Invasion The Bacta War | Sith Order Invasion of High Republic Thyferra Chapter 1

[Aspect of Resolve]

The galaxy had spent weeks waiting for the next blow.​

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Since the Sith Order's devastating strike against New Cov, the frontier had become a battlefield without a front. Warships vanished into hyperspace only to emerge somewhere else along the Blackwall. Border outposts reported fleeting contacts, convoys disappeared, listening stations went dark, and raiding forces struck isolated systems before melting back into the unknown, leaving behind burning installations, shattered defenses, and a hundred conflicting reports. No two attacks looked the same, yet together they formed a pattern no strategist could quite decipher.​

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Some believed the Sith were testing response times. Others argued they were searching for weaknesses, measuring how quickly fleets could be pulled from one threatened system and thrown toward another. Every alarm demanded another redeployment, every distress call divided attention across an expanding frontier, and every engagement left the same question hanging over the Republic.​

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Where would the real blow fall?​

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The answer came above Thyferra.​

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Hyperspace ruptured without warning as Sith warships poured from the Blackwall in numbers unseen since the conflict began. Cruisers and carriers emerged alongside assault ships, troop transports, and escorts until the space above the planet filled with the unmistakable weight of invasion. There was no probing maneuver this time, no fleeting contact before retreat. The Sith had come in force, and before the scale of what had arrived could be fully understood, the first weapons were already leaving their launchers.​

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The missiles did not descend toward military bases or orbital defense sites. They did not seek out shield generators, armored formations, or command centers. Their trajectories carried them instead toward the vast Alazhi fields that stretched across Thyferra.​

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It was a horror the planet had known before.​

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Generations earlier, Sith fire had consumed the Alazhi, leaving broad stretches of Thyferra blackened beneath the smoke. The soil had eventually been reclaimed, the crops replanted, and the sprawling network of farms and refineries restored until Thyferra once again stood at the center of the galaxy's bacta trade. What had once been devastation had passed into history, its scars covered beneath generations of new growth.​

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The Satal missiles opened above those same fields.​

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Their payloads scattered across the plantations, and fire appeared almost everywhere at once. It began in scattered flashes among the Alazhi before surging outward with terrifying speed, swallowing cultivated rows and racing across the boundaries between fields. By the time the scale of what had been unleashed became clear, the flames were already consuming the Alazhi in great advancing sheets.​

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Smoke followed close behind, thick and black, rising in immense columns that darkened the sky above the plantations. Years of cultivation disappeared into the spreading inferno as entire stretches of Alazhi were consumed. The target itself made the intention plain. This was no incidental loss suffered beneath an orbital bombardment, nor had the crop simply happened to stand between the Sith and some greater military objective. The opening salvo had been directed at the very beginning of the bacta supply, and the Sith Order knew precisely what it was destroying.​

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Alazhi became bacta, and bacta bought something warfare could never produce enough of: another chance to live. It filled hospitals and relief vessels, military infirmaries and emergency clinics. It restored bodies broken by violence and kept wounds that should have been fatal from becoming death sentences. The substance had become so commonplace across the galaxy that its existence could almost be taken for granted, yet much of it began here, growing beneath Thyferra's skies.​

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The cost of the fires would reach far beyond the blackened earth they left behind. Every harvest consumed meant less bacta entering the refineries, fewer shipments leaving Thyferra, and less medicine moving along the supply lines that stretched outward across the galaxy. The full consequence could not be known in that moment, but the cruelty of the choice could. The Sith had returned to one of Thyferra's oldest wounds and reached for it deliberately, fully aware of what would be lost when the Alazhi burned.​

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Above the planet, the invasion was already spreading into the orbital lanes. Sith warships drove deeper into the system toward freighters laden with freshly processed bacta, cargo that the fires below could no longer touch. Boarding craft broke from their carriers and accelerated toward the transports while heavier vessels maneuvered around them, turning ships carrying some of the galaxy's most precious cargo into battlefields of their own.​

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Destroying those freighters outright would destroy what the Sith intended to possess. Every transport taken intact represented bacta that could be denied to the High Republic and claimed instead by the Sith Order, making control of the vessels every bit as important as the fleet action surrounding them.​

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The assault on the surface carried that same deliberate purpose. Sith armies descended beneath the pall spreading across Thyferra, moving toward refineries, processing centers, and the infrastructure responsible for transforming Alazhi into bacta. Unlike the fields surrounding them, those facilities had been conspicuously spared the opening bombardment.​

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Among the advancing formations came sealed containers and specialized equipment protected with unusual care. They did not resemble the tools of demolition crews sent merely to reduce the refineries to rubble. Whatever purpose they served, the Sith were carrying them toward the very facilities they had chosen to leave standing.​

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Thyferra was not simply another world to add to a border or another battlefield upon which to bloody an enemy. It was the beating heart of bacta production and trade, a resource whose value reached into nearly every war, disaster, and hospital in the known galaxy. Control of the planet meant control over a resource capable of sustaining armies, restoring the wounded to battle, and influencing how long a prolonged war could continue before casualties became impossible to replace.​

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That advantage belonged to the High Republic, and the Sith Order had come to take it.​

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The burning fields did not contradict that ambition. They revealed the price the Sith were willing to exact in pursuit of it. Thyferra could be replanted. Its damaged infrastructure could be rebuilt. What mattered now was breaking the system that supplied the High Republic while seizing the world from which that system could eventually rise again beneath Sith control.​

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The scattered violence along the Blackwall had reached its end. Whatever purpose the raids and feints of the preceding weeks had served, there could be no mistaking what had now emerged from behind it. The Alazhi were burning, Sith fleets were closing around the bacta above, and armies were descending toward the facilities that remained.​

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The Sith had burned these fields before. This time, they intended to remain long enough to decide what grew from the ashes.​

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The Battle of Thyferra had begun.​

Spoiler: edit

Added in Satal missile sub that wasn't linked

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As Sith and Republic forces transform Thyferra's sprawling Alazhi farms into bloody battlefields, the refineries and factories responsible for producing the galaxy's supply of Bacta have become some of the most fiercely contested locations on the planet. Every processing facility is now a fortress under siege as Republic defenders struggle to hold the line against relentless Sith assaults.​

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Yet the Sith objective extends beyond simply capturing these vital installations.​

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Strike teams and entire battle groups have begun forcing their way into the refineries while transporting large, sealed containers under heavy guard. Rather than withdrawing stores of Bacta, the invaders appear intent on delivering these mysterious cargoes into the heart of the production facilities, suggesting a purpose far more calculated than simple conquest.​

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Republic soldiers, Jedi, and local security forces race to intercept these incursions before the containers reach the refining systems, while Sith forces fight to secure corridors, breach defensive positions, and ensure their cargo reaches its destination.​

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Will you stand among the defenders desperately holding each refinery against impossible odds, or carve a path through the resistance to see the Sith's mission fulfilled? Every corridor secured, every shipment intercepted, and every factory won or lost will shape the fate of Thyferra's most precious resource.​

 

[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Lina Ovmar / Madrona A’Mia
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The fires spreading across the Alazhi fields were visible even in high orbit where Darth Strosius watched the planet from the viewport of His shuttle. The sight made one of His eyes twitch beneath His mask. "There won't be anything left on this world worth conquering once they're done with it." He muttered with a click of His tongue before leaving the shuttle pilots to their work in breaching the atmosphere.

A task made all the more difficult with the barrage still hitting the planet alongside the first wave of landing craft. The masked Sith Lord stepped into the main troop compartment where the Legionnaires and Xarnait droids that were being transported with Him were strapped in and doing their final equipment checks. Or rather, attempting to do their final equipment checks as the shuttle began to weave and dive through the air causing a fair bit of jolting for its passengers.

Not that Darth Strosius seemed to be bothered or even affected by the turbulence, His heavy footsteps not even staggering or faltering as He tapped on the side of His helmet to broadcast His words to the other handful of shuttles that were flying alongside and in the wake of His own. "My siblings in faith, welcome to Thyferra. The beating heart of Bacta production. One that we'll be tearing out today, by the root if need be."

He crossed His arms behind His back as He slowly made His way through the compartment, His head held high and shoulders back as the pale strands that comprised His "wings" flowed from His back. "We are not here to aid in the invasion of this world, as our 'peers' in the wider Sith Order are doing. Rather we are here for a much more important mission. We're here to ensure our own Bacta supply and production is uninterrupted by the fate of this world."

An explosion rocked the shuttle, causing the Legionnaires to clutch their harnesses and the droids to reaffirm their magnetic latches to the wall. Yet Darth Strosius remained undeterred and unbothered. "For too long this jewel of the Mid-Rim has exploited the galaxy with its precious Bacta, turning a profit off the suffering that the rest of its companion worlds have aided and abetted in our homes. Make no mistake, this 'High Republic' is little better than the Hutt scum that our brothers and sisters fight now as we speak. They simply have a better public relations department than the criminals."

Allocating forces for this endeavor away from their efforts in Hutt space had been a calculated risk but one that He had deemed necessary given the circumstances. Darth Strosius had brought more of His own soldiers for this battle than usual in order to ensure success of their mission and He didn't intend to for them to go to waste here. Ensuring that they had their own steady supply of Bacta was paramount, He could only hazard a guess at what might happen to Thyferra once it was ensnared by the Blackwall.

"You've all been briefed for what we seek. When we first land the extraction teams will collect as many Alazhi samples as they can and load them onto the shuttles, then remaining to guard them. The rest of you will follow me as we escort our engineering teams into the refineries. Any and all equipment that we can dismantle and salvage is a priority. Keep firefights quick, clean, and away from the refining machinery." Any damage to the expensive components was simply unthinkable.

They weren't quite prepared to manufacture any replacements after all. "Collecting containers of Bacta or Vratix produced Kavam will be of secondary importance alongside the downloading of any and all data on the refining process and the capturing of any facility personnel. The shuttle teams will find landing zones near our refinery infiltration points and will aid in loading any and all that we can gather from within them. Once everything is loaded we will be evacuating and leaving this war behind."

The shuttle banked to one side as Darth Strosius finally reached the rear ramp and turned to regard the assembled soldiers and droids. "Remember to safeguard your siblings-in-arms and to trust no one once we hit the ground. If anyone attempts to halt our efforts we put them down, no matter what uniform they wear. Any and all targets of interest such as Jedi are to be reported to me and retreated from unless withdrawal is impossible. I will handle all targets of interest, focus on your mission and your fellow soldiers first and foremost."

With a hiss the ramp began to lower, soon followed by a heavy jolting of the shuttle as it finally touched down and the harnesses and latches keeping the occupants safe were released. Darth Strosius gave the shuttle's carried troops one last bow of His head before turning on His heel and igniting the crimson blade of His lightsaber. Thyferra might burn today but He would ensure that His people still had access to the precious Bacta, no matter what it took.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Zaltin Corporation's Production Facility
Interacting with: Quinn Varanin
Items: x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x

It was that sickly sweet smell that made Thyferra smell medicinal to Sibylla.

It was not unpleasant, precisely. But the way the clean humid air always seemed to carry that subtle sweetness of cultivated alazhi and kavam drifting in from the agricultural zones surrounding the facility along with the layers of that sterile acrid scent of industrial processing made Sibylla's stomach twist in remembrance of the four weeks she had to be treated with it. Beyond the transparisteel walls of the atrium, sprawling plantations disappeared beneath Thyferra's heavy clouds, their harvest destined to become one of the most valuable substances in the galaxy.

Bacta -- and more importantly, a resource Naboo and the Republic could not afford to be without.

"The final preparations for the bacta shipments are underway, Your Excellency," Xa Tzuchtl chittered as the protocol translation droid beside the Vratix representative dutifully rendered the words into Basic, its mechanical voice carrying through the expansive atrium of Zaltin Corporation's primary production facility.

"Thank you, Xa Tzuchtl." Sibylla inclined her head, the delicate movement sending the fine filigree chains of her headdress to chime softly against her temples. She had dressed for Thyferra with considerably more practicality than Naboo couture traditionally encouraged, though anyone unfamiliar with the craftsmanship involved might have missed it entirely. The lavender leather had been tailored into an elegant jumpsuit, reinforced with a lining of Karlini silk. A broad belt cinched her waist, supporting the flowing panels of an overcoat skirt that fell from her hips and divided along either side to allow freedom of movement for her legs.

All of this and more would subtly protect the Voice of Naboo. And as the soft glow of the overhead light fell over her, the three pale scars that swept diagonally across the left side of Sibylla's brow and cheekbone were a permanent reminder the Imperial Elite Remova's attack and the deaths that had resulted in the wake of it.

Since then, Aurelian and Dominique had become rather insistent that Sibylla's wardrobe worn outside Naboo incorporated certain additional precautions. For once, Sibylla had not argued very much.

"I thank you for your time and for being amenable to the adjustment in the contract," she continued, folding her hands neatly before her. "Naboo understands that increasing production cannot simply be accomplished by changing a number upon an invoice. Additional cultivation, processing, transport, and security all require consideration."

"It is our pleasure, your Excellency." Xa Tzuchtl gave another small inclination.

The negotiations had gone remarkably well. Perhaps because the Kingdom was hardly alone in recognizing what was coming. For nearly a year, Naboo and the Republic had been preparing.

The War Bill had accelerated funding across nearly every defensive sector imaginable: fleet construction, clone forces, droid armies, border fortifications, patrol routes, logistics networks, emergency stockpiles. What had once been discussed as contingency planning had gradually hardened into something considerably more tangible after Black Sun, the Covenant, and the Sith Order had demonstrated exactly how quickly isolated attacks would inevitably become far more deadly.

Manaan had answered the Republic's growing needs by increasing kolto production, and vast quantities were already being purchased, distributed, and stored across Republic territory. But everyone knew that kolto was not bacta, and while Sibylla could appreciate sentiment as well as anyone, sentiment did not survive logistics reports and Bacta remained superior. The smaller quantities of the liquid could accomplish considerably more with less and if the Republic truly was marching toward the war everyone insisted was inevitable, then every medical facility, relief station, naval vessel, and planetary reserve would require it.

Which was why Sibylla had come personally.

The original agreement with Zaltin Corporation had already been accepted by the Kingdom of Naboo. As Voice, her responsibility now was ensuring the considerably larger numbers being requested could actually be supplied without compromising either party. There were few things less glamorous than supply chains, but there were also few things more capable of determining whether people survived a war.

With the final assurances exchanged, Sibylla turned toward her escort. While her work with Zaltin was finished for the moment. Xucphra Corporation was next, and her diplomatic vessel waited upon the shuttle pads to carry her to their corporate offices.

At least, that had been the plan, for the small Naboo entourage had only made it partway down the broad corridor when another delegation appeared from the opposite direction. Sibylla's attention had drifted toward them almost absently, but then recognition sparked through hazel eyes.

Quinn.

It had been some time since she had last seen the Queen of Eshan, and the circumstances surrounding their previous encounter had required no small amount of political maneuvering between Adelle, the Jedi Order, and the Republic Senate. Even now, matters remained complicated for more reasons than one.

There were still things Sibylla had not shared with anyone. Most notably, Quinn's admission that she was a Sith Councilor.

Part of Sibylla remained wary of what that revelation meant, particularly when looking back upon everything that had happened on Moorja. Yet there was another truth she could not simply dismiss: Quinn had risked her own life to save Sibylla and see her safely offworld in the midst of the attack. Their conversation afterward had left Sibylla with more questions than answers, particularly when Quinn had pressed her about where she stood.

Once, perhaps, Sibylla might have believed the answer simple. Now she knew better. The galaxy was becoming increasingly difficult to divide neatly between one side and another. Experiences have proven that with Ace, with Lysander, with the increasing skirmishes and attacks within and beyond High Republic borders. Alliances shifted, loyalties overlapped, and the people caught between them rarely fit comfortably within the boundaries governments attempted to draw around them. Eventually, Sibylla knew she would have to answer the question she had asked Quinn at Moorja for herself.

Where did she stand? And perhaps more importantly, when those lines were finally drawn, who was she responsible for protecting?

No, that was enough. Whatever philosophical crisis was attempting to bloom could kindly wait until she was somewhere considerably more private, Sibylla mused as the two delegations were nearly upon one another.

"Your Majesty." Sibylla's voice carried across the surrounding din as she slowed to a stop, prompting the Naboo escort behind her to do the same. She inclined her head respectfully toward the Echani Queen, the formal gesture softened by the faint smile that touched her lips. "This is a surprise."

Kohl lined hazel eyes briefly swept Quinn's entourage before returning to the familiar woman herself. One dark brow lifted with pleasant curiosity.

"Is Eshan looking to draft contracts for bacta shipments as well?"

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Tags: Madrona A’Mia Darth Strosius

Fire bloomed beneath them in great orange plumes that heralded the arrival of the Order. Lina had never been one for pointless destruction so she saw no joy in it, but she was wise enough to understand the need in this particular circumstance. A smile curled her lips at her beloved’s complaints.

“Fret not ki sosûtudas.,” she said softly, following in his wake the graceful form of the neti at her side, Wraithspire thunking against the durasteel with every other step. “Nature has a way of recovering from the worst of fires, it may look bleak, but with the right nurturing hands…” she trailed off, linking arms with her evergreen companion.

She split from A’Mia reluctantly as they stepped into the troop compartment, settling herself on Strosius left she left her gaze trailing across his legionnaires. For a moment, she saw two of each of them, one of flesh and one corporeal. The sight drew a frown, but it passed. She filed it under things to look into after the battle was won.

She released her grip on Wraithspire, the staff anchoring itself beside her like a stalwart guardian as she began to weave, the shadows in the room pulling towards her as her emerald eyes vanished beneath glittering pools of darkness.

Things began to move in their shadows, reflective eyes as beasts settled in their wake, waiting to be carried into the field. Around her companions her protection rose, a shimmering shield of translucent smoke that faded from sight after a moment or two.

The shuttle shuddered beneath their feet as it landed, and Lina turned toward the hiss of the landing ramp, fingers curling around her staff, flashing a wide smile at A’Mia before descending.

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Deep within Briana's consciousness sat a cave, bolted shut by a heavy metal hatch for her own protection. A dumping ground where she locked away the things she wanted to be done with, but couldn't altogether forget: The Cataclysm of Naboo. The burning of Ossus City. The harrowing culmination of her late teen-years during the war against the Maw. The hollow void of that final battle on Exegol where Cybelle had died and been summarily resurrected. The ghosts of her parents, Aiden, and Astor. The terrifying day she almost lost Bastila, and the mechanical arm that'd replaced her real one.

Other people and places existed there too. Things she buried so deeply, for so long, that she'd barely recognized their names as anything more than cruel, hurtful impulses.

She'd grown to loathe that cave and everything festering inside it, yet it'd been the sole engine driving her forward year after year, the only thing keeping her anchored to the next sunrise. Every time a new grief emerged, into the vault it went.

It was just a mental construct, of course, though she'd given it shape for Vizion, once. In the raw aftermath of an episode, after the hatch was violently blasted open and she'd confessed what the vault truly meant. It was the first time she ever put words to the grief she swore, after the death of her parents, to keep locked away forever.

But during the long months of her recovery with Vizion, the cave had finally gone quiet, and Briana believed that meant she'd healed. Not forgotten, but simply stripped of everything behind that hatch and its power to hurt her. That finally, she was whole.

Then, something unexpected happened, and she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the illusion of that cracked. It might have been the collision with Brandyn at the New Way facility, the distance she'd been keeping with Vizion, or the heavy, humid air of Thyferra settling against her skin as she buckled back into the armor of a Jedi soldier again. Or if it was simply the knowledge that somewhere beyond the horizon, Sith transports were already drawing closer.

Whatever the catalyst, the hatch was brought back into view.

It remained locked tight, but the simple fact that she felt its presence behind her, was disturbing.

Briana had slipped away to be alone when she realized its return, finding a secluded area where she could close her eyes, and focus on meditation of emptiness to clear those feelings, breathing deeply of the warm breezes to help anchor herself in the now. Gradually, the world beyond her thoughts returned. The packed soil beneath her boots. Perspiration gathering beneath the collar of her armor. The distant churn of machinery and the low, constant vibration of the refinery passing through the ground. The Force moved through all of it, binding her to something larger than the ugly vault inside her head.

After several minutes, she opened her eyes again, the feelings having bled from her. She flexed the fingers of her right hand once, the prosthetic responding without hesitation, then turned and headed back to her post.

Rik waited for her, crouched in the vines and trees, just beneath the shadow of the western bacta refineries. Far enough away that they wouldn't be immediately spotted. If he noticed that she'd been gone for longer than she'd conveyed, or saw something in her expression as she'd approached, he possessed the good sense not to mention it as she settled in beside him.

The shelter of the refinery only provided them with a semblance of relief, just enough to make a person aware of how pervasive the heat, humidity, and stink truly were. The air clung wetly to her skin and filled the back of her throat with the cloying, medicinal reek of processed bacta, hot machinery, and damp vegetation.

"We're in position and ready," she relayed over their secured comms.

Briana and Rik were the forward eyes here.

Other Vanguard teams waited, cloaked in the natural camouflage of the environment along the interior approaches, positioned between the outer yard and the refinery's critical systems. They would allow the Sith to land, clear their transports, and advance. Once Briana gave the signal, the Vanguards would move to help close the approaches behind them and try to deny them passage from venturing deeper into the facility.

During the interim, Briana put all of her concentration into a very different sort of focus while they still had use of the Force. Stretching her awareness outward, she linked together the minds of her fellow Jedi and Vanguards, but also the pilots and soldiers alike who might soon engage Sith forces. For many of them, this would be their first true baptism by fire against the Sith Order, gifting them with the unmistakable boon of...

Battle Meditation

OUTFIT: XoXo | ALLY: Rik Perris | ENEMY: Gerwald Lechner
EQUIPMENT: Jumpsuit, Astor Daary's Blade, Springloaded Gauntlets, Echo Stone, Force Blinding Flash Bang, Jedi Imbued Kolcta Grenades x2, Lightsaber

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[Tobias Dib]

Thyferra, a word synonymous with healing. But over the last century, a new identity was tied to the word: chaos, destruction, and annihilation. Today would not see the return of gentler descriptions. No, today they would beg for mere chaos, destruction, and annihilation. Their prayers to unseen gods would fall on deaf ears. Should the gods exist, they would cower in fear for what was about to be unleashed. And as space was rendered from cold silence into the arrival of Thyferra's impending doom, the gods wept in their inability to stop the force of unspeakable evil that arrived. No prayers, holy words, or whispered litanies would be answered. Soon, the voices that gave birth to such utterances would find screams in their stead. And the world would quake with awe-filled tremors at their arrival.

The silence in the dropship soothed his soul. When the bulkheads and flooring shuddered at their arrival, the man in the black beskar'gam was reminded of the labor pains of birth. The plans of the Sith were now realized after endless false starts; the braxton hicks of pregnancy were merely false starts to worry the lines of the High Republic, unaware that the Sith used it as misdirection and practice for when the birth of the plan was scheduled. And today was the due date, the time for their carefully crafted machinations and plans to be executed down to the most minuscule of details. This was the day Thyferra was reborn in their image.

The soldiers standing in the hold, along with countless other drop ships clustered all around, wore helmets with a blue, glowing T-visor that matched their master's own—Ronin, who now served their liege lord and master, Nemesis. They stood, silent, with weapons held at the ready. For they knew upon landing they would pour forth like a plague, a scourge upon all they encountered. And their warcry would be the name of their lord; whether in victory or death, the name of Nemesis would be spoken with reverence.

Another wave shuddered through the ships as missiles flew past them through the clouds to slam into the forests, igniting trees, animals, and sentient beings without distinction. The tools of the Sith contained no pity, no remorse, and no mercy, much like the silent giant at the center of the hold. They were all tools, all weapons of the Sith. And as such, emotions like fear and regret claimed no foothold in their hearts. Only completion of their orders. The ships rocked from the turbulence of entry, the heat shields taking the brunt of the friction caused in their almost nihilistic descent.

From the ground, the drop ships' entry would appear hauntingly beautiful—a meteorite shower of biblical proportions. It was a genesis of heavenly serenity that would bring a revelation of death. And as they watched from below, their wonder at the impossible sight turned to dread as they finally understood what they witnessed. Not a magical, once-in-a-lifetime display from the cosmos. Instead, they bore witness to the terrible might of the Sith war machine. The only wishes on the falling stars would never see the light of day. Nor would the beings who spoke them.

As the drop ships pierced the planet's scattered clouds, an industrial metropolis glowed in the darkness of night. One of Thyferra's largest cities, it served as a holding stage for bacta after it left the refineries. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of bacta waited in shipping containers near the eastern edge of the metropolis with a clear view of the massive forests that sloped up hills toward a majestic mountain ridge. However, the view was no longer one of the wonders of the world, for the missile strikes had traced the highest point of the ridge and consumed life in all its various shapes and sizes. Even now, the many clans and families of the Vratix fled the certainty of fiery death that swept down from the mountains and into their sanctuaries within the forests. Aided by a western wind, the fires spread toward the eastern edge of the city, driving the Vratix who could escape, and consuming those who were not as fortunate.

When his drop ship thudded onto the duracrete, the extended landing skids bounced for several meters as the repulsors corrected their arrival, and the long ramps descended to expel the waves of his Ronin. His heavy footsteps rattled the ramp under his sheer size. The matte black of his armor reflected neither celestial light nor the artificial illumination from elevated fixtures on the light towers. His buy'ce turned toward the city's perimeter as more missiles rained from orbit to detonate along the outer edges of the city. North, south, and west glowed from the destructive blasts that engulfed whole city blocks along the borders. Not even a minute later, several more bombs were dropped in quick succession. Instead of impacting the streets and buildings, they detonated several hundred meters above the city in diminutive cluster bombs. When the tiny bomb clusters were a scant hundred meters above the streets, they burst, dropping hundreds of razor-sharp flechettes into the population who had escaped the building to congregate upon the streets. Tens of thousands of the laced razor projectiles found the warm flesh below.

Within the shuttles were carefully packaged barrels with a specific intent. And though they were retrieved and unloaded, their purpose had yet to be revealed. All would come to fruition in due time. What remained was for action to prepare the path forward for his many plans. Soon the name of Thyferra would echo with the deeds the Sith would perform this day. And history would never forget the horrors.

The giant turned to his Ronin and barked orders which echoed from his external speakers and communication devices on their personal frequency. "Detachment A, prepare for the imminent arrival of our targets. Detachment B, secure the perimeter of the industrial factory parks. Detachment C, on me." A chorus of "yes sir" reverberated in the night sky and through the comms. And then they went into action. Nemesis stared at all the containers of refined and packaged bacta and allowed his lips to twitch into a smile. It was going to be a good day. Then he began walking toward the factory storage facilities, boots crushing pebbles into powder with every stride. Security scrambled into action across the industrial warehouses as Nemesis drew his lightsaber blade and ignited it with the same motion.

With his agendas in sight, it was time to implement the next stage of his plan. And gods help anyone who would stand in his way, because they would need them for their last rites. A red countdown flickered transparently on his HUD.
6.00.00
5.59.59
5.59.58
5.59.57 ...

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
ALLIES: SITH ORDER
ENEMIES: Briana Sal-Soren | Kitt Solo

The first missiles fell while Gerwald was still above the clouds.

From the forward viewport of the descending shuttle, their trails appeared as thin lines of fire cutting through the atmosphere ahead of him, one after another disappearing beneath the cloud cover toward the agricultural regions below. Somewhere far above, beyond the reach of sight, his flagship continued to loose its payload toward Thyferra while other vessels joined the barrage from orbit.

Gerwald watched in silence as the first impacts struck.

At that distance there was no sound, only sudden blooms of orange opening across the landscape beneath the shuttle. Fire took hold among the Alazhi crops almost immediately, spreading outward until separate blazes began to meet. Fields once divided by careful lines of cultivation vanished beneath advancing walls of flame, the destruction spreading faster than the shuttle could descend toward it.

By the time Thyferra's agricultural regions resolved into something more distinct, whole stretches of cultivated land were already burning. Flames consumed crops that had taken time and careful cultivation to produce while thick black smoke climbed overhead, gathering into immense columns that began to swallow the world beneath them.

Another string of missiles passed the shuttle, their burning trails briefly filling the viewport before vanishing into the smoke below. Gerwald followed their descent until they disappeared, his expression unchanged. There was no reason to look away from what he had ordered. The devastation below was not an unfortunate consequence of the invasion. It was part of it.

Thyferra was more than territory held by the High Republic. Its fields fed the production lines that created bacta, its refineries processed the substance that kept soldiers alive after battles that should have killed them, and its distribution networks carried that medicine into wars far removed from the world where it had been made.

Gerwald knew its value better than most.

There had been a time when Thyferra belonged to the Confederacy, when the Dread Wolf served beneath another banner and saw firsthand the boon the world provided. Armies could be replenished, wounded soldiers returned to service, and campaigns sustained that otherwise might have collapsed beneath the cost of attrition. Bacta had given the Confederacy more than medicine. It had given them endurance.

Now Gerwald intended for the Sith to possess that same advantage.

There was no sentiment in the thought. The Confederacy belonged to another chapter of his life, while the wars ahead belonged to the Empire. Sith armies would bleed, and conquest could not be maintained through strength alone. Every campaign eventually became a question of what remained after battle had consumed men and materiel. Thyferra could answer part of that question.

The shuttle banked toward the refinery complex selected for the Second Legion's assault. Other transports descended around it through the gathering smoke, carrying infantry, armored support, ammunition, and everything required to establish the invasion below.

Several carried something else.

Sealed containers had been distributed among the assault elements, reinforced against impact and contamination and secured beneath armed guard even among Sith forces. Their contents were known only to those who required that knowledge.

Gerwald knew what rested inside them. For now, that was enough.

The Dark Councilor stood near the front of the troop compartment as the shuttle continued downward. He had never intended to remain aboard his flagship and watch Thyferra burn from orbit. Once, men had called him Lord Commander, and while the title belonged to another life, the instincts that earned it had never left. Gerwald had spent too many years commanding warriors from the battlefield to begin sending soldiers somewhere he was unwilling to go himself.

Behind him stood The Dreadguard, armored figures holding disciplined silence against the turbulence of atmospheric descent. They were not an honor guard. Gerwald had brought them because he expected something below to refuse to move, and the Dreadguard existed for precisely that moment. They were the part of the Second Legion committed when an objective had to be broken open so the rest could pour through.

The shuttle plunged into the smoke and daylight disappeared. Orange light flickered across the viewport while ash struck the hull in scattered bursts, and another distant detonation painted the troop compartment red before darkness closed around them again.

Gerwald reached for the lightsaber secured at his waist and pulled it free.

When the shuttle broke beneath the smoke, the refinery appeared ahead through the haze. Processing towers, conduits, storage systems, and production facilities rose beyond burning farmland while Second Legion transports descended across the approaches. Several were already on the ground, releasing infantry and armored elements toward the complex.

Somewhere inside those structures, bacta continued through the systems that made Thyferra indispensable. Behind Gerwald, sealed containers waited to be carried into those same systems once the assault reached far enough. Taking the world would wound the High Republic. Burning its fields would disrupt production. What came next was intended to leave something deeper. There were cleaner ways to wage war. Gerwald had never confused clean with effective.

The shuttle settled into its final approach as the Dreadguard shifted into readiness. Gerwald turned from the viewport, gold catching in the corruption of his eyes as he looked across the warriors behind him. They did not need a speech.

"With me."

The shuttle struck the ground and the ramp began to fall. Heat and smoke rolled into the compartment carrying the bitter scent of scorched vegetation, burning fuel, and the sharper chemical undertone of the industrial complex ahead. Gerwald stepped onto Thyferran soil first, the Dreadguard following as the Second Legion advanced toward the refinery around them.

The Dark Councilor moved toward the line rather than remaining behind it, and the Dreadguard adjusted around him with practiced familiarity. Their aggression was not frenzy. Gerwald shifted toward the developing advance and squads altered position with him, tightening pressure where he directed it without the need for repeated commands.

The Howl of the Wolf needed no sound. The Dread Wolf was among them, and those trained to fight beneath him understood what was expected.

Ahead, the refinery waited. Gerwald refused to imagine what resistance awaited them before it appeared, but whatever attempted to stop the Second Legion would meet the Dreadguard. Whatever survived them would eventually meet him.

Behind the advance, the sealed containers were unloaded beneath heavy guard and began moving toward the complex. Their purpose remained locked behind reinforced walls and sealed catches, waiting for the moment Gerwald decided they were needed.

Thyferra burned ahead of him while the means to make the wound deeper followed behind.

Gerwald tightened his grip around the hilt of his lightsaber and continued toward the refinery with the Dreadguard at his side.

 

[Helix]

Tag: Balun Dashiell
Equipment: Shotcannon​

Gunfire echoed through the corridors of the bacta storage facility, a staccato crackle of auditory death. An outside observer might judge from the screaming that one side was losing.

An interior door exploded inward, taking a pair of weathered-looking soldiers with it. Both men sprawled into the next room, sent tumbling by the force of the blow that had struck them.

One Republic trooper, for so they were, struck the far wall with a sickeningly-final crunch. His remains slumped to the floor, neck lolling unnaturally and lifeless eyes staring out at nothing. A disfiguring grimace of fear warped his features, even in the indifferent emptiness of death.

The other, and perhaps the unluckier of the two, attempting to right himself, reaching for a sidearm before a massive metallic heel stamped down on his wrist with considerable force.

For the second time, the sound of fractured bone echoed through the space, followed closely by an animal scream of pain and terror.

The soldier forced himself to look up at his tormentor. If he was going to die, then he'd meet his end like a man.

Or so he imagined.

His eyes travelled over smooth, alien contours of gently-shifting liquid metal. The monster was almost cadaverously thin, far more so than would be possible for any being of flesh and blood. Yet it stretched upward, terminating in a quartet of terrible, soulless red eyes.

A silent conversation passed between victim and victor, with those four fiery pits managing to communicate a malice that few mortal men could ever understand, let alone stare down. The depths of that hate and contempt could fill entire libraries, were a trembling hand to dare set it to page.

The soldier stammered, furrowing his brow and attempting to spit defiance. The words caught in his throat as the terror took him, but he did manage them at last. His captor waited patiently.
"You'll never-" he began, before the tall droid levelled the barrel of its shotgun down to his forehead and squeezed the trigger, showing every sign of boredom.

The deafening echo of the gunshot, the third sound today to mar the oppressive silence of this space, rang in the air. Helix pumped the weapon's action lazily, ejecting a massive spent shell and elevating another into the chamber.

One of the Ranger droids with him wiped the resultant spray of blood and biological offal from itself with clear disgust. Helix had half a mind to tell him to get used to it. It would be the first of many today.

The room they'd arrived in was but the tip of the iceberg, and they had a lot of tedious manual labor ahead after those last few minutes of light-hearted fun. Row after row of blank Bacta storage vats stretched on into the distance, the first warehouse of many.

"Spread out." Rumbled the droid commander, speaking aloud for the first time. His voice was a lofty, unnaturally-echoing bass, somehow managing to carry even in the vastness of their surroundings.

"Introduce the samples to as many vats as time allows. The enemy will not allow us to remain undisturbed forever, and doubtless a response is already on the way."

The small team consisted of himself, six elite droid commandos, and a new terror, freshly belched from the diseased minds of the Dzara.

This crawling thing stood head and shoulders even over the inhumanly-lofty Helix, but at the moment it knelt, opening a cavity in its abdomen.

Inside were dozens upon dozens of vials of silvery liquid, unlabelled and ominous. The droid infantry began to pluck these vials up, tucking them into utility pouches.

Then, as ordered, they each picked a row and got to work. The spidery courier droid tensed, then sprang up into the shadowed rafters of the poorly-lit warehouse; while Helix paced up and down, offering careful supervision. The Watchman would, fittingly enough, provide overwatch of the warehouse, while also ferrying more vials where needed.

Their task today was twofold. Officially, his mission was to deny these assets to the enemy by whatever means were available. Unofficially, and unsurprisingly, he had his own goals.

This little operation was but one part of two, the other being overseen elsewhere by his close ally Darth Nefaron . The genius of the plan was simple: only one of them needed to actually succeed.

Should either manage, they would hold a significant portion of the galaxy hostage, at worst. At best, well. That could be dealt with later. The thought made Helix tense with ill-contained glee.

The resultant power leap would cement the Dzara forever as a great player in the endless spinning wheel of galactic power.

He supposed it would technically fulfill his official mandate from Sith command as well, though that was a distantly-secondary consideration to Helix. At the end of the day, his wants always came first, and what he wanted today was to give the galaxy's gormless masses one hell of a wakeup call.

 

[Kitt Solo]

Gerwald Lechner Briana Sal-Soren (you've got this)

(Kitt the one-post wonder with special thanks to Gerwarld)

Eyes glinted with a mischief that should only be reserved for the most scoundrel of scoundrels. Good thing that was Kitt. The world was burning around them. The refinery was in a panic. Maybe it was because of Sal Soren's battle meditation. But there stood Kitt, hip cocked to one side,devil-could-care attitude with purple lightsaber ignited and pointed at the horde of sith approaching. Dark-brown trench over her belted pair of shorts and crop-top band-shirt from the last Izzy Izzard concert. And those thigh-high boots. Sunglasses perched on her head with earbuds already in and blasting one of her favorites.

Armor-smarmor.

“Alright babes, let’s go.” Singing as she went, she launched forward.

“I wanna taste love and pain. Wanna feel pride and shame,” a flick of her fingers and three legionnaires went flying into others behind them. A duck as some energy bolts sizzled over her back. She smelled a tinge of burned hair.

“I don’t wanna take my time.Don’t wanna waste one line.”

With her free hand she grabbed one of the soldiers and spun them around as if in a dance before landing a knee to the groin and then a kick.

“I wanna live better days. Never look back and say. It could’ve been meeee.”

Her lightsaber swung like a bat, slicing through a round of limbs who’d been trying to grab onto her.

“...I can’t hear you. I won’t fear you.”

The force surged around her as she snatched onto their fear - amping up those emotions and making some of them turn and run. Others pissed themself or just collapsed. Yikes.

Someone grabbed her shoulder from behind. She spun, getting a fist to the jaw. Tasting blood, she grinned and spit. Then punched him back. Just as her comm rang. Blowing a mock-kiss to another one charging her, the force went with her exhale sending out a powerful force push to knock a few back. One earbud still blasted music while the other took her call.

“Seriously?” Duck, swing. “The Republic Highway and Droid Motor Vehicles doesn’t have anything else. Come on, man-,” another force blast as she felt something hot nick into her shoulder. Ouch. A worried look.

Then the force gathered around her, she raised her fist and released a force quake, sending a decent 360 shockwave from her point of center before snapping her fingers. Kitt Solo disappeared from the battle field completely. Not before giving a final wink across the field to one Gerwald Lechner .

 

[Connel Vanagor]

TITLE
VIGILANT REAPER
ENROUTE

Omega Squad Every Day Gear Locations

• Michael, Gabriel, Raguel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel , Sariel, VIGILANT REAPER
  [Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
• 
  Rides
  
  • "Enterprise" Station Ship
  • Vigilant Reaper
  • Null Vector
  • Speederbike
  • Iron Psalm
  Gear/Armor
  
  
  • Gear(“Bodycam” Datapad, UAD Drone, link to Seraphim AI included)
  • Lightblaster
  • Shortsabers (“Night” and “Day”)
  • 5 Throwing Lightknives
  • 3 Force Blinding Flashbangs
  • RI-17 Rifle-w-MS-0412 Grenade Launcher
  SURGICAL - CRYBERNETIC IMPLANTS
  
  • Repli Implants that would be for the limbs
  • Bonemer enhancements to strengthen structure of the body
  • Muscle enhancements.
  • Hemo enhancements for blood flow
  • Hawkeye implants for eyes
  • Advanced Medical Implant
  • Scentzy
  • Injected Nanotech upgrades
  
  
  
• Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise

Hyperspace turned the narrow viewports of the Vigilant Reaper into rivers of blue-white light.

Nobody watched them.

There was work to do.

The troop bay was alive with the quiet mechanical chorus of men preparing for war. Power packs were seated and checked. Magazines were stripped, inspected, and returned to pouches. Optics flickered through diagnostic cycles. Armor seals hissed. Grenades disappeared into webbing. Blades were drawn just far enough from their sheaths to ensure that they would draw cleanly when needed. Nobody spoke louder than necessary.

Nobody needed to.

Thyferra waited on the other side of hyperspace. The Sith Order had come for the planet, and the reason was obvious enough. Thyferra was more than another name on a galactic map. Its bacta flowed into hospitals, military aid stations, refugee centers, civilian clinics and emergency rooms across known space. Control the supply and one did not merely control medicine.

One controlled who received it.

Who could afford it. Who healed. Who didn't. Omega Squad had been given simpler instructions. Don't let them. Connel Vanagor pulled the charging handle of his rifle and released it.

Clack.

His lightsabers remained where they had been secured. For once, nobody was checking those. There had been enough rumors about what the Vanguard intended to employ on Thyferra that rumor had ceased being a useful word for it.

An artifact. Ancient. Powerful.

For a limited period of time, within its area of effect, there would simply be no Force. Not weakened. Not obscured. Gone. No precognition. No telekinesis. No heightened reflexes. No sensing danger before it came. No Jedi.No Sith.

Just people.

Someone finally broke the silence. So what happens when they turn that thing on?

Connel looked up. Several helmets turned toward him.

He could have answered. Instead, Commander Bren Alazar “Michael” finished securing his weapon and stood. What happens?

Michael looked slowly around the compartment. A grin began somewhere beneath the exhaustion and tension. They just made the biggest mistake they're going to make today.

A few heads lifted. Michael pointed toward Connel. You know what the Sith see when they look at him?

Connel's eyes narrowed.

He already disliked where this was going.

A Jedi Master. Michael shrugged. They see the lightsabers. They see the Force. They see all the stories people tell about Jedi, and they figure that's what makes him dangerous.

His eyes moved across Omega Squad.

COLOR=rgb(184, 49, 47)]They're wrong.[/COLOR]

A couple of smiles appeared.

They turn off the Force, they lose everything they depend on. No sensing us coming. No throwing us across rooms. No choking somebody from twenty meters away. No jumping three stories because stairs offend them.

That earned the first laugh.

Michael didn't laugh with them. Us? He slapped a fresh power pack into his weapon. Click. We lose nothing.

The compartment went quiet again.

We were trained to fight deaf, blind, wounded, separated, surrounded and outnumbered. We breach doors without magic. We clear rooms without magic. We shoot without magic. We bleed without magic.

He looked directly at Connel.

And Ariel? He let a beat pass. He learned to do it our way.

Connel slowly rose. At six and a half feet in armor, the movement changed the atmosphere of the compartment. He picked up the black mask resting beside him. For several seconds he simply looked at it. Then at them.

Coruscant. Who here believes it should have happened? Nobody moved. He didn't need to explain.I stood there and watched people who believed nobody could stop them decide what happened to everyone else.

His fingers tightened around the mask. I watched a city burn. We all did. Coruscant isn’t the only one.

For the briefest instant, the troop compartment wasn't there anymore. The Temple. The Destroyers. His father. Then it was gone. Connel looked around at Omega Squad. I promised myself something afterward.

His voice had become quieter. That made everyone listen harder. Never again.

He stepped into the center of them. I don't care what flag is flying over the Sith ships. I don't care what title the person commanding them has. I don't care how many soldiers they brought.

His gaze hardened. They came to Thyferra, not the first since, but one of many, because they think taking bacta means taking power. Connel shook his head. They're wrong.

He gestured toward the deck beneath them.

Because somewhere down there is a kid who is going to need that bacta. Another gesture. A soldier. Another. A mother. His hand dropped. Somebody we will never meet. Silence.

They don't know we're coming.

Connel looked at Michael.

Michael smiled.

They're going to.

Connel looked back at Omega. You want to know who we are? He raised the mask.

We are Omega Squad! We are sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers. We’re husbands and wives! We are the right hand of justice! The left hand of equity! We are the boot that is going to kick their sorry butts all the way back behind that damn Black Wall!! We are righteous incarnate and the last living thing that they are ever going to see if they don’t leave. Ashla sent us and Bogan is afraid of us!
We're the people who go where everyone else is trying to get out. The mask slid over his face. Seals engaged. The HUD awakened… and he heard it. His mother’s voice. The ritual that shuts down much of his emotions.

You will feel no remorse for those who would show none to you.
You will feel no fear beyond the fear of failing those behind you.
You will seek no reward beyond mission success.
You will feel no pain until death.
You are not wrath.
You are not vengeance.
You are the Light’s wraith.
His voice emerged electronically flattened. We're the people standing between them and everyone they came here to hurt. Not the ones who want to fight them and become no different. The last clasp locked. ... and today?

Ariel looked toward the sealed troop-bay doors. We're the reason the galaxy begins to take the light back and darkness having a deathgrip on it doesn't ever happen again.

The stars returned. Not gradually. Almost as if on cue. Hyperspace simply vanished. Thyferra appeared beneath them. The Vigilant Reaper had emerged far above the planetary plane, approaching from the polar region rather than joining the predictable traffic lanes and military vectors surrounding the contested world.

Immediately, the ship began to disappear.

Active emissions dropped. Running lights died. Systems shifted to passive. Heat management engaged. The Reaper became what its name promised. A shadow moving toward the world below. Michael turned back to his squad.

You will feel no remorse for those who would show none to you.
You will feel no fear beyond the fear of failing those behind you.
You will seek no reward beyond mission success.
You will feel no pain until death.
You are not wrath.
You are not vengeance.
You are the Light’s wraith.
You will feel no remorse for those who would show none to you.
You will feel no fear beyond the fear of failing those behind you.
You will seek no reward beyond mission success.
You will feel no pain until death.
You are not wrath.
You are not vengeance.
You are the Light’s wraith.
You will feel no remorse for those who would show none to you.
You will feel no fear beyond the fear of failing those behind you.
You will seek no reward beyond mission success.
You will feel no pain until death.
You are not wrath.
You are not vengeance.
You are the Light’s wraith.
Fire teams. Everyone moved. There was no shouting now. No speeches. Those were finished. Names were called. Assignments acknowledged. Breach. Support. Overwatch. Medical. Demolitions. Fallback rally points. Emergency frequencies. Extraction contingencies. Then contingencies for when the contingencies inevitably went to hell. Connel checked his rifle one final time.

Then the lights changed.

White.

Red.

The troop compartment transformed instantly. Every conversation stopped. Every helmet turned forward. Hands tightened around weapons. Ariel stood among them. No Force. Maybe that should have frightened him. Instead, something Caltin had taught him years ago came back with startling clarity.

The Force had never made him who he was.

It only helped him become it. Michael's voice came through the squad channel.

Omega.

The Reaper banked.

Gravity shifted beneath their boots. Outside, unseen beneath cloud and darkness, Thyferra rushed upward to meet them. Remember something.

The red lights reflected across black armor and dark visors. They think that artifact made this a fair fight. A few helmets turned toward him. Michael grinned. Let's correct that misunderstanding.

The light over the deployment bay changed.

GREEN.

The doors opened.

Wind screamed into the compartment. Rain exploded through the opening. Far below waited darkness, jungle, Sith positions and a world that had no idea Omega Squad was already above it. Connel stepped to the edge. For one heartbeat he stood there. Jedi Master. Shadow. Son of Caltin Vanagor. Husband. Soldier. Ariel. He didn't need the Force to know exactly who he was.

Connel looked back at them. Bring fear to the fearful.

Michael raised a fist. REAPER DROP! Omega Squad moved.

And Thyferra never saw them coming.

The ground came fast. Rain hammered Connel's mask as the descent line screamed through his gloved hand, the jungle rushing upward through the darkness beneath him. Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten. His boots hit mud.

Connel released the line and dropped immediately to one knee, rifle already against his shoulder. Ariel, down. A second impact behind him. Michael, down. Another. Gabriel. Another. Raphael

Omega Squad materialized one by one from the darkness beneath the hovering Vigilant Reaper, each operator hitting the ground, releasing his line and immediately taking responsibility for a sector. No cheering. No dramatic declarations. They had done those already. Now there was work. Connel's HUD painted the jungle in shades of artificial light. Rain became static. Tree trunks became hard outlines. Friendly transponders appeared one after another across his display.

The last woman disconnected. Omega, check. The new “Sariel”, ironically the sister of the original.

Green icons answered Bren Alazar across the tactical net. Bren looked up. The Reaper was already leaving. Its lines snapped upward as the dropship banked away, running lights dark, engines muffled beneath the storm. Within seconds the black silhouette had disappeared behind the canopy. Connel couldn't hear it anymore.

Good.

Move.

They disappeared into the jungle.

The first charges were planted six minutes later. Raphael covered Jeremiel while Connel worked beneath an elevated service conduit leading toward the refinery complex from their position. This would be an important thoroughfare getting into the refineries. It would not last long if the motion sensors were tripped. .

The intelligence had been right.

The Sith were moving on the bacta refineries.

They had to.

Capturing Thyferra meant nothing if the infrastructure required to process its most valuable resource was destroyed in the fighting. That simple necessity gave Omega something more useful than another platoon. Predictability. Bren(Michael) crouched beside a drainage channel and studied the refinery schematic projected across his wrist display. Three primary approaches.

Four, Connel corrected.

Bren glanced at him.

Connel pointed toward a narrow maintenance road winding between two enormous processing structures. That's rated for service vehicles.

Too narrow for armor.

Not after they clear it.

Bren stared at the road for another second. Then smiled. Good. That expression usually meant somebody else was about to have a terrible evening. Gabriel.

[/COLOR] Already moving. He disappeared. Relaying information to the strike teams.

Connel followed.

The refinery sprawled through the Thyferran jungle like a mechanical city, towers and processing stacks rising above the canopy while enormous pipelines disappeared between structures. Service roads wound through storage facilities, pumping stations, loading yards and maintenance buildings.

The Sith would see infrastructure.

Omega saw geometry.

Every road had width. Every bridge had capacity. Every corridor had an entrance and an exit. Every wall had a weakest point. Every vehicle needed somewhere to go. And every army, no matter how large, could only move through the space available to it. So Omega began making less space. A charge beneath a service bridge. Another along a retaining wall. The Sith would see the refineries, they would not see the spaces between them. This would be their mistake.

Directional explosives concealed beneath refinery equipment. Not to destroy the facility, but to create a bottleneck, a chokepoint where the Sith would be funneled into a space too small to contain them. Remote detonators attached to structural supports that nobody would notice unless they knew exactly where to look. Connel planted his own charge against a junction housing and armed it.

Green.

[Ariel. Set.]

[Raphael. Set.]

Gabriel. Set.]

Michael’s voice remained almost conversational.

[Fall back.]

Omega vanished. Minutes later, Sith scouts entered the refinery perimeter. They found nothing.

High above Thyferra, the Vigilant Reaper watched.

It had climbed after deployment, exchanging proximity for invisibility until the dropship became little more than another dark object against an already dark sky. Passive sensors drank information from below. Heat. Movement. Communications. Vehicles. Aircraft.

The tactical picture grew.

[Michael, Reaper.] Bren touched his comm.

[Send it.]

[Multiple contacts approaching refinery sector Aurek. Infantry strength increasing. Vehicle column forming approximately four klicks northeast.]

Michael looked toward Connel. Connel was watching the road through magnified optics. Nothing yet. Only rain.

[Estimated strength?]

[Still building.]

[Keep counting.]

[Copy.]

Connel lowered the rifle.

Bren apparently read something in his posture. Ariel?

Connel checked his rifle. Magazine seated. Optic functioning. Mask functioning. Comms functioning. Four green Omega identifiers glowed across his HUD. He looked at Bren. I'm good.

Thought you might be.

Connel almost laughed.

Almost.

Then the Reaper interrupted them. [Omega, movement.] The first Sith infantry appeared. Dark figures advanced carefully through the rain. Connel watched them through his optic. Some moved like soldiers. Others carried themselves differently.

Sith.

One stopped suddenly. Even at this distance Connel could see the confusion. The figure turned its head. Searching. Reaching instinctively for something that wasn't there.

Connel understood.

Contact, he whispered.

Hold, Bren answered.

More Sith appeared. Then more. The refinery road began filling. The first armored vehicle rolled into view. Then stopped. A team moved ahead. They had discovered the obstruction Omega had left across the primary access road. Connel watched engineers dismount.

Smart, Raphael muttered. They brought equipment. The Sith began clearing the obstruction.

Bren said nothing. Omega Squad waited. Minutes passed.

Heavy machinery arrived.

Debris moved. The road reopened. Sith infantry started forward again. Then stopped. Something farther ahead had collapsed. Another engineering team moved up. Connel looked toward Bren. Bren was smiling again. The second obstruction disappeared. The Sith advanced. Exactly where Omega wanted them.

[Reaper,] Michael whispered.

[Watching.]

[Anything coming up behind them?]

A pause.

[Affirmative. Second infantry element approaching. Vehicles stacking behind first formation. They're committing to the cleared route.]

Connel understood immediately.

They weren't merely creating a path. They were creating a traffic jam. Michael looked across his team. Nobody touches anything.

Omega waited. The Sith cleared another obstacle. Then another. They were good. Disciplined. Methodical. Every obstruction Omega had placed before them was being defeated. The road opened wider. Infantry pushed forward. Vehicles followed. More soldiers entered behind them. The Sith had successfully cleared themselves a beautiful, unobstructed approach directly toward the bacta refinery.

Bren waited until the last engineering vehicle had entered it.

[Reaper.]

[Go.]

[Mark the northern approach.]

[Marked.]

[Service route?]

[Marked.]

[Vehicle staging?]

[Marked.]

Bren looked at Connel. Connel gave him one slow nod. Bren keyed his transmitter. [Thump 'em.]

For three seconds nothing happened. The Sith continued forward. One soldier raised an arm and waved the column onward. Then the night turned white. The first detonation came from beneath them. The service bridge disappeared in a rolling wall of earth and ferrocrete. A heartbeat later the retaining wall blew outward. Tons of reinforced material collapsed across the roadway behind the advancing column.

Then Omega's buried charges began firing in sequence.

One. Two. Three. Four.

The carefully cleared northern approach ceased to exist. But Michael wasn't finished. High above them, unseen beyond the clouds, the Reaper fired. The first precision strike hit the vehicle staging area. The earth jumped. The second struck the junction behind it. A third carved into the open ground beside the refinery road.

Not the refinery.

Not the bacta processing infrastructure.

The terrain around it. The Sith had come to capture the facility. Omega intended to make them earn every meter required to reach it. The shockwave reached Connel several seconds later. He felt it through his boots. Even beneath the mask, he smiled. The rain continued falling.

Where several roads had existed moments earlier there were now craters, collapsed structures, burning vehicles and mountains of debris. The Sith formation had been divided. Forward elements were trapped. Reinforcements couldn't reach them. Vehicles couldn't maneuver.

…And the only remaining intact approach into the refinery was barely wide enough for infantry.

Michael stared at it through his optics.

Well.

Connel shifted his rifle. You planned that.

I was hoping they'd cooperate.

They seem accommodating.

Very considerate people.

A new transmission arrived.

[Michael, Reaper. Additional Sith forces redirecting.]

Bren's smile disappeared.

[Where?][Toward the western access.] Connel looked at the refinery schematic. Western access. Narrow. Elevated. Hemmed between two processing structures. He magnified the map. Then he started laughing. Well, as much as Connel ever laughs, which is really more of a quiet chuckle than anything else.

What?

Connel highlighted the approach. Michael saw it. Then Gabriel. Then Raphael. One after another, Omega understood. The Sith had reacted exactly as expected. The northern approach was gone. The eastern route couldn't support vehicles. The southern access exposed them to the refinery security grid. So naturally they were redirecting toward the west. Toward the one path Omega had deliberately left untouched.

Michael looked at Connel. We can control their approach. Make them fight our fight.

Connel tilted his head. Pack’em, Stack’em and Rack’em.

Exactly. Bren changed channels. [Omega, reposition. Western refinery access. Reaper, relay Sith troop positions.] Weapons came up. Safeties clicked off. [Let them through the outer checkpoint. Nobody fires until Raphael opens."]

[COLOR=DARKBLUE[Roger, Roger][/COLOR] Information was being relayed to Strike Team Leaders.

Acknowledgments sounded. Connel started forward. Then stopped. Something occurred to him. Bren. You KNOW you’re insane, right?

Bren stared at him. Thank you, Master Jedi.

Just making sure we're historically accurate.

Their problem, not ours.

Connel chambered a round. Clack. Good.

He looked toward the narrow western approach. The Sith were coming. No Force. No precognition. No supernatural reflexes. No invisible hand waiting to save either side from a mistake. Just terrain. Preparation. Weapons. Training. And Omega Squad. Connel pulled his mask tighter. Let's drive THEM nuts.

They moved.

Behind them, the bacta refinery continued operating.

Ahead of them, an army was being compressed into a corridor.

And somewhere high above the storm, the Vigilant Reaper quietly began acquiring its next targets.


CONNEL VANAGOR AND OMEGA SQUAD ARE RELAYING SITH MOVEMENTS TO OTHER LEADERS ON THE GROUND

TAGS • ARE • OPEN
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​

 

[Aerik Lechner]

Wearing: This | Weapons: Lightsaber | Knife
ALLIES: Irina Jesart | ENEMIES: Kito​

Aerik could hear Irina's heartbeat without trying.

There were hundreds of other sounds competing for his attention as they moved across Thyferra. Weapons fire carried from somewhere beyond the burning fields, machinery labored through smoke and churned earth, and Sith soldiers advanced toward the refinery complex ahead. Armored transports moved among them carrying the sealed containers they had been ordered to deliver into the facility, their cargo protected with considerably more care than the soldiers escorting it. Beneath it all was the constant roar of fire consuming the Alazhi crop, yet Aerik could still separate the steady rhythm beside him from everything else. Usually there was something comforting about that familiarity. Today, with the scent of blood beginning to find its way through the smoke, hearing Irina's heart only reminded Aerik of how easily he could hurt her.

The blood was not hers. Aerik knew that immediately, and the ease with which his senses distinguished the difference bothered him. Someone had been wounded ahead, perhaps several people, and his body had noticed before conscious thought caught up. Aerik kept walking beside Irina while he waited for something else to follow the recognition. His hand remained away from his lightsaber, his breathing stayed even, and the scent did not awaken the hunger he had come to fear.

Aerik needed that to mean something.

Since Brosi, he had spent more time than he cared to admit trying to understand which parts of that day had belonged to him. There were pieces he remembered clearly enough to wish he did not. He remembered Irina beneath him and his teeth buried in her shoulder. He remembered the warmth of her blood filling his mouth and the terrible need for more. There had been no anger toward her and no conscious desire to hurt her. Whatever had taken hold of Aerik had reduced someone he cared about to something that could satisfy its hunger, and it would have continued if Torvald and Skadi had not stopped him.

That was the truth Aerik had been forced to live with. He had nearly killed Irina, and whatever intention he possessed before losing himself did not change what his body had done afterward. The scar beneath her armor existed because of him. Aerik could apologize, train until his body failed him, or spend the rest of his life insisting that Noćna Mora was something separate, but none of it would erase the mark his teeth had left in her flesh.

Darth Prazutis had never allowed him to hide behind that distinction anyway. The months after Brosi had been spent learning to recognize the difference between the wolf Aerik had carried all his life and the other presence that had surfaced through violence and hunger. The wolf possessed instincts Aerik understood, even when they were difficult to master. The Noćna Mora frightened him because there had been nothing to master once it consumed him. Aerik simply ceased to be part of the decision.

His training had changed that, or at least Aerik hoped it had. Away from battle, with Prazutis watching and every exercise designed around control, Aerik had begun to believe he could recognize the danger before reaching that point. Thyferra was different. There was already blood in the air, and there would be considerably more before the fighting ended. Aerik could prepare for that reality, but preparation was not proof.

The absence of Skadi Lightbane made that technicality impossible to ignore. She had stopped him once when Aerik had been unable to control himself. That knowledge had become a quiet assurance beneath everything Prazutis taught him, one Aerik had not fully appreciated until he knew she would not be coming to Thyferra. If his training failed here, there would be no one beside him who had already proven capable of dragging Aerik back from Noćna Mora. Torvald was not there either.

There would only be Irina, and Brosi had already demonstrated what that could mean.

Aerik glanced toward her as they continued through the smoke. Arriving together had been unusual for them. Their lives seemed better practiced at colliding after trouble had already begun, yet this time they had chosen the same path before the fighting started. Aerik had considered changing that before the deployment. He could have found another assignment or put enough distance between them that Irina would not be the first person within reach if he lost himself again.

He had rejected the idea because the danger was real rather than because he believed it was not.

If Aerik began deciding where he could go and who he could stand beside according to what the monster might do, then the thing did not need to surface to control him. It could remain buried somewhere inside and still dictate his choices. Fear of another Brosi could separate him from Irina as effectively as another attack, and Aerik refused to surrender that much of himself without a fight.

Knowing that did not make the decision easier. Aerik wanted Irina beside him, and admitting that to himself made the possibility of hurting her again considerably worse. Her presence was familiar in a way very few things had become familiar to him. He did not want to spend every moment near her measuring the distance between his teeth and her throat, nor did he want Brosi to become the lens through which every future moment between them was viewed.

Another gust pushed smoke across their path, carrying a stronger scent of blood with it. Aerik felt his attention sharpen toward it before he could prevent the reaction. For an instant, memory supplied what Thyferra had not. He could taste Irina's blood again and remember the sensation of flesh yielding beneath his teeth. The recollection brought a tightness into his chest that Aerik forced himself to endure rather than escape.

He listened to Irina's heartbeat.

The sound did not belong to prey. It belonged to someone Aerik knew, someone he cared about, and someone he had nearly taken away from himself because there had been a moment when he could no longer understand the difference. Aerik held onto that distinction while the memory passed and Thyferra asserted itself around him again.

He was still there.

The realization offered less comfort than Aerik had hoped it would, but perhaps comfort had never been the point of what Prazutis was teaching him. Control could not depend upon the absence of fear, blood, or hunger. It had to exist when all three were present, especially when there was no Skadi nearby to correct his failure.

The refinery became clearer through the smoke as they approached, and the sounds of fighting around it grew louder. The transports carrying their payload continued forward with the Sith advance, each meter bringing the sealed containers closer to the facility they had been ordered to breach. Aerik knew his part in making certain they reached it. Whatever stood between the Sith and those doors would have to be removed, and that part troubled him considerably less than what might happen once the killing started. Thyferra would force Aerik to discover whether the control he had fought to build could survive an actual battlefield, and he could not know the answer before reaching it.

Aerik rested his hand against his lightsaber and looked toward her once more. He had considered warning her, but Irina already knew what he was capable of better than anyone. The pup had considered asking her to keep her distance, yet doing so would allow the fear of the Noćna Mora to make the choice for both of them. Besides, he knew what her response to that would have been.

Aerik remained beside her instead.

For the first time since Brosi, there would be no one else responsible for bringing him back if he lost himself. Aerik would either prove that Prazutis had taught him enough to master the thing inside him, or he would discover that the person he most wanted beside him was still the person who had the most to fear from what he could become.

 

[Judah Lesan]

WEARING: Robes
WEAPONS: 2 Lightsabers
ALLIES: Lorn Reingard | Acier Moonbound
ENEMIES: Srina Talon | Mercy

The guard had stopped taking Judah Lesan seriously months ago.

That had become one of the few small victories available to him.

For more than a year, Srina Talon had kept him contained, watched, tested, and subjected to enough that the edges of his own mind no longer felt entirely trustworthy. Time had blurred somewhere along the way. Memories surfaced without warning and vanished just as quickly, sometimes leaving him unsure whether what he remembered had actually happened or whether it was simply another scar she had left behind. Judah had learned to hide the uncertainty behind the same thing he had always used when life became too heavy to carry honestly.

He made jokes. Bad ones, usually.

Judah complained about the food, criticized the guards' uniforms, asked whether Sith architects were legally forbidden from designing anything cheerful, and once spent nearly twenty minutes explaining why prolonged imprisonment was probably responsible for the gray beginning to creep into his beard. None of it mattered, but it gave him something familiar to reach for. If Judah could still irritate someone, then some part of Judah was still there.

The guard outside his cell had endured more of it than most.

"You ever consider changing careers?" Judah asked from where he sat against the wall. When the guard did not bother looking at him, Judah continued anyway. "I hear freight hauling is nice. Lots of travel. Less guarding Jedi."

That finally earned him a glance. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Judah appeared to give the question serious consideration. "There was a period where I was unconscious."

The guard rolled his eyes and looked away again, which ordinarily would have ended the exchange. Judah would have found something else irritating to say eventually, the guard would have ignored that too, and another meaningless portion of his captivity would have disappeared into all the others.

Except something felt different.

The realization came slowly enough that Judah almost dismissed it as another trick of his damaged mind. Beneath the confusion, the missing memories, and all the things Srina had left behind, there was something familiar waiting for him. He reached toward it cautiously and felt the answer move through him with a clarity he had not known in more than a year.

The Force.

Judah went very still.

It was not one of the distorted impressions that sometimes accompanied a memory, nor the instinctive awareness of danger that occasionally managed to break through the haze. This belonged to him. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name, and for the first time in longer than Judah cared to measure, his mind possessed enough focus to do more than simply feel it.

His eyes shifted toward the guard.

Apparently there was only one responsible way to test that.

"You know," Judah said, settling comfortably against the wall again, "now that I think about it, you really should check these restraints."

The guard sighed without looking around. "There's nothing wrong with your restraints."

Judah let the Force move with the next words, carefully threading the suggestion beneath the same unserious tone the man had learned to ignore.

Judah glanced down at them as though reconsidering. "You should probably check."

The suggestion slipped into the words almost effortlessly. For the first time since his captivity began, Judah felt another mind bend beneath his influence.

The guard turned toward him. "I should check."

That nearly ruined it.

Judah had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "Definitely. I'd hate for the Empress to find out you neglected prisoner safety."

The containment field dropped, and the guard stepped inside.

A few moments later, Judah was standing over the unconscious man with his access cylinder in one hand and his blaster in the other.

"See? Broken."

After that, the escape amounted mostly to confidence, stolen clearance, and the good fortune of finding a small transport sitting ready in a nearby hangar. Judah did not bother searching for anything better. The longer he remained inside Srina's reach, the greater the chance that the clarity he had briefly found would disappear again.

He stole the ship and ran.

Eventually, the guard woke to discover his prisoner missing, his credentials gone, and one of the facility's transports conspicuously absent. The unfortunate man found himself placed in front of a communications terminal not long afterward, nursing both a headache and the certainty that his career was about to become considerably shorter.

"Uhhhhh... Empress... I got some bad news. That Jedi you were holding onto... he escaped."

Judah did not remember deciding to go to Thyferra.

That bothered him.

The coordinates were sitting plainly on the navigation display when the stolen transport dropped from hyperspace, and he knew enough to recognize that he had entered them himself. Somewhere between escaping Srina and reaching the system, his mind had apparently made a decision that had not bothered to leave him a copy of the reasoning behind it.

That was becoming familiar.

He remembered people without knowing where they were. Places surfaced in his thoughts attached to emotions he could not always explain. Sometimes a memory felt perfectly real until he reached for it, only to watch it collapse beneath the scrutiny. More than a year under Srina's attention had left him unsure where the damage ended and Judah Lesan began.

Thyferra, however, made a certain kind of sense.

Bacta was produced here, and if there was anywhere in the Outer Rim where someone like Judah could quietly disappear into treatment without immediately drawing Sith attention, it would be a world like this. He did not need a lecture to understand what his body was telling him; he needed help, and he needed it somewhere that would not ask too many questions about why a Jedi looked half-broken and still standing.

There had been several battles here once.

The Galactic Alliance had been here.

That meant the Jedi might still have been here too, or at least left something behind worth following.

It was a thin thread of logic, but Judah had followed worse.

The stolen transport emerged directly into the fighting above the planet. Warships filled the space ahead, smaller craft weaving between them as weapons fire cut across the darkness. Far below, smoke spread over sections of Thyferra's surface, marking the devastation already underway across the world.

Judah stared through the viewport for several seconds before releasing a tired breath.

"Of course I picked the war."

Flying, thankfully, had survived whatever Srina had done to him. His hands moved naturally across the controls as he angled the transport away from the worst of the engagement and began searching for a path toward the surface. That small familiarity was almost comforting. Judah did not need to remember how to fly because his body remembered for him.

The comfort lasted until something struck the rear of the ship.

The transport lurched violently. Warning indicators flashed across the console as the engine lost power, and Thyferra began filling considerably more of the viewport than Judah would have preferred.

"Yeah... um... that's probably not supposed to do that."

He fought the descent, trying to determine what had hit him while simultaneously keeping the damaged ship from turning into a very expensive crater. It could have been a stray missile or a burst of laser fire from somewhere in the engagement. Judah never saw it coming and had no interest in hanging around long enough to investigate.

The atmosphere caught the ship hard.

For a moment the violent shaking, flashing warnings, and scream of damaged machinery became something else inside his head. Judah saw pale hair where there was smoke and remembered golden eyes watching him with terrible patience. Srina's voice surfaced somewhere behind the noise, close enough that his hands momentarily loosened around the controls.

The ship dropped sharply.

Judah blinked and forced his attention back to the cockpit.

"No. You're NOT here."

Whether he had spoken to the memory or himself, he could not say.

The transport responded sluggishly as Judah dragged its nose upward. Below him stretched fields, industrial facilities, and broad patches of terrain already scarred by fire. He searched for somewhere clear enough to put the dying vessel down, but the engine finally surrendered before he found anything ideal.

The crash was ugly.

The transport hit the ground hard, bounced, and tore across the earth until momentum finally surrendered to Thyferra. Judah remembered the first impact, part of the second, and nothing at all immediately after that.

When consciousness returned, he was still strapped into the pilot's seat with blood running from somewhere near his hairline and smoke curling through the ruined cockpit.

For several seconds Judah simply sat there.

He knew he had escaped.

He knew he was on Thyferra.

Beyond that, his thoughts refused to line themselves up in any useful order.

Judah released the restraints and climbed carefully from the wreckage. Every part of him seemed to hurt, though nothing immediately suggested he was going to die, which qualified the landing as a success by the standards of his younger years.

Outside, the invasion stretched across the horizon.

Smoke rolled above the fields while distant fighting carried across the landscape. Judah stood beside the wreck and tried to remember what had brought him here.

The answer came without explanation.

The Jedi.

He needed to find the Jedi.

The Jedi were enough.

Someone among them might know what had happened during the time he had lost. Someone might be able to tell him where his family was, what the galaxy looked like now, and whether the pieces inside his head could still be put back together. They could help him find Katara Starkos-Lesan

Wait... she was dead. It was Malcoma Hesse now.

Judah looked toward the distant battle and started walking.

For now, he only needed to find one of them.

"I need to find Cambria Zadira ."

 

[Revna Marr]

​

Wearing:​

Ring || Lightsaber || Necklace || Armor​

​

Revna watched with impassive eyes through the viewport of her ship as the burning of Thyferra began. High above, in orbit above the planet, the order had been given to begin the destruction, signaling that the Sith war machine was on the march once again. Star destroyers and battle cruisers rained their payloads down through the atmosphere in burning trails, their impacts blooming into reddish orange fireballs that decimated and ignited anything flammable at the ground - mostly the agricultural fields that swayed below, and now which turned to smoke and ash on the winds.

Along with dozens of other shuttles filled with soldiers and supplies, Revna guided her personal craft towards the burning fields below. Though she had barely recovered from the last battle she’d been in on behalf of the Sith Covenant - it was enough to see her lending her fighting skills and ability to the Eleventh Sith Empire’s bid to gain complete control of the galaxy’s supply of bacta.

But to do that, they first had to wrestle the world out from underneath the control of the High Republic.

She idly wondered what sort of force the Republic would show up with, in order to counter the Sith invasion of one of their arguably most important worlds. The Republic was also home to Light siders - Jedi or other similarly minded individuals - that would likely rise up to try and push back Sith forces. The thought of perhaps battling another Force user sent a thrill through Darth X’averia’s veins, but she tempered her excitement for the time being, at least until she knew what they were going to be up against.

Once planetside, Revna took in the view around her. Great columns of smoke and ash rose high into the sky, blackening the horizon and casting an ominous red-orange hue over the landscape as it blocked out the planet’s sun. Beyond the burning fields and landing Sith forces was the refinery itself, a prime target for the Sith. Already the Second Legion was here, Councilor Gerwald’s forces being the first to land and begin the march towards the refinery.

Some of them were escorting or guarding containers that were also on their way towards the refinery. Revna decided she would be best suited, for the time being, in carrying along with the troops and transports - ready to fight off any Republic forces that were likely to descend on them. Her saber hilt found its way into her hand, though she did not ignite the blood red blood, not yet at least.

The ripple of dread, fear, anger, and death through the Force told her that the battle had initiated in earnest, somewhere ahead of her. It likely wasn’t long now before the Republic descended in full force to try and push the Sith out or at least on the defensive. Ember eyes scanned the burning landscape around her as she carried forward with her self-imposed escort of the crates bound for the refinery. She didn’t know what was in them, but if Gerwald wanted them to reach the refinery, then she would do her part to try and make that happen.

But she also knew it was only a matter of time before someone showed up to try and ruin those plans. ​

Allies: The Sith Order
Enemies: The High Republic
Direct Opposition Tag: Zaiya Ceti

​

 

[Muad Dib]

Location: on the surface of Thyferra
Allies: the High Republic, barf, and the Jedi order, puke
Enemies: the Sith Order
Tags: OPEN, Rin Taal


Why was he here, on Thyferra of all places? The blackwall brushed many of the High Republic systems. And while many of those systems had been reinforced by recent diplomatic sessions and countless war room meetings, only one remained woefully unprotected. Thyferra. A planet home to several sentient species with an export that affected the entire galaxy. So the mad master took up a garrison on the planet. Ships stood on standby should the need to exfil and relocate to another theater of war become necessary. For the first time in a long time, Muad hoped he was wrong. An attack here would have devastating consequences that would ripple throughout space, not to mention the many innocent lives who resided on the planet. No, this was just a base of operations, not the scene of an upcoming war. At least he hoped.

He sat on one of the logs that had been dragged before the small campfire and looked into the orange flames. Muad was never one to fall into a trance with visions from the Force assaulting his senses. But as he watched the fire wreathe within the small confinement, he believed it was a portent of things to come. The madness of war would not be contained to a small section of the planet. Instead, it would wash across the land and spread like wildfire. Despite his affinity to fire, he silently acknowledged that this time fire would not bring the cycle of rebirth, but death.

Slowly, he stood and stretched, working life back into his limbs as his gaze flickered over the hundreds of tents erected in the large clearing. These were his people, both Aegis Tactical Troopers and United Siskeen Coalition infantry—men and women who were trained for warfare. They would do their duties, of that he was sure. However, the closest tents were inhabited by those of his Clan and a contingent of Aegis Knights. These would follow him into battle as an honor guard, though it was his honor to have vode with him for the upcoming battle.

Orange light flickered across his beskar'gam, the matte black armor lit from the small fire. One armored hand lightly brushed the shoulder of the woman who shared the log. The light danced across her features, sharp lines and delicate features. Her naturally brown hair, threaded with sun-bleached gold, took on the color of burnished copper. Tips of her ears sprouted from her hair as her golden eyes reflected the dancing flame. Her tan skin deepened from the light. He couldn't suppress the grin that stretched across his features despite the weight of current circumstances.

"Ner mesh'la cyrar'ika." The words were not spoken flippantly, but with grave depth given their circumstances. The woman he had met on Batuu had joined the cause, not because of her planet's affiliations, but because of two very important things that warmed his chest. Rin had come because he would be there. And she came to lend whatever assistance to the natives in the coming madness of battle. Healer, musician, guide, and a whole litany of other titles she had shown herself adept at. Of which warrior was not the least of them. He would never have presumed to ask her not to come. It would have earned him a playful, yet stern, cuff and the narrowing of golden eyes that spoke volumes. Rin Taal was a protector, and here, on Thyferra, there would be plenty of need for protecting.

While he would not wish for any of those he called aliit to be in a warzone, it was his calling. And, thus, theirs as well. The hypocrisy of denying others the chance to stand up for those unable to do so themselves warred bitterly with his desire to keep them safe. And so he remained silent while taking strength from her presence.

Despite his current role as Senator of Siskeen, Muad found he had little affection for the High Republic. Or the Jedi Order. Few within the upper echelon impressed him. Yet this had nothing to do with the democratic machinations which occurred throughout Republic space. The matter in question was that the natives of Thyferra were merely pawns in the game of thrones and power. They would be the ones to pay the price in the coming battle. Innocent families caught between two mega powers who cared only for the resources of their planet. Bacta. He and his were not here for the power play that would unfold. Only to try to mitigate as much damage and loss of life as they could.

His face turned, words gathered on his lips, when one of the tents opened and a massive mando'ad headed directly for him. He closed his eyes as he sighed for two reasons. The first was that the woman approaching was one of his young bu'ad, Jade Dib. If it were his choice, he would have kept the young woman safely back on Olanet. But she was mando'ad, passed her verd'goten, and blooded. It was her right to join the Clan, despite his misgivings. The second reason for his sighing expulsion was that she monitored all communications and traffic and reported only when enemy contact was made. "They're here, ba'buir." His hand pulled a comlink from his belt and released a squelch. There was no need for orders. They knew when the sound echoed across their comlinks it was time to form up.

Glowing blue eyes looked to the Zorren woman, and he offered her a small smirk. "I won't ask you to stay safe. Just be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Hells, don't do anything I would do either." His arms found their way around her as their foreheads rested against one another. "I lied. Try to stay safe. Or as safe as you can be. Help as many as you can." He raised his voice. "Jade, go with Rin. Do whatever she tells you to do. Don't worry, I'm sure you will still see action." Muad leaned in and gave Rin a light kiss. "Take care of the natives and watch out for Jade. And yourself." After several more moments, he nodded and abruptly turned to walk away.

The skies streaked with falling rockets and missiles, drop ships and shuttles falling in their wake. Orbital cannons lanced upward, seeking enemy targets. Many were destroyed. However, the swarm that descended was too great for the defense, and impacts on the ground spread fires while the ships found their landing zones. The Sith had come. Not as liberators. Not as benefactors. No, they had come to take. Resources and lives. And they were there to try to stop at least one of their objectives. To save as many people as possible.

The swagger in his step disappeared as his strides lengthened and he focused on the coming confrontation. Blood would be spilled, of that he had no doubt. Natives, attackers, and defenders. Muad only hoped the price would be worth it. Each line in the formations he passed held faces and armor he knew. Soldiers who had bled with him. Soldiers who had survived countless battles. But for every face he recognized, countless others were missing, fallen on other worlds to march into the Manda. It was the price of war. Multiple nearby explosions made several in formation flinch—rookies, virgin soldiers. He had faith enough in the veterans in the ranks to see them through.

Standing at the head, Muad looked over his people as he attempted to memorize their faces. Many would no longer be counted in their number by the time the war was over. That was the cost of war. "Soldiers of Aegis, of the United Siskeen Coalition, of my Clan. You know what we came to do. Let's get it done. OYA!" A war cry rang out as the amassed warriors echoed his words. Oya.

Muad turned toward where the many ships had landed to disgorge a multitude of attackers. On this field of battle, death would reap his harvest. It was his job to make the cost high enough and keep their focus on them so the innocents could escape the battlefield. War was a hellish landscape filled with hellfire. Lucky for him, he liked fire and battle. Muad moved towards the enemy with a grin of expectation.

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The oppressive heat of Thyferra's jungle pressed against the heavy plating of Brandyn's Commando armor, turning the unfamiliar suit into a stifling oven. Sweat stung his eyes, and the hum of his personal shield generator vibrated uncomfortably against his ribs. He felt clumsy. The weight of the service pistol at his thigh, the rifle slung over his shoulder, and the vibroblade at his waist felt like awkward burdens compared to the elegant lightsaber hilt beside them. He was a Jedi, not a soldier, and this contingency gear was a stark reminder of how vulnerable he would soon become.

The message to Brianna had been clear. The Vanguard was moving.

To prepare for the possibilities that could come, Brandyn had chosen a different path than the main Vanguard. He needed to get behind the advancing Sith before his powers vanished. Reaching out into the Living Force, he wove the ambient light around himself and Bastila, wrapping them both in a seamless cloak of invisibility.

Maintaining the illusion required absolute focus. Every squelch of mud beneath his heavy boots, every snap of a branch in the dense, overgrown canopy, threatened to break his concentration. Swarms of stinging insects buzzed against his visor, and the air was thick with the stench of rotting vegetation. In the distance, the muffled thunder of explosions and the distinct crackle of laser fire echoed through the massive trees. The Sith invasion had begun.

Urgency clawed at him. If the artefact activated while they were still in the open, their camouflage would instantly dissolve, leaving them exposed in the brush.

Through the tangled vines, a concrete silhouette finally loomed - an abandoned supply bunker, swallowed by the jungle. Brandyn slipped through the rusted doorway into the shadows, checking the perimeter. It was the perfect staging ground to launch a surprise rear assault.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Brandyn let his concentration slip. The bent light snapped back into place, revealing his armoured form and Bastila beside him in the gloom.

Bastila Sal-Soren Velda Nar-Donna
​

 

["Ariel"]

Get off Thyferra
VIGILANT REAPER
ENROUTE

Omega Squad Every Day Gear Locations

• Michael, Gabriel, Raguel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel , Sariel, VIGILANT REAPER
  [Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
• 
  Rides
  
  • "Enterprise" Station Ship
  • Vigilant Reaper
  • Null Vector
  • Speederbike
  • Iron Psalm
  Gear/Armor
  
  
  • Gear(“Bodycam” Datapad, UAD Drone, link to Seraphim AI included)
  • Lightblaster
  • Shortsabers (“Night” and “Day”)
  • 5 Throwing Lightknives
  • 3 Force Blinding Flashbangs
  • RI-17 Rifle-w-MS-0412 Grenade Launcher
  SURGICAL - CRYBERNETIC IMPLANTS
  
  • Repli Implants that would be for the limbs
  • Bonemer enhancements to strengthen structure of the body
  • Muscle enhancements.
  • Hemo enhancements for blood flow
  • Hawkeye implants for eyes
  • Advanced Medical Implant
  • Scentzy
  • Injected Nanotech upgrades
  
  
  
• Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise

The Vigilant Reaper never touched the ground.

It didn't need to.

High above the burning forests of Thyferra, hidden among cloud, rain and electronic silence, the black dropship crossed the edge of the industrial metropolis without lights, active sensors or any other unnecessary announcement that it existed. They secured refineries but those were not the targets.

Far beneath it, the Sith had already announced themselves. The horizon burned. Connel Vanagor watched it through the open deployment hatch. Not the city. The forest. Entire sections of it were burning. Through breaks in the smoke he could see movement below. Hundreds of shapes fleeing eastward ahead of the advancing flames. Vratix. Families. People. The Sith had arrived. And already people were running. Connel stared downward for another moment. Coruscant tried to crawl into his thoughts.

He didn't let it.

Not again.

[Reaper, thirty seconds.] Connel checked his weapon. The world changed. Rain became data. Smoke became thermal gradients. Terrain became elevation. His lightsaber remained secured at his side. His weapons within his hands. Across the compartment, Commander Bren Alazar “Michael” raised one fist.

Omega Squad stood.

Remember what we said upstairs.

Bren looked from helmet to helmet.

They think that they have the advantage. The deployment light turned red. It doesn't.

The Reaper banked.

They've been fighting Jedi. Bren slapped his helmet into place. They still get us.

GREEN.

REAPER DROP! Omega disappeared into the storm.

Connel hit the ground hard enough to drive one knee into Thyferran mud.

[Ariel, down.]

[Michael, down.]

[Gabriel.]

[Raphael.]

The calls continued.

Connel released his descent line and immediately brought his rifle up. Nothing. No incoming fire. No Sith waiting for them. Only rain. Smoke. And screaming somewhere beyond the trees. The Reaper was already gone.

Move. Omega moved. They found the first Vratix less than two minutes later. Then another. Then dozens. Some were wounded. Some carried children. Others carried whatever possessions they had managed to grab before fire consumed their homes.

Connel stopped.

Michael didn't have to ask why. Jeremiel.

The corpsman was already moving. Connel looked toward the glow beyond the trees. This wasn't an invasion anymore. Not to him. This was Coruscant. Different planet. Different enemy. Same arrogance. Someone had decided that everyone standing between them and what they wanted was expendable. Connel had already seen where that thinking ended.

Once was enough.

[Reaper,] Bren whispered.

The answer came through immediately. [Go, Michael.]

[Talk to me.]

A pause. Then Omega's tactical displays began populating.

[Multiple Sith formations inside industrial district. Significant troop concentration around storage and processing facilities. Additional forces establishing perimeter.] Icons appeared. [Three principal concentrations.]

Bren crouched beside Connel. [Show me.]

The map expanded. [Group Aurek holding near eastern approaches. Group Besh establishing perimeter around industrial parks. Third formation moving deeper into storage complex.]

Connel studied the display. [Vehicles?]

[Multiple.]

[Air?]

[Present. Tracking.]

[Those storage tanks?]

[Refined bacta.] That got everyone's attention.

Connel enlarged the image. Rows upon rows of containers. Enough bacta to save… He stopped calculating. It didn't matter. Enough. Then something else appeared.

[Reaper, back up.] The image returned. Connel pointed. Several Sith soldiers were unloading cylindrical containers from landed transports. [Those.]

[Unknown.]

[Explosives?]

[Unable to determine.]

[Chemical?]

[Unable to determine.]

Connel stared at them. [Mark every one.]

[Already done.]

Bren looked at him. Don't touch the mystery barrels.

Wasn't planning to.

You were absolutely planning to.

Connel looked at him. Eventually. Despite everything, Bren chuckled. Then the tactical picture changed. Sith units began moving. Connel watched their routes appear across the map. Three detachments. Three areas of operation. And only a handful of major transportation corridors connecting them.

He saw it.

So did Bren. Well.

Connel looked at him. Yeah.

Bren enlarged the map. Roads. Bridges. Service tunnels. Elevated transit routes. Loading corridors. The Sith had secured an industrial district. In doing so, they had surrounded themselves with bottlenecks. Bren pointed. Gabriel, western service road.

Got it.

Raphael, northern junction.

Moving.

Ariel.

Connel was already standing. Eastern access.

Don't collapse it yet. Connel stopped. Bren smiled. Let them use it.

Now Connel understood. Oh.

Yeah. That was considerably better. Omega disappeared into the city.

The first charge took Connel thirty-seven seconds. He pushed the detonator into the structural recess beneath an elevated transit span, armed it and watched the indicator turn green.

Ariel set. He moved. Another charge disappeared beneath a duracrete retaining wall. Another beneath the support structure of an abandoned cargo platform. Not enough to destroy the industrial complex. That wasn't the objective. Omega wasn't destroying Thyferra to save it. They were changing its shape. A road became a funnel. An intersection became a dead end. An open loading yard became a firing lane.

Every explosive had a purpose.

Every demolition removed one choice from the enemy. Soon the Sith would have choices remaining. Omega intended to know what those choices were before the Sith made them.

[Michael - Reaper.]

[Go.]

[Enemy movement increasing. Perimeter detachment redeploying toward northern industrial access.]

Bren checked the map. [How many?]

[Enough.]

[That's not a number.]

[Still counting.]

Connel reached his position overlooking the eastern transit corridor. Below him, Sith infantry moved between buildings. Behind them came armored vehicles. They were advancing confidently. Of course they were. The Sith had arrived in overwhelming force. They had bombarded the planet from orbit. They had set forests ablaze. They had murdered civilians. They had landed an army. And somewhere inside the industrial district, their commander was probably very pleased with himself.

Connel settled behind his rifle. Michael.

Yeah?

hey're clearing the eastern obstruction.

Let them. Connel watched Sith engineers work.

Minutes passed. The obstruction disappeared. Troops moved through. Vehicles followed. More infantry entered behind them. Connel waited. The Force was still there. For now. He could feel the distant stain of the Sith through it. Confidence. Anger. Hunger. They believed Thyferra belonged to them already. Connel closed his eyes. Enjoy it.

Bren's voice returned. [Reaper, status.]

[Enemy column committed. Approximately sixty percent through eastern approach… wait… seventy…] Bren waited. [Eighty.] Nothing. [Ninety.]

Connel watched the final armored vehicle enter.[Column committed.]

Bren keyed the squad frequency. [Omega?]

One after another:

[Set

.]

[Set.]

[Set.]

[Set.]

[Set.]
Connel touched his detonator.[Ariel set.]

Bren switched frequencies. [Reaper.]

[Standing by.] A pause. Rain ran down Connel's mask. The Sith continued advancing.

[Thump 'em.]

Connel pressed the trigger. The city moved. The eastern roadway erupted behind the Sith column. Duracrete lifted into the air. The retaining wall came down. Farther north another explosion tore through an intersection, collapsing an elevated transit span across the road beneath it. Then another. Then another. The paths the Sith had just cleared vanished beneath fire, rubble and cratered earth.

The Reaper joined in.

Something screamed down from high above. The first precision strike hit an empty junction between two Sith formations. The second cratered the roadway beyond it. The third demolished a bridge that had moments earlier been carrying reinforcements toward the industrial district. Not the bacta. Not the warehouses. Not the civilians.

Their roads.

When the echoes finally began dying, the tactical map had changed completely. Three Sith detachments. Three isolated battlespaces. Bren studied the display. They brought an army.

Connel rose from his firing position. Good.

Bren looked at him. Connel pointed toward the narrow remaining approach between the Sith and the bacta storage facilities. [Now they can't use it.]

For several seconds nobody spoke. Then the Reaper interrupted. Michael. Additional information.]

[Send.] A symbol appeared on their displays. Then another. Then another. A countdown.

5:58:41

Connel stared at it. What's that?

[Unknown. Intercepted from Sith tactical traffic.] Bren's expression changed.

[Started at?]

[Six hours.] Nobody needed to explain what that meant. Whatever the Sith had planned… They had six hours to accomplish it. Bren checked the timer.

5:58:32

Then looked at Omega. All right. He chambered a round. We're done in five.

Connel looked toward the burning city. Vratix were still fleeing through the streets. Bacta waited in warehouses behind Sith lines. Unknown containers had been unloaded. And somewhere ahead of them was the person responsible for all of it. The Force whispered through Connel. For now. He remembered Coruscant. The Temple. His father. The helplessness of watching something terrible unfold and realizing too late what it would cost to stop it.

No.

Not today. Connel raised his rifle. Let’s make the Sith wish they never met us! Helmets turned toward him. People down there are afraid. He looked toward the Sith lines.

Let's make sure they're not the ones who have reason to be.

Bren nodded. Move.

Relaying information to the Republic Fleet.

Omega Squad disappeared into the smoke. Behind them, the Reaper climbed silently back into the storm. Ahead of them, the Sith still believed they were conducting an invasion. They were about to discover they had walked into a defense. And the clock was already running.


OOC Note - This is my character moving to engage Tobias Dib not piling it on.
CONNEL VANAGOR AND OMEGA SQUAD ARE RELAYING SITH MOVEMENTS TO OTHER LEADERS ON THE GROUND

TAGS • ARE • Tobias Dib
Personal Effects - Omega Squad Loadouts​

 

[Chomba Womba]

Objective: BYOO - Celebrate Tyferra Summer Market!
Location: Tyferra Market

"And there was massive triangle ships, apital ones? Apital ships raining fire and Chomba knew that things were going to be dicey so Chomba turned on the music and went wild on the controls. Starship blasted one of the big apital ships down, hitting.... hitting.... the, by hitting it really well!" Chomba stumbled over his words, "then Chomba heard both the Mangoes and the Sithies over the comms agree to ceasefire only to ensure that they stop Chomba from destroying their fleets with his awesome flying skills. So Chomba had to go ultra awesome mode!"

"What's ultra awesome mode?" A child asked Chomba.

Chomba grinned widely, "I was doing all the very best stunts and manoeuvres in space, dodging everyone with Starship. I went so fast that I lapped the whole galaxy in seconds. Starship was going awesome sauce and those Sithies and Mangoes couldn't believe it!" Chomba explained as he made gestures with his hands of him flying around and raining down fire. "Chomba of course couldn't stick around any longer, definitely did not stall the engines and blasted right out of there. Totally making the toughest of Sithies pooping their pants that Chomba was gunna return even stronger than before." Chomba nodded his head, totally believing the lies that he was spewing without issue.

The short frog-like being was animated in his retelling of the events that he had just survived. Chomba had been boasting of his achievements for days after surviving the encounter with the Mandalorians and the Sith Covenant. Chomba had forgotten the term Mandalorian over the days and now could only remember them as Mangoes. It felt close enough to be correct so he was fine with it and refused to accept anyone's attempts to correct his phrasing. "So, Chomba came here, he heard that Thyferra doing market day, Starship needs some repairs and maintenance and Chomba likes market days. Except the last one. Last market day was the bad one." Chomba shuddered at the memory.

"Yeah, but you defeated the Sith Empresses in combat and laughed as they pleaded for mercy, right?" One of the children tilted their head confused why Chomba would be so scared of the memory if he did something so heroic.

Chomba coughed nervously as he was being called out. "Chomba... Chomba said one of them was called Mercy, not that they begged for Mercy. And... and Chomba didn't defeat them outright... More... More of a stand off where Chomba made sure other civilians got out safely." Chomba nodded his head. Completely unaware of how terrible it would be if the rumours were spread around that he was fictitiously claiming to be someone who could defeat the Sith.

Then, as if by cosmic karmic judgement, sirens of war blasted. The Sith Order had arrived and were beginning their attack on Thyferra. People in the village were rushing to bunkers, children screaming and crying. The High Republic was here as well but that only reinforced one thing. War had come to Thyferra and it was war that Chomba once again found himself in the middle of. Except this time he was not immediately close to his ship. His ship was still at the docks and Chomba brazenly walked far from the docks thinking that the High Republic would never get attacked. They hadn't been at war in so long that Chomba thought they were immune to it. It was why Chomba fled all the way here!

"Siren is bad?" Chomba asked, feeling it was definitely bad but not sure how bad.

One of the adult humans grabbing their children looked to Chomba. "It is the Sith! They have come here seeking war!"

"SITH! NO NO NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO! CHOMBA FLED THE SITH!" Chomba cried out, gasping for air as he wondered if they had somehow tracked him all the way here. Had Chomba done something to upset the Sith and now they wanted him dead?

"That was the Sith Covenant, this is the Sith Order." The human adult explained, there was a very bored tone as if they had to explain this thousand times to people.

Chomba blinked. "Different Sith.... So, not stalking Chomba because he was god of piloting?" Chomba double checked, he was very concerned on that issue.

The human dropped their head, looking like they were going to try and say something but then resigned themselves and shook their head, "we need to get to safety before they kill everyone here!" Focusing their attention back on their children and heading away.

Leaving Chomba alone in an empty village as everyone very quickly left. Chomba's mind was attempting to figure out if he had gotten an answer to his question or not. Before Chomba's mind could come up with an answer, explosions and drop pods came crashing from the skies. Any attempts to figure out if he was safe or not was gone.

"SITH ARE TRYING TO KILL CHOMBA AGAIN! NOOOOOOOO! CHOMBA NEED STARSHIP!" Chomba screamed at the top of his lungs as he raced back in the direction of the docks. Desperate to get far, far away from this cursed village. Chomba swore, if this happened a third time, market days were forever cursed and he would never attend one ever again! No matter how much the locals begged Chomba to go to the market days!

But right now, Chomba needed to get out of Thyferra and High Republic space, clearly it was not as safe as he had been promised it would be!

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

TAGS: Brandyn Sal-Soren / Bastila Sal-Soren
OUTFIT: Black Sith Robes
WEAPONS: 2 Lightsabers hidden

The war for Thyferra had begun, yet the war was far more than just contention for bacta, which was vital for war efforts, or for the ambition of the Empire’s craving for more territory.

It was all of the above, in fact. Plus, the ageless struggle between the dark and the light. The Sith and the Jedi.

Velda had begun her descent in her TIE Hunter down to Thyferra.

She had sensed him ...if only temporarily, which she found to be quite amusing.

He was sneaking around behind Sith lines, this would not do.

So she sent her own forces ahead to advance the line; she had trust in the talents of her subordinate commanders and in their ability to achieve such goals.

Velda’s TIE Hunter howled through the atmosphere of Thyferra, She kept her fighter low within Thyferra’s valleys in a low profile. Near the location of where she sensed Brandyn last.

Sensors: cold. Avionics: dark. She relies entirely on the Force.

...And she had sensed nothing; he was hiding well.

But then she once more picked him up.

She landed her TIE nearby under the cover of the canopy which her fighter slowly slipped under and landed. It was time to investigate.

And she was being tricky herself, utilizing Force Stealth to hide her presence in the Force. It didn’t make her invisible visually, but it was still enough to accomplish what she was doing.

She came upon the entrance of a bunker that seemed to be reclaimed by the jungle. The fauna surrounding it made it almost impossible to see the door.

But coming through unannounced, there must be a better way. To enter that wouldn’t be so obvious.

She looked around, and on a hill, she found another way in through an emergency hatch, and quietly slipped through.

The bunker seemed fairly vast in its space as she discreetly walked in. There were two levels and she was on the upper.

And that's when she saw them.

There was Brandyn, of course. And even though she sensed the other was familiar, it must have been from years gone by. They now had a face; it was Bastila.

Using the Force she gently floated down to the main level behind them both.

“You can’t run from yourself forever, Brandyn.”

She lifted her Force Stealth the moment she felt the hard embrace of the floor beneath her boots.

She was all in black in Sith Robes, her hood up, a void covering the entrance of her hood.

Oh yes, this was more than just a fight for bacta or the planet.

And it had only just begun.

 

[Tobias Dib]

Allies: Sith Order
Enemies: Everyone else
Tags: Connel Vanagor , "Ariel"

The buy'ce tilted up as the light rain became a torrential fall. It mattered little. Fires burned, aided by chemicals that greedily lapped at the cascading water as more fuel. It seemed nature thought it could stifle their plans, but its actions only fueled the Sith's carefully orchestrated strategies, much like the defenders of this world. He lowered his head as he marched along the duracrete. In the heavens, more missiles fell with explosions and fire while an uncountable number of ships continued to rain upon the planet. There would be no stopping them. Nor could they be slowed. The war machine would march on and consume everything in its path ... if it became necessary.

The map on his HUD revealed the fires had spread from the mountain ridge and into the forested valley, pushing the inhabitants forward as they sought to escape the hellish flames. However, they were finding that the nightmare that burned through their communities and homes was unlike most fires. They burned with a hunger that would not be satiated or denied. Soon enough, thousands would begin pouring forth from the treeline to find the armed might of the Sith waiting. The belief that Nemesis wanted everyone dead was wrong—quite the opposite. The armored Sith was attempting to save their lives.

The comlink in his buy'ce was activated. "Overwatch, send the freighters to position 'A'. And acquire a lock on sector 1. Out." His armored boots splashed through the slurry of water accumulating in small rivlets, washing dirt and debris along its wake. He paused and turned the blue T-visor of his helm in a slow circle. It almost felt too easy—a lull before the storm. Nemesis almost dismissed it as another sign of the decadence of the Republic fattening their diseased culture into a lazy, apathetic attitude. And yet, he knew there were still competent commanders, loyal soldiers, and cunning warriors within their ranks. Too bad it didn't really change a thing. If he could acquire his objectives with no resistance, he would. But if he faced a modicum of resistance with a semblance of competence, so much the better. He would prefer to walk over corpses anyway.

Despite his scan, he could see no opposition in the storm. His lips creased downward, unseen beneath his helm, as he allowed his emotion to scratch the veneer of controlled expression. However, he continued as his detachment moved forward. Several of the advance soldiers returned with workers. Now known as hostages. They were searched, then shackled as the detachment moved farther into the industrial park. The skies flashed with lightning, turbolaser fire, and streaking rocket trails. This didn't concern the Sith at the moment, for he was on the surface already.

Towers with offices perched on their upper levels still glowed, outlining multiple people within. Nemesis merely nodded to one of his officers, who shouted out a command. "Collection detail with me." Numerous squads broke off and headed for lifts and ladders anchored to the towers' external frames. Their multipurpose objective would soon be reinforced through their efforts. Already the Sith advanced without meeting any real resistance. It was almost pitiful.

Then explosions rocked the industrial park: walls collapsed, new obstacles formed, and many potential paths were destroyed, leaving only a select few pathways and roads intact. It was clever; Nemesis had to give the commander credit. But it also extended the time it would take to be successful in his aspirations. And that was not acceptable.

Dust from the explosions billowed outward before the rain extinguished it. There was still a coating of milky powder on their armor as the rain streaked through the light silt. One hand motioned for a hostage to be brought forward. A crying woman with black skin and hair in an intricate braid. The white coat covered whatever shirt and trousers she wore. Not that it mattered. Nemesis flicked to an open frequency on his comms. "Enemy combatants. Your attempt to interrupt my plans will be met with repercussions. Every time you think to stop me, remember that this was because of your cowardly interventions." He switched channels. "Overwatch, fire on the populated area in Sector 1."

From low orbit, a volley of missiles flashed down through the pregnant clouds, sending rain to the surface, before the momentarily hidden missiles pierced through and exploded on a small section of the city. The tremor could be felt in the ground as tiny shockwaves blew out nearby windows. "Death toll estimate?" "Twenty-five thousand, sir." Nemesis switched back to the open channel. "Those twenty-five thousand souls have you to thank for their end. Feth with me again, and I'll double that number. And just in case the faceless masses isn't enough to give you pause, bring her here."

Nemesis closed one hand around her throat and pulled the disgustingly crying face of the woman inches from his helm. "What is your name? Do you have family?" Her cries echoed through the helmet as she tried to answer. "I ... my name is ... Alara Sikair ... I live in Gold Peak with ... my three children, Erin, Sollemai, and ... Mikal ... please don't kill me ... I'm all they have ..." The woman broke down in hysterics as Nemesis' head slowly turned to where the newest barrage had fallen. "Oops, looks like your actions killed her family. And this is so you can put a name to just one of those who died because of your intervention." Slowly, his fingers tightened, and the woman gagged, her hands trying to pry the armored fingers loose, as she choked into unconsciousness. Then the sound of cartilage crushing was followed by vertebrae snapping. He released her then, and she collapsed in the wet mud at his feet, bulging eyes staring into nothing.

"Those deaths are on you. Further action will be met with more of the same." Nemesis closed the open channel.

The clock continued to tick.
5.49.23
5.49.22
5.49.21

 

[William Thule]

ALAZHI FIELDS​

As Sith and Republic forces transform Thyferra's sprawling Alazhi farms into bloody battlefields, the refineries and factories responsible for producing the galaxy's supply of Bacta have become some of the most fiercely contested locations on the planet. Every processing facility is now a fortress under siege as Republic defenders struggle to hold the line against relentless Sith assaults.

The fires spreading across the Alazhi fields were visible even in high orbit where Darth Strosius watched the planet from the viewport of His shuttle.

Fire took hold among the Alazhi crops almost immediately, spreading outward until separate blazes began to meet.

Jedi Master William Thule stood amid smoke and flame in the terraced Alazhi paddies. Near him was a Republic gunship, which had touched down on this field. The smoke grew thick from struck sites and the sky itself was alight with contrails and turbolaser fire.

Beside William stood Jedi Knight Andromeda Demir and before them were a mass of Vratix who had all run out of the nearby structures of their homes to gather around the two Jedi and the squad of Republic troopers.

This world used to be beautiful, William thought to himself, then his brows drew together.

"The Sith destroy everything they touch," he said aloud to the gathered Vratix, who were nothing more than bacteria farmers. Likely most had never even held a weapon before. "They are indiscriminate and will not spare you or your nests."

The Republic had had some forewarning of the approaching fleet - difficult not to when one rumbled out from beyond the Black Wall and was of such a size. But time had still been precious.

"Sergeant, the weapons."

The troopers hauled out crate after crate of blaster rifles and portable rocket launchers.

"If you want to run and seek shelter, we will not hold it against you. But I cannot protect all of you. If you wish to stay and fight... then pick up a rifle."

There came a chittering as the Vratix murmured among themselves, while all around there were distant explosions followed by more columns of fire and smoke. William looked over at Andromeda and raised an eyebrow.

Andromeda Demir