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

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Spoiler

Several minutes earlier...

She listened as well as she could to Rik while he explained everything that needed explaining. From the message to be sent, down to the crystals he’d received from Romi. His thoroughness, and iron-willed sense of duty, reminded her of Vizion in that sense. The thought of him brought a swift pang to her chest, forcing her to consciously will her mind from going any further and wandering too far down that particular path, aligning it back into focus.

With eyes still closed, her fingers tightened over the pouch, the product of all his hard work and effort, that was now being entrusted to her. East to west. She silently repeated, fixing the requirement in her minds eye, alongside the ground she would have available when the Sith finally reached her.

‘Thank you.’

The words were simple, but along with them she sent a nudge of genuine warmth to wash through their connection in the Force as a way to best convey her gratitude before he left. The sound of twigs snapping and leaves crackling beneath his footsteps indicated his final retreat, but not before leaving her with one final remark.

“Force willing, I will see you soon.”

That was always the hope in these sort of dire times, wasn’t it?

‘You’d better,’ she quickly quipped, lips tugging into the faintest of smiles to see him out.

With the collective weight of the meditation pressing down on her, and the boon she was getting from her partner now gone, Briana could feel her bandwidth thinning. There wouldn’t be space, nor time, for a review of any of the footage. She just needed to dump the transmission to the next person as fast as possible. Vizion’s encrypted channel was her best bet, although she didn’t particularly like that option. The brief and formal nature of their exchanges lately, strained and reduced to reports and requests, was more comparable to two officers who barely knew one another, rather than future husband and wife. Like two ships passing in the dark, mutely acknowledging each other’s course before drifting back into the void.

She disliked even more that there was no choice but to add another mark to that list.

Viz —
Forward the attachments from this message to Command and relief units, it'll give you an idea of what's happening down here. Treat it as top priority. Rik Perris’ frequency is included for any follow-up questions.
Bri

Even now, as the storm of this man loomed before her, Briana steeled herself for what she was prepared to do, drawing upon the reservoirs of courage and what strength hadn’t yet been spent.

When he surged forward, Briana raised her blade into the fluid guard of Makashi, her form lacking its usual razor-edged snap, catching his opening upward blow too close to the crossguard. The pure white held against the ruby malevolence of his corrupted kyber with a low, screaming hiss until the sheer kinetic weight of the former Lord Commander forced her back a full stride.

Every bone in her forearms jarred as she quickly repositioned her blade to catch any further impacts, meeting him strike for strike until she had enough momentum to spin out to the side of him, using the Force to shove herself further away, where she landed in a crouch.

Briana gave a hard exhale, subtly depositing another stone where her hand had rested to catch herself, then pushed herself upright, blade at the ready.

She edged right, eyes fixed on Gerwald, as her earpiece chimed and began translating the incoming message.

Just a heads up: you may lose the ability to feel and command the Force during the course of this battle. Force Nullification has been activated at my location, and may become unleashed on further areas.

Consider this your only warning. Crucial information may be sent in response to this message, or via regular comms to my point of contact.

— Knight Trozky

A feeling of panic tightened her chest. She knew what Gerwald was, what he was capable of even without the Force; it’d never been a secret. With the Force, she stood a chance of matching his strength. Without it…Her blade began to dip. She tightened her grip and raised it again as yet another chime came through.

"Briana, if you are out there, keep fighting. We have them where we want them."

She licked her lips. Right. Just a little longer.

“You know, for an old man, you still seem to have it together,” she quipped, “Is that why you came to Thyferra? Just to prove you still have your strength, and test it on those you deem lesser? Because you can? Because you feel owed something that was never yours to begin with?” She didn’t launch at him, continuing to drift. “That is the mark of a coward.”

Then, over the crackle of burning timber came a familiar sound, distant at first, then swelling into the unmistakable thunder of Republic engines.

Briana resisted the urge to look up, keeping her eyes on Gerwald as the sound rolled overhead. Some of the tightness in her chest eased and the skies above Thyferra filled with the Republic answering in force. Which likely meant their clones already had boots on the ground. She might have smiled, might even have said something more to Gerwald, but a sudden, foreign chill seeped into her bones, dragging a rising, visceral rage in its wake. It closed around her with invisible, familiar hands, squeezing until air turned to glass in her lungs. Pain throbbed behind her eyes. She lurched forward, catching herself with a stumbling step as her hand flew to her temple.

No. Not now.

Brandyn, she knew it was Brandyn. And worse, Bastila was with him, leaving her utterly powerless to shield either of them. Her heart slammed against her ribs, falling into an unnatural, forced tandem with his. Every hammer-stroke carried a surge of foreign emotions that did not belong to her, and there was nowhere she could go to escape it.

OUTFIT: XoXo | ENEMY: Gerwald Lechner |
HONORABLE MENTIONS: Bastila Sal-Soren , Brandyn Sal-Soren , Vizion Trozky , Lorn Reingard
EQUIPMENT: Jumpsuit, Astor Daary's Blade, Springloaded Gauntlets, Echo Stone, Force Blinding Flash Bang, Jedi Imbued Kolcta Grenades x2, Lightsaber, Crystal Cage (Perms)

​

 

["Ariel"]

Get off Thyferra
ON THE GROUND
THYFERRA

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

Thyferra burned.

Not metaphorically. Not in the poetic sense people used when they wanted to describe a world at war.

It burned.

Forests were walls of orange beyond the industrial district. Chemical-fed flames crawled against the rain instead of dying beneath it, turning the storm into steam where the heat became strongest. Towers rose from the darkness like black teeth. Smoke obscured entire neighborhoods. Broken pipelines vented into the night. Emergency lights pulsed through streets littered with debris.

And through the fire came the things that had once been people. Republic infantry saw the first one emerge from the smoke. The soldier nearest the line instinctively lowered his rifle.

"Hold! Civilian!"

The shape staggered forward. Then straightened. Metal glistened through ruptured flesh. One arm ended in something that had once been a hand and was no longer remotely interested in remembering it.

The creature screamed.

Not frightened. Hungry. It charged. The soldier fired. The bolt struck center mass. The thing barely slowed.

"CONTACT!"

The entire Republic line opened. Blue and red bolts tore through the rain. The technobeast pitched sideways, hit the duracrete, clawed itself forward another meter—and finally stopped. Three more shapes appeared behind it. Then seven. Then enough that nobody bothered counting.

"Command, this is Aurek Actual! Confirmed infected contact! Multiple!"

Another voice answered immediately. [Do they respond to commands?]

The officer watched one of the creatures tear into a barricade with enough force to bend metal. "No."

[Do they stop?]

Another burst of rifle fire brought one down. It started getting back up. The officer's jaw tightened. "No."

A different voice entered the net. Calm. Measured. Unmistakable.

[Then stop treating them like civilians.] Commander RG-11 watched the tactical feed from inside Crownbreaker. The first technobeasts reached the forward armor. They clawed at plating. Some climbed. Others attacked tracks.

A Republic tanker shouted over comms.

[Commander, they're infected!] Regal's eyes never left the display.

[I know.]

[They were people]

[I know.] One of the creatures leapt toward an infantry position. A heavy laser cannon erased it from the roadway.

Regal's voice hardened. [They aren't anymore.]

The channel went silent. Then: [All Republic units, infected hostiles are weapons platforms until proven otherwise.]

No hesitation. No apology. [Protect the living… at all costs!]

Crownbreaker took another step.

THOOM.

[Destroy everything trying to reach them.]

The Republic line answered. Not with words.

With fire.

_____________________________________

The mechanized advance moved.

Sovereign-class tanks rolled first. Champions at the center. Guardians spread across the formation. Stewards and Custodians farther back, turrets searching every angle through rain and smoke. Their tracks chewed through wreckage. Phase III shields flickered beneath incoming fire. Mass drivers answered. Heavy laser cannon stitched across elevated firing positions. Republic infantry followed in the armored wake. Not shoulder-to-shoulder. Not charging. Advancing. Securing. It wasn’t a cakewalk, in fact there were losses, but this was REPUBLIC ground, REPUBLIC people, and they were not going quiety.

Clearing.

Every block the tanks crossed became Republic ground. Every intersection became a checkpoint. Every street behind them became an evacuation corridor. Civilians moved in the opposite direction. Away from fire. Away from the industrial park. Away from the things chasing them.

"Keep moving!" Clone troopers waved frightened families through.

"DO NOT STOP!" A Vratix stumbled.

Two Republic soldiers caught them without opening their environmental seals. "Amber corridor! This way!" Behind them, a technobeast burst through the shattered window of a storefront. The nearest trooper turned. Fired twice. The creature kept coming. The Sovereign beside him rotated its lighter cannon.

One shot.

Nothing remained standing. The trooper stared. The tank commander opened the external speaker. "You're welcome."

The trooper pointed forward. "Keep moving!"

The tank did.

___________________________________

Regal watched the line tighten.

[All mechanized elements.]

Acknowledgments rolled in. [Press.]

The tanks advanced another hundred meters. Sith fire descended from above. Grenades. Rockets. Sniper fire. The first Guardian took a direct hit against the shield. It staggered. Kept moving. A second rocket detonated beside it. Chaff filled the rain.

"Elevated contact!" someone shouted.

Reaper's voice entered the tactical net. [Multiple grenadier positions. Northeast rise. Fortified.]

Raphael looked up from behind the REEK. [Those again?]

Sariel checked her rifle. [They're persistent.]

Raguel, somewhere nobody had seen her go, answered: [So are we.] Raphael started to grin.

Then Regal cut in. [Sariel.]

She paused. [Go.]

[Paint that new hill. Second verse, same as the first.]

Raphael slowly lowered his weapon, remembering that other hill. [Wait.]

Sariel brought up the designator. [I have it.]

Regal didn't say anything dramatic. He didn't need to. Inside Crownbreaker, the heavy weapon traversed. The world seemed to hold still for half a heartbeat. [Main gun.]

Target locked. [Fire.]

THOOOOOOOOOM.

The hill disappeared. Not the terrain itself. The idea that it had ever been a defensible firing position. Earth rose into the air. Fortifications collapsed. Grenade teams vanished behind a tidal wall of dirt, smoke and fire.

The blast rolled across the Republic line. Raphael stared.

Long pause. [...That is so awesome… still cheating.]

Sariel looked at his rotary cannon. [Still complaining?]

Raguel's voice appeared from somewhere behind the ruined position. [I know, right?]

Raphael blinked. [Will you stop doing that? I jump every time!]

[Stop being so loud.]

Sariel looked toward the smoke.

[Are you all right?] Raguel emerged from the darkness wearing the shape of a Sith soldier.The form flowed. Shifted. Became her again.

[Define all right.] Raphael laughed.

Regal's voice interrupted. "Grenadier position suppressed.][/COLOR]

Raphael looked at what remained of it. [Suppressed? What is it with you and that word?]

A pause.

[Still attempting humility… let me.] The tone clearly suggested he was grinning.

Then Crownbreaker stepped forward.

THOOM.

[Press.]

The armored column followed.

______________________________

The sky changed.

At first nobody on the ground noticed.There was too much noise already. Then silver shapes descended through the storm. One. Three. Six. More. Sirocco-class gunboats. Elegant vessels built with the irritating Naboo habit of making military hardware look as though it belonged in an art gallery. Then their weapons opened. And the aesthetic discussion ended. Point-defense cannon filled the air.

Light turbolasers reached toward incoming fighters. They wouldn’t be that easy. Ion fire slashed through the rain. Anti-missile systems began detonating incoming ordnance before it reached the armored formations below. A Sith fighter dove toward a Sovereign column. One Steward variant elevated its twin cannon. Two Custodians joined it. Laser fire climbed from the ground. The Sirocco above them fired from the opposite angle. The fighter flew into a lattice of light.It tried to break.

Too late.

Regal watched the contact disappear. [All Sovereign commands.] Tank commanders answered. [[The Siroccos have the upper screen.]

One commander looked toward the sky. ["Orders?”]

Regal watched the industrial park ahead. [[Eyes forward.]

The tanks lowered their guns. And the Republic advance accelerated.

_________________________________

Higher still, the Vigilant Reaper hunted.

It did not fly with the Siroccos. It did not join formations. It appeared. Killed something. Disappeared. A confirmed hostile shuttle rose from the industrial district. Turbolaser.

THOOM.

Gone. Another shuttle went low between buildings. The Reaper followed. Rotary cannon spun.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRT.

Rounds walked across shields. The shuttle banked. Another burst hit its engine. It rolled away trailing fire. [Two.] A third climbed hard. The Reaper came underneath it. Turbolaser.

THOOM.

[Three.]

Two more shuttles separated. One vanished toward the upper atmosphere. The second broke behind cloud. The Reaper pilot watched them go. [Michael, two contacts escaping.]

Bren's answer came immediately. [Let them.] No frustration. No chasing. [Bombers?]

[Tracking.]

[Then reap.] The Reaper climbed.

_________________________________

The REEK drove through fire.

Jeremiel controlled it remotely from behind the Republic advance while Raphael rode the weapon station. Sariel crouched behind armor. Raguel sat beside her. For approximately twelve seconds. Then she disappeared again. Jeremiel didn't ask.

The REEK's cargo compartment was empty now.

The biological sample had reached Mantys Thrax. Which meant the armored vehicle could return to its original purpose. Being obnoxious. "Contamination spike ahead.][/COLOR]

Sariel looked at the sensor feed. The street beyond them glowed with warning markers. Foreign biological material. Runoff. Particulate clouds. Things nobody wanted following the civilians. Jeremiel looked at the inventory. The Force-Blinders.

Finally.

Raphael noticed. [Oh.]

Sariel noticed his expression. [What?]

He pointed. [Those.]

Jeremiel already understood. [We test first.]

A Force-Blinding grenade launched.

THUMP.

It landed twenty meters inside the contaminated area. The world turned white. Not bright. White. A violent flash of thermal energy ripped through the rain. Steam erupted. Sensors briefly whited out. Then recovered. Everyone waited.

SERAPHIM's voice came through. [Particulate count significantly reduced within the immediate thermal envelope.]

Jeremiel leaned forward. [Clear?]

[Negative.]

[Good.]

Raphael looked at him. [Good?]

Jeremiel brought the REEK forward. [We don't call it clear.]

Sariel understood. [Burned.]

Jeremiel nodded. [Exactly.] He keyed the Republic net. [Corridor Besh is burned. Sealed personnel only.] Another grenade loaded. [Let's make it longer.]

THUMP.

White fire. The REEK moved.

THUMP.

Another. It began cutting a temporary road through contamination. Behind it, sealed Republic troops followed. Not casually. Not trusting the air. But moving. A technobeast emerged through the smoke. Raphael's rotary cannon turned.

BRRRRRRRRT.

It vanished. Another came from the side. Sariel fired.

THUMP.

Explosion. Raguel appeared behind them. Nobody had seen where she'd come from. [Three more on the left.]

Raphael rotated. [How do you know?]

[I was one of them.]

Raphael stopped. [...What?]

Raguel smiled. [Long story.] Then shifted into something broader. Stronger. Faster. She jumped from the REEK.

Raphael sighed. [Of course she did.]

______________________________

Inside a hardened control room, Gabriel and SERAPHIM went to war.

Not metaphorically. The screens were battlespaces. Every connection a corridor. Every authentication key a weapon.\ Sith malware hit another protected node. SERAPHIM quarantined it. Gabriel drove a spike into the physical control architecture. [Nine isolated.]

[Confirmed.]

[How many?]

[Twenty-one hostile processes contained.]

[Contained?]

[Currently.]

Gabriel glanced at another screen. [That doesn't sound confident.]

[Confidence is not required.] The Sith attack shifted. Education networks. Financial systems. Civilian databases. Power. Another intrusion appeared.

SERAPHIM tracked it. Did not block it.

Gabriel noticed. [You're letting them in.]

[Yes.]

[Why?]

[They believe the network is authentic.]

Gabriel stared. Then smiled. [/COLOR] [Oh, that's mean.]

The Sith slicer moved through a sandboxed copy of Thyferrean financial infrastructure. Stole false data. Deleted false files. Inserted malware into nothing.

SERAPHIM recorded everything.

Routing. Methods. Relay behavior. Authentication. Then she reached backward. A Sith relay suddenly went dark. Another rebooted. A turret emplacement lost targeting control. A communications hub locked every local user out. A defensive cannon rotated.

Bren's voice came through. [SERAPHIM.]

[Yes?]

[Did you just turn one of their weapons around?]

[Negative.]

Gabriel looked at the feed. The Sith cannon was now pointed directly into one of its own barricades. [She's lying.]

[I do not lie.]

[Then what is that?]

[A calibration anomaly.]

Gabriel laughed. Bren waited. SERAPHIM continued. [The operator may wish to vacate the immediate area.]

A second later the weapon discharged. The Sith barricade exploded. Connel's voice appeared from somewhere else inside the industrial district. [I like her.]

Gabriel shook his head. [She's getting worse.]

[Twenty-one.]

[What?]

[Hostile processes contained.]

[You are keeping score.]

[I am tracking operational metrics.]

[Sure.]

__________________________________

The industrial park contracted.

Every minute. Every street. Every corridor. Sovereigns pressed from one direction. Troigs's newly organized Thyferran force entered from another. Clone infantry secured the ground between. Siroccos covered the airspace. Reaper hunted anything trying to flee above them. Regal closed routes. Not civilian routes. Those stayed open.

Enemy routes.

A Sith transport tried the western road. Sovereign tanks waited. It reversed. Crownbreaker stood behind it. The transport stopped. Regal opened a broad channel. [[Sith vehicle.] Silence. [You have two options.] Nobody answered. [Power down and exit unarmed.] A pause. [Or continue trying to escape.]

A tank commander asked privately: [“What happens if they choose two?"]

Regal looked toward the surrounding guns. [They learn why there were two options.]

___________________________________

Troigs's forces appeared on the Republic network.

Bren stopped. [Authentication?]

SERAPHIM answered. [Republic-aligned identification confirmed. Thyferran law enforcement and military personnel present.]

Connel's voice entered. [Jedi?]

[Troigs is among them.]

Silence. Bren knew exactly why. One fake Jedi had already murdered people by relying on that assumption. [Authenticate him separately.]

SERAPHIM did. Force signature. Communication history. Flight data. Prison records. Corroboration. [Confidence high.]

Bren relaxed by approximately three percent. [Let them through.]

Regal's voice appeared. [They'll be watched.]

Connel answered. [Good.] Troigs's formation entered the tightening Republic perimeter.

Nobody told him why several rifles had been tracking him the entire time.

_______________________________

Connel stood over Trask.

The fake Jedi was alive. Barely interested in continuing the argument. Troigs's stolen lightsaber hung from Connel's belt. Night and Day were extinguished. His rifle rested against his chest again. Bren approached. Raphael behind him.

Sariel followed. [That's him?]

Connel looked toward Trask. [Was.]

Raphael raised an eyebrow. [Was?]

[He had a career change.]

Sariel looked at the recovered lightsaber. [You keeping that?]

[No.] Connel touched the hilt. [Giving it back.]

Bren brought up the tactical map. Central hub. Nemesis was likely in one spot. Still there. Still surrounded. Still operating. But the map looked very different now. Routes closed. Troops isolated. Data disappearing. Cyber systems compromised. Republic armor inside the industrial boundary. Gunboats incoming above. Reaper hunting. Troigs pressing in from another direction. Bren looked at Connel. [Ready?]

Connel looked toward Nemesis's likely position on the map.

[No.]

Raphael glanced over. Connel checked his rifle. Then Night. Then Day. Then the comm-link he had taken from Trask. [Now I am.]

He keyed it. Sith frequencies hissed. Someone answered. Connel didn't identify himself. He didn't have to. [You had a man running around dressed like a Jedi.]

Silence. Connel looked down at Trask. [Didn't go well.] Bren fought a smile. Connel's voice changed. The empathyr vanished. [You've poisoned civilians.] Rain hammered the roof above them. [Burned their homes.]

Somewhere outside, Crownbreaker fired. [Turned sick people into weapons.]

Reaper screamed overhead. [Used families as shields.]

SERAPHIM slammed another bulkhead shut. [And every time somebody stops one of your plans, you start another because you think eventually there'll be too many fires for anyone to put out.]

Connel looked toward Bren. Bren said nothing. Connel continued. [Here's the problem.]

A Sovereign tank crashed through an outer barricade. [We stopped putting out fires.]

The REEK launched another Blinder. White fire burned through contamination. [We started walking through them.]

Silence. Connel looked at the marker representing Nemesis. Then spoke quietly. [I'm still coming for you.]

He released the transmitter. Dropped it. Crushed it beneath his boot. Raphael smiled behind his mask. [Subtle.]

Connel retrieved his rifle. [Wasn't trying to be.]

Bren started moving. [Omega.]

They followed.

_________________________________________________

Outside, Thyferra became hell.

And the Republic walked into it. Sovereigns moved through burning streets. Clone troopers fought beside regular infantry. Technobeasts rushed from fire and smoke. They were met without hesitation. No speeches. No pleading. No expectation that the things charging them could somehow be reasoned with while people were dying behind the line.

The Republic fired. A technobeast leapt onto a tank. Stun panels erupted. It fell. Infantry finished it. Another burst from a burning building. A Custodian turned. Twin cannon. Gone. Three more charged through the flames. Clone troopers took knees. Controlled fire. One dropped. Second. Third kept coming. Regal's voice reached them. [Hold.]

They held. [Fire.]

They fired.

The creature fell meters from the line. The clones reloaded. And advanced. Not because they felt nothing. Because they felt enough. Because behind them were civilians. Medics. Children. People who had not yet become monsters. People they intended to keep that way. So when the next wave came screaming through the burning rain...

the Republic showed it no mercy.

__________________________________

Raguel climbed back aboard the REEK.

Raphael stared. Her armor was scorched. [You good?]

[Yes.]

[Where were you?]

Raguel looked behind them. Several Sith troops were running in completely the wrong direction. [Helping.]

Sariel looked. [Why are they going east?]

[I told them Republic armor broke through west.] SERAPHIM chimed in.

Raphael blinked. "Did it?][/COLOR]

[No.]

A Sovereign column appeared west. Raguel looked again. [Michael, [Gabriel, [...Apparently now it did.]

Jeremiel accelerated. [Everybody hold on.]

The REEK slammed forward. Another contaminated concentration appeared. Sariel loaded. "Burn?"][/COLOR]

Jeremiel looked at the readings. "Burn."][/COLOR]

THUMP.

White. Steam. Fire.

The REEK drove through.

_______________________________

The Siroccos tightened overhead.

One Sith fighter dove toward the Republic armor. A Sovereign Steward fired upward. Missed. The fighter rolled. A Sirocco point-defense cannon caught it from the opposite direction. The craft spun. Reaper appeared through cloud like a knife.

Rotaries.

BRRRRRRRRRRT.

Done.

The Reaper never slowed. [Target destroyed.]

Bren heard it. [Next.]

[Already hunting.]

_____________________________________

SERAPHIM found another hostile node.

Gabriel leaned forward. [Can you get into it?]

[Yes.]

[Can you shut it down?]

Probably.

[Probably?]

I am also capable of other actions.]

Gabriel smiled. [Oh, no.]

[What?]

[Nothing.]

The Sith node remained active. Then its local defenses shut down. Doors opened. Cameras looped. An automated gun emplacement stopped responding to Sith commands. Gabriel watched. [SERA.]

Yes?]

[Whose side is that turret on now?]

A pause. [Operationally?]

[Yeah.][/COLOR]

[Mine.]

Gabriel sat back. [...Fair enough.]

---

Regal watched every route.

East. Closed. North. Contested. West. Armor. South. Crownbreaker. The only open corridors were marked for civilian movement and Republic-controlled access.

Someone asked: ["Commander, what if the Sith try to use the evacuation corridors?”]

Regal watched the feed. [Then they surrender.]

["And if they don't?]

Regal didn't even look up. [Then those aren't evacuation corridors anymore.]

______________________________________

Bren's team reached the first inner bulkhead.

Closed. [Gabriel.]

[Trying.] Seconds.

Nothing. [Gabriel?]

[Hostile isolation. Give me thirty.]

Raphael looked at the door. Then at his weapon. [I have a faster option.]

Connel held up one finger. [Wait.]

Five seconds. Ten. Twenty.

CLICK.

The bulkhead opened.Gabriel came over comms.

[You're welcome.]

Connel stepped through. [Love you.]

[Never say that again.] Raphael followed. Sariel after him. Bren last. The door closed behind them. Ahead: the central industrial towers.

Nemesis.

Not yet reachable. But close enough now that nobody could pretend Omega wasn't coming. Bren looked around. [Michael to all elements.]

Regal answered. [Crownbreaker.]

Reaper: [Reaper.]

Jeremiel: [REEK.]

Gabriel: [Listening.]

SERAPHIM: [Active.]

Bren looked toward Connel. Connel nodded. Bren keyed the Republic tactical network. No speech. No triumphant declaration. One word. [Press.]

And they did. Armor pressed. Infantry pressed. Troigs's Thyferrans pressed.Siroccos pressed the sky. Reaper pressed anything that tried to run. SERAPHIM pressed the network. Gabriel pressed the infrastructure.

REEK pressed through contamination.

Raphael and Sariel pressed fire into anything blocking the route. Raguel pressed from wherever the enemy least expected a person to exist. And Connel Vanagor pressed toward the man who had spent hours believing that Thyferra belonged to him. The Sith still had troops. They still had ships. They still had weapons. They still had whatever waited at the end of that damned countdown. Nobody on the Republic side knew what zero meant. They didn't need to.

Not yet.

The clock said:

2:47:08

2:47:07

2:47:06

And beneath it, another timer had begun. Not displayed anywhere. Not synchronized to any command network.

Not understood by Nemesis.

The time remaining before Omega reached his door. Connel walked through smoke and emergency light. Rifle ready. Night and Day waiting. Troigs's stolen lightsaber secured at his belt. His mask reflected the fires outside. Bren fell into step beside him. [Think he's listening?]

Connel looked toward the towers. [Oh, yeah.]

[And?]

Connel's eyes narrowed behind the mask. [Good.]

Another explosion shook the facility. Republic armor moved somewhere beyond the walls.

The Reaper screamed overhead. And far behind them, through fire and torrential rain, the line continued moving forward. For the first time since the Sith arrived on Thyferra, the question was no longer how much devastation Nemesis could unleash before his clock reached zero.

It was how much of his battlefield would still belong to him when it did.



1. CONNEL VANAGOR AND OMEGA SQUAD ARE CONTAINING THE AREA. NOT SURE WHAT IS HAPPENING BUT NOT ALLOWING IT TO SPREAD.

2. REAPER HAS BEGUN FIRING ON THE GROUND

3. REPUBLIC FORCES AS WELL AS OMEGA SQUAD ARE IN VACUUM SEALED SUITS AND ARE PRESSING INTO THE INDUSTRIAL AREAS, ANTI AIR IS DEFENDING FROM BOMBERS AND CLOSING OFF EVAC FOR SITH FORCES

4. SERAPHIM HAS CYBER ATTACKING ALL SITH SYSTEMS NOW, FEEDING FALSE INFORMATION AND REROUTING CANNONS TO FIRE ON EACH OTHER

5. GABRIEL IS CLOSING OFF CORRIDORS

6. OMEGA SQUAD IS TOGETHER AND MOVING ON NEMESIS.

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

 

[Taiia Locke]

//: Allyson Locke //:
//: Darth Prazutis //:

​

Taiia's ship broke through Thyferra's atmosphere beneath a sky already scarred by war. Smoke stretched across the horizon in great dark columns while distant flashes lit the cloud cover from below, each followed seconds later by the muted thunder of another impact. Warning indicators flickered across the console as the ship passed through the turbulence, but Taiia barely glanced at them. Her attention remained divided between the instruments in front of her and the ring upon her hand, the connection between it and Allyson's growing stronger with every kilometer she descended.

There had been no explanation beyond the urgency on Naboo, no warning of what she expected to find once she arrived. Taiia knew only that Allyson had gone to Thyferra and that beneath everything she had tried so carefully to hide, she had been afraid. The feeling had followed Taiia from the moment they parted, faint at first beneath the distance between them, but it had only grown clearer as she drew closer to the planet.
Another burst of light illuminated the clouds ahead, bright enough to briefly wash the cockpit in white before fading again. Taiia adjusted course, taking the ship lower and farther from the heaviest concentration of fighting as the terrain began to emerge beneath the smoke. What had once been fields and settlements were broken now by fires, ruined structures, and long trails of blackened soil. Ships moved through the haze at irregular intervals, some little more than silhouettes before disappearing again.

Allyson was close.

Anger burned beneath the fear she had already sensed, sharp and focused in a way that did little to ease the worry. Taiia brought the ship down well away from the worst of the fighting, settling into a rough stretch of scorched ground where there was just enough room to land without immediately drawing attention. The engines had barely begun to wind down before she was already out of the cockpit, securing the ship behind her as she stepped into the heat and smoke.

For a moment she simply stood there, taking in the world around her. The distant sound of weapons fire rolled across the landscape, joined by the occasional tremor beneath her feet as something far larger struck the surface beyond the horizon. Ash moved lazily through the air, settling against her clothes and catching in the loose strands of crimson hair stirred by the warm wind.

Her eyes lowered once more to the ring before Taiia started walking.

She did not know who Allyson had come here to face, what bargain or secret had pulled her into the middle of a Sith invasion, or what she expected to accomplish before anyone could stop her. Taiia knew only that her wife was somewhere ahead of her, frightened and angry enough that she could feel both from this distance. That was enough to quicken her pace.

 

[Helix]

Tag: Balun Dashiell
Equipment: Himself​

My name is Balun Dashiell.

Helix couldn't quite hold back a laugh. To witness so human an expression from so inhuman a creature was bad enough, but the droid's words added additional weight.

"Ah, so you're that boy Nefaron has such an interest in. One of his 'gets'."

"He'll be disappointed when he hears I got you instead, but unlike him, I offer no place at my side, nor hand of friendship. You should have taken his offer. He is more... reasonable than I."

The apparition lifted one hand, palm outward. Inches-long metal spines sprouted from the appendage, then launched themselves toward the Jedi with tremendous speed.

My Master's is Ala Quin, Grandmaster of the Jedi Order,

"A prestigious name. She can have what's left of you when I'm done." Helix's same predator smile from before widened, revealing those terrible rows of glassy metal fangs.

The rapid popping of the spikes breaching the sound barrier was soon eclipsed, however, as the Jedi brought the ceiling down on him.

Once again, Helix caught the first massive chunk of metal, rending it apart in his hands as though it were paper. The rest, however, landed home.

The massive industrial crane slammed into the droid, crushing him to the floor amidst a hail of mechanical detritus. In moments, any sight of that looming, grinning terror was lost beneath the sheer quantity of debris.

The newly-missing ceiling revealed the chaos of the battle outside. Chemical payloads streaked home to detonate amidst formations, hideous flying creatures dueled starfighters in the sky, and above it all, the deafening moaning of Cyber-Zombie hordes eclipsed all else. The Tarnaci Blight had spread far and wide, transforming untold numbers of innocents. Evidently, some enterprising soul outside had put his creation to use. Amusing, but Helix was in little condition to celebrate.

For several long moments, it seemed as though the nightmare was over, or at least this small facet of it.

Then the debris gave an ominous groan.

Streams of silvery gray metal ran from the pile in living, mercury-like rivulets, travelling along gaps in the mountain of industrial garbage. These joined together in their hundreds, forming a mass of heaving slime.

Slowly, Helix stood again, newly reformed and clearly agitated. While not fatal, the sheer violence of his abrupt burial had not been pleasant. What had been purely duty was now becoming just a little personal.

The droid's surface now churned and lashed like the ocean during a storm, and small tendrils whipped out here and there, tasting the newly-freshened outside air. Whether an expression of pain or fury, it was difficult to tell, but most likely it was a dangerous fusion of both.

"You... really should have taken Nefaron's offer." Repeated the monster, before placing one foot forward in an almost delicate step.

Liquid metal surged from the limb into the floor, then solidified upwards. An expanding wave of two-meter-long metal spines burst from the ground, surging outward toward the Jedi and upending anything in their way. Crates were tossed aside, bacta tanks shattered as they were impaled and lifted from the ground, and duracrete chunks flew in all directions as the emerging hazards tore the ground apart.

 

[Akhenaton]

​

THYFERRA
Objective 1: Hunt The Sith
Equipment: [Lightsaber] | [Plasteel Armor] [Vibroblade]
Opposition: The Sith Order
Tags: Darth Strosius

Akhenaton did not attempt to hide his presence in the Force; it was pointless. The smoke and fire continued to conceal his movements, but given his dark nature and the fact that he did not fight alongside the Republic or Jedi forces, he doubted he needed to. His eyes scanned the horizon. He saw droids and, oddly enough, a man flying with tendril-like wings.

Sith.

The Dark Jedi Master realized that the Sith was moving ahead, likely to engage another Jedi in a duel, leaving his men badly exposed to a flanking maneuver.

Droids and Sith soldiers, "Legionnaires" of some kind with whom Akhenaton was unfamiliar, flanked the Jedi. Darth Strosius, the Sith Lord he had spotted earlier, had engaged another Jedi in a duel. An opportunity presented itself. Akhenaton could engage the Legionnaires while their Sith master fought the Jedi and stop the flanking maneuver altogether.

The engine roared as Akhenaton hit the accelerator of his speeder bike, racing toward the line of flanking Legionnaires. Between the smoke and burning foliage, he was little more than a silhouette in the distance, but as he closed in, the Sith Legionnaires realized he was not an allied combatant. Several soldiers pivoted to meet his advance, their blasters raised. Blaster fire streaked through the air as Akhenaton lowered himself against the bike, presenting a smaller target. The speeder banked hard between the incoming shots, avoiding the blaster bolts.

A blaster bolt struck the front panel, showering Akhenaton with sparks.

Suddenly, the Dark Jedi hit the brakes, causing the speeder to skid sideways. Akhenaton leaped from the bike, his violet lightsaber coming to life in midair. Several Legionnaires jumped out of the way as the speeder crashed and rolled through their position. It provided the momentary distraction he needed to gain an advantage in distance and timing.

Akhenaton landed among the disrupted troops.

The first rose to meet him and attempted to fire at point-blank range. Yet the Dark Jedi was faster, sweeping his blade through the man's waist and cutting him cleanly in half. Another quickly raised his blaster and fired, but Akhenaton deflected the bolt and sent it directly back into the man's chest. He fell backward, dropping his rifle.

Akhenaton raised his lightsaber into a tight, two-handed guard. The violet blade's glow reflected across his dark chrome armor, making him more visible through the smoky haze of battle and drawing more Legionnaires toward the immediate threat he posed. This was his intention. Through smoke and fire, he would meet the gathering soldiers. The Dark Jedi Master did bear a High Republic Crest. He did not wear the robes of the Jedi Order. No, they would not find light within him. He was a master of the darkness, and just like their Sith overlords, he would show no mercy.

 

[Andromeda Demir]

ANDROMEDA DEMIR

THYFERRA STEPPES

AZHALI FIELDS

TIME TO DIE

♫ COURTYARD APOCALPYSE — ALEXANDRE DESPLAT

x

x

The light did its work, as she knew it must. It pierced the darkness, weakened it, but it could not destroy it. The two of them, no matter how united, no matter how in-sync, no matter how motivated, could not destroy darkness of that magnitude. But they had given themselves and the Marines and the Vratix room to breathe and maneuver. And it cleared enough of her sight to see the Republic fighters streaking overhead, engines screaming, cannons thundering. She wanted to cheer -- to let the sight of them drive out the remaining hopelessness Lina Ovmar 's darkness had pushed into her head. A few moments ago she had known -- known -- that the High Republic would fail, that everyone here would perish in darkness.

Now she saw she was wrong. Starfighters bearing the insignia of the Republic blasted away at Sith shuttles. Intellectually, Andromeda had known the despair was a fiction, a twisted lie wrought by the dark side, but here was living, breathing, missile-firing proof.

The shocked cries of the Marines and the howling shock of the Vratix brought her back to ground fast. The sensation of terror permeated the air as the Marines struggled against the vines deployed by Madrona A’Mia . Andromeda was momentarily distracted -- distracted enough that it very nearly cost her dearly. She felt it first, as clear as a memory, the cruel flash of heat and then the searing pain in her wrist. The sudden absence of a limb, the impulse to flex fingers that she saw with horror were no longer there --

Before she could yank herself out of harm's way, William was here, his lightsaber intervening. Andromeda nearly sighed. Instead, she heaved a breath and brought her saber around in a defensive swing, freed of the need to duck or dodge Darth Strosius for the moment, allowing her to take on the shadow monster that she had originally engaged.

The image -- the warning -- of her wrist ending in a stump stayed with her despite her attempt to shake it. In the near field, William's light vanished so suddenly that fear caught her momentarily by the throat until she realized that his presence remained, stripped only of the luminous brilliance she recognized in him, and with it the exhilaration of the current that had passed between them.

Then she was again merely Andromeda Demir, miner's daughter, Jedi Knight, ankle-deep in an alazhi paddy with a lightsaber. Then she felt something more from William as she turned back to the Marines. Something -- something frightening. His joy in the combat. The darkness that had moments early broken against his light now seemed to flow around and through him.

She didn't have time to wonder, she didn't have time to doubt. She had responsibilities. She harnessed the light, aiming an aggressive slashing blade of pure light energy toward the Marines' ankles, hoping against hope it would sever whatever had taken them. "Omen!" she cried over the din. "Consolidate your forces, pull the wounded back. Keep the Vratix together and out of the paddies! There's something in the water!"

It was all she could offer. Andromeda could not -- would not -- leave William to the tender mercies of two Sith alone. Together, she thought at William as she hustled back to his side. The exchange had taken mere seconds, but it had felt like minutes. She took up a position at William's side, prepared to deflect blasterfire, but with her eyes on Strosius, reflecting the pale teal of her blade. And at the edge of her mind remained the troubling absence of the third Sith. Somewhere nearby, someone was hiding -- lurking, even from the Force -- and Andromeda doubted very much that they had fled.

x

x

WITH

William Thule • Madrona A’Mia • Lina Ovmar • Darth Strosius

 

[Tobias Dib]

Allies: Sith Order
Enemies: Everyone else
Tags: [IMG alt="Connel Vanagor"]https://www.starwarsrp.net/data/avatars/s/36/36123.jpg?1781829642[/IMG], "Ariel" , Seren Gwyn , Aiden Porte , OPEN, Everyone in the industrial park, refineries, and landing pads



The impromptu command center in the towers shuddered from the distant explosions. Lights flickered, and view screens dimmed for a moment before coming back to glaring life. Whispered curses filled the room as hackers and slicers struggled valiantly with their unseen adversaries. Several of the Ronin worked from remote workspaces, attempting to backtrace the points of origin. They would make a meter of progress only to see it disintegrate, their work a vapor on the wind. It began to appear as though they were losing the war in the cyber realm. Fortunately, they completed many objectives before the enemy realized they had infiltrated the systems. Data gleaned before their presence was discovered remained safely stored off the servers. Financial assets compromised in the early hours of the invasion stayed secure.

Perhaps it was the depth to which they delved that tipped their hand to the enemy. Power grids sabotaged, natural gas lines affected, water supply contaminated. Viruses unleashed. Yes, it was entirely possible that by overreaching, Nemesis had revealed his presence and plans prematurely. Now his troopers and Ronin struggled because of the oversight. Then again, it may have been part of the man's plans all along. Whether it truly was carefully orchestrated, nefariously devised, and schemed down to the minute detail remained a fact that only Nemesis knew. Victory and failure were in the eye of the enlightened beholder, and Nemesis was the only being who could judge whether he was successful or defeated. Despite the outcomes of the current situations, his earliest machinations were a triumph on a biblical scale.

But that was then; this was now. You were only as great as your latest conquest. Or as broken and irrelevant as your most current failure. The opening hours proved his achievements on a scale that could only be tallied by the chaos, death, and destruction he unleashed upon Thyferra. The question remained. Could he see his objectives through to the end of the conflict? Nemesis had every intention of doing just that.

The architecture shuddered again, this time from much closer impacts and detonations. The armored giant stood behind the technicians at the computers and merely watched. Externally, he was as calm and collected as ever. But internally, he was seething. The encroaching enemy forces were driving deeper into the industrial park. Sith troopers were falling under sustained fire. Sithspawn had breached the western perimeter and were wreaking havoc on both lines of the conflict. Something or someone was breaking the Sith hold on the power grid, one substation at a time. Even now, the initially unheard sounds of raging battle could be heard in the distance. Fingers tightened upon the silver cylinder in his grasp. Anticipation flowed through him, offsetting the previous fury. And somewhere, the man who whispered four little words was growing closer.

"I'm coming for you."

----------------------------------------------------

Two squads neared their destination—the final contact and location with Trask. Borg, the senior squad leader, held up his hand, pausing their approach. They could see the sealed bulkhead in the flickering lights that cast an ominous ambiance. He ordered a fireteam to advance and investigate. Moments later, he received the all clear, and the rest of the force advanced. What greeted Borg's eyes was unpleasant. One of the soldiers nudged the extremely dead corpse of Trask and glanced up at his commander. "He's dead. Very dead. And I wouldn't call this a good death." Borg hissed out a silent curse. "Alpha squad, begin setting demolitions. The rest of you, fall back and set up a perimeter. Repel anything that comes our way. I have a call to make."

Borg moved several meters away and opened his comms to a secure channel. "Lord Nemesis, we found Trask. He didn't make it. But we're here now and continuing the plan. Soon we will breach the barricade and hit whatever is inside." Borg knew exactly how Nemesis responded to failure. They would choose death before defeat. The explosives were set, and the squads were ready. When the breach charges blew, several tossed in thermal detonators, and as their explosions echoed, they entered with rifles shouldered and firing at any movement they found.

----------------------------------------------------

Invasion. War. Battle. A fight. It all begins as two opposing ideologies seek dominance over the other. That, that is where it begins. By understanding what they want, you can imagine what the other side plans to do and how they'll do it. And the price they are willing to pay to attain their goals. The line between perceived actions and unvisualized possible strategies disappears under commanders you do not know. What do they desire? What do they love and hate? Do they possess a moral code? Is there a vendetta, actionable vengeance, justified behavior? You cannot correctly presume to understand what someone will do until you discern their motivations.

The one thing neither Connel nor the Republic forces could do was anticipate Nemesis.

To anticipate what he would do, the others would need to know anything about him. His actions, commands, orders, and objectives shifted like the flames burning across the fields of Thyferra. One moment he's going one way and then the next, he's headed in a completely different direction. His responses to feinting jabs, probing maneuvers, and attacks were unlike anything he'd done before. He would sacrifice one moment and reinforce the next. His carefully chosen responses were unpredictable. Yet even in their unpredictable nature, there was no prediction of how he would react the next time. The only thing the enemy could ascertain was that Nemesis was now aware his adversary approached.

The fires burning in the city spread across the outer edges. And like every city in the history of the galaxy, the outer edges were where the impoverished, the poor, and less financially affluent lived. With their families. While the rich cheered at the fortunate turn of events that spared their megastructures, the less economically blessed of Thyferra were flooded by the ramifications of decisions made by many. Gardens and parks had sprung up as projects for the low-income neighborhoods. To beautify the areas around the city. In other neighborhoods, large cobblestone walls were erected to bring a sense of ancient history to the old city. Recreational ponds, playgrounds, and fields for team sports added to the city's character and became a key part of its planning.

They all acted as windbreaks. The added features funneled fires and infections into densely packed apartment complexes, homes, and religious buildings, as numerous as the systems they hailed from. Death rolled for tens of thousands because of the oversight committee's planning. Waves of Sithspawn, infected, and terrified civilians ran in mass, interspersed with one another, and toward the Republic lines. Discerning who was Sithspawn, who was civilian, and who was somewhere in between became impossible. The horde flooded the Republic line, which opened fire. It was their only option, even if they didn't know.

All across the industrial park, battlefield between two armies, and the cities burning in various stages of chaos, Sithspawn were shot, bombed, and mowed down. In their death, the Republic and Jedi removed the scourge of their lives and undead lives from Thyferra. What they did not remove were the viruses that lived on in the forms of splattered armor, gore-fused vehicles, and even every step taken on the muddied ground, birthed from a mixture of rain and diseased blood. The original progenitors may have been destroyed, but across the planet, secondary infections from the carriers' fluids began to affect populations and armies alike. Only a full decontamination could alleviate any trepidations of infection. And in an active warzone, neither side was prepared for such precautions.

The skies were still alight with fire and streaking ships. Shuttles, freighters, and drop ships flitted about the air as fighters and bombers swooped and dove amidst the backlight of anti-missile and anti-aircraft installations. Many of the munitions released from the bombers were intercepted. Nemesis had foreseen the possibility and planned accordingly. Most missiles and torpedoes destroyed as they descended on their targets were not merely rendered inert and domicile. Each payload was chosen with the knowledge it may not connect, and so gases, liquid flames, and massive detonations rained from the heavens. The Nihilblight Xenotoxin drifted from an exploded payload, tendrils reaching for the life it sensed below. Just because some of the arsenal was destroyed before being properly deployed did not mean the horrors did not still reach the ground, for it did.

In the towers, it became apparent that the enemy was nigh. As was the endgame. Orders came for the Sith troopers to surrender. Weapons were tossed aside, and armor slipped out as the troopers followed their commands. Their commander, Nemesis, had told them before the engagement that if victory appeared untenable, an order would be sent to surrender. He told them he wouldn't spend their lives needlessly. Across the industrial parks and refineries, the troopers obeyed. But not for those in the central hub. They hunkered down, weapons at the ready, as the armored giant who stood in their midst moved to a pile on one of the desks and retrieved a second lightsaber hilt and waited for the inevitable. When his adversary came, only one of them would leave alive.

----------------------------------------------------

As the small force took out another contingent of enemy troopers, they reached the next bulkhead in a series of bulkheads keeping them from their target at the towers. Troigs ignited the lightsaber and began carving an opening for the ragtag group. After several slices, a large section fell inward, and he leaped through in a roll, bringing up his lightsaber at the large Sith formation that stood before him. Sergeant Mills had rapidly followed, with the ragtags flowing behind them. Their numbers appeared equal, and the close quarters promised heavy casualties for both sides. But just before anything began, the troopers dropped their weapons and slipped out of their armor as they surrendered. Troigs and Mills looked at one another before shrugging.

"Take them into custody. Attention, Republic forces, this is Sergeant Mills. We have encountered a group of Sith troopers who have surrendered. Do we hold or push to the objective?" He held the comlink in his hand as he shook his head in confusion. The comms echoed with several reports exactly like his. The enemy giving up. And while he was tempted to shoot them down where the Sith stood, he knew it wasn't just. Plus Troigs would probably object. Darn those Jedi teachings and sense of morality. The towers weren't far, but they were stuck waiting on a response from command.

Then Troigs turned and looked to the left, down a long corridor. His brow furrowed, and sweat dripped down his face. His grip shifted on the lightsaber as his eyes sought to pierce the darkness down the hall. He spoke over his shoulder. "I'm sensing the light and the dark: a Jedi and a Sith. My assistance may be needed. Continue with the mission, brother." Slowly, he eased down the corridor, steps moving between puddles on the duracrete. His free hand pulled out his comlink, and he thumbed a frequency open. "Are there any Jedi in the refineries who need help?" Troigs hoped the Jedi down the way wasn't in dire need. But if he were, Troigs would be there. As he slipped the comms back into his belt, the whole world flipped upside down, and he slammed against a wall, huddling as large chunks of duracrete fell from the ceilings, pipes burst, and fireballs squelched.

Coughing against the dust, he moved through the rubble of the hall until he could stand again. Something exploded nearby, and he shook his head at the ringing in his ears and the dust that filled the air. Footsteps sounded down the hall, nearing his position, and he held the blue blade of his lightsaber out. Dust drifted from the shattered pipes running the length of the cracked ceiling and into his eyes, making him blink one eye rapidly to clear his vision. The presence of the darksider materialized into a figure.

"Surrender, Sith. Or I will be forced to strike you down. And there has been enough death for today."

----------------------------------------------------

The event Troigs, Sergeant Mills, and their ragtag group experienced was not localized. Every Sith Trooper and Ronin under the command of Nemesis had arrived with explosives. During the first hour on the surface, the soldiers planted their explosives all around the industrial park, with the refineries within and the landing pads outside recipients of the powerful demolition charges. The intent was that if they couldn't keep the park and everything within, then they would deny the Republic the opportunity to reclaim it. The Ronin in the central hub of the towers had carefully monitored enemy comm traffic, open channels, and the interior systems. Not a single person, Jedi or Sith, Republic or Sith order, had found the explosives or reported anything suspicious. None of the charges were taken offline or tampered with. Even the holofeeds showed enemies and allies alike passing by the nodes of destructive power. And not a single report or action had been taken against them.

So when Nemesis activated the explosives with an immediate self-destruct command prompt, the hell that filled the rest of the planet was intimately experienced from within. Architecture and weight-bearing columns didn't just explode; they vaporized. Floors shook and then rose in upheaval, upper stories collapsed, vats exploded in sprays of wasted bacta. Ships waiting on the tarmacks were consumed by ruptured fuel tanks. Fire ravaged enemy and ally alike. Duracrete and pipes became a debris field of shrapnel slamming into surrendered troopers and armed Republic forces with wild abandon, crossing any line and every decent rule of war. Fires raged, setting figures aflame while shockwaves crushed internal organs and shattered bone and armor. Chaos had arrived, and death, destruction, devastation, and obliteration were its horsemen, its harbingers. And the timer continued to tick.

2.39.22
2.39.21
2.39.20



(Friday 6:51 p.m. EST)
Post #66
Liked by: Sibylla Abrantes , Darth Strosius , Aiden Porte , Vivi Irius , Briana Sal-Soren , "Ariel"

"Yes, do so immediately. And ensure this entire industrial park has every last charge planted." The commander turned away as the Ronin went to carry out his orders. Too bad none of the Sith Troopers or his Ronin knew he could override every single device and trigger an immediate self-destruct..

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: On the move | Objective: Bring the thunder

Allies: Srina Talon

Enemies: Acier Moonbound | Lorn Reingard | Judah Lesan

​

​

.

"Hey, kid."

"Acier."

"Don't let her into your head."

"What you did yesterday doesn't get to make the next choice for you. Neither does she." Judah tilted his head toward @Mercy . "So maybe don't let the giant murder lady pick your next move."

The accusation hurt because some part of him wondered whether she was right.

But he wasn't making that mistake again. Ace launched upward, planting one foot against Lorn's shoulder. Both blades swept up defensively against any lightning arcing across him before Ace kicked away, simultaneously helping drive Lorn out of Mercy's grasp.

Too late.

Mercy got exactly what she had been after. Ace didn’t just commit, he went for it, leaping towards her and detaching Lorn from her all in one movement. It was a beautiful maneuver and Arris Windrun would have been proud to see it. But Arris wasn’t there to see it… instead it was Mercy facing him.

He had come to Jakku to oppose them and managed to leave without suffering… too much.

A mistake the Lord of the Covenant wished to rectify.

The telekinetic burst rushed forward and slammed straight into Mercy. It sent her backward, even as she dug her heels in, causing large gouges in the floor as metal reacted to the friction of the carapace carving through it.

“Yes, that is better.” Mercy called out to Ace with a wild grin even as he was flying towards her. The lightsabers came out and Acier went for the death blow. Perfect execution, to such an extent that even Mercy was impressed by his determination to end her.

She surged forward, deflecting one saber with her forearm, while catching the other one with the carapace around her shoulder. It hurt. Agony, really, as the heat again burned the flesh beneath the armor.

This is where rubber met the road, however. To get this close, meant that Acier had to sacrifice distance and come in close. Exactly the wrong place to be with someone like Mercy. He had moved for a death blow and Mercy responded the only way she knew how.

Her head came back and then smashed towards Acier’s face.

If he remained within reach, she'd happily do it again, and again, until that presumptuous nose of his finally broke. Steam rose from her armor, flesh bubbling beneath it, hissing in pain as her eyes turned practically gold from the Dark Side surging through her to feed on her agony.

“What can I say, Ace…” Merce purred, using the nickname that Arris had used on him. “When you have this much power, you don’t stop talking for anyone.”

It helped that Mercy was a born yapper. She did it for the love of the game and nothing else.

Like Srina, she didn’t wander deeper into the facility. The bio-blood connection between them, created by their blood and Warform, didn’t need the Force for the impressions to be shared between them.

No Force? Soon? Beautiful.

“Your friend executed her. And you…Ran.”

“Everything I have ever done, will do, has been to keep my children safe. I am responsible for them. Tell me…Where does responsibility end for you and being an animal begin?”

Mercy had been about to launch herself into a new attack when Srina took the baton from her and ran with it. She listened, even while keeping her eyes on the Jedi in front of them. Her eyes began to gleam sooner rather than later though.

By the end?

An ugly (or beautiful, depending on your perspective) sound originated from the Mountain.

It was not just laughter, it was a hungry cackle of mirth and delight.

“Oh, oh, oh, that is… rich.” Mercy grinned like a smug mountain-shaped nerf herder. “What are you even doing here, Ace? You have no fucking idea who you are, but you think you can sit here and judge us?”

Mercy’s hand slammed into her chest.

“I know what I am, who I am. No excuses, no illusions. Then there is you… hands awash in blood, pretending that crying about it and now killing for the other side makes you any better.”

Then she blurred forward and Mercy was right in front of Acier again, her fist driving toward his chest with every intention of knocking the breath from him.

“But you are worse, Ace… and I love it.”

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Makko Vyres]

SHIELD | ARMOR | LIGHTSABER | DRONES | SHIP | PISTOL​

Allies: Mantys Thranx

Makko took a breath. The first pack of techno zombies had gone dark cleanly, but more were approaching. He had a mark on the signature now. He drew a slower breath, settled deeper into the Force. He stretched out his senses following the net and he pushed.

His presence spread farther than it had before, riding every command radio, every sensor node, and even civilian comms nets that were still operational.

Each piece of technology could be traced. He knew how to break every one of these technological monsters if he was willing to pay.

He paid.

Reanimation triggers collapsed under the override and left the hosts inert where they stood. For a moment the laboratory around him felt distant, as if he were standing inside the network instead of the room.

One by one the signatures vanished. Dozens at first. Then more. Whole pockets of the industrial sprawl went quiet as the corrupted hosts simply stopped.

His pulse hammered in his throat. Sweat stood on his brow. The work had taken more from him than the first pack ever had.

"I dropped everything approaching the laboratories," he said. Anything that had been powered by a virus mutated through technolical means and the dark side nearby had been extinguished.

He felt exhausted. As tiring as it had been, Makko realised his senses were returning back because something was pushing back at his grasp of the Force.

For a moment, he suspected the enemy. Then he finally saw the warnings about the influence of the artifact.

Makko disconnected the headset and reached for his lightsaber. There was more than one way to skin a nexu.

 

[Daegon Corvinus]

WEARING: This | WEAPONS: Lightsaber
ALLIES: Seraphina Corvinus | Jaun Smyth (Still not happy with) ENEMIES: EVERYONE​

Daegon let the Senator finish.

That restraint was deliberate.

There were several ways he could have answered the little display of self-deprecation, most of them sharp enough to make the room considerably less comfortable. Instead, he reached for the glass of water near his place at the table and turned it once between his fingers without drinking. By the time he set it back down, the first edge of his temper had been filed into something colder and more useful.

"My wife has already made the point more graciously than I would have."

His attention settled on Smyth.

"They did not simply ask Queen Varanin questions. Republic authorities attempted to arrest a diplomat inside her own office despite the immunity attached to her position, and they did so beneath agreements intended to preserve peace with the Mandalorian Empire."

Daegon allowed that to sit for a moment before continuing.

"That is why I called it a move against her."

There was no accusation in his tone beyond what the facts themselves required. Daegon had no interest in pretending that a diplomatic incident became harmless because someone chose softer language after the consequences arrived.

"You may disagree with my interpretation, Senator. What I would ask is that you not reduce an attempted diplomatic arrest to an offended woman reacting poorly to questions. It is patronizing to Queen Varanin, and it is not especially useful while we are trying to understand whether decisions made elsewhere helped bring this war back to Thyferra."

He could have gone further.

He did not.

Seraphina had already given the room the more important point. Words had meaning. Actions had consequences. Families and alliances did not suddenly become less dangerous because someone behind a desk decided the offense taken was unreasonable.

Daegon understood that better than most.

He understood what powerful people would do for those they considered their own, and he understood how quickly questions of pride became questions of loyalty when blood, marriage, old allegiance, and political promises were involved. Anyone who imagined Srina Talon existed without such connections had not been paying attention. Neither had anyone who thought the name Verd could be introduced into the situation without bringing history with it.

That did not make the Sith attack justified. It made it predictable.

There was a difference.

Daegon returned his attention to the information Smyth had provided about the farms and villages. Some of it was useful. The existence of bunkers and deep nests mattered. Local militias mattered. Republic squads assisting evacuations mattered. Daegon was not so consumed by anger that he could not acknowledge real efforts being made to keep people alive.

What troubled him was the implication beneath it, that Thyferra had suffered before, therefore it should have expected to suffer again.

The thought settled poorly.

Daegon had spent too much of his life rebuilding what previous wars had ruined to accept repetition as preparation. A bunker was not a strategy for preventing catastrophe. It was where people went after strategy had already failed.

His gaze moved briefly across the Vratix gathered throughout the situation room. They carried themselves with the tension of people attempting to keep a government functioning while the world above them came apart. Aides moved between stations, reports changed hands, and every few moments another update entered a system already struggling to make sense of the whole.

Then Seraphina asked what the contamination did. Daegon stopped turning the glass between his fingers. That was the question he should have asked first. He had approached the matter like the owner of Xucphra, thinking in terms of supply chains, processing sites, distribution networks, and compromised inventory. The word contamination had immediately broken itself into categories for him because categories could be calculated: crops, facilities, water, finished bacta, raw material.

Seraphina had discarded every one of those abstractions.

What happened to the people?

Daegon's eyes narrowed slightly. Something else had bothered him since they entered the bunker, though he had dismissed it at first as the pressure of the attack. There was enough fear here to stain the atmosphere without any assistance from the Force. It existed in hurried footsteps, clipped conversations, and the constant shifting of personnel attempting to remain professional while something far larger than any of them unfolded beyond reinforced walls.

This sensation was different.

Daegon leaned back in his chair and allowed his attention to drift away from the table without moving his eyes from Smyth.

The Force answered quietly.

He did not reach toward the Senator or anyone else in the room. Minds were unnecessary, and probing them would have been both crude and dangerous. Daegon had survived this long by understanding that the greatest advantage of hidden power was that nobody knew when it was being used.

His awareness moved outward instead.

His awareness moved outward through durasteel and stone, past the ordered anxiety of the bunker, until he found life beyond the fortified interior. At first, that was all he sensed. Then its shape became wrong, and Daegon's expression changed by degrees. The presences outside were not merely injured. Pain had a recognizable texture in the Force, as did terror, exhaustion, rage, and desperation. What touched his senses now carried elements of all of them, but twisted together in patterns that did not feel natural. Something had altered them.

Malformed was the first word that came to him.

Deformed was the second.

Not in the superficial sense of damaged bodies, but in something more fundamental. Their presence in the Force felt as though familiar life had been stretched around an appetite that did not belong there. Instinct had been stripped down until hunger overwhelmed everything else. Individual impressions blurred into agitation so violent that Daegon had difficulty separating one living presence from another.

He reached slightly farther.

A pulse of movement answered.

Something struck a barrier beyond the bunker with enough violence that Daegon felt the intent behind it before any sound reached the room. The presence carried no strategy or recognizable purpose. It moved with nothing but hunger.

Daegon withdrew carefully, closing his awareness before curiosity drew him toward something he did not yet understand. He remained silent for several seconds as he considered what he had sensed and compared it with the information Smyth had provided.

The contamination, the barricades, the bunkers, and the armed personnel all suggested a danger that extended beyond the bombardment. Smyth had described those measures as though everyone in the room already understood why they were necessary, but Daegon no longer believed the explanation was that simple.

He looked toward one of the reinforced walls. Something was moving on the other side of it, something that had once belonged within the ordinary shape of life but no longer did.

His gaze returned to Smyth.

"Senator."

The irritation that had colored Daegon's earlier words was gone. That was not an improvement.

"My wife asked you what the contamination does. I would like that answered before we discuss anything else."

Daegon did not explain what he had just done. There were dozens of plausible ways a man with Xucphra's resources might have learned there was trouble beyond the bunker. Corporate sensors, private security channels, internal reports, or simple observation were all explanations Smyth was welcome to invent for himself.

Daegon knew Seraphina would notice the change in him regardless. She always did. His eyes shifted once more toward the wall.

"There is something beyond these defenses."

He chose the next words carefully.

"Something alive."

The situation room continued moving around them, but Daegon's attention remained fixed on Smyth.

"It is not simply wounded. It is not behaving like frightened civilians, and it does not feel like ordinary casualties sheltering from a bombardment."

A faint crease formed between his brows.

"Whatever happened to them has changed them."

Daegon considered what he had sensed again and disliked it more with every passing second.

"The word contaminated is doing a great deal of work in this conversation."

He gestured lightly toward the room around them.

"You have described evacuation measures, militia mobilization, shelters, contaminated supply, and barricades. Those are not one problem."

His voice remained calm, though nothing about it was gentle now.

"If the supply has been poisoned, tell us how. If people have been exposed, tell us what exposure does to them. If those barricades are intended to keep something out rather than simply keep us safe from the bombardment, then I would prefer we stop speaking around the reason."

Daegon paused.

His eyes remained on Smyth.

"What exactly is it that we are barricading ourselves from?"

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Objective: 1
Allies: SO and their allies Tobias Dib
Enemies: THR, their allies and Aiden Porte

Seren did not pursue Aiden, though Voidstar remained raised between them, its crimson-cored blade casting an uneven glow through the smoke and rain as she maintained enough of a guard to protect herself if he chose to continue. The aggression that had carried her through their earlier exchanges had gradually bled from her posture, replaced by an exhaustion she could no longer entirely conceal. Her shoulder still throbbed from being driven into the processing unit, every movement pulling painfully at bruised muscle and sending an ache down her arm, while the cut near her hairline stung beneath the rainwater running across her face. She had been hurt before and would be again, but this exhaustion reached deeper than bruises and blood, fed by the violence surrounding them and the increasingly undeniable realization that nothing she did here was going to change the course of the battle.

The sounds of the industrial park had changed while she and Aiden fought, growing heavier and steadily closer as Republic forces pressed inward. Armor rumbled somewhere beyond the refinery structures, starfighters screamed through the burning sky overhead, and explosions rolled through the duracrete beneath her boots frequently enough that it had become difficult to tell where one ended and another began. Seren had spent enough time on battlefields to understand what those sounds meant without needing anyone to explain them to her, and the scattered reports crossing the comms only confirmed what she could already see unfolding around her. Republic forces were penetrating deeper into the industrial park, routes out were disappearing, and the Sith position was being compressed from almost every direction.

Then the traffic across the Sith frequencies changed, and Seren listened as reports began filtering through that Tobias's troopers and Ronin had been ordered to surrender rather than continue dying for ground that could no longer reasonably be held. It was not an order meant for her, and she never mistook it for one, yet hearing it affected her more than she expected. Tobias had brought destruction to Thyferra on a scale she could scarcely comprehend, but when the position became untenable he had chosen not to spend the lives of his soldiers simply for the sake of pride, and now, throughout the industrial park, weapons were being put down.

Her fingers tightened around Voidstar as she looked toward Aiden, wondering what exactly remained for the two of them to accomplish by continuing their own fight. Neither had managed to put the other down, and the battlefield around them was steadily rendering their duel irrelevant, yet Seren still could not quite bring herself to extinguish her weapon. There was something painfully difficult about lowering a lightsaber in front of a Jedi when she no longer stood among them, particularly when the Jedi before her was someone she had encountered once before under circumstances that had been so very different.

On Chalcedon, Aiden had sensed what she was and had distrusted her for it, but he had also seen her freeing slaves rather than harming them. For that brief stretch of time, they had stood on the same side of something despite her darkness and his light separating them, and the memory returned now with an uncomfortable clarity. There had been a version of Seren Gwyn who would have looked upon the blue blade across from her and associated it instinctively with safety rather than danger, because once she had carried the same ideals and called herself Jedi. She had traveled too far from that woman to pretend nothing had changed, yet neither could she convince herself that everything she had once believed had vanished with her.

Her gaze lingered upon Aiden for another moment as Voidstar began to lower, not in surrender but because Seren had finally decided there was no reason to be the one who renewed their fight. Whatever happened next, she would not throw herself at him merely because they happened to stand upon opposing sides of a battlefield that was already drowning in enough blood.

She never completed the motion.

The industrial park exploded around her with such sudden violence that there was no time to understand what was happening before the ground itself seemed to wrench sideways beneath her boots. One detonation became several, then too many to separate, as duracrete heaved upward, structural supports vanished into the fire, pipes burst from the walls, and machinery was torn apart by the concussive force. Seren was thrown from her feet before she could properly brace herself, her injured shoulder striking the broken ground hard enough to tear a raw cry from her throat as white-hot pain ripped through the joint and momentarily emptied her mind of everything except the need to breathe.

Instinct took over before thought could catch up, and Seren dragged the Force around herself in a hurried barrier just as fragments of duracrete, shattered piping, twisted metal, and pieces of machinery began hammering against it. Each impact reverberated through her concentration until it felt as though the blows were landing somewhere inside her skull, while something considerably heavier struck hard enough to buckle the protection inward and drive her flat against the rubble. Pain tore through her shoulder again, sharp enough to leave her nauseated, and dust filled her mouth as smoke burned her lungs every time she tried to draw breath. She curled one arm protectively over her head and clung to the barrier with the other, enduring the barrage until the explosions finally grew farther apart and the debris stopped falling heavily enough to threaten crushing her outright.

For several moments after the worst had passed, Seren remained curled partly onto her side amid the rubble while the ringing in her ears reduced the surrounding battle to a distant and indistinct roar. Her entire body hurt, although her shoulder remained the worst of it, throbbing so violently that pushing herself onto one elbow drew a strained sound through clenched teeth and forced her to stop until the wave of nausea subsided. Blood ran freely from the open cut near her temple, warm against skin chilled by the rain, and when she eventually managed to pull one knee beneath herself she discovered, with an almost absurd flicker of disbelief, that Voidstar was somehow still clutched in her hand.

It took another moment before she became aware of the blue light cutting through the drifting dust, followed by the figure of another Jedi emerging through the damaged corridor. Seren's first instinct was painfully familiar, her fingers tightening around Voidstar as her battered body prepared itself for another fight even before her mind had decided whether she wanted one, but the words that reached her through the settling debris were not an attack.

He told her to surrender, or he would be forced to strike her down.

Seren remained on one knee for several seconds, breathing through the pain while rain and blood traced uneven paths down her face. The temptation to refuse was there, but it had remarkably little to do with anger or any belief that she could somehow salvage victory from what remained of the industrial park. Fighting was familiar. Fighting meant retaining some measure of control over what happened to her, while surrender meant willingly relinquishing that control and trusting someone else to decide what came afterward, and that frightened her in a way another lightsaber never quite had.

Yet when Seren looked around at what remained of the refinery, at the fire consuming shattered machinery and the ruined structures disappearing into smoke, she could find no reason worth paying for with another life. Tobias's soldiers had already been permitted to put down their weapons rather than die needlessly, but nobody had made that decision for her. Troigs had given her the opportunity, and now the choice belonged entirely to Seren.

Her gaze moved briefly toward Aiden before returning to the Jedi who had demanded her surrender, and something inside her finally yielded, not out of defeat so much as the weary recognition that she did not want to kill either of them simply to avoid becoming their prisoner. Perhaps there had been a time when pride would have demanded otherwise, but too much of Seren's life had already been shaped by people who believed survival meant nothing unless it came on their own terms.

Slowly, and with considerable effort, Seren forced herself upright, keeping both Jedi within her awareness while making no movement toward either of them. Voidstar still burned in her hand, trembling slightly now from exhaustion and pain, until she looked down at the weapon that had accompanied her through so much of the life she had built after leaving the Jedi behind and pressed the activation switch. The crimson light disappeared with a soft hiss, leaving only the battered hilt in her grasp and an uncomfortable emptiness where its familiar glow had been.

She hesitated for a heartbeat before bending carefully and placing Voidstar upon the broken duracrete, the movement pulling painfully through her shoulder, and she had to pause before straightening again. When Seren finally rose, she brought both hands slowly into view, empty and held away from her body so there could be no misunderstanding about what she intended, even though every instinct shaped by the years since leaving the Jedi protested the vulnerability of standing wounded and unarmed before them.

"I surrender."

There was no shame in her voice, although there was far more emotion beneath those two words than Seren would willingly have admitted. Standing there with blood tracing one side of her face and pain accompanying nearly every breath, she could not escape the bitter strangeness of surrendering herself to people whose Order had once been hers, nor the quiet fear of discovering whether the mercy she remembered from that life still extended to someone who had walked as far into darkness as she had. Even so, Seren made no attempt to reach for the Force, call Voidstar back into her hand, or search the ruins for some increasingly impossible route of escape, choosing instead to remain where she was and trust, however painfully, that the Jedi would accept the surrender they had asked of her.

 

[Jaun Smyth]

Senator of Thyferra
Xucphra City - Government Offices
​

The pair thought themselves quite clever. Or perhaps only the male. The cold, dead eyes seemed to look not at them, but through them. An apex predator growing bored with batting at its prey.

"Hm?"

The rapid sound of automatic blasterfire could be heard outside, then the deplorable thumping stopped.

Jaun took a look at his datapad as a message from Mantys Thranx came through. The Senator raised both eyebrows.

"If only we knew with a certainty, my friends. However, it appears there are multiple pathogens and at least one of them turns people into some sort of horrific beasts."

Smyth grimaced tightly.

"More Sith indiscriminate massacring nonsense, though horrible for the people of Thyferra. Another war crime to their ever-growing tally. Our scientists are formulating an answer as we speak."

He set the datapad down and steepled his fingers.

"You seemed quite certain nothing infected your corporation's bacta stores, which means that the spread must be extremely limited. Almost negligible, even. Your corporation is, after all, monolithic. That it is untouched by this affair shows that the Sith have overreached."

Jaun tutted, but his humor never reached his gaze.

"The Republic relief force has arrived by the way," he nodded to the colonel, who he had sent a message to in the middle of Daegon's speech. "I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of diverting an entire complement of Republic gunships to your corporate headquarters. To help bolster your forces against the Sith."

Jaun smiled.

"Speaking of Sith. You seem very knowledgeable on this Echani Queen's tall tales. I don't mean to be rude, Mr. and Mrs. Corvinus, but it has been quite some time since you were last seen engaging in galactic politics as it were. I would have been happy to discuss your concerns over Jedi overreach at any time previously, but in the midst of a planetary incursion does not strike me as the best time to quibble. Later, perhaps?"

Smyth toyed with a button under the lip of the conference table, circling it with his thumb. Both hands came up and he clapped them together, then rubbed his hands together as if excited to discuss the main course for dinner.

"Now. While our scientists formulate a cure, how will your security forces launch a counterattack against Sith ground forces? I am certain the good Colonel here would be happy to coordinate with you and our gunships."

Seraphina Corvinus Daegon Corvinus Mantys Thranx

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thyferra

Equipment:
Vanguard Robes | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

ALLIES: Lorn Reingard | Judah Lesan
ADVERSARIES: Mercy | Srina Talon

Ace's telekinetic burst drove her backward, but she caught his blades before either could reach her neck. He barely registered the burns beneath her armor before her head snapped forward.

The impact caught him square across the face and pain exploded through his nose. Ace stumbled with it, warm blood immediately spilling over his lips as something split across the bridge. Breathing through his nose became a sharp, wet struggle.

He jumped backward immediately, putting several meters between them and resetting his stance. Fighting Mercy in the pocket wasn't the play. Lesson learned.

Something changed. Briana Sal-Soren 's familiar presence that had been there throughout the battle; steady, reassuring, strengthening. It faded from his awareness. The subtle reinforcement that had carried him and countless others with it disappeared too.

Ace heard Judah talking somewhere behind him, but the words barely registered. He wiped the blood beneath his nose with his forearm.

"Acier."

His eyes shifted toward Judah while his body remained squarely oriented toward Mercy. This time, he listened.

"What you did yesterday doesn't get to make the next choice for you. Neither does she."

Ace looked back toward Mercy. The cold fury in his expression had quieted into something more contemplative. He'd wrestled with that question ever since Lorn broke him out of that cell. Nothing Ace did now would erase Tapani. Humbraine. Any of it. He didn't want it erased.

But he'd wondered whether anything he did would ever be enough. Maybe that wasn't the question he needed to be asking.

Judah was right about something else too. He couldn't let Mercy choose for him. His anger was valid. Righteous even, but It just couldn't be in control.

Srina's assault on Judah snapped Ace from his thoughts. His attention followed the jagged piece of durasteel as it tore free and shot toward the older Jedi, before his eyes found his aunt.

What the fuck had Judah done to her?

He trusted Mercy enough, strangely, to know she respected Srina too much to attack him and interrupt her while she spoke. So he listened.

Then Srina mentioned Ghorman and Ace's stomach dropped. His gaze lowered. There wasn't any venom in Srina's voice and somehow that made it worse. She genuinely wanted to understand him, despite everything between them, despite the sides they'd chosen, she still cared enough to try.

Before he could answer, Mercy's voice cut through. Ace's grip tightened around his hilts as she tore into him. The words affected him despite himself. But one struck deeper than the others.

“You have no fucking idea who you are.”

He heard Lorn stirring behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Seeing him suddenly made him remember Ukio. An afternoon months before everything went to shit. Lorn half asleep while Ace repaired something he couldn't even remember now. But he remembered what he'd said.

"You are a Jedi," Lorn said, his eyes finally finding the boy's face. "You just don't know it yet, kid."

"The Force speaks to me," Lorn joked, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. "It already knows what's in your heart. It's your destiny."

"You're thinking too literally," Lorn said, squinting at the boy. "You're boxing yourself into some traditional image that doesn't exist anymore. You follow the light. You protect people. You want the best for the galaxy. What exactly would change?"

Ace had spent so long resisting it.

Vayun.

Street rat.

Verd.

Final Weave.

Rebel.

Soldier.

Sith.

Traitor.

Prisoner.

Fugitive.

There had always been another name. Another role. Another person telling him what he was supposed to be. Jedi had felt like another box waiting to close around him. Another identity someone else had chosen before he'd gotten the chance to choose it himself.

But Lorn hadn't been asking him to become anything. That was what Ace hadn't understood. Long before anyone had called him a Jedi, he'd already been doing the job. On Bonadan. Denon. Ord Mantell. The Hidden Path. Even during the worst months of his life, buried beneath all the compromises and mistakes, that instinct had never completely left him.

Put himself between the blade and someone who can't.

Nobody had taught him that, or assigned it to him. There hadn't been an Order standing over his shoulder telling him who to save. It was simply who he was and Ace understood that now. For once, completely.

Mercy was wrong. He knew exactly who he was.

Mercy blurred forward.

This time Ace didn't meet strength with strength. He slipped laterally from the path of her charging fist, twisting his body away while his blue blade swept toward her exposed flank in a passing counter.

"I'm a fucking Jedi."

He immediately continued backward, refusing to remain within Mercy's reach and resetting his guard at distance.

Then a transmission flashed across his comms. Lorn's relay. Force nullification spreading through the sector.

Whatever.

But underneath it came something considerably better through Vanguard channels. Reinforcements had come and the Sith lines were beginning to buckle.

Ace understood. They didn't need to kill Mercy and they didn't need to defeat Srina. They just needed to keep them here. Every second these two spent fighting them was another second they weren't ripping through infantry, slaughtering Thyferrans, or turning the wider battle themselves.

Two Jedi and... whatever Judah was.

His eyes remained on Mercy, agony throbbing through his nose.

"You're missing the point. I don't think what Lorn did was good. I get why he did it. There's a difference." He addressed Srina without looking away from the Titan. "Responsibility isn't finding an excuse for what you've done and calling it justified. It's owning it. Learning from it. Trying to do better without pretending the blood disappears. I know exactly what I've done, Srina. I can't change it. I can only decide what I do next."

His blades remained ready.

"And that's the difference between me and her. Mercy doesn't regret shit. She just wants to escalate and escalate. You want to protect your children? Whatever. But when everyone else's lives stop mattering because they're not yours? That's where responsibility ends."​

 

[Judah Lesan]

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

Judah had just managed to convince several abused nerves that standing upright was worth the effort when Srina raised a finger to her lips.

“Shhh…”

The word should have been harmless.

It was not.

Pain erupted through places Judah had almost forgotten were injured. His ankle flared first, followed by every ache captivity had left behind and several he suspected had been waiting patiently for an invitation. Even the ordinary complaints of age suddenly felt as though someone had poured molten metal into his joints. Judah’s knees threatened to fold beneath him, and the refinery blurred while his body tried very hard to convince him that lying back down was the only sensible decision he had made all day.

“Okay,” he managed through clenched teeth. “That’s obnoxious.”

The red saber jerked violently in his hand.

Judah tightened his grip on instinct as Srina pulled at the weapon through the Force. The tug nearly ripped his shoulder forward, forcing him to plant his feet despite the agony she was dragging through his body. Somewhere at his hip, the stolen blaster began coming apart with considerably less resistance. Components tore free one after another until whatever usefulness the weapon had possessed scattered across the refinery floor.

Judah glanced down at the pieces.

“I stole that.”

Another wrench against the saber pulled his attention back to Srina.

The ridiculous complaint had done exactly what he needed it to do. For half a heartbeat, he had thought about a broken blaster instead of boiling blood and memories that did not fit together. Humor had always been useful that way. It gave his mind somewhere harmless to hide while the important parts caught up.

Srina stepped closer.

“You should have stayed where I left you…”

Judah’s expression changed.

Then metal screamed behind him.

The warning reached him through the Force barely ahead of the jagged piece of durasteel. Pain and Srina’s pressure made the response slower than it should have been. Judah twisted rather than cleared it entirely, and the debris tore across the back of his stolen jacket and clipped his shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling sideways.

He caught himself against a support.

“You came for me on Echnos. For my children… I will never let you go.”

Something about the certainty in her voice settled differently this time.

Judah looked at Srina across the refinery, breathing hard while the red saber remained clenched in his hand. He did not remember Echnos cleanly. The name was there. Pieces existed around it, detached from one another like photographs scattered across a floor, but he could not put enough of them together to know what she remembered that he did not.

That bothered him.

The ownership bothered him more.

“You know most people hear someone escaped and take the hint.”

His mouth tried for the familiar grin.

It almost worked.

Movement elsewhere pulled his attention toward Lorn. The Jedi was getting back to his feet after Mercy had rewarded his spectacular opening decision with broken ribs, lightning, and a brief lesson in why throwing oneself bodily at a walking mountain was generally discouraged.

Judah shook his head.

It was stupid. Very stupid. Still, Lorn stood.

There was something to be said for that, and Judah might have found the words if Srina had not started talking about Ghorman. She revealed that the informant had been a Zeltron and that Lorn had shot her. Judah’s eyes moved toward him, and the humor disappeared. Srina continued, laying out the choice without condemning it. The woman had possessed information. The Sith were closing in. Lorn had decided what that information could cost and ended her life before anyone else could extract it. Judah waited for some missing piece to make the story different.

None came.

Acier answered eventually, drawing a distinction Judah understood perfectly well. He did not call what Lorn had done good. He said he understood why Lorn had done it, then spoke about responsibility, about owning the blood rather than pretending it vanished simply because the reason seemed righteous.

Judah’s jaw tightened.

“No.”

The word came out harder than most things he had said since escaping.

His eyes found Acier first.

“Don’t do that.”

There was no humor in his face now.

“Don’t make it easier by saying you understand.”

Judah turned his attention toward Lorn.

“He killed her.”

That was all the arithmetic Judah needed.

“One life or a thousand doesn’t change what she was worth. She was alive. Her life had dignity, and nobody gets to decide that dignity disappears because keeping her alive became dangerous.”

His gaze stayed on Lorn.

“You don’t end life to protect life.”

Judah had heard variations of the argument before. The mission demanded it. More people were at risk. Hard decisions had to be made by those willing to make them. Somewhere along the way, people began calling that wisdom because admitting what it really was became uncomfortable.

His expression hardened.

“That’s the same garbage I watched Jedi in the Galactic Alliance use when they wanted to convince themselves the greater good made crossing the line acceptable.”

Judah did not care which side of the refinery Lorn stood on. He did not care that the man had steadied him when he stumbled in from the smoke, or that he had offered shelter without demanding anything in return. Those things mattered, but they did not purchase absolution for something else. What Lorn had done was wrong. That did not mean Lorn could never be anything except the man who had made that choice. Judah had just finished telling Acier as much.

His attention shifted back toward the younger Jedi as Mercy came for him again. Acier did not meet the Titan’s strength with more strength this time. He moved, created distance, and answered her bait with something that seemed to have finally settled inside him.

“I’m a fucking Jedi.”

Despite everything, Judah’s mouth twitched.

“Great,” he called over the fighting. “One of us knows what he is.”

The crimson blade humming in his own hand made the joke considerably less funny from his perspective.

Still, Acier had heard him, or so he thought.

The kid had stopped allowing Mercy to choose the shape of the fight. He was still angry, still carrying whatever had happened before Judah wandered into this bizarre family disaster, but anger was no longer making every decision for him.

Then Acier answered Srina.

Judah listened.

There were parts he agreed with. Responsibility meant owning what had been done rather than hiding behind excuses. Yesterday did not disappear because today offered another choice.

But Judah would not concede the life on Ghorman as the understandable price of protecting others.

“Acier.”

Judah waited until he had enough of the younger man’s attention.

“You were right about one thing.”

The red saber lowered slightly while Judah fought through another wave of pain Srina had awakened in his body.

“You can’t change what you did. You can only decide what you do next.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Lorn.

“But don’t confuse taking responsibility with finding a reason the wrong thing needed to happen.”

The distinction mattered, especially now. Judah looked back toward Srina and considered the question she had put to Acier about where responsibility ended and being an animal began. She framed it as though everyone in the refinery stood somewhere along the same sliding scale, differing only in how many lives they were willing to sacrifice before calling the result necessary.

“You asked where it ends.” Judah steadied his breathing as much as his battered body allowed. “It ends when somebody stops being a person to you and starts being a number.” He gestured faintly toward Lorn with the crimson blade. “What he did was wrong. I’m not going to defend it because he has a lightsaber and happens to be standing on my side of the room, and I’m not going to pretend doing it a thousand times makes it more righteous.”

For once, Judah did not need the missing pieces of his memory to know where he stood. Every life mattered, including the life of the woman standing across from him. That was perhaps the most irritating part of the entire realization. He still hated Srina Talon, and after everything she had done to him, Judah suspected some portion of that hatred would be waiting for him every morning for a very long time. Yet even with pain boiling through his body and her hands seemingly wrapped around half the broken places in his mind, he could not justify murdering her simply because the galaxy might be easier without her.

That realization sat awkwardly beside the red lightsaber humming in his hand. Judah looked down at the crimson blade for a moment before a battered version of his familiar grin finally returned.

“Well, this is getting philosophically... inconvenient.”

His eyes lifted toward Srina again. Whatever she believed belonged to her, whatever pieces of him she remembered better than he did, Judah had managed to recover enough of himself to make one decision without her help.

“Still not coming back, though.”