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Subject 73 Red
got his answer as to what had killed all the Bryn'adul in the building when Melissa cut open a wall to the right. The only reason no one fired was because it was a Lightsaber.
The tall, athletic blond Android Vampire emerged, having done some clearing of her own to momentarily secure this place. The Bryn'adul had died in pain and fear, the seemingly human woman slashing them to pieces in a series of brutal assaults that ripped open the finest, most dense of armor.
When the Android spotted him about to disarm the weapon, she sighed. She knew they might take this as treachery, but it was ultimately to prevent the Bryn'adul from invading Kashyyyk.
"Soldier..." She said quietly, hoping to get him to stand down. "I'm going to need you to back away from that...we cannot disarm it. We need to use it to drive the Bryn'adul from Sev Tok."
Her blade remained active, to let him know it wasn't a joke.
"That is what it was deployed here for, after all, was it not? Why get cold feet now?" Melissa asked. She calculated the attack angles of every being in the room as she prepared to defend herself...
"Cas, take that... that thing out! I can't see." He told his ally, growing agitated and frustrated. With what little vision he had, he could see the glow of the lightsaber, the hands that held it and several blaster bolts which barely illuminated the scene enough for the Hapan. While not totally blind, he was vulnerable to sudden attacks and with the jetpack taken out of the equation then he would struggle to evade. Still, he trusted his ally to defend him while they worked to take out the creature that was disrupting their electronics.
This was what he had been trained for. He was not Mandalorian by birth but by creed and had spent the last ten years trying to prove it. He hadn't allowed his obvious weakness to go completely unnoticed throughout the course of his training. Aware of the eventual probability of ending up in the situation that he did, he worked on honing the skill of using hearing to master awareness of the situation when his sight would fail him. It would always put him at a risk as it required removing his helmet but now it seemed the benefits would outweigh the risks.
Luckily, he hadn't taken his helmet off sooner as the sound of the blast of the seismic charge ripped through the battlefield that was far enough removed from it to not feel the effects too harshly. Protected largely from the sound by the malfunctioning sound sensors and protected by proxy from their enemy who was protecting himself and his ally, Zephyr wasn't too badly affected but took the opportunity to act quickly against his most problematic adversary.
With one hand, he removed his helmet and tossed it aside. He had been aware of his surroundings up until the moment his electronics had been deactivated so while everyone had moved, he was aware of their approximate location. He could see the glow of the lightsaber, pinning Cas' location and the sound of pure, primal rage from their adversary pointed towards his location too. He was unaware of the new enemy who joined the fray so didn't account for him.
The sound of feet moving on the ground to his right could only mean one thing. "Cas! Lightsaber!" He called out to the Jedi, leaving no room for debate. He dropped the vibroblade in favour of the lightsaber and held his hand out expectantly but it wasn't instantly met with the Jedi's weapon so he urged "Now!" Before the blade was thrown in his direction and he watched the bright weapon travel through the air towards him. He caught the blade and whipped round, launching in the direction of the creature.
The Mandalorian wasn't particularly elegant with a lightsaber but there was no elegance in this battle, only chaos as a patchwork of people attempted to rid the planet of the plague that was the Bryn. He had trouble calculating the exact distance between him and his adversary but the lightsaber was providing a small but valuable amount of vision ahead so once the outline of the creature was visible he thrust the blade into its chest, confirming its location.
The feel of the lightsaber was unlike any weapon he had used before. The cutting power was immense and the power he had put behind the attack was far greater than was necessary to effectively utilise the weapon. The creature thrashed out at him so he ducked to evade its grasp, pulling the blade down through the creature as he did, almost bisecting it.
Being unable to witness the aftermath of the death of the other creature, he had no idea that the creature he had killed would explode in a burst of energy until such force flung him backwards where he landed on his back with a grunt and dropped the lightsaber. With no protection from a helmet, he was momentarily dazed but at the sound of his vambraces powering up, he quickly showed signs of life and pushed himself back to his feet. He drew his remaining blaster, having lost the other in the commotion, and used the light affixed to it to retrieve his helmet.
Before he could reach it however, he felt an object ping off of his chest with enough force to give him cause to take a step to steady himself. He quickly turned the light downwards to see a grenade which he quickly reacted to by attempting to launch in the air to safety. However, the impact he had taken on his back caused his primary evasive measure, the jetpack, to malfunction so he had no option but to run and dive out of the way.
He was surprised when the grenade didn't explode in a spectacular fashion as expected but the surprise turned to concern when he turned the light to the grenade and saw it releasing a cloud of gas which was being carried in the wind. It became critical to reach his helmet which had a filtration system so he scrambled to his feet and ran towards the helmet. Despite holding his breath, the gas irritated his throat and caused a short burst of coughing before he scooped up his helmet and placed it on.
With the filter now in place to purify the air, he expected the irritation to subside but it got worse, much worse. The filtration system did nothing to prevent the gas from reaching his lungs, causing him to cough violently. He quickly stumbled away from the area, every step more difficult than the last, attempting to escape the gas but the wind had carried it further afield and he was already too affected to out-run it, evident by his collapse onto his hands and knees moments later as his lungs burned for clean air.
Cas' writer gave permission to take the lightsaber and do a light bit of NPCing without the need of waiting for a return post.
Quoron was froze in place as the sliding doors revealed the Jedi, the Epitaph had delivered them right to him. His mandibles tensed against one and other, eyelids thinning as he stared hard at the two Jedi. One was some sort of gruesome pink thing, the other a human male. What soft flesh they had, he had no idea how'd these species dominated the Galaxy. Though they did possess a level of resilience and tenacity not found in some of the other species they'd fought, he would give them that at least. The captain gripped at his Beam Rifle, levelling the weapon in his right as he pointed to the Jedi ahead, roaring.
"Hraaugh! Get them!" Quoron's left grasped the barrel of the Beam Rifle with two fingers, opening fire with a beam of disruptor energy directed at the two intruders as they darted round the corner of the corridor.
The vandals weren't far behind, several times faster than humans as they galloped in close proximity, cutting round the corner mere seconds after the Jedi as the twelve Vandals at his size raised their Mangler submachine guns. Ahead of them, an Ashaka battlemaster cut off the retreat of the Jedi. They had them pinched, no doubt again purposefully planned by the Epitaph itself. Quoron felt some relief on his end, the threat had been localised. But unknown to Quoron, the soldiers below were causing more trouble. Five hundred drones were being diverted from the defence of the infantry bay into the corridors directly ahead of the special forces operators. Even if five hundred couldn't stop them, it'd slow them down.
"Deka, Morto, Cardan, Yui - to the aid of the Drones." On his word, the four Vandals departed from the unit, heading back to the elevator.
They would head back down to the deployment bays and move to assist the drones and the Ashaka that lead them. Now Quoron had two Jedi in front of him, and his own kin and the Ashaka watching. He felt his palms itch, body urging him to make the first move. The Vaydralen was driven by an urge to prove himself, but not it wasn't for himself. It was for all Vaydralen, and for all Draelvasier to see. If he could stop the Jedi, save the Epitaph? It would show them all how invaluable his people truly were. Show them that they belonged to this great unity and the strength it created.
Close it up
A thought shared with the hivemind alone as just beyond the Ashaka the corridor was closed off by large sliding doors and equally the same behind the remaining eight Vandals, four on either side of him. Quoron darted forward, charging at the Jedi as he fired from the man with his beam rifle, a brilliant yellow continuous beam of energy blasting towards him as the other Vandals opened fire with their manglers.
Even as the Warlord and the Ashaka faced off against the Jedi and the Mandalorian, a whole slew of conflict raged within the city of Anvil. Stricken by the hammer of the Epitaph and the Chieftain's forces, sparks of war had flown in every direction, and the bodies of the dead and dying on both sides were innumerable. Nevertheless, even with such monumental casualties, there were opportunities for acts of valor and bravery, and talent from both the vicious invaders and the desperate defenders.
A set of four Rhivaks had been dispatched near the onset of the conflict to deal with the Rangers that had been given on loan to Varn Barakis
and they had performed their terrible work admirably. Nevertheless, at least one of their number had been slain by the Knight through a series of wretched blows inflicted by his plasmatic blade, and another pair had been slaughtered by concentrated firepower and heavy weapons additions in the minutes that had followed.
Whether out of the remaining Shaman's wisdom or out of bestial instinct, the final Rhivak that had been sent to deal with Barakis had maneuvered away from the others and instead chosen to trample down an already present street instead of worming its way through fortifications and walls. It did this to great effect, mowing down civilian landspeeders and bikes that had been left behind, and flipping over any type of military vehicle that dared to step into its range. Heaving with violent energy, it fired upon any fortifications it saw on its deathly charge, igniting fires and scorching bodies as it wreaked havoc. Kranak Vizsla
Meanwhile, Shaman Azir - the last remaining of the trio who had been part of the Warlord's personal entourage - raised himself from the ground, and took stock of the situation around him. The Aeravalin could feel a throbbing pain within his leg where a series of stones had dislocated the bone there, but he had been trained since his infancy to fight through such terrible suffering. Nevertheless, he took precautions not to overly aggravate the wound, instead choosing to hobble upon his remaining good leg until he could sit against the Epitaph's hull and gaze out at the battle, utilizing his abilities of control from there to provide assistance.
The detonation in the air of a second seismic charge brought him a significant tremble of fear, but the uproar of celebration at the defusal performed by the Reaver was inspiring. Reaching out with the Force, he would seize upon a further trio of Rhivaks - these had been released from their binding when so many of the Shamans and Seers had suffered extermination at the hands of the first seismic blast. They were directed to a new objective, and they raced forward with vigor at having a new objective to fulfill. Azir grinned garishly, even when the Rhivaks came under fire from combat vehicles. The Juggernaut forces who had gone out to strike had been halved - but the presence of the Rhivaks would provide them with needed relief.
The Juggernaut survivors - those who had duked it out for several minutes with the militia forces and irregular soldiers ahead of them were beginning to break. Morale could only go so far when there was such terrible casualty around every corner, and though they fought to guarantee a beachhead remained before them, they could not help but to notice that there was little more than corpses and enemy combatants toward their rear. The forces remaining at the Epitaph were doing their best to fight these intruders away - but how long could they last?
Ozram frowned, tearing off a loose chunk of Verikast plate from his armor that had been stricken with nearly a dozen blaster bolts and been ruined in the process. The offending piece of metal chucked into the distance with aggression. "Brethren. The Major doesn't respond."
Piri the Grenadier of the Juggernaut squad nodded in acknowledgment of that fact. The half-squad that had been dispatched to trace down the giant Mandalorian and his men had vanished completely, and the Major of the Juggernaut group along with him. Command doubtless fell either to the Grenadier or to the Heavy until they had been subsumed into a new squad, but neither was quick to seize control. If they had been more ambitious, they would have doubtless been Majors already... there was a reason they had been placed into their position.
"We must retreat to the Epitaph." The Minor provided in addendum. Another of his rank nodded acceptance of the plan, though it pained him to retreat anywhere whatsoever. They were the proud Draelvasier - how could they have been pushed back so easily?
"It is the Vaydralen. They fell short." Piri spoke, her voice reaching out in accusation, and in attempt at assuaging the damaged pride of her companions.
"We should never have brought them. Why did the Titan allow them?"
"Don't besmirch him.
"I don't. But..."
Piri nodded: "He brought the Vaydralen. I know. Still - we are Draelvasier."
A recitation of the Tenants followed, each shouted with increasing fervor by the surviving five Juggernauts until any morose spirit that had been within them was dispelled completely.
Piri directed her thick finger toward the Epitaph and the group of five Juggernauts abandoned their fight with the forces opposing them, choosing instead to begin regrouping, and to leave the Rhivaks to cover their tactical retreat.
Zephyr Krayt | Cadere
All the while, Warlord Osam fought his own battle, alongside the Ashaka Sylok'Vanari
. Osam's attempts at keeping the Jedi constantly moving had seemed exceptionally successful at first glance. The Knight could not hope to deflect any of the massive rounds going his way without sustaining a grievous injury, and while the Carbine had an ammo capacity, it was not a difficult matter for him to squeeze off only a couple of the lethal spikes every few seconds.
The hope had been that if he could keep the Knight in constant motion, he would lack the concentration needed to utilize his arcane abilities. All the while, the mighty Ashaka who had joined him could recoup whatever power had been spent in creating the shield which had protected them from the first seismic blast. Nevertheless, he could not falsify the satisfaction he felt in forcing the Jedi to react to him, to respond to the threat of constant death at his heels. A bloodhound to a hare, he chased after the helpless Jedi, his rifle barking and threatening to land a deadly bite.
He had never been lacking in situational awareness, but the carbine was a noisy tool, and the walls of the courtyard served to amplify it to a degree. So focused on distracting the Jedi, he did not notice he himself was becoming distracted by the ordeal. At least, he didn't realize it until a hefty stone slammed into his back from behind, throwing him forward and sending a loose round burrowing through the wall with enough strength to blow chunks out of it.
Suckling in air to refill his lungs, he spun to face his attacker only to see them maneuvering to engage Sylok. Certainly, he had granted the Seer enough time to replenish his abilities - he would be more than a match for a single Knight, even if Osam was uncertain of his combative repertoire. Osam relocated his attention to the Mandalorian, frowning as he recognized the presence of a lightsaber within his hand. The Warlord drew himself back to his full height even as the adherent of the galaxy's fiercest warrior culture plunged the plasma blade into the body of the Syphon, and rent it apart, only to be hurled backward when it imploded on itself.
Osam gasped at the wounds caused by the lightsaber, fear trickling in to serve alongside his hatred. He recalled vividly the sensation of having his arm removed from his body, of having the cutting blade sever through bone and flesh - though it had all regrown, even his crimson skin recalled the sensation, and it began to itch at the afflicted location as though calling for his attention. He maneuvered a half-step backward away from the blade unconsciously, willing himself to step away from the threat.
This continued until the lightsaber came to a halt, some distance upon the ground from either the Jedi Knight or his gradually asphyxiating Mandalorian kindred; Osam could see the effects of the toxin begin to take effect, even as the electronic disruption of the Syphon was relinquished.
Even as he willed his first footstep toward the gasping Mandalorian a twinge of guilt welled up into him. Here he was, his opponent lying on the ground, and he was afraid of a disarmed tool. He was afraid of never being a strong enough Draelvasier to step into his position as Warlord. He was afraid that all of his people would die again, that all of those under his command would suffer wretched and awful deaths at the hands of the Jedi just as the Syphon had been bisected moments ago.
This was what it meant to survive every encounter - to grasp at life with every appendage, with every breath, with every moment. It was not a celebration or a victory to be a Sraelvun survivor. It was not a joy to still be here, alive and recovered and given glory for his acts on the field. It was gnawing at the back of his mind that he should've died along with his kin, that he should've tried something different to save them, that he should be better or else he would always suffer for it, and eventually that suffering would claim his own hide.
He'd never cared about casualties before he became the First of the Risen. Then - all those who had fallen had just been acquaintances or brethren in blood, but never in spirit. He'd contemplated heresy several times, allowed kindred to die at the hands of their enemies just to suit his purposes, and acted with opportunism and cruelty at every step.
But the Risen had changed that - they were his people... they looked up to him to provide for them, to fight for them, to claim a place under Khaeus banner for them, and he had done all that he was able to in order to give them a shot at a future in the Bryn'adul Crusade. And then... he had led them to their deaths, over and over and over again. Every battle he would lose a brother, every skirmish a sister, every conflict a child. It ate at him every day and every night.
Warlord Osam forced himself forward, stepping over the lightsaber with held breath, waiting any moment for it to ignite, to chop his foot off, to make him suffer for his arrogance, but it never came... he willed himself toward the Mandalorian, the anger growing in his sternum with every decisive movement, with every choking gasp that the warrior let flood his lungs.
The personal shield - the one granted to him by the Vaydralen at the onset of the battle - provided protection against the toxin, but he needed the Mandalorian to understand that it had never been about merely besting him in battle, and especially not with so precarious a tool as chemistry. A single hand deactivated the shield even as he reached down for the struggling Mandalorian, and scooped him up into the air, struggling against the weight of the Beskar until they were at eye-level, his fingers latticed together like a garrote around his neck even as his helmet was stripped away with an upward motion.
His fingers stung on contact with the loose strands of wispy toxic dissipation leaking out from the Mandalorian's armor and his very breath - he was tainted thoroughly by it... he would doubtless die from it even left in his current condition, but it was not enough. Osam looked upward at the sky for a moment, letting the battle around him fade into the background as he watched the crimson dome... the work they had accomplished, and the stars which challenged them to go forward.
The cold... it was unnaturally cold, and it pressed into his lungs painfully with every breath, attempting to quell the fire that stirred there. He had been born half-Baedurin, and now he suffered for the gifts he had been granted. But this was not about efficacy, and it was not about life... it was about pain, and what better sensation to feel in such a conversation?
He pulled himself from the night sky and gazed into the blue eyes of his foe.
"Do you know what it feels like to fail everyone around you? To never be enough to save them? To watch your family die?" He spoke, his voice taking on a more peaceful and somber tone than before, but the anger in his heart not subsiding for even an instant.
He drew a hand up to the Mandalorian's breast-plate, feeling the tingling in his hands intensify as the toxin began to wrap around them, infesting them with its vile corruption.
"It feels like this."
The claws upon his hand rent pointlessly against the beskar - they would never be able to pierce it, no matter how long he tried, but he had no intention of breaking through - only of creating a spark.
It caught onto the Sun Quaker toxin, and what was merely a flicker of fire's presence grew in a single second into a blasting inferno. The toxin was hunted down by fire, lashing out wherever it could be found, igniting onto the Warlord's hands and causing them to be set ablaze in an instant, alive with flame... and they trailed into the contaminated armor of his prey too, deep into his body, following the toxin down into his blood and into his lungs.
The tiny electromancer was forced to pull deep from her reserves in order to maintain her Barrier against the bombardment. The aura of suffering in the battlefield was strong, but ultimately, the strength to channel it had to come from her. Against such overwhelming energy, the Sister could barely hold on, though the bombardment fortunately cut down many of the Zealots and Drones who had been advancing on her only moments before.
Sweat beaded across her brow, as her body began to quiver under exertion. Her thoughts flashed to her master, Darth Carnifex, wondering if he would be disappointed in her dying not for the sake of his Eclipsing Mission, but something else entirely. Would he condemn her to damnation for dying under such arguably heretical circumstances, in a place so far away from the graces of the Dark, helping the Jedi, even to defeat a monstrous, omnicidal threat?
For fear of her master and God, she did not ever want to find out.
Now, where once fear had crippled her, she embraced it, finding a second wind amidst her exhaustion, thereby allowing her to maintain her Barrier until the bombardment finally ceased, the Ra’mak screeching as she did. Next to her, she saw one of Laertia’s daughters, Lyssa Io, cutting down what was left of the Drones and Zealots, though the Sister collapsed onto her knees before she could see more. Her world began to spin before her eyes, not helped by the rumbling of the earth as Servitors writhed beneath the ground. All the while, the electromancer’s hands fumbled for her utility belt, struggling to find grip for a few, tortuous moments owing to a relentless, nigh-uncontrollable shaking from both within and without. Nevertheless, the electromancer managed to locate her autoinjector, grabbing the device with a tight fist before plunging the needle into her thigh, caring not for delicacy or precision. The energy-restoring cocktail was soon pumped into her bloodstream, slowly relieving her shakes and bringing clarity back to her vision.
Then, with a pained grunt, the Sister forced herself back onto her feet.
The material of her uniform was singed almost all over, the pale flesh beneath laced with burns of varying severity, from the mild to the potentially serious. Her helmet was partially cracked, but still retained the integrity of its seal, making it still useful even if she would have preferred to discard it.
Upon recovering her strength, the Sister turned to Lyssa, just as the feminine droid impaled a charging Drone.
“Anything in quotes and character color is to be considered ‘hand signals’ and not auditory.”
In other words, they’re not speaking with their mouths but with their hands.
The rockets hit their targets and anything living in that engine room was… well they were not anymore.
“ Gabriel, set a charge.”
“ Acknowledged”
” Covering.”
” Move.”
As the rest of the team made it into the Engine Core, they soon realized that the Dome controls were not here. They did find more proof that while the ship was “organic” in appearance, there was something that they could exploit here. Power to the ship came out of here, it was like “Main Engineering” on other vessels. They did not find the shield controls, and there still may be issues(more drones coming after them) until they do, but they found the next best thing.
” Perimeter”
” Moving.”
” Contact front.”
Once Blue Team was inside the Engine Core room, the perimeter was set and as whatever was following them was approaching, Gabriel set off his incendiary charge. The explosion ripped through the bulkheads as this was a monster of an explosive. Bartleby looked for some kind of panel to link into, that wasn’t happening, this may have a similar setup to “conventional ships” but the hivemind did away with much of the need for computer panels and such, no doubt.
This gave Gabriel an idea.
Disassembling his last FYB rocket, he took the carbonite accelerant and added it to a detonator. He did not want to waste any charges here, but the setup and placement of the carbonite bomb would freeze the core, and thus the power to the ship. Sure, repairs could probably be made, but the process of “thawing out” carbonite cannot be done manually, at least not in these confined quarters.
Can you get into the system?
Negative.
We need a map.
That I can do... at least a facsimile. I mean it's not like I can just read something, but I'm pinging power sources above us and something that pulses like a lift..
It’ll be shut off by the time we get there. .
Won’t matter, we can climb.
Oscar Mike.
The moment the team exited the Engine Core, Gabriel set off his explosive. The team may be slowed down, but everyone else is as well now.
Rage turned the edges of his vision red, narrowing as his eyes hastily jumped between every thing in his path. They were not warriors, not concord. Just things. Galak ducked low as the Dreddikkast darted through the air overhead, its many wings cut like serrated blades - eviscerating portions of the militia and clone forces newly dispatched to the battlefield. We as thankful for its approach, taking the heat off of the Warlord as his fist found another face. The soldiers head crushed in on itself, skull nearly flattened as the body shivered and staggered before falling. Blood spat in all directions as he grunted, a primitive response from a primitive state of mind. The concentrated fire of the Ra'maks ripped through the militia, their hastily set up barricades of verikast breaking under the sheer kinetic force of the War Beasts bombardment. Galak's Juggernauts fell, their shields broken and bodies unable to carry themselves any longer through arduous hours of fighting in the cold. Even as the Drones and Warlocks of Hrajlmak fought alongside them, shifting to fill in the gaps - the exhausting of the Juggernauts was obvious.
Ragged breaths of ice in his lungs reminded him of the shared plight, almost swinging him arms to strike down another foe as he drew closer to Tathra. He could see the Titan, facing off against the Jedi and their allies. He needed to help him, he needed to save him. Thinking of Osam surged him onward, sprinting as enemy fire trickled behind him. Raising his arms to block his eyes as a strange apparition of wind and ice hurled a Heavy across the battlefield, frozen and slowly dying in layers of ice. The Reavers moved further up field, attempting to assist them on their leftmost flank - a replacement for the thousands killed by the first seismic charge as the second exploded in the sky, rippling shades of blue shooting outward in circles with violent intent before disappearing. A handful of their gunboats were shot down, rolling into balls of fire and explosions among the enemy lines as they continued to cut off sections of approaching enemy forces with their molten fire. But there was only so much they could do, the Concord now outnumbered them several times over. Yet the Warriors of the Bryn'adûl did not relent, would not. Even as their own limbs failed them.
Concentrated sniper fire came for him, concussion blasts aimed at his limbs striking as cryoban grenades crashed at his feet. The air around him growing colder by the second as Galak turned on his heel, blasting the arm off of one of the neutralisers throwing an acidic frag his way. The arm fell on the ground, exploding and taking the legs and stomachs of many militia and clones, screaming in pain as their bodies were eaten away at, some even falling into the molten flame. To his right, one of the ruthless paladins as one leapt into an opening in their lines, chain-blade gnawing into the flesh of a wounded Minor.
Galak dropped his rifle in a moment of raw instinct, he would protect his Warriors, grasping both of the Paladins arms as he pulled them back, knee against the soldiers spine as he tore them from their sockets. A rocket exploded against his back, knocking him from his feet. More racing passed him as he fell, into the lines of the militia and their own; killing several dozens in a splash of light dancing across the edge of the conflict. Drone bodies lay, charred inside their own armour, Juggernauts stood in glowing, heated metal; raging as they continued to destroy everything in their path with what energy they had left in their bones. The Warlord felt his head spin, it was getting harder to breathe. Like his organs were freezing inside of him. As he tried to rise, concentrated bio-blaster fire ripped into his back as he was forced flat on his face again.
Galak screamed in pain as the eroding fire tore through to the bone. He spat black blood, groaning in pain. His vision danced in circles, he was seeing threes. His arms were heavy, knees weak. He couldn't move, couldn't think. Around him, he saw his own warriors cut down. The Juggernauts at his side were forced to fall back, many fighting beyond exhaustion. Their line backed up a few steps only, but a few steps was everything in this fight. He watched them fight harder than they'd ever fought before, but against the nanophage, the cold, and the overwhelming numbers - none of it mattered. That was when one of his own fell at his side, a Major. The Baedurin's eyes settled on Galak as he sat there on hands and knees, was he just waiting to die? Had he given up? No.
For those who still drew breath, he had to fight. He was a Warlord, it was his duty. His purpose. Galak slammed his fist into the ground, shattering the duracrete beneath his wrist as he rose - compact shield deflecting the blaster fire of a massive, approaching Paladin. Galak closed the distance, pushing aside the blaster held as the battle cannon chewed through the right side of his breastplate. Galak thrust with his wrist blades, only to have them caught - his strength repelled and pushed back as both struggled.
He could feel his body giving out, the cold on his breath. No oxygen was reaching his muscles, his body was weak - frail. He couldn't take any more of the cold, nor could his kin.
As the fit of choking worsened, all instincts screamed that he needed to drag himself away from the gas that was seeping into his very pores but what had begun as a dull stinging all over had quickly progressed into the sensation of spikes piercing every inch of his being as the toxin surpassed every layer of molecule that should otherwise have protected him. His mind continued to urge the body to fight, to push for survival at all costs, but even the undignified act of crawling away from the toxic gas was too much and after covering merely a metre of ground the beskar armour grew ever heavier until his head drooped under the weight of the dense metal encompassing it.
As all his limbs were about to buckle under him, fingers latching around his neck prevented him from collapsing under his own weight and held his head up where he could no longer. When his helmet was removed, the crisp air sent a new wave of stinging against his skin which he grimaced at. His eyes remained trained ahead but the edges of his vision were blurred as the toxin coated every crevice it could burrow its way into, wreaking searing pain on all surfaces of skin and within, growing stronger for every second he was exposed to it.
As he reconciled with the notion of meeting his end, there was a brief moment of internal peace as he considered being free from all worldly constraints. The constant internal conflict of being accused of treachery due in part to his Imperial past had given him a drive, a purpose, in which he would strive to prove his devotion to the Mandalorian warriors and gain their acceptance. Many of the distrustful thoughts towards him were merely perceived but they were nonetheless real to him.
He wondered how many others would die this night as hundreds of thousands of souls fought for the lives who could not fight for their own. How many worlds would fall before the Bryn’adul were exterminated? Tonight was the start of something much bigger than any of them. This was now everyone’s fight and tonight people of all creeds and loyalties would fall serving not themselves, not the Jedi - but the galaxy.
Weakened into a state of near-listlessness, he struggled to bring his hands up to weakly grip the hand that held him captive. Zephyr continued to cough as the substance penetrated deeper into his organs within. He felt the familiar warm, metallic taste of blood in his mouth which trickled from the right corner of his lips and down his chin as his body failed from the inside out, setting him on course to drown in his own blood. It was then that he knew he had reached the point of no return.
The Mandalorian wondered where his allies were, where Cas was. It was nonsensical to think the Jedi could swoop in and save the day, that wasn’t how these battles went, but the fighting instinct within him was desperate for it to be true. It pained him to think he would die an awful and prolonged death, alone. They were fighting for their own lives, he could understand, not everyone could be saved.
His lungs continued to fight for every breath, unafflicted by the mind which had come to realise that this battle would be his last. The coughing began to morph into gargled wheezing as his own body failed him and a new flow of blood escaped him came in another wave of coughing. Every moment felt like an agonising eternity while he awaited his inevitable fate.
The Warlord spoke in an abrasive language, translated into basic through the earpiece the Mandalorian wore. His thoughts flickered onto his squadron who were elsewhere on the battlefield. He had let them down, disobeyed at the cost of his own life and they would be the ones to live to see the consequences which would include their broken ability to trust again.
Death was no stranger to a Mandalorian. A scarce few would reach their elder years but the knowledge of ever-impending death never eased the blow. At twenty-seven years old, Zephyr had hoped he would’ve had more of a chance at life than he had been given but he could be at peace knowing it had been a righteous one.
Sealing his fate, in a final act of defiance he mustered the strength to draw back a hack and spat blood in the face of his captor.
Zephyr’s gaze then shifted down to the claw that rested on his chest which shuddered with each shaky breath it fought to take. His eyes widened with horror as he realised what was being attempted but quickly shifted to an expression of defeat. To be tossed aside and left to succumb to the toxins would surely be a better fate than the one that awaited him but there was no humanity to implore to for any mercy, nor would he face the humiliation of it, knowing it wouldn’t affect the outcome.
An agonoised howl escaped the lips of the Mandalorian who remained at the mercy of his adversary. In a moment, the very air he breathed set alight as the toxin that coated his airways ravaged with the flame grown from the spark. There was no part of him that was spared from the torturous effects of being burned alive as the toxin seeped into his skin and blood.
All fight left within him left him clawing at the similarly alight hands which trapped him in a desperate attempt to free himself, not that it would be any use, but the surge of adrenaline granted him one last fight.
Every fibre of him had been tainted with the substance that was aflame and every layer of his body felt an indescribable burning. He had been shot by blaster bolts several times in his life but the pain of plasma boring through the skin was incomparable to the pain of every molecule searing from an inescapable flammable gas.
Had he been able to speak, he would’ve begged to be killed.
Rays of war from the Iron Sun burn away impurity, and they were her tools.
Baran Do volunteers gathered on a gunship. Clad Imperial Knight carapaces and equipped with saber-spears of Codex-White, Sev Tok would be their first lesson in war.
<"Lord Executor on the ground.">
"That's our cue," Paz declared. She stepped forward to the edge of the ship's open port. "Remember," she began as she let herself fall forward. "Do not hesitate." Cloak-ends billowed violently as Paz descended toward Sev Tok's surface. Following her moments later were each of her volunteers, They formed a triangular formation which swooped toward Bryn'adul infantry.
She landed hard, tumbled twice over to plant her feet onto the ground. The Baran Do followed, forming up into an arrowhead behind the Knight Colonel. Breaking into the Bryn'adul line with blades in hand, they charged to create a swath of disorganization.
The Pale Blade fell across the shoulder carapace of a Bryn, sinking down into the torso. She torqued, heaved, freed the blade to skid tip-first against the ground. Sparks were thrown as an upward slash dispatched another. The heavy weapon landed on the flat to her shoulder, to which she rotated to fan its width in front of her. The thick blade acting as a blunt shield for projectiles and other hazards.
The point sundered the ground, acting as a fulcrum for her forward vault. Momentum freed it from the dirt and concrete as she flew forward. She whirled, centered, brought the blade straight down to split another down the middle. Enemies to her left became slain by the front of her Baran Do spearhead, slowly making progress against the formation.
The fallen were tallied in her brain. Each foreseen though portents would be subject to no interference. Even now she read the motions before they happened. Two fall here, a projectile here, Kel Dor kills Bryn, Bryn kills Kel Dor. To her great discomfort, however, the ending could not be divined. The future was in her hands, lingering on the edge of a sword.
For a few moments they were taking their breath. They were back at the crossing which they fought so hard for, the enemy ship seemed so close, just a bit less than three-hundred meters. They had fought the last two vicious assaults back, piles of animals corpses and militiamen were covering the ferrocrete of the streets. They fallen paladins had already been recovered and would later be picked up to get a proper burial and to restore their arms to the armouries.
Aiglos stood in the center of the street, behind a makeshift barricade of ferrocrete, metal bars, sandbags and wood, the militamen next to him looking tired and grim. They were brave and desperate, a good combo, even though they were dying like flies against the massive aliens. The sergeant passing him gave him a nod, Ecthelion responded equally. There is no place for pride on a battlefield, no place for elitism, everyone knew their place and everyone would pay with their lifes to keep this city alive. Jairdain
could take a big portion of the credit for the locals fighting so valiantly.
Sporadic shooting erupted, but Aiglos was more focused on his HUD. The battle which was raging on around them was given there in a miniature version and he considered the options, especially as the reinforcements were arriving to the actual battle. The dreadnought wardroids were already here, nine of them, though he dispatched three of them to a nearby square and three to find a way onto the highway. Their goal was to remove any air threat by pointing their large cannons up and blasting the Bryn'adûl gunships of Galak
from the sky.
Additionally Skytroopers appeared on the roofs of the buildings, aiming both towards the sky and the ground, supporting both efforts with their blasters and grenade launchers, the Praetorian-leaders submitting to the closest allied commander if in dire need of it. Their blue blaster bolts soon filled the sky to shoot down gunships as well as firing into the fray around the Epitaph. Several squads would report in via com near a makeshift HQ Gir Quee
.
The High Imperator turned as he greeted his subordinates, the reinforcements, the third wave had arrived. Seven fresh banners of paladins, nearly six-hundred strong were now added to his remaining hundred-fifty. And he already knew where their destination would be.
✠ ✠ ✠
The Bryn'adûl were fierce opponents, heavily built and ferocious, mind-linked and cohesive they are a challenge for every opponent, even battle-tested veterans. But if you took the cohesion and physical advantage for your own and move on par, the monsters became less intimidating, but still respectable opponents. The Paladins communicated on thought basis and had a very strong physique, excellent training and equipment.
Ecthelion was not born to lead from the back, even though he was more than capable to do it and it would have been an appropriate response to this situation as the allies lacked any cohesion and tactical coordination. It was a mistake, a grief one and would cost many lifes today.
The Rim-Guard advanced again, combat shields taken the force of the brutal Bryn weapons, while high-explosive blaster fire was returned. Along several streets the golden warriors once more approached, moving under cover, offering suppressive fire for the next squad, overlapping fields of fire, they were well drilled and all acted under the guidance of their High Imperator while he himself was steadily pushing at the very front.
Ecthelion was giving orders as his lightsaber cut off the arm of another juggernaught, but he was not hesitating as he pushed on and sliced open another one from throat to groin while shooting a third right between the eyes. He was not giving any elegance into his movements, nor following any form, he was just dead-efficient and killing as fast as he could. The cadre around him actually had difficulties to keep up as Aiglos was not stopping when he moved into a larger group of enemies.
The mind of the Zakuulan was actually working on three different fronts, the actual fighting demanding the smallest capacities, the coordination of his troops was taken a good protion, but what actually kept bothering him, was the idea behind this attack. Why would they crash into the middle of everything, surrounded and hope to achieve a victory. This thorn of a thought was piercing his brain, it was not going away. The reports said that the bio-weapons and the cold are doing half the battle by now and they still keep fighting.
The battle grew more intense as they closed in on the Epitaph, the cadres getting into fierce close combat with the best of the Bryn'adûl, testing their skills against the brutality of the clans. The seed of hate was planted this night and it was going to last for a very long time.
"This is Aiglos for all allied commanders. I advise caution more than simple assault. It makes no sense that the enemy is landing in our centre, outnumbered. Proposal made to secure a circle around the ship rather than getting too close to it. I repeat ..."
But the message was caught in a titanic blast of explosive fire. A wardroid next to Aiglos opened fire on the group of warbeasts which just appeared from an alley. Together with them came a lot of brutes, mostly drones but several squads of their juggernaughts as well. With his blue blade high, Ecthelion shouted into the night, his paladins joining him and the combat afterwards, as well driven by the battle meditation from the orbit. For now the idea of a possible ambush was forgotten.
"IMMORTALITY!"
Action Overview:
Rim-Guard assaults the flank of the Epitaph, closing up to 100 meters to the actual crater
Skytroopers deploying on all elevated positions in the dome and around the actual battle, offering fire support against ground and air targets
Three Wardroids move to act as anti-air support
Three Wardorids move to get onto the highway
Militia holds the line behind the advancing paladins
Even as there were three of them teaming up against him, the Titan earned his reputation as he countered each of their attack to perfection. Were he not involved in the fighting so directly, Thirdas might have appreciated Tathra's skill, one warrior culture to another. As it stood, however, the Titan had to go down. As long as he was locked into combat with them, less orders would be given which in turn would save the lives of his men, if only but a few. One life saved equals a thousand felled foes, was an old saying among his people.
As his axe blow struck naught but solid matter, Thirdas reeled back from the attack and felt another sharp spike of pain in his chest. He couldn't possibly keep this up, not in such a sorry state.
Backing off to allow Beltran and Laertia to continue their combined assault on Tathra, Thirdas reached into one of his pouches and pulled out an emergency stim pack. Removing the lid covering the small needle, he took a deep breath.
"Damn it all..."
Pain was rarely an issue for the career soldier. It was all the needles he couldn't stand about getting wounded. Even so, he pressed the stim against the side of his neck and squeezed the trigger, injecting the healing properties into his body which began to restore his vitality and alleviate the immediate pain. It could not work miracles though; his ribs would remain cracked until properly seen to at an aid station, but for the time being he would be able to fight through the pain.
Tossing the expended stim, the crackle of his malfunctioning comm-link caught his attention.
"Heavenshield, Heavenshield, come in, this is Red, designated Epsilon-11. Heavenshield, if you're still breathing, I've got good news for you. We have secured the device. Repeat: we have secured the device. Currently holding position on the device, awaiting for the dome to come down, over."
"Copy that; good job, soldier! Stay with the device, do not let it fall into enemy hands. That thing's only to be used as a last resort, repeat, last resort only. We have friendlies infiltrating the Bryn vessel as we speak. Guard the weapon with your life! Heavenshield, out!"
Just then a charging drone's head exploded into a red mist. Following the trajectory of the round fired he traced it back to its source; one of his Storm-Crows, safeguarding their commander. Their unit had been scattered in the wake of the Bryn's landing, forcing each member to fend for themself and provide cover fire wherever possible. Thirdas knew them to make the right decisions and keep themselves in the fight where they were the most useful, as each of his Storm-Crows were as highly trained as they come. None of them were reliant on his commands to be effective.
Giving his man atop one of the rooftops a brief wave, Thirdas set his sights back on Tathra. A few militiamen, massively out of their depth, appeared next to him clumsily hauling a minigun they'd likely procured from a Ranger weapons crate, juding by the familiar model of the weapon.
A "Bull" Minigun, courtesy of Outer Rim Engineering. What a beaut.
"Give me that thing," he told them as he grabbed it from them. It took three of them to merely carry it into battle, whereas Thirdas held it steady without assistance.
Stuffing the drum magazine into the side of the gun, Thirdas revved up the nine rotating barrels. Assuming a wide stance with his feet planted firmly on the ground, he swung it around to aim straight at Tathra busy fending off his two attackers.
"Beltran, Laertia! Step aside!"
Once given a free line of sight, Thirdas held down the trigger. Out of the minigun there came a tremendous hail of projectiles bearing down on the Titan, firing a horrifying 450 rounds a minute. It wasn't accurate, but it was designed to lay waste to anything in its path. His large frame and wide stance was able to withstand the recoil better than most, and from his lungs came a roar as he unloaded on the Bryn'adûl warchief.
"ANVIL!"
Even as he unleashed his fury on the Titan, nearby defenders found their courage and charged the enemy anew. A Katarn-class tank rolled up behind them and fired its main guns into the horde lines, and each man, whether he be trained soldier or local fighting for his home, formed up alongside the lieutenant to create a wall of death using whatever weapon they had on them.
"FORWARD, MARCH!"
As Thirdas strode forth while maintaining the barrage from his minigun focused on Tathra, the others followed his example by marching downrange, gunning down any Bryn in their wake. A motley crew of Rangers, Mandalorians, Clone Troopers, and Imperials. All of them deserving of the title of Jaeger; beastslayers, in his native tongue.
"WE MARCH FOR ANVIL," they all shouted with such zeal that it just about matched the roar of his sustained fire.
Thirdas has grabbed hold of a minigun and is focus-firing at Tathra Khaeus
while a company's worth of defenders, supported by a tank, is laying down sustained fire as they advance alongside him.
Starlin stepped into the circle, gathered up the dust with telekinesis, and recited the spell.
"Ashla, make a portal from the grains of the Earth, so that I may know what these grains of sand are worth!”
A portal opened. Starlin could see the interior of the dome through it, a panorama of carnage and bloodshed. In what was perhaps a foolish move, he stuck his head through and shouted, “Anyone who wants to live, get your ass over here!”
He retreated back to the other side, already sweating from the exertion of keeping the portal open. But people did come, civilians and the wounded. They crushed together, unable to all fit through, so Starlin, with no small effort, managed to widen the opening to let more people in simultaneously.
The circle he stood within was the only thing that made this possible; he never could’ve done it on his own. Even then, sweat poured off him in visible droplets that trickled from his temples and off the tip of his nose, while his breathing grew ragged and his heart pounded. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up for...
“You mean you didn’t feel it? When we went through the red barrier—didn’t it feel like the Force had something to do with it? And not in a good way. The same thing here, only stronger. I don’t know.”
Yula wiped the blood off his upper lip with a thumb as she explained and Dagon nearly forgot what they were talking about for a brief second; the gentle touch's imp reminding him that whatever bond they were forming was only growing stronger. At least on his end of things, whether he liked it or not. The bloodshed around yanked him back to the material world as they moved further into the alien ship. Whatever he was about to say was cut short when a turbolift's doors slid open to reveal a group of Bryn'adul warriors lusting to carve open the heads of the Jedi. He moved in a stance - only barely - before Yula pulled him away as energy bolts barely missed their fleeing backs.
What hope they could find in their flight was quickly cut short. Another one of the aliens had blocked their way, as the ship sprung to life closed any visible methods of escape and left the two Jedi between the hammer and the anvil in the shape of the Draelvasier. Dagon's head snapped from one side to the other, teeth gritting tension and heart pacing with adrenaline. Fear began to slowly seep into his veins. That same fear over Ziost which had opened the gates for his father's cursed presence to corrupt him, that same fear that had costed him his bond with Kaska, that same fear--
It began to recede.
To disintegrate.
Blinding Light burst in his mind heralding the arrival of a familiar presence to burn away the dread that had seized him in place. The presence of the Light purified the tendrils of fear grasping his heart with a scorching blade of sanctified wrath. Only one such presence was capable of such merciless, yet righteous feat. The same presence that had purged that same corruption over Ziost from him.
Free of the shackles of fear, revelation dawned upon the raven-haired Jedi. The source of dread had been his strongest suite - his sharp mind. Reasonable deductions, logical conclusions and methodical approaches; they all pointed to one inevitable predicament - their death and the fall of Sev Tok to the monstrous horde. The time was nigh to shed all reason, all senses and to put his faith in the Light.
"Hold them off until the Jedi arrive." Dagon said fast as he gave his lightsaber to Yula, before she could protest he quickly added, "Don't waver, don't yield and trust in yourself, alright? Trust in the Force, Yula--" what words were left unsaid were uttered by the softening of his eyes. He might as well never come back from what he was about to do.
The padawan dropped down on the ground with his legs crossed in a meditative stance. He did not call the Force.
He dove in it.
Recklessly. Just like he had done back during the pilgrimage to Manaan. Straight into the ethereal's turbulent currents, waves and tides. Dagon knew very well the risks. The warnings of his master echoed at the back of his mind - the Force was infinite, the Jedi are not. Dive too deep and one would drown, becoming nothing more than a hollow husk.
The material world disappeared before his eyes. All five senses vanished, leaving only one - the sixth. In the domain of the ethereal there was no concept of time, no concept of tangibility. No words could describe it. Threads, indicating life, shimmered before him like bright chandeliers illuminating a hall. All weaving, turning and twisting in indiscernible patterns, yet all linked to one source - the Force, Life. Threads flickered and disappeared leaving only darkness behind, death.
Dagon swam through, forward. Only forward. He reached for that same fledgling feeling from when they breached the ship and found it - dozens of strands (the Quilxyn), all weaved and knotted together into one strong thread that spread into thick lattices forming the red dome of the Bryn'adul. Beneath the hive responsible for the crimson sphere enveloping Anvil city, lied the heart of darkness. The heart that brought this ship to life.
Kraemonen.
Foreign, alien. Not anything he could comprehend, not a corruption he could reverse.
Only to cauterize.
He dove further into the ethereal, shaped his psyche like a javelin and hurled it with herculean strength at the heart of the Epitaph.
The descent to Sev Tok was quiet as usual. In times like these, the calm before the storm of battle, Imperial Knights prepared themselves mentally. The constant state of war in the galaxy for the past 3 decades had seen many horrors. In less than a decade the New Imperial Order had faced their fair share against the Sith. Now they were meeting face to face for the first time with a galactic threat on a scale unseen since the Yuuzhan Vong, and it was more than just Hans who'd been affected by them. He knew other Tionese in the Corps who were eager for vengeance, and just as petrified. The silence only brought him back to his inner thoughts from before.
The silence was broken as the gunship entered the atmosphere, and the raging war below could be heard. Hans followed suit and began to brief his squad. He hoped they'd had ample time to come to terms with what they were about to face.
"We're landing in a hotbed, drop and go. Nothing we haven't done before, and the Xenophage has been deployed to help us. Our task is defending the Stormtroopers until they set up positions and shields, then we'll await further orders from the Lord-Executor."
The squad affirmed their understanding as the doors of the gunship opened. They could could tell the battle was brutal from above. Now it was time for the Empire to pay with its own, so maybe the tide could be turned.
"Approaching drop-zone in
10...
9...
8..."
The world slowed. Each knight began to call the Force to themselves. The long jump down was one way. Hans could feel the Force surrounding him, imbuing a new strength in his legs, so they would not bend, break, or waver.
3...
2...
1..."
The green light appeared overhead, and with only the force as their guide, the Imperial Force Corps began to jump from passing gunships into the fray. With the Force assisting their landings, their immediate new presence on the battlefield would be felt. They held their heads high, for past the horizon of barbarians, the Iron Sun rose.
The Stormtroopers repelled from their own gunships and quickly established squad shields in the clearing their arrival had made. The hulking Draelvasier nearby, or at least he assumed they were in his unfamiliarity, turned their attention. The arid rocks beneath their feet were soaked with blood that reflected the silver lights of the moon, and the Knights' sabers. In the same dim glow, Hans couldn't tell where the congealed blood on the monsters ended and the burgundy metal of their armour began.
They began to open fire on the Knights, while the largest of them hefted his gigantic rifle and put himself in a sturdy stance. A wave of uneasiness passed over Hans as he observed the Juggernaut's motions. It's weapon lit up, and began to spray its massive bullets. They were no ordinary physical rounds.
Hans threw up his shield to guard himself against the oncoming projectiles. As the Juggernaut's molten rounds spread across the battlefield, Hans was caught in the middle of the firing arc, and the bullet collided with his shield. The explosion sent Hans to the ground, wrenching his arm and tearing his the Phrik metal shield asunder. Hans hastily unstrapped it from his arm, which he was lucky to have not broken. Even so, pain shot up and down it, and his armour's Battlemind AI injected the stims it deemed necessary.
Hans lept up. He look down at the shield, his last reminder of home. One of the last two roses of House Rennagen was gone, the metal torn from the heraldry leaving only the sizzling and twisted remains of the shield. These brutes had already taken his home, but they would not take its last son.
Vengeance was what the drove the New Imperial order in the eyes of its onlookers. But it was not the desire for revenge, but rather the absolute need to set right the wrongs done against the galaxy. To avenge. Now it was time to avenge the billions of lost souls of Raxus.
Hans reached out through the Force, grabbing a hold of the Juggernaut's weapon, one that he would not let break until one of them laid dead. He extinguished the blade of his lightsaber as he charge towards the Juggernaut. Hans lifted his feet from the ground and rose through the air at the beast, thrusting his palm hard into it's chest with the weight of the Force behind it. It's breastplate caved, followed by its chest beneath. It reeled back, clutching its chest, blood beginning to trickle out from between its sharp teeth. In a daze, it motioned to reach for the large glaive on its back. Hans pulled his pistol from its holster, and unloaded the bullets into his enemy's collapsed chest cavity. The stunned beast clutched its chest one last time, then fell to the ground.
It was not enough to avenge his people. Killing every Bryn'adul on the field would not be enough.
The Model 2's and every single Militia, Civilian Volunteer, and every reinforcement assaulting them from the left flank smelled blood. The sheer wall of human defenders, egged on by The Model 2's poured relentless volume fire on the retreating lines of Juggernauts.
A familiar chant was played over loudspeakers. The Model 2's, began to chant it, marching in wide rows of ten against the Epitaph, now flanked by dozens, hundreds of organic reinforcements:
"NUETRALIZERS SUPERIOR. BRYN'ADUL INFERIOR."
Tanks began to be fed Target data by the remaining Model 1 scouts, to help them better target the legs and mouth of the Reavers. Massive amounts of human reinforcements fired at the deadly beasts shattering the scent cover they had scavenged.
Even as molten fire killed dozens, Worms erupted from beneath the advance continued. The Model 2's even managing to save hundreds by using the ground penetrating scanners they had brought to predict where the worms would erupt, guiding as many as they could away from the eruption zones, and every time the worms did erupt, bio Blaster fire, artillery, acid and cryo grenades would be hurled at them as quickly as possible, in an attempt to inflict some form of damage, even as the Ra'Mak's in sky rained fire, only to have artillery fire launched in their face in an attempt to Force them to break off their attack. Retreating Juggernauts were shown no mercy, bombarded at a distance with large volumes of Bio Blaster fire from approaching Militia, some using scavenged Model 1 Disruptors, their Arc Casters able to damage the biomass mechanisms of the defenders weapons and mindstones.
A few nasty surprises were brought in.
Captured Rhivak's and Brumak's, their legs removed, and hastily operated on to find their nerve endings, had been strapped to crude contraptions rolled out in a single line. Electrical prods inserted into their neck, delivering intense shocks to torture them into firing. Which they did, firing devastating Ionic Plasma and Energy balls into both the retreating lines and the Reavers, The beasts likely didn't have long until they expired from the brutal torture at the hands of ambitious, cruel Model 2's and desperate, vengeful defenders, so they decided to keep forcing them to fire, all while the beasts howled in agony as their beams lanced toward the Epitaph, the Reavers, and the Siege towers, trying to draw as much aggro on themselves as possible to allow the forces of Mig Gred
and Thirdas Heavenshield
to inflict that much more damage on the crabs.
As Galak
grappled with the Paladin, a Nuetralizer he thought felled, a Model 1 stirred, having made successful repairs with it's Nanite blood scavenging materials from around it. It was luckier than many of it's brothers, blasted apart so completely, chances to revive were few and far between.
Of all the opponents the Bryn'adul had fought, the Nuetralizers so far, were the only ones that sometimes got up. But even though the fact only a few got up out of hundreds, that was paranoia enough. It actually forced the enemy on many an occasion to waste ammo, making sure they were really dead, leaving them open to Bio Blaster Fire from the Militia.
The Model 1, realizing the Level 24 who had put all his perk points into heavy armor realized he had been handed the absolute mother of all free shots, pointed it's cryo laser at Galak's wounded back, as well as a Model 1 Disruptor, and opened fire, the disruptor aimed at his legs, and the Cryo laser mounted on its arm at Galak's back.
Militia, using scavenged Stouker Rifles, set up crude batteries firing stacked rows of the rifles from any cover that could be located. The Militia was even using scavenged Model 2 battle plating now, due to its noted resistance to Bryn Weaponry. Some just even made crude forts of dead Nuetralizers to cover meager artillery fire as they savagely assaulted the retreating Bryn'adul, a large chunk of remaining Model 2's In the dome, a column of 007-ty (70) stormed the retreating line, firing all weapons at the ones trying to flee their wrath. This allowed Militia to start storming parts of the overwhelmed defense lines, now close enough to the Epitaph to make erupting a worm beneath them risky.
Soil rose in clumps as the Ashaka used their daggers to dig a hole big enough for the barricas. When he looked down at the soil, roots and nutrients, dirt and ash and even possible something fossilised in the mix. Beyond all that, was darkness. Even in the dim of the morning's sunless beginning - the darkness was embedded in the soil. That darkness taunted you, told you that you didn't know what was in there. The fear of the unknown, of what if. A concept faced most often especially on days like this. Every single warrior that had entered the Epitaph had done it of their own accord, and whether it was in the corners of the deployment doors or a barrack - that darkness was there, challenging them. They all asked that question, as each knew what came next. This was a day for answers. Tathra and his horde, the Bryn'adûl; they had come filled with purpose and zeal to test themselves. To test their strength and show not only the rest of the Galaxy, but their very own empire that unity created strength.
The peace between the newly joined species, the fair treatment from the Drael rested on the outcome of such a battle. That was what made a warrior brave, acknowledging that challenge and fighting the fight regardless. Choosing purpose and the good of the many over the selfish and petty worries of the individual. They had accepted death as a brother today and now that darkness held no nightmares - only a certainty. They would either die today, or they would not. But that did not mean they did not feel. Many of them did. Even with his direct battle meditation relinquished, the Seer could feel the strongest emotions perforating the air, crying out from the heart of the conflict. Fear. Rage. Duty. Strength. Unity. Their unity kept them standing, kept the Juggernauts on their feet amid the cold. Duty kept drones fighting like ravenous beasts whilst strength commanded by the Shaman continued to ravage the enemy. Kalanthir stared down at the babe, feeling his own strength wavering as it drained him. His own mind focused on contesting its instinct. The darkness below did not only offer a chance for death, but also a chance for life. Whilst many lowered their kin into the ground, the very same soil provided fruit and crop. It was the groundworks of life.
Above them, nuisances like flies buzzed overhead. An equal force arrived, defending zealots. They erected a barrier in their defence. They would hold, for now. The work had to be done. The Seer sneered in annoyance at the arrival of the enemy, he had hoped for silence. But his preference mattered little. The Ashaka had finished, a cradle in the soil revealed as the Seer bent his knee. The barricas would provide for the Bryn as wheat did for the farmer. But, it was not simply soil that could bring life. It was rain too, but in this case - blood would have to do. And not just any blood. The three Ashaka at his side lowered themselves, prostrating before the barricas as their energies took root in the little beast, its roots beginning to grow into the earth.
Out from the small of his back, Kalanthir unsheathed a ceremonial blade. With one hand, he raised it, adjacent to it was his extended bare arm. He had seen with no eyes, and indeed he would feel with no arm. He had no sight with which to endear his left limb to him, but the hesitation to harm himself in such a manner still remained. The instinct to survive was fought and conquered as with a singular swing, Kalanthir's forearm fell into the cradle with the barricas terraformer. Pain surged through his body, one of the Ashaka already tending to his wound as all four chanted. Already imbued with dark energy, the power it was infused with - would be unavoidable now. The power, the dark magicks at play. Any force user on the planet would be able to feel what was coming. Kalanthir rose, backing up away as ripples of red energy shun bright beneath the soil. The Ashaka, drained husks as green roots enveloped their bones. Worthy sacrifices.
Soil, water. Two of the three ingredients required for life. The third, the sun. Light shun over the edge of the horizon, creeping out from between the mountains beyond as the sky began to glow with light amid the clouds and ships. Sunrise had came, and with it. Life. The ground rumbled violently as the terraformer began to grow. The ground, shifting beneath their feet. Finally, the Barricas would grow outward from the origin point. Roots grew strong into thick, ginormous tendrils reaching out through the earth as the very air began to change, the Barricas' body stretching out in every direction for more than a kilometre in every direction. The earth would ripple and tear as at the side of the Epitaph, a monstrous green beast would rise from the earth. Nearly twice of the size of a normal adult barricas terraformer.
Kalanthir rose upon one of its passive tendrils, nearly seven hundred metres high as he looked down on the battlefield. The shadow of the Barricas terraformer, cast across the battlefield as the sun rose behind it. The Seer reached out, his battle meditation sharpening into a formidable and unrelenting focus as he reached out through his own telepathy and the mind stones.
He felt it all.
The rage of Galak, a Warlord whom had lost too much. The fear of Hrajlmak, a Warlord who had not lived his life yet. The vengefulness of Osam, a Warlord who had risen from nothing and swore to avenge the fallen. The unrelenting servitude of the Primarch, ready to give his own flesh to the cause. The fury of Sethrak, a heretic turned devout warrior who wished nothing but the prosper of his own kind. And the raw determination of Tathra, the last of his kind who sought to bring strength and unity to the Galaxy.
All of them and more, the Ashaka who remained on the field empowered his mastery of battle meditation as he reached out to every single Draelvaser, Vaydralen, Kraemonen, Ungulloi and Akhenaton on Sev Tok. All would be renewed, their strength found once more and their courage and tenacity increased tenfold as the very physical embodiment of change rose from the earth. From every pore of the Barricas Terraformers body, red vapour reminiscent of the air of Draemidus Prime oozed from it. The very atmosphere within the dome changed, the cold eviscerated in seconds as a dense heat replaced it, all remnants of the nanophage destroyed in an instant as the very air would remind the Drael of home.
Remind them all of what they were fighting for. The dawn had come, and they had drawn all eyes to Sev Tok. The plan had been a success, all that they needed to do now was survive. That was the message, the message of the day.
The Bryn'adûl have been successful in drawing their enemy to the rogue planet, all the nations the Concord could muster at their side in a bid to stop the halt of the Bryn. Exactly as they had planned - this battle was never about winning. It was a trap, bait to fraw their foes away from other systems. With all eyes drawn to Sev Tok, the Bryn'adûl at large begin to mobilise deep within Bryn'adûl space. Readying to move on various systems against the unsuspecting Concord. The dawn comes, and with it the rising tide against the Concord and their allies. The barricas is unleashed, the advantages of the Concord withdrawn from the playing field as now all that remains is warrior against warrior. The Shamans moved to use the enemies numbers against them whilst the warriors below fight tooth and nail to hold their ground against the overwhelming odds.
- Survive: The dawn has come, and with it the hardship must end. Hold the lines, fight with everything that remains in your reserve for as long as possible in the hopes reinforcements will arrive from newly taken systems.
The Tricksters continued their relentless charge, betraying not a hint of their exhaustion.
Almost two hundred Zealots had lost their lives so far, yet over three thousand remained to take their place. Penetration after penetration continued to be achieved, with Zealot Commander Elfiqus leading the largest and frontmost of advances. Their push was the very tip of the spear, softening the Concord ranks for just long enough for the main advance to smash forwards. Elfiqus marked his thirty-fifth kill, sweat lining his body as his glaive cut through the exposed waist of a disarmed soldier. The sheer chaos of the breakthrough had exerted the senior Commander more than he expected, reminding him of his physical limitations.
Zealot Commander Elfiqus was not the only Zealot of the Tricksters experiencing unexpected setbacks.
Near the electricity-wielding woman (First Sister
), a squad of Zealots held out. They let the Drones exhaust her and test her power, finding it to be unflagging despite the assault. A sudden blast knocked her backwards, only for her to be protected by a shield that remained up as the Ra'mak above began its bombardment.
Unlike the Drones, the Zealots had considerable intelligence on top of their battle instinct.
Knowing that the woman's powers were likely keeping her safe from the bombardment for the moment, one Minor tossed two Barad Impact Grenades in her direction, hoping that the explosions would disorient her for long enough to break her guard.
A good distance away, another squad was having difficulty engaging the Mandalorian, whose body armor proved extremely difficult to dent. With their glaives and kukris failing, the leading Zealot Major sought a new approach. A Juggernaut who had fallen nearby dropped their Crusher Mace, which the Major picked up as his own. The thin, sharp blades of glaives may have lacked the blunt force to damage the armored warrior, but the mace was a far heavier weapon. Gripping the mace in both hands, the Major rushed to the warrior's flank and raised the Crusher above his head before descending downwards towards the helmet in front of him.
GROUP II: STOP GAP
ZC: Dermivi
LOCATION: Sev Tok, flattened land in Anvil (Epitaph staging grounds)
OBJECTIVE: Use Force powers to protect the main Byrn combat formation using projected barriers, move and stabilize the wounded, assist Seer Kalanthir
The Zealot Minor's cry was cut off as several blaster bolts tore through his exposed arms and face, crumpling to the ground. The flurry soon became a barrage as dropships descended close by, hundreds of troopers leaping out. They bore no resemblance to the typical lightly armored and physically diverse Concord army most of the Zealots in the task force had faced for most of their lives. Instead, hundreds of individuals whose bodies were completely covered in white armor shocked the Zealots as they assembled with frightening efficiency, an individual with a lightsaber (Rurik Fel
) prominent among them. Still more (Hans Rennagen
/ Paz Koon) were vaguely visible, all approaching the stop gap Zealots. Were they, already weakened from their projected barriers, capable of stopping such a surprising assault? Doubts began to spread, and some Zealots considered retreat.
"Hold the line." ordered Commander Dermivi. "These may be new and dangerous foes, but we must not let them sow fear in our lines. I will engage their blade-wielder personally. In the meantime, erect a barrier, just large enough to defend the Seer and his company as he furthers our cause."
While far from a war speech, Commander Dermivi's realistic expectations nonetheless reassured the stop gap forces. A red dome rapidly formed above the Seer and his Zealot escorts, machine gun fire bouncing harmlessly off. However, the dome was hastily erected, and cracks were beginning to form.
"We can only hold out for five more minutes." exclaimed a nearby Zealot Officer, his entire body drenched in sweat.
"I can hold off their swordsman for just as long." concluded Commander Dermivi before leaving the safety of the barrier, rushing headlong into the enemy advance.
GROUP III: ELITES
ZC: Krarolk T'manu
LOCATION: Sev Tok, flattened land in Anvil, within enemy lines & Epitaph interior
OBJECTIVE: Eliminate high-ranking commanders deep in enemy lines
The three Zealots leapt off their Urasik, the wyvern landing in front of a small bunker.
With their initial strike, the squad had eliminated the sentries just outside, the Urasik itself capturing a soldier in its claws and biting it in half. The wyvern then shot upwards, obediently waiting in the sky above for its riders to complete their task. The bunker had no exploitable external windows, and its steel doors were tightly locked. However, the Zealot Elites had earned their name for years of penetrating the heavily guarded.
One of the Elites reached into a large bag on their back, picking up with ease a solid piece of highly flammable Magkast Compound the size of a small human. With his glaive, the Elite sliced two wrist-sized pieces of the compound and placed them on a small ridge where each of its hinges lay. The Elites stepped back as one of them unholstered a Pulverizer, firing a shot at each piece. The Magkast Compound burst into flame in seconds, the powerful magmatic heat melting through both hinges within a second of each other. As the now unsupported door fell inwards, the Zealot Elite trio created a projected rectangular yellow barrier covering their fronts, drew their glaives, and prepared to engage (Gir Quee
).
Krarolk watched curiously as the Jedi pair fled inside the Epitaph.
Now, his wyverns could not pursue the pair. However, they had unknowingly descended into the belly of the beast, and would likely find themselves greatly overwhelmed in the near future.
"Come with me, Shadow." ordered Krarolk. "We shall continue on foot."
The two Urasik descended, dropping off their riders near the breach made inside the Epitaph's hull made by the Jedi. They had already traveled far, and were dangerously close to the core room. If Krarolk wished to prove his strength once more, then he would have to stop them before the worst happened. The halls ahead had taken significant damage, and almost all of its lights were snuffed out. The quartet rushed forwards in darkness, not daring to risk a moment's halt. The power of Ashaka flowed nearby, and the bodies of comrades littered the floor. Evidently, there was already a battle under way.
Surely enough, when the four Zealots rounded the curve, they found the Jedi nearby, one of them meditating and a third figure joining the fray. Krarolk sent nearly all of his energy into his glaive, preparing to send it flying their way with the force of a heavy turbolaser. Just as he wound his arm back, the last remaining functional light in the hallway went out, and the area was filled with a slight natural darkness. It was slightly disorienting, and the Commander took a moment to pause, recalibrating his aim.
Suddenly, the soldier's intuition that had served him well for so many years acted up. Something was after Krarolk and his comrades, and it had chosen to strike now.
"Shadow, run!" yelled Krarolk with sudden urgency, pushing him as far away from himself as possible.
Just in time, as a red-lined tentacle of black sliced through where the Shadow had been seconds earlier.
The darkness of the hallway took on a
new, universally malicious form.
Within his psyche, the meditating Jedi (Dagon Kaze
) would find the ethereal sea around him change. The psychic waters darkened into a vast, pitch-black abyss, not a glimmer of light entering. For all his valiant effort, his javelin of will was absorbed by the abyss, turned into pure nothing.
Outside, the scene was just as chaotic. From where she stood obscured by darkness twenty meters away from the group, twenty-one Meitkhpu soared through the hallway, products of her power. Two targeted each witness while seven pursued the Target himself.
She had grown impatient, realizing that the Target would not be isolated from the larger Draelvasier armies for much longer. Dealing with a seven Witnesses would be far more favorable than a hundred, especially if only about half of them were Draelvasier. It was less important if the Jedi saw her, since even though every witness threatened to draw attention to her secret existence, they lacked the cultural understanding of her role. However, any Draelvasier witness was of critical concern, with elimination being the only safeguard.
She remained standing at the end of the hall, observing the struggle of those who would dare challenge the sacred order of her grand master.
FIGHTER COMPLIMENT: "VOODOO WING"
CALLSIGNS: Captain Angellus "Maverick" is and will always be "Voodoo 1", Commander Rojuh Pouil "Starlight" is "Voodoo 2" Commander Scoht Pouil "Meteor" is "Voodoo 3". Each Squadron leader makes up "Voodoo Wing", their individual squadrons and make-ups are named below.
The Bridge was busy with all of the Marines being brought down planetside and the bombers that were providing air cover as well as the X-wings. The orbit was not as busy as one would think, but with “The Ethereal” entering orbit, the command and control of the atmospheric air control were easier. The dreadnought from Zakuul sent out a comm-message about the assault and to be wary, it was a prudent call that no doubt the other commanders in orbit but Angellus was bold, that and he did not want to leave any of his people potentially “by the wayside”.
With the carrier in the upper atmosphere Thermosphere, Liram watched as more and more ships were heading down and covering Marines and any other forces outside the dome. The problem is what was going on inside the dome.
“Conn-Flight Control...” Scott yelled out.
“Go ahead, Scoht.” Halpern answered.
“Permission to return to my fighter and get inside that karkin’ dome.”
‘LANGUAGE!’ Rojuh said shoving him.
” Denied, I’m going.”
Turning towards the lift, he was surprisingly stopped by both Flight Control Commanders.
“Pulling rank, Cap’n. Not happening.” Scott mouthed.
“Agreed,” Rojuh confirmed.
“I outrank the both of you, I can go if I want.”
“Captain’s place is on the bridge.”
” Not ” this Captain, not today.”
Of all people, it was Commander Tantor who stepped in, on behalf of the pilots. “Sir, Liram… you’re always telling me to ‘delegate’, to ‘stop trying to take too much on’. Aren’t you doing the same thing here? You’re coming into becoming a fine Captain, but a part of a Captain’s job is to step out of the way of his crew and let them do theirs, right?”
Liram just gave him a look.
” Really? Throwing my own advice in my face?”
Going back to his work, he smiled. “Just quoting a great leader is all.”
Tantor was right, and Liram knew it. He wanted to be down there, in the fight, leading the air forces into that karking dome and engaging the Bryn directly, but he couldn’t. He was here for a reason. That meant that his idea would have to be carried out by the others.
” I want those knew Sovereigntys in that dome and engaging Bryn forces directly.”
“I’ll see to it personally, Cap’n.” Scott responded, grabbing his flight helmet.
” … and by the Force…”
“I know… I’ll be careful…”
” I was gonna say ‘Blow some chit up’”
With the X-wings, the Sovereigntys, and the Demon bombers “slowly” entering the dome, and taking a while to do it, the Marines were forced to hold the position. They were indeed engaging Bryn Forces and holding one of the “flank” points but were not advancing. That was under several looked up and saw some kind of ugly cousin of an X-wing come flying in. Some knew what it was, most did not. When the “BRRRRRRRRRRT” of the railgun emanated from the attack fighters and slug thrower shrapnel was slamming and slicing into Bryn forces did many realize that those were on their side.
With a renewed push, the Marines, with Lt. Colonel Telaskt still standing on top of the lead Saraquel fighting vehicle, Realizing how dumb the position she was in was, she got back into her gun port.
“I want two fire teams at a time moving forward. You’re keeping the heads turned as the heavies come in and make them choose. I want the gunships to cover our moves until we can cover theirs… and get those birds mowing the lawn for us!
Comms, where are we on finding Admiral Quee?”
1 squadron of Xwings, 2 squadrons of Sovereignty Assault fighters, and 1 Squadron of Demon Bombers have joined the fight inside the dome
6,000 Marines attacking Bryn Forces in front of the Epitaph(joining the fight)
Sovereignty attack fighters fire payloads, then fighting vehicles, then gunships, then troops in order of movement.
The Nuetralizers viciously assaulting the left flank were brought to their mechanical knees for a moment by the emergence of the giant beast.
The Model 1 Scouts surveying the heat increase in the dome immediately began to order redirections of volley fire into the great beast as the dawn began to rise. Hundreds of Militia braving their lives in a mass surge towards the beast, dozens getting cut down by the second, but bringing lashed together batteries of the Bryn'adul's own Weaponry.
One particularly archaic method of war was resorted to.
Make shift catapults that had been constructed outside the dome, rolled in slowly through supply lines they were barely holding onto.
Their ammo was the bodies of Dead Bryn'adul, lashed together after being stripped of their armor, strapped with spare grenades, they didn't have a wide range, but once set ablaze and charging to the defenders fanatical ranks, they were massive draws for enemy fire, and half a dozen were destroyed in the first thirty seconds. But the ones that did get within firing range of the enemy launched. However, heat exhaustion from the atmospheric alterations caused hundreds to drop also. Many were losing whatever scraps of energy were to be had left in their already exhausted bodies. Only the knowledge that Sev Tok would fall if they gave up now kept them going, their stubborn refusal to die having become a mirror to a murderous will.
Many a Bryn'adul died a cruel death at the hands of the people of Sev Tok, more rocket and makeshift weapon batteries being leveled against the thrashing monster.
They didn't care what was happening in other systems. This was their home. They would face any monster, any horror that would be thrown, even if it killed them all.
As dozens were killed by its thrashing tentacles, they never stopped firing at it, even as their bodies were immolated, burst open, many spent their last moments, bleeding out, in agony, yet still firing at the terrible monstrosity to try and frantically halt or slow it's deadly work by any means necessary.
Meanwhile...
"They're doing something to the Atmosphere inside!" shouted a wounded soldier as he came through the sand portal generated by Starlin Rand
.
Gerard gave an electronic sigh.
"That does it. Move the evac cruiser and the remaining shuttles here." He ordered over comlink.
"Everyone." He called out. "We are out of time. The Evac cruiser is being brought directly here. Women, children, and the wounded are first priority. Everyone else, who is uninjured, I strongly urge you to help us by staying and fighting. Because we are getting hammered in there."
"Wait..." Protested a Jedi. "These refugees. Where are they being taken?"
"To CIS space." Gerard answered.
"No. That is not an option." The Jedi protested. "These are citizens of the SJC! If you take them, the Black Knight will just brainwash them with lies about the Bryn'adul being the true threat--"
Dozens of guns from the Militia were trained on the Jedi who had spoken. The Nuetralizers made no moves, raised no weapons as Civilians raised the deadly bio-blasters to the Jedi also.
"What are you people doing?" The Jedi asked, going pale from shock. Other Jedi drew their blades, but stood down as dozens of militia pointed the Bio-Blasters at the Jedi.
"We saw where that conversation was going a parsec away, and we are not having this discussion." A wounded soldier growled.
With the glossy, slack expression of realizing that, whatever the results of this battle were, The Black Knight had scored a massive PR victory just then, stood down rather escalate tempers. Just to be certain, the Militia stripped them of their Lightsabers
The Evac Cruiser loomed, going at as fast yet safe a speed as possible. Abandoned buildings were imploded to make way for it's landing zone.
They began filing into it's sparse interior, every amenity stripped for more room. Small triage stations for the ones who were badly wounded were inside however. The Model 1's deployed outside the dome began to order the reserves of their Militia and Civilian forces held back so far into the dome, grimly marching to a bloody death in stolen plating.
Maple and the Model 1's guarding Starlin shot at stray Juggernauts and Drones that had managed to be outside before the dome went up, Perimeter Militia and the scattered few Model 2's still operating near the edge of the Dome conducted a desperate defense against Bryn Patrols growing more curious about how the enemy was retreating. The wounded frantically breached the gap, heading to the vessel.
As Lyssa at last reached First Sister
, Lyssa explained the full circumstances.
"She's gone to retrieve a Thermonuclear weapon and deploy it against the Bryn'adul..." Lyssa explained with an unnaturally serene tone as she beheaded another Drone. "The enemy is attempting to terraform the planet. We are running out of options..."
Meanwhile, as Thirdas Heavenshield
yelled to get out of the way, Xiphos did so, though it irked her to be forced to break off her frenzied attack. She continued lowering the temperature in the immediate area after teleporting farther away to counter the effects. Telekinetic will pulled up slain Bryn'adul's own chainguns to fire in Tathra.
The old Laertia would have been ashamed of herself for such a dishonorable move. Xiphos refused to waste honor on a hate filled wretch such as Tathra as she fired the slugs at his arms and face in a sweeping matter, using the continuous Cryo-Laser in her spear to make sure Tathra Khaeus
stayed extra frosty as long as possible. She was prepared for him to try something with the Axe or the gauntlet, so she continued the strategy she had tried from up close from afar, targeting his gauntlet and his axe.
Subject 73 Red
got his answer as to what had killed all the Bryn'adul in the building when Melissa cut open a wall to the right. The only reason no one fired was because it was a Lightsaber.
