage from Khamul's very being. Hopefully, it would be enough to snuff out this Crusader's light for good.
The Blade of Ession came crashing down toward his opponent, hoping for an opening... yet none came. This was never going to be an easy fight, Heinrich knew that much. And yet, the hope remained as he sought any potential weakness in his opponent. As his strike came down, he was met in kind as the Dark Voice lashed out with his own blade, forcing the Grand Marshal back for a time. As the others continued their own attack, Heinrich began to speak a prayer to Ashla, calling upon her strength in the galaxy's most dire hour.
His hand began to glow with a fiery light, and Heinrich reached out, calling upon the power he had gained from his old comrade Ty.
"It is enough, Kaigann! You have wasted your life for this moment of sacrilege, and for what?!"
He made sure his voice was booming loud enough for Jem to hear. As the former apprentice of Solipsis, the Grand Marshal knew his manipulations all too well. If he could just reach out to her for a moment, perhaps it would allow Dagon a chance to get through to her.
"Why do you think I left you all those years ago?! Why do you think that so many that cared for you now call you enemy?!"
Golden fire began bursting forth from his hand, a symbol of the Light that Heinrich swore to protect. The Light of Ashla.
"You are nothing but a condemned soul, the husk of a man that has overstayed his welcome in this life for far too long!"
The fire began to spew forth, flying through the air toward the Dark Voice. Heinrich was ready to end this once and for all...
And then... the unthinkable happened.
Reality began to contort around itself, twisting... bending... shattering... all at the hands of the Dark Voice. Heinrich's footing faltered for a moment as the floor began to give way, turning into a gelatinous mess as it molded itself to the Sith'ari's will. Though the Grand Marshal hadn't underestimated how far Solipsis was willing to go, he had underestimated just how real the possibility of success was. Even with the strength provided to him from the others, Heinrich felt himself at a loss for a moment. He dropped to one knee, trying to keep his composure as he looked onward to the others...
No.
He would not allow it to continue.
Heinrich steeled his mind in the wake of the broken reality through which he was now doomed to tread. He broke out into a sprint, doing his best to dodge the ever-shifting surroundings of Akar Kesh. His blade once again swung out, this time seeking purchase at the Dark Voice's hip. Heinrich would do his best to compliment the attacks of the Emperor, though he knew little of the man, and thus would have to improvise. But one way or another...
