Invasion System Shock: Coveted Authority | TSC Invasion of GE-held Coruscant Superhex Objective Four

[Arris Windrun]

INSIDE THE THRONE ROOM
Direct: Meliant | Eurydice | Darth Carnifex
Indirect: Mercy | Hasuras Na-Gerra | Srina Talon | Quinn Varanin | Krasskorr the Maw | Da'Razel | St. Thomas Barran

There was a crash, loud and quaking, that shook and buckled the Palace. It was impressive, really, how fortified the former Jedi Temple was after all these years, and presumably many reconstructions. Likely, each reinforced weakpoints exposed in the many previous attacks.

However, that didn't prevent a large chunk of rubble from collapsing onto the throne itself and, more concerningly, the girl beside it.

Arris turned her attention, catching another large chunk with the Force before it could cave the girl in. Throwing it to the side, the cyborg approached Eurydice and knelt beside her. She retrieved an injector from her jacket and slammed it into the girl's leg.

"This is gonna be intense," she muttered.

Inside the injector was a cocktail of bacta, black market painkillers, and other stimulants. For those unused to it, it was probably akin to drinking a hundred cups of caf or so, and had numerous side effects (usually from long-term use), including paranoia and psychosis. Still, it ought to be enough to keep the acolyte alive until she could be looked at by a dark healer.

Arris, unaware of the awkward timing, connected with Kirie's translator droid via comms.

Kirie <"Hey - I have a downed acolyte in the Throne Room. Could you take a look at her after this shit is done?">

Her tone was unusually cold, even for Arris, which contrasted poorly with her casual delivery. Incidentally, she forgot to close her channel with Acier Moonbound , who would have received the same transmission.

"That's rich. Clocked by debris. 'Skill issue', I've heard it called. Ha, ha, ha." He looked back at Arris. "The local planetary governors could fall for that, but if you think the simian hordes screeching outside will… Wait a minute."

"Chaos is enough," she answered.

If even one fleet or planetary governor answered the call, a blow was a blow. The confusion alone was worth something, too.

Then, the throne room doors were thrown open again, and in stepped a towering Sith Lord. Arris recognized him as one of the few who landed, and then again from the First Conclave. They never met, or until now, even spoke. Before Arris could reply, she heard Amoun's helmet thud against the ground.

"Get up," she groaned at his groveling.

Her attention turned back to Carnifex. She leaned against a pillar. His posturing wasn't unambiguous to her, but she wasn't looking for a fight with someone who arrived among Mercy and Srina's entourage.

"An amusing turn of events to be sure," when the Dark Lord spoke, all other sounds briefly deafened. "What now is to be done with the Faithless rabble, disemboweled by their own hand? Perhaps this world should burn, and all those who followed the Faithless Emperor made to kindle its flames."

She looked down at Amoun. "This one has proved useful," there was a but in there somewhere. "But the others?"

Her pause allowed the approach of Imperial reinforcements to be heard from even this far within the Palace. They were at the gate, or what was left of it, anyway.

The cyborg shrugged. "I guess they'll die." There was a sick pleasure twisted in those words.

Calm as she appeared, Arris was seething. The vergence, the bloodlust, the stimulants, the raw power radiating from Quinn, and now the presence of him before her. Yes, his presence too fed her in the Force, and from what she could tell, it was practically endless. She was nothing if not beholden to the Dark Side at this very moment. Her control was a lie.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

If you had not sinned so greatly,
Vahl would not have set a scourge like me upon you.

The confluence of power ahead drew Gerra’s attention, diverting him from the throne room.

He passed through a corridor and within the smoldering wreckage of the palace beheld a grim sight indeed. The Empress Talon lay in the arms of Mercy Star-Arm, sore-wounded. The Queen of Eshan stood nearby, brimming with raw power in the Dark Side.

And facing them all stood a hulking Saurton warrior. Gerra glowered.

Who was this cold-blood to stand so before some of the mightiest beings in the galaxy? Gerra had not heard of a Saurton warrior of such strength. And as Quinn conjured up a darkshear to spit the reptile through and through, Gerra removed his off-hand from where he cradled his fractured ribs and extended his fingers, curled as if a claw.

“Odojinya,” he spake.

And threads of Sith sorcery sprang to life about the crocodile in a net that sought to encircle and bind him in tendrils of glowing red. Should they entrap him then they would sap away the Force from his body, bit by bit.

Krasskorr the Maw Quinn Varanin Da'Razel Mercy Srina Talon

​

​

 

[Tavi Corvask]

Oh, the Captain wasn't happy, that much was clear.

An eternal treacherous creature such as Tavi needed to have a good beat on the rhythm of any relationship he was partaking in. The rhythm currently suggested she wanted to choke him to death.

Understandable.

He himself wasn't too happy either. It wasn't like he wanted to go and help that psycho that Vesper called Mommie. Tavi wasn't sure if a Sith Lord like Mercy would find it amusing or take offense at it. You know I am right. Tavi signaled to her as he let her pass before catching up with her again. If that psycho takes issue with us, we are all dead.

There wasn't any time to say more about it however.

They quickly found themselves caught in a crossfire. The balcony above was a great vantage point from which to pin them down. Which is exactly what the stormtroopers were doing.

"Keep your heads down." Tavi shouted, indicating for them to fire blind. Which could be seen as a stupid order. How would they ever kill anyone that way? But Tavi didn't need them to kill anyone just yet. Just keep the troopers from shooting back, forcing them behind the balcony. He peeked out from over the edge and then pulled out the little pebbles from his pocket.

Beskar, matched with duranium, heavy even in such a small package.

Which was exactly the point.

He threw them in the air and then pushed with his mind. They flew out like bullets. Several rammed straight through the balcony, killing several stormtroopers, catching them unaware. The rest ripped through the chandalier above the balcony, sending it flying and killing the rest.

The return fire ceased and Tavi looked at Vesper, apologetic.

"One could make the argument we helped enough now. I am concerned there will be even more resistance beyond. Grab some of their armor as proof, then head downstairs to loot what we can?" A large boom ripped through the building. Making the balcony shudder, the walls too. They wouldn't know it, but a destroyer had just fallen right beyond the palace.

"...might need to move fast, I don't think those Sith care if they bring the entire palace down on our head and destroy the loot too."

Direct: Vesper Thrace
Allies: Arris Windrun | Srina Talon | Darth Carnifex | Eurydice | Quinn Varanin | Aelissandre | Meliant | Hasuras Na-Gerra
Enemies: Da'Razel | Remowa | Krasskorr the Maw

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

FOOD: Mercy

​

Quinn Varanin

The scent reached him from a distance, almost like a sensory warning that screamed of a predator far more dangerous than those he had encountered before. He was in the midst of a swing, his three-meter Lightclub arcing downwards with the intent to split the Warlord and the fallen Empress in half. Yet, the warning surged through him like a jolt of energy, revitalizing his flagging nerves.

His concentration faltered as the force he had intended for the fatal strike wavered, pulling back his momentum, and he was fortunate to remain in his original position, tail wrapping around the fallen corpse of a 551st Stormtrooper. "Disgusting creature..." The voice resonated like a chilling echo of the Phobis Storm.

As the scepter emitted a hissing sound, releasing a slender beam of darkshear, Krasskorr opted not to escape the light. Instead, he maneuvered the stormtrooper into its path, where it struck the trooper's plastoid chest plate, the concentrated hatred's needle piercing through the metal and flesh with a nauseating sizzle.

The body disintegrated in a burst of molten armor and burnt organic material, but that brief moment of defiance was sufficient. Krasskorr launched himself into a heavy, shoulder-first roll, the beam searing a blackened groove into the floor precisely where his heart had been just a minute earlier. He emerged from the roll as the atmosphere shifted once more, infused with a new aroma.

One that was steeped in fire and ash, unmistakably Hasuras Na-Gerra . Krasskorr's tongue darted out again, savoring the ancient, dusty decay of Sith Sorcery. He noticed the red, glowing threads of the Odojinya net starting to emerge from the shadows, aiming to ensnare his limbs and siphon the little Force-strength he had remaining.

He found himself caught between the fury of a godling and the trap of a sorcerer, his body a testament to shattered bones and charred scales. A beast understands the distinction between a moment of glory and a fool's demise. He had held the gate long enough to draw blood from the Covenant.

Instead of lunging at the new challengers, Krasskorr pivoted his massive bulk toward the towering, stained-glass window to his right. He didn't use the Force; he used three tons of Saurton weight and the sheer momentum of his desperation. He crashed through the glass in a kaleidoscopic explosion of color and shards just as the net was attempting to encircle him.

The multicolored fragments of Imperial history rained down around him as he plummeted into the chaos below. The smoke and the raging fires of the lower tiers rose up to meet him, swallowing his massive silhouette before the red static of the beam or the sorcery's net could claim their prize.

Into the ash and the dark, the Maw vanished.

End Post

 

[Vesper Thrace]

When the blasters stopped, Vesper stayed tucked into her alcove for a few moments, just to see. She darted a hand out into open air to see if there were any reflexes left in the fighters, if indeed there were any fighters left. Nothing. After a few moments, she emerged from the alcove and did a quick headcount. All of her men were still alive. Fantastic.

She turned her eyes back to Tavi, beady little things in shadow of her brow and her eyeshadow, and she regarded him carefully for a few moments before stepping closer. She put a hand on his shoulder, turning him away from the other men to converse privately. Tavi's hand-talk didn't assuage Vesper's irritation. Next time, she signaled back, you ask me like this. Don't put me on the spot in front of my crew. Or I'll let you see what a blaster bolt tastes like. She smiled -- too sweetly -- to let him know that she didn't mean that exactly, but that she would not take it laying down. "Think we understand each other," Vesper told Tavi genially before turning to encompass both Tavi and the rest of the crew in the rest of her conversation.

"This place maybe will come down around our ears. Bucketheads don't seem to know when to say when. But we are -- honorbound -- to check in on our liege lady. Volunteers. Any who come with me into danger get double share of the haul. Goes for widows and children if the worst happens." She took out her own datapad and entered the order. "Speak now or hold your peace." She counted hands, typed the names into the order, and transmitted it to the Sirenjack. She turned her gaze back to Tavi. "Take the others back and see about the loot in the basements. Start cataloguing it and marking it for transport. If you don't hear from me -- or if this stairwell fills with rubble? -- you take what you can carry and get them out of here."

She locked eyes with Tavi and raised her chin, as if daring him to contradict her. But before she could entertain any such notions, she spun on her heel, tossing a throaty "now go!" over her shoulder as she took back to the stairs, running up them two at a time.

___________________________________________________________________

Direct: Tavi Corvask | Mercy
Allies: Arris Windrun | Srina Talon | Darth Carnifex | Eurydice | Quinn Varanin | Aelissandre | Hasuras Na-Gerra
God Save Our Gracious King, Long Live Our Noble King: Meliant
Enemies: Da'Razel | Remowa | Krasskorr the Maw​

 

[Remowa]

The Fate of Coruscant
The Chiss Woman vol. 1 |:| Issue #2: Defending the Capital w/

Remowa was uncertain whether the Emperor's specter she had conjured for revenge had instilled fear in Meliant , but one thing was clear: the atmosphere in the shrine was suffocating, heavy with the odor of vaporized stone. The 551st troopers stood as mere empty shells, their spirits shattered into nothingness by her overwhelming display of power, yet they were not her primary worry.

Above, the sky was collapsing, and the Nexus was no longer a reliable source of dark side energy. With few options available to her at this moment and the palace defenses crumbling by the minute, she hurried forward, her boots scarcely making contact with the blood-slicked floor.

The still-functioning turbolift creaked as it ascended, due to the damage the building had sustained. Remowa leaned against the back wall, her chest heaving, her blue skin mapped with thin, black veins where the Force Storm's lightning had scorched her.

The doors hissed open to reveal a mid-level observation gallery as the grand hall had transformed into a wind tunnel filled with fire and ash. Through the broken fragments of a massive transparisteel window, the sky above Coruscant appeared illuminated by the erratic flashes of the Covenant's orbital bombardment.

She spotted a squad of Blackblade Guard making their way through the foyer below, their mechanical precision sharply contrasting with the frantic, screaming retreat of the remaining loyalists. The battle was lost. Coruscant was being rewritten in flames, and Remowa was determined not to become a mere footnote in someone else's triumph.

She crossed the gallery in three long strides. At the edge of the jagged window frame, the wind whipped her obsidian hair across her face, stinging her red eyes. Hundreds of meters below, the smoke was a roiling ocean of gray and orange. Without a moment's hesitation without a prayer or a backward glance, Remowa stepped into the void.

End Post

IMPERIAL BATTLE MEDITATION DEACTIVATED
APPLIES TO ALL** PARTICIPANTS ON ALL OBJECTIVES - EFFECT AND REACH AMPLIFIED BY THE PALACE NEXUS​

 

[Mercy]

OBJECTIVE: 4

CORUSCANT
THE IMPERIAL PALACE

ALLIES: Arris Windrun | Srina Talon | Quinn Varanin | Vesper Thrace | Aelissandre | Darth Carnifex | Eurydice | Meliant
ENEMIES: Da'Razel | Krasskorr the Maw | Remowa | St. Thomas Barran | Khamul Kryze

Mercy's head was filled with white noise, the edges of her eyes bleeding black and red, her heart pumping adrenaline through her system. Her hands were shaking even as they tried to stroke Srina's head and bring her back from oblivion. It was fury, pure unadulterated wrath that was eating her from the inside.

She had only just been getting to know the Empress. Formidable, fierce, a right pain in her arse, but Mercy... didn't handle it well when something was taken away from her that she was enjoying the experience of.

"The True Emperor will take her life, I will ensure he takes yours as well"

Teeth bared in a snarl.

"Her life is mine."

She was about to rip the saber out of Krasskorr's paws and do cruel things to the reptile. It would have been easy, so so easy to give into the fury. Leave Srina on the ground and do the only thing she was good at. Rip and tear, until it was done. This wasn't her role, after all, the role of the ruler or the diplomat. She was a killer, a brawler, someone who took pleasure from blood splattering across her face and feeling the heat of someone's life ending in her hands.

Ever since the Red Hand and even before that Mercy had been forced into roles that didn't suit her. That she didn't enjoy more importantly. Now was her opportunity to get back to it.

Let her die and return to-

In a blur of crackling energy, Quinn surged past Mercy and her mother's fallen position, red static pouring from her form as the scepter found its mark.

Mercy blinked and watched as Quinn appeared out of nowhere. Taking the fight to Krasskorr, making it unnecessary for Mercy to do anything. It made the tension in her shoulders weaken.

Gerra removed his off-hand from where he cradled his fractured ribs and extended his fingers, curled as if a claw.

“Odojinya,” he spake.

And threads of Sith sorcery sprang to life about the crocodile in a net that sought to encircle and bind him in tendrils of glowing red. Should they entrap him then they would sap away the Force from his body, bit by bit.

Her gaze fixated on the Vahlan Warlord, the Dream-Thief and Qhan. It must have been his ship that caused the earlier rocking of the palace and shockwave. He too stepped in and together they made a threat too formidable for even the reptile to ignore.

Into the ash and the dark, the Maw vanished.

The fury weakened, wroth slipped.

The white noise faded. Reality settled back in and Mercy could think more clearly.

Her head was unprotected and the ground was coming up fast.

It made her stumble back again as Srina collided with her, her arms trying to go around her to support her. Dropping down to a knee. Not realizing in the moment that most people... were far more fragile than she was, when they didn't have the Force to shield them.

It had been her, hadn't it been? She hadn't covered her head, didn't even think to. The Empress Immortal, but now so fragile in her arms, and it had been because of her lack of care.

Mercy looked down at Srina, expression softening, slightly.

"My blood is cursed, you know." She said quietly, thinking back to her journeys, before she had joined the Galactic Kaggath. So aimless, Mercy had been, back then. Just moving from battle to battle, kill to kill. "Blessed they said." It was not clear who she was talking to exactly.

"Did you know? Ancient witches used to smear their blood on what they owned. So they wouldn't lose track of it."

"That's if I am lucky. This one time I was aiming for Denon and somehow landed in Dathomir. Awkward meetings aplenty there, but at least they hate men almost as much as I do."

She moved without thinking or even considering what the Empress might have wanted. Her teeth already sank into her own wrist, tearing flesh apart, causing blood to well up. Then before she could think better of it, before her flesh could heal as it often did, she pressed it against Srina's mouth, pushing her head up to let her receive it.

"The sisters of Dathomir made my blood burn bright. Liquid fire, as molten as my eyes they said. They wove their spells into it as a gift. Maybe... I can pass it onto you, for just a moment..." Softly stroking Srina's hair out of her face. "Swallow deep from the offered cup, Srina... live, breathe... your daughter needs you, your Empire does."

Would Mercy have invited her to this infernal place, if she had known it might end like this?

Yes. Even in this moment, as fury loosened, and her blood was seeping away. Mercy knew, she had a home on the Field of Blades, because she was selfish and arrogant and eternally damned.

And she wouldn't have had it any other way.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The loud gong from Hasuras Na-Amoun head making contact with the floor was enough for the Dark Lord to turn His gaze fully on the prostate Faithless, the motion of His head pivoting to stare down at the man both smooth and languid. The groveling was to be expected, and the Dark Lord made no motion to either voice or express His thoughts. Instead, He shifted back to Windrun.

"Then die they will," He agreed, turning away from both of them. They could continue to do as they wished, now that the Palace has more or less fallen directly into the Covenant's hands. Squads of Blackblade Guards had begun to enter the Palace, sweeping out and carrying out new objectives held in reserve just for this moment. With the 551st no longer viewed as hostile, they were entirely left alone and bypassed by the Blackblades as they mounted their thorough sweep.

To Isolda, the Dark Lord spoke in a more subdued tone. "You know what you must do, see to it. Take the Valkyries with you." She bowed her head, unblinking silver mirror-like eyes staring through the Dark Lord rather than at Him. Then she turned and walked away, the shadows reaching out to her as she passed; like the long arms of the wailing dead.

"This whole world should burn," continued the Dark Lord after Isolda had left. "A pyre to illuminate all the galaxy." Then He stopped dead in His tracks. His head swung wildly to the left, looking back towards the doorway He'd entered through. The Force called out to Him, she called out to Him, though her plea was unspoken. He could feel her through the bauble she wore about her chest, the beating of her heart so grotesquely slow it caused Him to shudder with an emotion closely resembling unease.

He thrust His hand forward, and His own Shadow sped away and through the broken halls of the Palace. Sparing a glance back at Windrun and Hasuras Na-Amoun, the Dark Lord barked a final statement. "Do what you will, it matters not." Then He too was gone, moving faster than physically possible for someone of His stature.

Farther away, the Shadow would have reached the place where Srina had fallen, rising up from the ground as a spectral shade; vaguely in the form of a woman. Her eyes blazed bright, like beacons on a misty shore. From within her came the Dark Lord Himself, pouring out from her shadowy body like the first rays of light through an open door. He was, at that moment, both terrible and majestic, barbarous regality bound in living skin.

When they had seen Him prior, the Dark Lord had subdued His power significantly, veiling it so as to not overwhelm all others. But as He made Himself known, that restraint had fallen away.

He was no longer a person.

He was the Dark Side itself.

His hand reached out, stretching forth towards the Sith Empress' chest; where His own phylactery lay. Pouring power into it, and seizing upon the power stored therein through Srina's own actions, the Dark Lord sought to augment what the Sith Mercy had already begun through her own initiative.

The Dark Powers of Two worked in tandem to restore the One.

Srina Talon | Arris Windrun | Mercy
Meliant | Hasuras Na-Gerra | Quinn Varanin
Eurydice ​

 

[Meliant]

​

Location: Federal District - Imperial Palace - Throne Room
Attn: Arris Windrun Eurydice Darth Carnifex
CC: They already conceded, no more CCs

Planetary Shield Generator: Online | Imperial Palace: LOYALIST PURGE ENDING SOON (RUNNING OUT OF LOYALISTS)​

Amoun did not rise at Arris' command - she could only shoot him, so far as he knew, and he had already survived that the first time. He did look up from the ground, though, and his neck bent at an irregular angle to do so. There was no physical body in that armor to protest.

He didn't understand her chagrin. Clearly it worked. The Blackblades were now killing whatever furtive holdouts remained rather than them or his delightful 551st. And the Dark Lord said the world 'should' burn rather than 'must' burn. Such victories are to be savored. Hasuras Na-Amoun rose to his knees only after the Eternal Father had departed. The temperature of the room returned to its previous muted warmth.

"Useful, eh?" he said, snickering. "Make sure that makes it onto my report card, would you? I wouldn't mind a gold star to round it out, either."

For the first time since her arrival, Amoun looked at Arris as if she were a person, and thereby noticed the barely constrained rage peeling off of her. Anger, anger, anger. 'What's your problem' was what he wanted to say, but he had come so far without sustaining an injury he felt obliged to keep up the streak.

So he stood up, dusted his knees. There was a scuffmark on the forehead of his helmet - would you believe? But he remained unaware of its presence. "...I'll have some men up here to dig out the throne. I'm sure Mercy will want a sit. I can have one of them carry your friend for you, if you'd like."

If she laid there any longer, Amoun would feel obliged to charge her rent.

PREVIOUS POST | NEXT POST​

 

[Srina Talon]

OBJECTIVE: 4
LOCATION: Coruscant [Imperial Palace]
APPEARANCE: XoXo
SC ALLIES: Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin | Vesper Thrace | Aelissandre | Darth Carnifex | Eurydice | Tavi Corvask | Meliant
GE ENEMY (Close By): Krasskorr the Maw | Da'Razel
GE ENEMY (Distant): Colm Noda | Remowa | St. Thomas Barran

____________________________________________________

You can't… YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME…

I NEED YOU…

I'm here.

The thought…The will was there, but ability was all but gone. She could hear her little one screaming for her even though the words had never hit the air. It came as a tearing pressure inside her fractured skull, raw and unshielded, while it ripped through the bond they shared. The small mote of consciousness that was left behind recognized her child in distress, but things were going dark, bit by bit, to the point where everything she was began to erode into nothing.

"...Srina?" Leaning in there, Mercy attempted to feel her pulse, her breath. But already, somewhere, behind Mercy's eyes, under her flesh. A white noise was coming up. "Come on... this is nothing..."

Coruscant was burning…Why did Mercy feel so angry? Why should the broken doll cause her to stop fighting the crocodile? There was a reason that this should have surprised her, but she couldn't remember. A flash of a pipe, a shock of red hair, and a chit-eating grin. That was what Mercy should have been. Not this. They were winning…

The Warlord should be pleased. She would have her throne...

Mama…

The word broke something that death had not managed to touch. Srina tried to reach back to her child and once again found nothing. No limbs, no breath, no body, just the awful awareness of absence, of having failed the one promise, the one oath, that she had held since she had been little more than a foot-soldier in the Echani military. She had promised never to leave the princess alone. She had sworn on bended knee.

This war would make a liar of her…This war…

She would never see her children, her husband, ever again.
​

…Just when her thoughts began to unravel and turn into dust, the dark pushed them jarringly back in place. Fire flooded her veins, violent and invasive, unrelenting. She didn't know that it was Mercy's blood burning through her like a live wire. Agony arrived all at once with the slow, comprehensive suffering of a system being restarted against its will.

Her battered lungs dragged in air involuntarily, and her body hated her for it.

His hand reached out, stretching forth towards the Sith Empress' chest; where His own phylactery lay. Pouring power into it, and seizing upon the power stored therein through Srina's own actions, the Dark Lord sought to augment what the Sith Mercy had already begun through her own initiative.

She didn't scream. She just breathed, chest rising with a snap, while her sternum cinched back together. At the same time, something colder and infinitely heavier pressed down from above. It was a presence that did not wonder whether she could endure this, but rather seemed certain that she could, while the scent and taste of copper nearly overwhelmed her. The shadow of the Butcher King enfolded her with familiarity… Darth Carnifex had come.

Kaine… Her, Kaine. He did not belong to her in the traditional sense, but it was enough that she had learned to trust him. He had seen her broken before, witnessed that she would do anything and everything for her people. The phylactery around her neck began to spark with black shocks of electricity, seeming to wake up—Pushing power into her instead of taking it away. It was what she had collected, so often, filling it for the inevitable…

Her hand rose to grip Mercy's arm, nails weakly digging in, while her skin began to heal away the burns above and below her armor. Her bones shifted with sickening pressure, grinding, and locking back into place without any care toward the pitiless torment it put her through. Sensation rushed back in waves, heat, cold, pain, all cycling so much that she couldn't tell one thing from the other. She could only breathe…Breathe through her nose…Breathe…

And it felt like drowning.​

As she began to gain strength, so too did her connection to the Force. It manifested slowly with dust lifting around their position, trembling, as if startled. Pebbles followed. Then shards of shattered stone, rising in a slow, uncertain orbit that could have been mistaken for a loss of gravity. The Dark Side did not surge as it might have before, perhaps, because of the spice she had inhaled. Regardless…It seemed to be waiting. Waiting, to see if she would rise or stay broken beneath the effects of a miniature supernova going off at point-blank range.

For a long time, nothing happened.

Just the steady turn of inanimate objects moving around the trio in an uncertain orbit. Then…

Her eyes opened.

For a heartbeat, they were all wrong.

One burned amber-gold, feral, and matched Mercy , while the other held a center of burning fire surrounded by a sclera that was black as pitch, belonging to Darth Carnifex . They stayed that way until she blinked, revealing her own eyes, Echani, the same yellow-gold they had been for most of her adult life. They were steady despite the storm tearing her apart from the inside…Srina inhaled again. Tasting something hot. Metallic. She bit down on the wound Mercy made on her wrist through instinct, body craving life, not blood.

Sound crept back in fragments while her blown out ear-drums began to repair. A distant roar. Collapsing stone. The wrongness retreated inch by inch as her flesh began to remember what he had once been, what it needed to be. Frostbitten white softened. Charred edges faded. Her hair, stiff and scorched, spilled loose and silvery, untouched, cascading on the ground as if fire hadn't just turned it to pale, dry straw. It hurt.

Everything...Hurt.

This forced healing through both the magic in Mercy's blood and the might of Kaine's phylactery was not a kindness. It was punishment, perhaps, for surviving at all. Even while her teeth slowly removed themselves from Mercy's wrist…She endured in silence. No whimpering, no tears, just unfocused eyes that were full of something unfathomable.

She had to endure…Because Quinn was still there, mind screaming, and devastated.

Because the fight wasn't over—Because she wasn't finished.

She wasn't done.

Her vision steadied, slowly, but surely. She took in Mercy kneeling over her, bloodied, with fury that had only barely dissipated. Her nails loosened from the woman's arm, and she slowly pulled her wrist down from her blood-stained mouth, breathing shallow, but there. She could feel Darth Carnifex just like one might feel the sun on their skin. The slender woman knew exactly where he was, his attention seemingly fixed on her.

Above them, the sky burned…Red storms folding inward, smoke swallowing the stars.

"…Don't look at me like that."

Her usually soft voice was hoarse, betraying any bravado she tried to offer. The pain didn't recede…She just made room for it. Slowly, she tried to push herself up but the ache in her head made her teeth gnash together. She was still healing, not fully healed. Her eyes closed to hide the agony of her insides repairing. Ignoring, the occasional creak of bone mending and the memory of feeling her senses wink out, one by one….

The sensation of cold, final death creeping in.

When her eyes did open, they looked toward Darth Carnifex …She couldn't catch her daughter like this. Trying to move made her cough up blood that was both her own and…Mercy…

What had Mercy done?

"…Bring her back to me."

The Dark Lord would know exactly who she referred to, knowing that the nightmare within her would swallow her whole if given half a chance. Her attention turned back to the Warlord, aware that they were in the middle of a battlefield. Her head tilted, slowly. Just looking at the red-haired woman, carefully, as if she had never seen her before.

Carnifex...She understood. But why had Mercy saved her?

Spoiler: Equpiment

Armour Saber Ring Ring Terentatek Body Gloves HG-54 "The Vora" Class Hand Cannon Holding Aces

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Srina Talon //: Mercy //: Arris Windrun //: Hasuras Na-Gerra //: Meliant //: Darth Carnifex //: Eurydice //: Tavi Corvask //: Vesper Thrace //:

Quinn…

It's hard to be around her.
She cannot control it…

So she's alone?
All the time?

Yes.

I'm alone.
All the time.

But you always came to visit…
Even when being around me was unbearable.
You would sometimes sleep — then we'd play again…

I'm here.
I'm always here.

No.

You're gone.

The truth crushed down on her lungs.

Ragged breaths tore through her as she watched the creature shift its weight, breaking free of the moment, using a corpse as a shield as it fled. The scepter's blast struck flesh that was already dead. A mockery.

Her jaw clenched until it ached as the thing slithered away, cowardly and whole.

That creature had taken everything from her.

In a single, unforgivable instant, Srina was gone.

Her mother was gone.

The only reason Quinn had ever cared to spare this galaxy was gone.

Her chest heaved as her gaze snapped wildly across the battlefield, hunting for another path, another opening — anything that would let her reach him. She wanted to feel his bones collapse under her hands, wanted to hear the sound his life would make as it left him. She wanted to watch him understand what he had done.

He denied her even that.

Again and again, she was denied.

The storm answered her fury. Winds screamed as the Force around her turned glacial, her breath fogging in thick, desperate bursts as her body struggled to understand what came next. There was nowhere for the pain to go. No one left to reach for her.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Grief bled into the Force, and the Force screamed back.

Above her, the clouds twisted into shrieking spirals, dread and sorrow given shape. Cyclones clawed into the city, tearing through what little remained. Fire licked up the wreckage, climbing into the spinning winds as Quinn finally let herself fall into it.

The dark nexus fed her.
The Phobis Core animated her sorrow.

She stood unmoving amid the ruin, knuckles white around the scepter. She could not avenge her mother. She could not bring her back. She was too late — and she knew it.

A sharp and immediate hatred turned towards Mercy, the desire to drive the blade through her burning bright — but even that would not ease the ache. And worse still was the truth beneath it: Quinn cared for Mercy deeply.

And yet, Mercy chose Srina.

Not Quinn.

The wound split open all over again.

You are not alone, child.

The voice wrapped around her throat, her heart, squeezing gently… possessively.

You know how to make this stop hurting.

Quinn nodded once.

"What's done is done."

Good girl.

The tip of the scepter dragged along the ground as she began to walk, screams rising around her as the storm ripped the palace apart. Walls collapsed. Towers screamed as they fell.

"It all returns to…"
She exhaled.

"…nothing."​

She moved.

Lightning exploded from her form as she surged forward, a living shadow following in her wake. The scepter cleaved through retreating soldiers, Force and soul torn from them in the same instant. Each strike fed the weapon. Each death deepened the void inside her.

Her eyes bled black.

Emotion drained away, leaving only hunger.

No one was spared. There was no salvation left to offer them. Blood pooled at her feet as the storm carved through Coruscant's levels, ripping the planet open in grief.

The world screamed.

And Quinn did not stop.

 

[Eurydice]

Direct | Arris Windrun Meliant
Nearby | Mercy Srina Talon Quinn Varanin Vesper Thrace Aelissandre Darth Carnifex Hasuras Na-Gerra

The salvation of Eurydice's dreamless sleep would not last long. She awoke with a start, unfamiliar and unpleasant adrenaline rousing her into sluggish consciousness.

Fatigue clung to her, trying to drag her back into the depths of sweet oblivion. Even as she tried to blink the fog from her eyes, the Force assailed her; pulsing violently with heartache, unrelenting in its lament.

With dismay, Eurydice sat up to discover that she was still trapped in this nightmare. Lord Carnifex had come and gone, which was fortunate - for if she had been awake, the Seer surely would have fainted again.

Oh, her heart was pounding so hard. Like it was trying to beat the lethargy away. Again, very unpleasant.

Eurydice tuned her head, searching for Arris. She found the throne, first. Or rather, the pile of rubble formerly known as the throne.

"O-oh no!"

With synthetic adrenaline blazing through every nerve, Eurydice shot to her feet in record time. She stumbled, clutching her head to nurse herself through a brief spell of vertigo.

"Oh! Oh, stars! By the maker!"

The throne was gone. Or at the very least, obscured by heavy chunks of duracrete. Eurydice's frantic gaze sought Arris, perturbed by how nonchalant and almost angry she seemed in the aftermath.

"L-L-Lord Mercy is going to be very upset!"

Hyped up on her own failure and neural stimulants, Eurydice paced around the broken column, wringing her hands anxiously.

 

[Da'Razel]

Objective 4
CORUSCANT - IMPERIAL PALACE

Equipment: The Furnance | The Kotjontû | The Vow of Saud | Gehinnom Divinitatus

OPEN TO ALL
Direct Tag: Mercy | Darth Carnifex | Meliant | Srina Talon | Krasskorr the Maw | Quinn Varanin | Remowa
Indirect Tag: Arris Windrun | Vesper Thrace

A gleaming, gore-red visor lay half-buried amid shattered stone, still attached to what remained of a mangled body.

The Saint's gilded armor had been torn apart, ruined plates scattered like shattered porcelain. Azure sparks chirped and died along severed seams. Thick, golden drops of life-sustaining fluid oozed onto the broken ground, hissing as overheated ultrachrome kissed stone and slowly cooled.

Limbs torn away.

His waist shredded.

His torso split open.

He lay dying.

He felt himself falling, slipping free of the battlefield, drifting into a soft yet merciless embrace within the void. Color bled from his vision. Sound fled, smothered beneath a creeping silence. The world narrowed, tunneled, collapsed.

He begged. Pleaded. Reached upward with a hand that no longer existed, clawing at a blood-red sky.

The day side of Coruscant had been torn open by wolves, its flesh carved apart, its warm innards devoured. A blackout swallowed the metropolis. Hundreds of thousands, probably millions, were left to fend for themselves.

Anarchy burst over them like a flood.

Agony.

Hatred.

Panic.

Fear ruled the streets.

Crippled Imperials scrambled for control. Vaults were looted. Leadership lay dead. Gods were absent. Hierarchy collapsed like a house of cards as lawmakers executed one another in the open. Conflicting orders strangled public services, while desperate officials wrung the last drops of order from the drying systems, anything to survive.

Above, mass casualties filled the skies as devastating bombardments rained down upon the planet.

Coruscant ran red.

Yet nothing compared to the wound carved into its heart.

Two vessels, each over a thousand kilometers long, had been driven into the core of the metropolis. The impact alone killed thousands, leveled entire districts, and left a burning mountain range of twisted steel impaled into the skyline.

And still, the storm raged.

Unleashed Force energy illuminated the apocalypse at the Palace. The Dark Side saturated everything, air, stone, flesh, fed by the tapped nexus below and the vile, cracking beams striking from above.

Gods and goddesses had warred here.

Bled here.

Spent themselves here.

Reality itself had taken notice.

The veils thinned.

A wound had been cut so deeply into the land and its people that it took on a form of its own. Between the seams of the universe, something terribly vile was birthed, reality itself recoiling in disgust at its creation. A thing that gorged itself on death rattles, that thirsted for the agony of the innocent, the malice of the warring, the hatred that warped their souls.

Above the Temple, space and time rippled like still water struck by stone, a visible distortion.

She felt it. Eina L'lerim-Vandiir

A piercing sting flared through her mind. A fiend of rebirth had been born, and its all-devouring hunger rattled within her skull.

The Saint saw none of it.

He sank deeper into darkness, drowned by it, leaving behind only a single glimmer, like a distant star, reminding him how far he had fallen into death's embrace.

Regret found him there.

He saw himself as he once was: sharp contours, dark red skin, but it was his eyes he remembered most. Empty. Dead. Hollow. Until his Lord had filled them.

Meaning.

Faith.

Belonging to something greater than himself.

Now anger bloomed.

Wrath followed.

Hatred reared its head like a rising sun, flooding his ruined body with spiteful heat. He longed for their deaths. He would claw his way back into existence if only to curse them, these vermin, betrayers, heretics, heathens.

Forgive me, O Lord.

He screamed without voice. Clawed without limbs. Begged without dignity. Swore without vows. Stripped of duty by the collapse of the Empire he had served.

No…

No…

I need to murder them…

They must be destroyed…

His descent accelerated. What had been a smooth fall became a violent torrent, dragging him in every direction at once.

NOOOOO!

Do you seek rebirth?

Even amid the violence of his fall, he knew, suddenly, undeniably, that he was not alone.

Something was with him.

And he was no longer falling.

He stood instead, naked, unarmored, facing his former self in the dark.

Reality split open.

A shapeless, soulless thing bled into existence: the freshly hatched Nether Devil, born with infinite patience and a vast, sentient hunger. It would feast upon the souls of the countless dead, gorge itself on their agony, grow weary of their taste, but never of their suffering.

Accept me, and I will grant it to you.

How…?

The thought echoed, small and shaken, in the void of his mind.

He was alone, but he was not.

He was dead, but he was not.

It was undeniable.

And he would do whatever it took.

No cost too great.

No loss too severe.

An entity seized the Saint's corpse. It welded itself to his soul, slipped into his form, and cradled itself within him.

The mangled flesh of the zealot turned to concrete grey, and with the next whisper of the storm, it shattered to dust and scattered upon the wind.

EXIT​

Spoiler: NPC Infomation

Name: Khar-Vorn (Deceased)
Health: 0%
░░░░░░░░░░░░

• Force User: No
• Appearance: Devaronian male, heavily scarred, lower jaw replaced with a brass restraint frame, back and shoulders branded into overlapping furnace sigils
• Strengths: Extreme pain tolerance, shock trooper, unbreakable frontline presence
• Weaknesses: Slow, reliant on constant bodily reinforcement and ritual maintenance
• Equipment: Cortosis Shield, subdermal pain regulators, sanctified vibrocleaver

Location: Grand Plaza Guard | Speech

---

Name: Elenne (Deceased)

Health: 0%
░░░░░░░░░░░░

Force User: No

• Appearance: Human female, wrapped in layered ash-cloth and light armor, face hidden behind a smoked-glass veil constantly fogged by heat
• Strengths: Sabotage, infiltration, ritual preparation under fire
• Weaknesses: Light armor, vulnerable if discovered
• Equipment: Silenced blaster pistol, incendiary charges, cloaking device

Location: Imperial Palace | Speech

---

Name: Ixel the Tempered (Deceased)
Health: 100%
░░░░░░░░░░░░

Force User: No

• Appearance: Human female with vitrified burn-scarred skin, and iron nails driven through spine and collarbones; wears a scorched modular assault cuirass with ritual markings
• Strengths: Jet-assisted close-quarters executioner, fearless under fire, highly mobile ritual enforcer
• Weaknesses: Short-burst jet systems strain her damaged body, armor inferior to true Mandalorian gear
• Equipment: Compact jump-jet harness, flame-edged execution laser axe, wrist-mounted igniter and grapnel

Location: Imperial Palace | Speech

---

Name: Tú (Deceased)

Health: 0%
░░░░░░░░░░░░

Force User: Yes

• Appearance: Givin, skeletal humanoid, draped in crimson robes
• Strengths: Sith Alchemist, supportive healer and enhancer for zealots
• Weaknesses: Physically fragile, dependent on his lantern for full potency
• Equipment: Crystadurium Ritual lantern, sacrificial dagger, Ultrachrome line robe

Location: Imperial Palace | Speech

---

Name: Inquisitor Rael Orvax (Deceased)

Health: 0%
░░░░░░░░░░░░

Force User: Yes

• Appearance: Human male of Brentaal IV, encased in segmented armour, black-and-crimson robes, a visored helm
• Strengths: Formidable melee combatant, disciplined tactician, strong endurance
• Weaknesses: Heavy and slow, over protective of his cult, easily angered
• Equipment: Electro-scythe, Dallorian and Ultrachrome alloy armour

Location: Imperial Palace | Speech

---

Model: Green Warden x2

Health: 0%
░░░░░░░░░░░░

Health: 0%
░░░░░░░░░░░░


Location: Imperial Palace | Speech

---

Name: Zherach (Deceased)

Health: 0%
░░░░░░░░░░░░

Location: Imperial Palace | Speech

​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Her eyes bled black.

Emotion drained away, leaving only hunger.

No one was spared. There was no salvation left to offer them. Blood pooled at her feet as the storm carved through Coruscant's levels, ripping the planet open in grief.

The world screamed.

And Quinn did not stop.

For a moment in time, it appeared as though the visage of Vahl herself walked once more upon the planets of this galaxy - hair white as ash, eyes dark as soot. The Dark Side’s incarnation of destruction.

But ever had Gerra been faithless and defiant of destiny.

He shook himself free of the awe and crossed the distance between himself and the Queen of Eshan in but three strides.

Stray lightning crackled toward him, but fed into his Sith sword. Wind howled into the broken ceiling and below and buffeted him. Still he walked once. The Storm raged and here was its epicenter.

“Stop,” rumbled the Vahlan warlord and with his off-hand he sought to slap the Queen full across the face.

Hard enough to snap her to her senses.

Not hard enough to snap her neck.

Quinn Varanin

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Hasuras Na-Gerra //:
//: Srina Talon //: Mercy //: Eurydice //: Vesper Thrace //: Darth Carnifex //: Arris Windrun //: Meliant //:

A voice cut through the storm, halting the slaughter for a single, fragile moment. Cries of anguish continued to echo around her, but this voice carried authority. Quinn only paused because of what followed it.

She felt the shift in the Force immediately. The weight of it. The way it bent and warped around the massive shape of his hand as it descended.

He meant to startle her.

Quinn took it as a threat.

A threat meant to stop her. To deny what the world itself had begged for.

As the giant's arm moved, Quinn turned to face him. The open palm drew closer, filling her vision — but she did not flinch. She did not step back. Two void-dark eyes stared up at him as his hand froze mid-swing, stopping mere inches from her face.

She glanced at his hand. Then back at him.

The same spell he had used against her mother's murderer reflected back at him — effortlessly. No incantation. No gesture. Only her will.

She denied him.

The scepter rose, its point leveled directly at his chest.

"No."

The word curled from her lips, accompanied by a smile that did not belong to the Queen of Eshan. The presence behind her eyes was something else now — something born of the Phobis Core, something that held her rather than the other way around.

It would not stop.

The tip of the scepter began to glow — not the brilliant azure it once had been. Instead, a dim and sickly gold. Tendrils burst from the stone, writhing with hunger, embedding themselves into the giant's flesh.

It would feed.

As ribbons of gold began to coil around him, others lashed outward, binding themselves to the half-living corpses scattered around the hall. The corridor leading toward the throne room was bathed in radiant light, transformed into something almost holy — almost divine.

Beneath the beauty, suffering sang.

Cries of pain echoed through the space, weaving a chorus. They were not noise. They were music. A symphony of ruin, perfectly attuned to the will now guiding Quinn's hand.

The hymn of Coruscant's reaping.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Meliant | Eurydice | Darth Carnifex

"Useful, eh?" he said, snickering. "Make sure that makes it onto my report card, would you? I wouldn't mind a gold star to round it out, either."

Her gaze flicked over to him, a hint of annoyance in the crinkle of her brow. He was surprisingly chipper for someone who just committed high treason on behalf of an unstable warlord with a penchant for ignoring the reality of her own actions.

Then, her attention turned back to the formidable Dark Lord. He had just passed along instructions, as far as Arris could gather, but their meaning was beyond her before he turned to address them... or perhaps address a thought. She wasn't quite sure which.

"This whole world should burn," continued the Dark Lord after Isolda had left. "A pyre to illuminate all the galaxy."

The sound of turbolaser fire in the distance continued as Vahlan and Covenant warships bombarded imperial positions all across the ecumenopolis. Arris wasn't sure how to respond; this was her first encounter with anyone who talked the way he did.

"Do what you will, it matters not."

He departed. His final warnings struck her like washing one's hands of trivial matters.

"So who the hell was that guy?" She wondered - thought to ask Amoun, but he was quick to yap again.

So he stood up, dusted his knees. There was a scuffmark on the forehead of his helmet - would you believe? But he remained unaware of its presence. "...I'll have some men up here to dig out the throne. I'm sure Mercy will want a sit. I can have one of them carry your friend for you, if you'd like."

"Mercy's graspborn will build her a new one," Arris said at first. But then she considered Mercy might actually prefer the seat Solipsis himself sat on.

"Actually - yeah, have someone dig it out."

When he addressed the girl, Arris looked at her. She had almost forgotten and was a little surprised that the stimulants took as long as they did.

"Hey, are you dea--"

Eurydice sat up with an unmistakable fright. Though that fear seemed quick to focus on the Throne, and before anyone knew what was happening, she scrambled to her feet and suffered towards the ruined chair.

"Easy," Arris called out. "You'll have a heart attack if you're not careful!" Her warning was snappy.

The cyborg marched over to the scene and stood beside her.

"L-L-Lord Mercy is going to be very upset!"

"You don't know her very well, then."

Windrun knew what Mercy was like. Even if she was upset, even if Eurydice had made a mistake, Mercy wouldn't lash out at a young girl, if only because that's exactly what a 'decrepit old man' would do, and Star-Arm would never sully herself by mirroring their behavior.

"I called a healer. Focus on your breathing, and do try to sit still."

 

[Mercy]

OBJECTIVE: 4

CORUSCANT
THE IMPERIAL PALACE

ALLIES: Arris Windrun | Srina Talon | Quinn Varanin | Vesper Thrace | Darth Carnifex | Eurydice | Meliant | Hasuras Na-Gerra

Mercy was missing some context here.

Her eyes flicked from Srina as she commanded Kaine to 'bring her back'. Then to Kaine. Then to Quinn. Finally returning her gaze on Srina as she stood up, lifting the Empress in her arms. She wasn't entirely sure why Quinn had to be brought back anywhere. It was natural for someone to wish to blow off some steam.

Sure, Coruscant would suffer a bit more, a few dents and some breaks.

But Mercy did not catch the subtlety behind it all. After all, Mercy had no mentalism talent in her bones. She had completely missed the fact that Quinn was slowly losing herself to a monster from the inside. If she had known, she might have stayed and tried... something, perhaps. It would have ended in failure but at least she would have seen Gerra attempt to back-hand Quinn over the face.

Instead they left the broken room behind and entered the corridors that would lead towards the Throne Room.

"How are you feeling?" Mercy asked Srina as she walked for them both. "You really ought to know better than to catch your fall with the back of your head."

As if Mercy hadn't been ready to rip that lizard limb from limb over Srina's broken corpse.

Coincidentally as they neared the throne room, they passed one of the staircases, from which a familiar image appeared.

"Ah, Captain Thrace." Mercy greeted her Captain with a smile. It must have looked terrifying. Right now the large woman was all blood and smoke and fire. "Have you ever met the Captain, Srina?" Shifting slightly so Srina had a better view of Vesper.

"You'd like her, I believe. She is a warrior to the soul. And has the loyalty of her crew." Mercy glanced over Vesper's shoulder and noticed that the band of people roaming behind her were substantially less than anticipated. "Don't tell me you caught some trouble before getting here. Did you lose a lot of men during the firefight?"

Her voice sympathetic.

 

[Srina Talon]

OBJECTIVE: 4
LOCATION: Coruscant [Imperial Palace]
APPEARANCE: XoXo
SC ALLIES: Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin | Vesper Thrace | Aelissandre | Darth Carnifex | Eurydice | Tavi Corvask | Meliant
GE ENEMY (Close By): Krasskorr the Maw | Da'Razel
GE ENEMY (Distant): Colm Noda | Remowa | St. Thomas Barran

____________________________________________________

She gasped involuntarily when she was lifted, as if she weighed nothing, and her eyes shut tight to keep pain from blossoming from behind them. Weakness in any form was nothing something she was accustomed to, nor, was she particularly pleased to become glorified luggage. She had sent Darth Carnifex after her daughter…But she wasn't sure the nightmare that drove her now would let her hear him. Srina reached for her…

Again, and again—But the Force wasn't responding correctly.

Either she was too drained, too wounded, or whatever she'd breathed in was still swimming in her system. Her hand fell to the phylactery around her neck, holding the bauble, while black flame wrapped around her fingers. It sparked and pulsed, not meant for her, but that didn't seem to matter. She'd worn it so long, day after day, that the dark energy recognized her. She protected it. The phylactery, protected her. "Bring her back to me…"

Srina repeated the phrase to the Dark Lord, willing him to understand, if he didn't already. The thing that flew through the air looking for oblivion was not the young woman they knew, her life, her agency stolen by The Nightmare. It was unacceptable. It might have been inevitable when she lay dying…But it didn't seem to be happening. At least, not today.

She would get stronger. Eventually, Quinn Varanin would be able to feel her calling. Willful though she could be, Srina, was thrice as stubborn and damn near impossible to ignore. Her attention was pulled away from her daughter, missing, the exchange between the Queen of Eshan and Hasuras Na-Gerra when every step Mercy took made her feel like she was cracking all over again. How was she feeling?

"…Annoyed…"

Like a super nova went off in her face.

Like she'd died.

Like chit.

She didn't mention how worried she was for Quinn Varanin because she didn't know that Mercy was so entirely unaware. Srina didn't give a damn about Coruscant. The only thing she knew was that Quinn was a danger to herself…Holding on to something in her grief that she didn't know how to stop. Even half-dead, knocked from the Force, she knew something was incredibly wrong with the Sith Princess. But…That was a mother's prerogative. She breathed as deeply as she dared, uncomfortable, and all too aware that this Warlord was carrying her a second time. The first time…She hadn't wanted to make a scene.

This time?

"I am functional…That will suffice."

The comment about catching her fall with the back of her head made her eyes narrow a little while flashes of memory returned. Just fragments. The brightest light she had even seen, concussive force, and then Mercy rushing up. She had felt her body break when they made contact and for a long moment the wintry woman stayed silent. There was no real splitting the damage that had been caused by the blast and that which had happened she was…Caught. Fumbled. She almost winced, hearing the phantom crack of bone to stone.

"…You dropped me…"

The accusation was made without anger but she distinctly remembered the moment even though she'd been turned into a near-human shaped bullet. Her head had cracked off the duracrete like a coconut being split open, the evidence, still left behind. She felt like she was on pins and needles, restless, because she should have been out there. Fighting. Brining her daughter back to her senses, moreover, ensuring that the Fire Priest was dealt with.

If he could charge up another attack like that?

The remnants of the Imperial Palace and everyone in it were sitting ducks.
​

They reached a stairwell and eyes lifted to meet that of Vesper Thrace while they conversed overhead as if her state of being was entirely normal. "Captain…", Srina greeted, somehow, still seeming to naturally radiate authority. It didn't seem to matter whether she'd been alive or dead right outside these crumbling ruins. She shifted slightly in Mercy's arms then, despite herself, not commanding, not cold, just tired and very present. "…I would like you a lot more if you could convince Mercy to put me down…"

She would manage.

True or false…Pain or not—She was still Srina Talon. She had not crossed half a galaxy and clawed her way back from oblivion to be carried past a war that was still unfinished. Whether she could stand no longer mattered. Whether she should had never mattered at all.

There was only what had to be done.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Bring her back to me…"

His eyes found hers, understanding passing between them. There needn't be anything else said, she didn't even truly have to give voice to her wants.

He understood them implicitly.

"As you wish," was all He said in return, rising from her side and turning back on the Empress to face the Princess as she raged away. His Shadow returned to Him as well, cloaking Him in deepest midnight as He sought off to bring the Princess back to the Empress; alive and sound of mind. All Kainate forces in the vicinity had been alerted to the situation, and had been deployed to try and delay, if not contain, the Princess' violence.

All who willingly put themselves in her path expected to die, but they would take their own lives if the Dark Lord demanded it of them. What was life in the face of His magnificence?

In the end, it mattered very little. None could hope to contend with the power emanating from the Princess. The Blackblades that hoped to corral her were quickly ravished, destroyed by the awesome power she wielded. Carnifex didn't even bother to set the Valkyries against her, He knew the same fate would befall them. So He held them in reserve, they were too precious to waste so wantonly.

Ultimately, the Dark Lord knew that He and He alone would have to intervene. Fortunately for Him, the Princess was battle meditating through the Phobis Device at her core. It was dangerous, but through that connection He had a chance of reaching her. Finding the most secure location He could, the Dark Lord settled into a deep trance and separated His spirit from His body. His consciousness rose up out of His body, boundless and infinite, and flowed down towards Quinn.

His spirit would vanish.

Pulled into the mindscape of Quinn Varanin.

​

Elsewhere.

Darth Isolda and the squad of Blackblades assigned to her moved through the Palace virtually uncontested. The loyalist contingent had been sufficiently purged by the traitor 551st, and they steered well clear of the Blackblades. While the order to spare the 551st had been given sometime ago, few would wager either getting in the way of or directly confronting the Blackblades, ceasefire be damned.

The troop passed through areas of violence and butchery, the betrayed dead scattered about like leaves in the chambers and corridors of the Palace. They would continue their relentless march, stopping only when they'd finally reached their destination.

The Imperial Archives were a rebuilt and reconfigured section of the old Jedi Archives that had once existed prior to the Faithless' occupation of Coruscant. Over the course of the battle, they'd been rather insulated from the fighting and destruction that had otherwise overtaken the Palace. The doors were still sealed tight, and there was evidence of attempted breaching that had evidently failed to produce results.

Isolda placed her hand on the Archive doors, and attuned herself to the currents running through it and the surrounding architecture. With a slight application of pressure, the doors began to buckle inwards and break apart along hidden, imperceptible fault-lines running all throughout. Isolda would step through the breakage, almost gliding over the threshold and into the initial archive foyer.

Sovereign Protectors, ones whose sole purpose was to guard the Archives against all intruders, rose up to defend their absent master's cache. Isolda did not speak a word nor did she express any emotion other than a wry smirk as the small cylindrical shape of her lightsaber slipped out of her voluminous sleeve and into her outstretched hand. Its scarlet blade illuminated the Prophet as she thumbed the activator.

Then she spun forward in a tight spiral, her blade slashing out to smite all those who would stand in her way.

Srina Talon | Mercy | Quinn Varanin
Arris Windrun | Eurydice | Meliant ​

 

[Vesper Thrace]

Vesper rounded the top of a staircase and brought her blaster to bear on those moving toward her before she could process that it was Mercy carrying a sentient sack of potatoes that Mercy identified as 'Srina' without so much as an introduction. Vesper's dark eyes lingered on the woman briefly; the woman needed no introduction. Vesper's gaze cut back to the big woman. "Mother," Vesper said grimly to Mercy. She didn't bow, though there was something of it in her voice. A deference that most others would never experience from Captain Thrace. Which wasn't to say that there wasn't contempt, or amusement, or curiosity, too. "Little trouble. You should see the other guys. We were still at full strength when I left my men to check on you."

Her eyes flicked past them, to where the storm raged outside. Her eyebrows furrowed a little. Can't these people conquer normally? Void Mother's mercy. Then she looked back to Mercy before falling into step beside them, dark eyes wriggling down Mercy's towering form and then up again. A wry smirk belied a sense of something even Vesper didn't quite know how to identify -- perhaps disbelief, perhaps distaste, perhaps impatience, "Whatever this baroque mating ritual is -- perhaps there is a better time and place for it. Put the blonde down; you may need your arms to keep the ceiling off our heads."

Her attention went to Srina Talon and she shrugged, vaguely apologetic. "Best I can do. Mother will do as Mother always does: what she will." Vesper, with the discipline of a soldier, checked her blaster pack briefly as they proceeded toward the throne room. "What is your plan, here? This place feels like it's about to flatten itself."

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Allies: Mercy | Srina Talon | Quinn Varanin | Darth Carnifex | Tavi Corvask
Eurydice | Meliant | Hasuras Na-Gerra

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