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

[William Thule]

In Brightest Day
In Blackest Night

Darth Strosius Lina Ovmar Madrona A’Mia Andromeda Demir
ALAZHI FIELDS
​

"Come then."

William grimaced in disgust as the Sith before him mutated into some unnatural Sithspawn more akin to a bat than a man before launching itself at him. Its reaction speed and abilities must have been terrifying outside of the Force nullification field. But though the monstrosity hurled itself at Wiliam now with fury and grief and rage, it seemed almost sluggish and shambling.

Blood oozing from the superheated flesh of his left arm, the Jedi did not retreat, but instead stepped in to meet the Sithspawn.

The indigo blade of his lightsaber, held like a lightfoil, lanced forward in a picture-perfect thrust aimed to skewer the monstrosity through its chest, even as William desperately hoped to the Force that this creature still had a heart.

As flailing, razored limbs engulfed him, William lost sight of the embattled Republic forces around him... and of Andromeda nearby.

"Dance with me."

 

[Seren Gwyn]

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

Seren had barely begun settling into the uncomfortable reality of captivity when four blaster shots rang out from the direction of the cockpit. Without the Force, there had been no warning, no instinctive awareness of danger, and no disturbance in the shadows to draw her attention before the violence began. Her head snapped toward the sound as the Republic guards fell, and she stared as Troigs emerged carrying the pilot's sidearm before igniting his lightsaber and cutting through the restraints of one of the Ronin. His order to release their people and arm themselves transformed the transport almost immediately, prisoners who had been sitting in restraints moments earlier beginning to move while weapons changed hands around them.

Seren remained where she was, wrists still bound, watching Troigs approach with considerably more confusion than alarm. Too much had happened since her surrender for her to immediately understand what she was witnessing. This was the Jedi who had accepted that surrender, taken possession of Voidstar, escorted her through the refinery, shielded her from contaminated water, and hidden her when the creatures prowling the corridors had passed close enough to kill them both. She had spent much of that journey deliberately judging him by his actions because the absence of the Force had deprived her of every other means she normally possessed for evaluating someone. Whatever was happening now did not fit the man she thought she had been walking beside.

She did not recoil when the great saber descended toward her wrists. One clean movement severed the restraints, and Seren drew her hands apart before rubbing at one wrist where the metal had pressed against her skin. She expected an explanation for what he was doing, but the one he provided was considerably larger than anything she anticipated. The declaration that his name was Nemesis left Seren staring at him while several pieces of the battle abruptly rearranged themselves inside her thoughts. She knew Nemesis. More importantly, she knew Tobias. She had arrived on Thyferra with him and had known perfectly well that he was somewhere within the industrial park pursuing his own part in the invasion. What Seren had never suspected was that she had subsequently surrendered to him while believing him to be a Jedi named Troigs.

"I should have known." Her amber eyes remained upon him for another moment as disbelief gradually gave way to understanding, accompanied by the faintest trace of rueful amusement. " Although I suppose recognizing you would have rather defeated the purpose."

It was difficult not to reconsider everything that had happened since Troigs first took custody of her. There were moments that made considerably more sense now and others that somehow made less, but Seren found no evidence that the revelation invalidated the conclusions she had reached about him along the way. Tobias had deceived the Republic about his identity and deceived her along with them, yet when she surrendered he had still accepted responsibility for her safety. He could presumably have abandoned the performance at any number of points once circumstances deteriorated, but instead he had gotten her through the refinery while maintaining it. Even when the Force disappeared, and both of them became considerably more vulnerable, he had kept the promise made.

Her attention dropped when Tobias returned Voidstar to her, and her fingers closed immediately around the familiar dark cylinder. The absence of the Force made the weapon feel strangely incomplete in her grasp, lacking the familiar resonance she was accustomed to feeling through it, but there was reassurance in its physical weight nevertheless. Seren turned the hilt once between her fingers before clipping it securely back onto her belt where it belonged, leaving her good hand free while her injured shoulder continued to complain about nearly every unnecessary movement.

Tobias's invitation to use his personal name earned a slight lift of her brow. She had known him as Tobias before either of them ever set foot on Thyferra, which made the solemnity of being granted permission to use it somewhat strange from her perspective. The more significant information was what accompanied it. Apparently there were very few people he trusted with that name, and while Seren registered what that implied, she did not linger upon it when there were considerably more immediate problems surrounding them. She had known Tobias before today. What she had not known was how completely he could disappear inside another identity.

Once Tobias turned his attention toward the others, Seren pushed herself carefully to her feet and listened while he issued instructions to the newly freed prisoners and contacted the Republic forces still somewhere behind them. The message he delivered over the comlink revealed enough for her to understand that the deception extended far beyond merely adopting the name Troigs. Someone else had been left behind as the head Republic forces believed they were hunting while Tobias escaped among the very prisoners they thought they had secured. She was still absorbing the audacity of it when he switched frequencies again, and the words scorched earth stripped away most of her remaining amusement.

Seren reached for the nearest support with her good hand as the transport began to move, widening her stance to compensate for the injured shoulder she was determined not to aggravate further. The first heavy shudder running through the ship tightened her grip, while the next struck hard enough that her boots shifted against the deck before she recovered her balance. Having Voidstar secured at her belt rather than occupying her hand proved immediately useful as the transport continued to buck beneath the violence occurring below them. Ordinarily she would have reached through the Force without thinking, searching beyond the hull for some understanding of what was happening, but there was still nothing waiting for her beyond ordinary sight and sound.

When fire suddenly tore through the still-closing ramp, Seren barely had time to turn toward it before Tobias and Mills placed themselves between the flames and everyone behind them. Heat rolled through the compartment with enough intensity that she turned her face away and braced harder against the support, resisting the instinct to bring her injured arm up as protection. By the time the ramp finally sealed and cut off the inferno, the smell of scorched armor and burned flesh had already filled the compartment. Mills collapsed beneath the injuries he had taken while Tobias remained upright despite clearly having suffered as well.

Seren kept her hand wrapped around the support until the transport steadied enough for her to trust her balance again. When Tobias looked toward her with a tired smile and reminded her that he had told her he would protect her, she regarded him for a moment before her expression softened into dry acknowledgment. Whatever else could be said about the deception he had maintained, that particular promise had survived it intact.

"You did." Her gaze briefly passed over the damage his intervention had earned him before returning to his face. "Apparently you take your promises seriously regardless of which name you're using when you make them."

There were questions behind the observation, but Seren had no intention of demanding answers while Mills needed medical attention and Tobias was trying to ensure they escaped the planet alive. She remained near the support as he moved away, keeping her good hand available whenever another tremor passed through the transport. Voidstar rested once more against her belt, her wrists were free, and she was surrounded by people who had gone from fellow prisoners to allies again within the space of a few minutes. The speed with which her circumstances had changed would have been disorienting even without the continued absence of the Force.

That silence remained the far more difficult thing to tolerate. Seren still could not reach beyond the transport, could not sense the lives surrounding her and, most painfully, could not reach across the distance toward Varin. Every instinct encouraged her to try again despite already knowing what she would find, but Troigs had unknowingly given her the one certainty capable of keeping that fear under control before she ever knew who stood beneath the disguise. The Force had been negated for everyone. Its silence offered no evidence that anything had happened to Varin, no matter how readily her imagination tried to transform absence into loss.

For now, Seren could anchor herself to what remained tangible. Voidstar was back at her side, the transport was carrying them away from Thyferra, and Tobias had apparently engineered an escape from inside his own enemy's prisoner transport. She could sort through precisely how she felt about having spent the better part of an hour cooperating with him under the impression that he was someone else after they were no longer fleeing a burning industrial park. Until then, she would settle for the simpler conclusion that Troigs might have been fictional, but the promise he made to get her out alive had not been.

 

[Judah Lesan]

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

Judah was still fighting against the filament when the blaster fired.

His eyes snapped toward Lorn, then immediately to Srina as the bolt caught her beneath the jaw. For several seconds there was nothing Judah could do except watch blood spill across pale skin while her body folded into Mercy’s grasp.

The realization settled colder than the pain already tearing through him. Ghorman had not been some singular failure Lorn regretted because he had seen no other way. Faced with the same kind of choice again, the man had made the same calculation. Srina was dangerous, Srina had hurt people, and the galaxy might be better without her, so Lorn had decided that killing her was acceptable.

Judah had heard that reasoning before, dressed up in cleaner language by Jedi who wanted to believe necessity made the act something else. Strategy, sacrifice, the greater good, all of it served the same purpose when someone needed permission to decide whose life still counted. That was the part Judah could not excuse. Corruption did not always begin with rage or hatred. Sometimes it began with nothing more dramatic than convincing yourself that another life had become expendable.

Lorn had given himself that permission on Ghorman, and now he had done it again. Whatever title he carried after this, Judah knew what he had just watched. A Jedi had looked at a woman he believed the galaxy would be better without and pulled the trigger. There was no justice in that, only murder made easier to live with by better vocabulary.

Then Mercy moved.

There was no warning from the Force this time, nothing stretching the instant into something manageable before the danger arrived. By the time Judah registered the Titan crossing the refinery, Acier had already been sent crashing into the railing and Mercy was turning toward him with the stone still clenched in one hand.

Judah saw where the blow was going and knew immediately that there was no room to sidestep. The metallic weave around his body made anything resembling a proper dodge impossible, so he stopped trying to remain upright. His injured leg folded beneath him as he threw his bound weight toward the floor, surrendering whatever dignity remained in favor of keeping his skull intact.

There was nothing graceful waiting at the bottom. His shoulder struck first, followed hard by the rest of him, and pain tore through injuries that had become considerably less negotiable without the Force there to help him manage them. The filament scraped across already damaged skin as he hit, but Judah would take the durasteel over whatever Mercy intended to do with the rock.

He twisted as much as the bindings allowed and found himself against the base of one of the refinery’s processing units. Mercy was already moving on toward Lorn, leaving Judah with the sound of violence behind him and the uncomfortable realization that remaining on the floor was becoming a fairly attractive option.

Then Acier shouted.

Judah turned his head as far as the stitches through his lips allowed. The younger man had reached Srina and was pressing against the wound beneath her jaw, trying desperately to keep her alive. Whatever anger had erupted when Lorn fired had apparently lost the argument to something considerably more useful.

Acier could have made the same calculation Lorn had. He could have looked at the bleeding Sith Empress in his arms and decided the galaxy had handed him an opportunity. Instead, he was trying to keep her breathing.

Judah understood that choice immediately, and hated how much it pulled at him.

Srina had kept him prisoner for more than a year. She had reached into his mind, twisted memory against memory, hurt him in ways he still could not properly sort through, and even now the evidence of her control was threaded through his lips and wrapped around his body. There were plenty of reasons to want distance from her, and more than a few reasons to never want to see her again.

None of them made it easier to watch her bleed out.

That was the inconvenient part of believing every life mattered. The principle did not become optional just because the person dying had been cruel to you. Judah could want freedom from Srina with everything he had left and still feel the instinct to move toward her when someone shouted that she might die.

For one brief, miserable moment, part of him wanted to help. The rest of him remembered that he was still bound in metal, badly injured, and currently incapable of reaching anyone without becoming another problem on the floor.

Mercy needed to stop. Mercy needed to get Srina out.

Judah looked back toward the machinery beside him. If the Titan listened to Acier for even a few seconds, that might be the closest thing to an opening he was going to get.

The fall had put him against a service housing built into the processing unit, part of its maintenance assembly exposed where the casing had been damaged during the fighting. Judah shifted closer, teeth pressing uselessly against the filament holding his mouth closed while every inch of movement pulled complaints from somewhere new.

A fixed cutting head sat recessed inside the broken housing.

That would have to do.

Getting the filament anywhere near it was considerably more difficult. Judah rolled onto his side and began working one bound arm toward the exposed edge, using his entire body to control the angle because his hands were still pinned against him. The first attempt missed. The second dragged the wire across his forearm hard enough to make him reconsider the wisdom of the entire plan, but the third finally caught.

Sparks jumped from the filament where it met the cutting edge. Judah held himself there despite the heat beginning to reach through the wire, shifting a fraction at a time until the strand weakened enough to part. The sudden slack gave him room to wrench his arm against the remaining loops, and pain tore through his shoulder as he pulled until one hand finally slipped free of the metallic weave.

Judah remained against the machinery for a moment, breathing hard through his nose because Srina had rather decisively eliminated the alternative, before reaching into the damaged maintenance housing. A compact plasma cutter hung among the tools inside.

Sometimes the universe apologized.

With one arm free, the rest became easier, though nothing about the process could reasonably be called quick. Judah burned through the filament around his torso first, careful to angle the cutter away from flesh while his hands trembled from pain and exhaustion. The wire loosened section by section until his other arm came free, followed eventually by enough of the mesh around his legs for him to begin pulling himself out of what remained.

Without the Force, there was nothing dulling the accumulated damage or lending strength where his body had none left to give. Every burn, bruise, strained joint, and injury from the crash demanded attention at once. By the time Judah had worked most of the filament away, sweat had gathered along his brow and his breathing had become uneven from the effort alone.

His lips were still sewn shut.

Judah looked at the plasma cutter, then very deliberately looked away from it. That particular problem could survive until someone with steadier hands and considerably smaller tools was available.

Across the refinery, Acier was still trying to keep Srina alive. Judah watched him for only a moment before returning his attention to the last stubborn sections of filament around his legs.

For now, getting the rest of himself loose would have to be enough.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

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

The fresh energy cell felt strangely heavy in Sibylla's palm.

And for the briefest moment, she only stared at it because it was the testament of how Quinn even while injured with a charred hole in her belly and struggling to stand was still trying to make certain Sibylla was ab;le to protect herself. It was such a painfully ordinary gesture of concern that when Quinn turned away and opened the channel, Sibylla did not immediately understand what was about to happen. Not until the edge in Quinn's voice made Sibylla suddenly go still.

You have one order.

That acid churning sensation in her belly only burned worse in sudden dread as the proverbial credit chip rose...

Find the source, destroy it with extreme prejudice along with any of those involved. They are to be executed...

Then the credit chip dropped.

"Quinn..." Sibylla's voice cracked as the hazel green eyes of the Echani locked upon her own.

No High Republic forces... Jedi... and anyone associated with their government are to be allowed to leave Thyferra... alive.

"No." the word fell from her lips in a hoarse note even as she slowly began to shake her head as if in denial... and then Quinn uttered the command that would become a line of demacaration for them both.

"Complete extermination."

The channel closed... and for several heartbeats, Sibylla could only stare at her. Part of her wasn't sure what to feel. There were Republic soldiers out there. Clone troopers. Jedi. Pilots. Medical personnel. Evacuation crews. People who had come to Thyferra because civilians were trapped beneath the Sith invasion. People who had no more control over whatever had silenced the Force than Sibylla herself....and Quinn had just sentenced every one of them to death.

"I have to do what I must."

Hearing those words made something cold settle inside Sibylla. I have to do what I must. How many times had Quinn condemned exactly that?

The Republic had done what it believed it must, and Quinn had called it a hypocrisy. She had demanded Sibylla imagine Adelle stripped of the Force because someone else had decided the cost was necessary while at the same time had accused the Republic of sacrificing those who fought for it. Yet now Quinn stood beside her and invoked that very same necessity, only that in this case Quinn's necessity had just become an execution order.

"You do what you must?" the Abrantes uttered in disbelief as it escaped before she could temper it. Then again, what did it matter, the table for political negotiations or that perfect cordial counstanance was not to be found here.

Quinn and Sibylla were well past that now.

"And what precisely do you think everyone else has been telling themselves?" Now there was another truth Sibylla could no longer ignore. All this time Quinn had insisted she did not command the Sith's more violent tendencies, that there were monsters within the Order she could not control, forces she could only mitigate, consequences beyond her authority... yet Sibylla had just watched an entire military channel act on Quinn's command, watched her unleash them with two words.

Complete extermination.

"No." The word came out with a sharp crack as Sibylla leaned closer, hazel eyes glinting with the sort of honest reflection that deamed to voice the true situation at had, her voice shaking with the slightest emotional tremble, and wheather it came from fury, exhaustion, or the lingering horror of what she had witnessed Quinn do with the Force.

"You accused the Republic of deciding who was expendable," Sibylla said as they moved. "and you ask what I would do if Adelle were the one outside when someone decided her life was an acceptable price and cut off the Force....but then you decided thousands of lives were an acceptable price." A half snort of delirious laughter at the irony came then. "You cannot condemn someone for deciding who must pay the price and then ask for understanding when deciding who is expendable here."

Quinn grew heavier against her and Sibylla stopped and turned enough to look directly at her.

"The Sith attacked Thyferra, Quinn. The same as on Moorja, the same as on New Cov. They descended upon a Republic world with warships, soldiers, and bombared its surface. They released whatever it is that made those poor people turn into... whatever those creatures were. Whatever your intentions were when you came here, whatever you thought you could prevent, there is no smoothing over that. There is no excusing what that is."

Somewhere beneath the anger came an even more uncomfortable realization. Ace had warned her. Aurelian had too. Sibylla had challenged them both because there was always another perspective, another circumstance, another avenue left for reason. She had wanted there to be...but there was no negotiating with corpses turned into weapons.

And as her breathing spiked, Sibylla's hazel eyes narrowed to convey what all of this was in truth.

"This is an act of war."

Who knew how many millions would pay for it before the fighting ended? How many Vratix homes would burn? How many shipments of bacta would never reach hospitals? How many wounded across the galaxy would die because the medicine they needed had become another prize in someone else's war? And now Quinn had ordered anyone associated with the Republic exterminated...

Which would include Sibylla also. She was the Voice of Naboo. She was a part of the Republic. In the same breath that Quinn just damned those Republic forces, she offered a way for Sibylla to get out. To live.

And that, Shiraya, was the beautiful, ugly contradiction that was Quinn Varanin . The woman who had pulled Sibylla from danger on Moorja, who had shielded her body from the blast here, and who had barricaded Sibylla somewhere safe to face the wild horde of abominations so that she might live.

This was the same woman Sibylla had witnessed tear something screaming from the dead with golden threads of the Force and absorb it into her very body, as if she drew strength from it. The very same woman who had just ordered thousands to die for feth's sake.

There was no accounting for the well of emotions that was bubbling inside of her. Because in equal parts, Sibylla was grateful to her, but frightened of her, and furious with her. And she was horrified that somehow all three could be true. Because with those words Quinn had drawn a line between them, only it wasn't the clean split between Sith and Republic that perhaps either woman might have preferred.

No, this was something infinitely worse --because now, neither woman could fit neatly into ally, friend, or enemy anymore.

Yet whatever Sibylla might have said next disappeared as instinct took over as Quinn stumbled. She caught her beneath the arm, taking more of Quinn's weight as her knees threatened to fold. Up close, the damage was impossible to ignore, the scorched edges of the lightsaber wound cracking with blood with every strained movement, and whatever color remained in Quinn's face was steadily disappearing amidst the black tears that carved down Quinn's cheeks. And for one bewiildering second, Sibylla could not reconcile this woman with the black trails under her eyes as the woman who had saved her life and condemned her people almost in the same breath, telling her that she should leave.

The facility shook violently and Sibylla caught herself against the wall before either woman could fall. Somewhere behind them came the unmistakable chorus of the dead.

"We keep moving." Sibylla pulled Quinn forward, her mind racing toward Aurelian Veruna , Republic Command, the priority channel still desperately searching for a connection at her hip. If Aurelian had authorized this, he would know where the artifact was. If he had not, perhaps he could find out who had. Fear for him. For Dominique. For all the faces and people she cared about would be impacted by this. The people that depended on her. That were her responsibility.

... and now Quinn's soldiers had their orders to exterinate and make this so much worse and for blast sakes, that infuriated her. Did Quinn truly not see that one atrocity did not excuse another? Could she condemn the Republic for the desperate lengths it might take to stop the Sith while refusing to acknowledge the brutality that had driven it there in the first place?

"I have been trying to find out about the artifact." Sibylla tightened her hold around Quinn, reminding her that she had tried her comm earlier."But your execution order changes nothing about what the Sith have done here. You are only throwing fuel onto a world already burning."

"If you want any chance of getting that artifact deactivated, then call them off, Quinn. All of them." Quinn had given her an ultimatum, and now Sibylla was giving her one in return.

"Call off the extermination. Order every Sith force that answers to you out of Thyferra's space, and tell the rest to crawl back behind that blasted Blackwall. Only can that assurance possibly help this calamity from getting any worse and get back to the importance of saving people's lives!"

Another howl rolled through the corridor, and Sibylla shifted Quinn's arm more securely across her shoulders and forced the wounded woman onward.

"You wanted to know whether I would sacrifice someone I cared about to save myself."

Sibylla raised her blaster toward the approaching darkness and a series of gutteral shrieks coming at them from the landing shuttle pad at the end of the hall, placing herself between them and Quinn. She didn't even bother looking back at Quinn.

"Here is your answer," she told her as her finger settled against the trigger, ready to fight the creatures snarling in the distance coming at them.

"Now call them off."

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Friends: Acier Moonbound | Judah Lesan
Foes: Mercy | Srina Talon​

Relief washed over Lorn as the plasma bolt struck the Sith Empress in the throat. If he had to endure the excruciating agony racking his body and the punishment to come, just to take that shot, at least the result made the pain worthwhile. An audible sigh escaped his lips, and he settled back onto his legs, his head tilted toward the ceiling. The aftermath was coming, and he accepted it completely. Nothing remained in his tank, leaving him utterly incapable of standing up to the armored behemoth who seemed entirely unfazed by the sudden loss of the Force.

Acier's desperate cry echoed across the refinery, wringing a hint of guilt from Lorn's chest. Seeing the kid suffer hurt, but only because of the bond they shared. Had Acier not been part of the equation, Lorn would have felt no guilt whatsoever. The choice had been made, and now the consequences arrived in a split second as Mercy closed the distance, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him hard against the durasteel wall. His fingers keeping an iron grip around the blaster.

One life for the many. One life to save the billions who would otherwise be tormented by the Sith Empress. No one would ever suffer under her reign again. Lorn would gladly pay the price of his own measly life for that trade. Dangling above the floor with his boots kicking uselessly at empty air, he felt blood trickle past his lips. Internal injuries flared violently, every bone in his torso feeling broken or ruptured, yet he smiled through crimson-stained teeth.

Laughter bubbled up in his chest when the kid screamed for Mercy to stop, shouting that Srina was still alive and urging the titan to take her and run. Lorn could not allow that escape to happen. "Go on, you dog," he said, watching the behemoth hesitate. "Crawl back to your master."

Gathering every lingering ember of strength in his broken frame, Lorn curled his right arm upward and pressed the barrel of his blaster directly under Mercy's ribs. The heavy plating on her armor was too substantial for the weapon to cause fatal damage, but it would certainly piss her off. Two rapid blasts scorched against the armor before the weapon slipped from his numb fingers and clattered to the floor.

Fate was settled now, and death was undeniable. A quiet thought drifted through his mind about when a man truly dies. It would be the last time his name was ever spoken, he reasoned. Staring into the eyes of the monster about to end him, Lorn held fast to the hope that he would leave this galaxy with his friends and family keeping his memory alive for decades to come.

 

[Revna Marr]

Wearing:
Ring || Lightsaber || Necklace || Armor​

Revna’s entire world had been turned upside down in the space of a heartbeat. The sudden stillness of the Force everywhere was more than jarring for her - but she gritted her teeth and pulled herself together through the daze that still wracked her. She didn’t need the Force to still be a dangerous entity.

And…she noticed something else particular.

Her Void Hunger was still present. And it pressed against the edges of her consciousness, undeniable. The temptation to surrender to its siren call briefly passed through the little Darth’s mind - but she pushed it away. She did not have the Force, and she didn’t know what would happen if she unleashed her Hunger here and now. It may be a catastrophic mistake, and she simply wasn’t willing to risk that.

Revna was shaking her head of the heavy fogginess that had come over her, when she heard a lightsaber being extinguished. She lifted her gaze and caught sight of her Lightwalker foe who seemed to be affected by the loss of the Force as well. The Sith frowned, confused and disturbed by this - but she didn’t have time to reflect or think on that further as her opponent decided that she was still ready and willing to fight.

The Vahla woman pushed herself up on her feet, just in time to meet the charging Jedi. Their bodies collided with a jarring and painful impact, the other woman’s shoulder jutting harshly into Revna’s chest. Her foe’s arms wrapped around her in a vice-like embrace as they both crashed back to the ground with enough energy to knock the wind from Revna’s lungs. The surge of adrenaline chased away the lingering fog and forced her focus once more. She was still in battle, still fighting, and until she either died, or Sith victory was achieved or denied, then she would keep fighting.

Revna’s gaze hardened and without hesitation, she slammed her head against that of her foe, careless about the instant pain that bloomed across her forehead as the skin split open and blood immediately began to gush down her face and pour into her raven black hair, painting her in crimson. The blow seemed to knock the Jedi off balance enough for Revna to free at least one arm and without preamble, she wrapped her gloved fingers into the Jedi’s hair and violently jerked the other’s head to one side and used the momentum to switch their positions and roll the Lightwalker over to the ground. The two of them grappled, each seeking to pin or hold down the other, and thus claim the upper hand in the fight.

“Did you know they were going to rip the Force away from us?!” Revna snarled savagely at the Jedi who was inches away from her face; anger was certainly present there within her voice, the words colored by outrage and fear. The Vahla managed to overpower her foe for a moment, enough to get free and roll away and back to her feet to move a few paces away from the colorful Lightwalker, and reassess the situation.

As she was trying to wrap her head around the situation that was happening around them, a ripple seemed to move through the Sith forces that were all around them. Though Revna didn’t have the Force to sense emotions or even peer into the minds of those nearby, she could tell that something had happened.

In fact, it was as if someone had released the hounds of hell, for Sith forces had turned outright murderous. They were beginning to cut down everyone in their path - even Republic prisoners that had been captured only moments prior were being executed. It was an outright extermination - likely in retaliation against whatever the Republic had done.

She suddenly wished she hadn’t removed her helmet - she was likely missing vital orders passing down from leadership. Feth, that was stupid of me…

“Do you realize that whoever on your side did this just signed the death warrant for everyone on this fething planet?! They really showed just how much they care about their Jedi!”

Her rant was interrupted a moment later when explosions began to truly light up Thyferra in punishing impacts that sent fireballs high into the already ash choked skies. Everything beneath them was vaporised in an instant - buildings, the ground, people, equipment. All of it, gone. The staggering amount of death that was occurring was shocking - though Revna had long since been baptized in the sheer atrocity that was war.

The sound of another little plink caught her attention and Revna’s eyes widened before she threw herself to the side in a dive to try and avoid a tiny little grenade the Jedi had fired at her. The explosion was small and non-lethal, but the percussive impact knocked Revna senseless for a moment. Her body rolled once before coming to rest on the ground, briefly stunned, her head spinning and her ears ringing. Ash and dirt stuck to the sticky blood on her face and on the rest of her.

Get up. GET UP! - her mind screamed at her, and instinct forced her to move - though it was sluggish and uncoordinated. If…whatever that was…had hit me directly, I’d be unconscious right now and at the mercy of Republic forces…

As it was, Darth X’aviera was still conscious…though she was quickly deciding that she was done with this fight. And judging by the diminishing colors on her Jedi foe’s face and those dulling eyes, she too was losing strength to carry onward. The Sith woman was noticing that the colors that had danced so vibrantly across the Jedi’s skin were dulled, muted. She looked…sickly, now.

Revna rushed her opponent and tackled the Jedi and they both stumbled to the ground once more. The Jedi struggled valiantly, but she was growing weaker by the moment. Revna realized that something was wrong with her opponent, that by losing connection to the Force, she had lost her lifeline. Any other Sith would have taken that chance to simply kill their opponent, and while the temptation was certainly there for Revna…something about killing her foe while weakened just didn’t sit right with her.

After tussling a little bit longer, Revna finally managed to overpower the Jedi woman and maneuvered her into a chokehold, putting pressure on windpipe and arteries in the neck - though not enough to knock the poor Jedi unconscious. But now that she had the other pinned to her chest and at her mercy, Revna took the moment to offer a lifeline.

“I don’t want to kill you, Jedi.” she whispered harshly, her breath coming out in heaves. “Don’t force my hand. Yield, and I will take ownership of your care. I am the only thing standing between you and death right now. Do you understand?”

It was up to the Lightwalker now to decide if she wanted to live or die. Revna did not want to kill her - but she would without batting and eye if there was no other choice. She just hoped the fading woman in her grasp understood the gravity of her situation, and the desire to live won over her desire to put Revna down.

​

Allies: The Sith Order
Enemy: The High Republic
Direct Opponent Tag: Zaiya Ceti

I had permission from Zaiya's writer to move her character around as needed for these scenes (and in my prior posts)​

 

[Aiden Porte]

OBJ:1
Location: Fields
Objective: Endure
​

Aiden had been in several battles, a few wars. This was something else entirely. Things moved in slow motion, or so it seemed. Perhaps it was that he was able to see things in a different way, probably for the first time in his life. Aiden moved forward, sliding into a small crater. The Jedi Knight rose quickly, taking shots at those approaching from the right flank.

"Aiden, there are several still out there. We've got other members still pulling back wounded Jedi."

Aiden nodded quickly, ducking back behind the crater's cover as blaster fire hit the ground, tossing dirt and debris around him. Aiden took a deep breath, looking down at the jewel around his neck. He had been warned, warned many times against the vestiges of false hope. If left to fester, it could infect the real thing. And thus, hope just became a word with nothing behind it. Just something to use as a punchline. That was his task, to keep real hope alive.

"But…We'll set things right."

He couldn't feel her presence, her aura, not within the stone anymore, but he could hear her words from that day replayed over and over in his mind. It was for a different time, a different reason. But it should've meant the same altogether.

"Things can be set right." Aiden spoke the words just above a whisper, knowing what they meant in his mind. His concentration broke as he heard his name being called from afar. There was another out there that they couldn't reach either. Aiden gave the order to provide cover, and he moved over the crater's crest toward the Jedi's location. Dodging, diving, and taking clear shots when he could, Aiden moved next to him, where the Jedi was cornered against a dirt ridge.

"Aiden, how... how is this possible? W-W-Why now?" Aiden stared at him for a few seconds and shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sure... I'm sure there's a logical reason for it."

"If there isn't?"

"There has to be." Aiden moved him into a more manageable position. The Jedi Knight's hand rose to his comlink. "I'm gonna need cover fire. I won't be able to fire back while I'm carrying him. Do what you can."

"We will, sir....the Sith are pushing, an aggressive movement is being seen across the fields."

"Understood."

Aiden looked over at his comrade, picking him up in his arms. He would've just hoisted him over his shoulder, but that would expose him to fire. Aiden knew he would have to shield him and count on Everlight to provide cover. Aiden took off running, feeling the blaster fire grazing past him. Just another twenty yards, and they would be in the clear.

More blaster fire shot past him. Just ten more yards, then five. Until he felt a sizzling pain pierce him three times.

One struck directly into the back of his thigh, causing him to stumble. The next two hit his upper shoulder and lower back, causing him to fall completely forward. His comrade tumbled to the side as mounds of dirt flew around them. Aiden coughed, blood leaving his mouth. He looked to his side, rolling his comrade over, only for the Jedi to stare back at him lifelessly. Aiden struck the ground with his fist in frustration before pushing himself over. Using his hands, he dragged himself along the ground until he could lean back against the dirt mound.

He heard his name, as he glanced around, looking for his rifle. And members of Everlight desperately tried to reach him. He held the blaster rilfe in position, taking a small labored breath.

If this was to be his last, he would make them earn their kill.

 

[Andromeda Demir]

ANDROMEDA DEMIR

THYFERRA

ALAZHI FIELDS

OUCH TIME

♫ FINAL GOODBYE — JOSEPH TRAPANESE

x

x

Andromeda's dark eyes followed the swamp monster as it darted back. "Hold fire," she muttered to Omen, who stood beside her on the ridge. She lowered her lightsaber into a defensive posture and observed. To her surprise, Andromeda felt a pang as she watched A'Mia's reaction to the third Sith's apparent death. The male seemed to be affected, too. It wasn't guilt that Andromeda felt, because she had done nothing to the fallen Sith.

No, it was empathy. There had clearly been some bond between the trio, some close connection that had not been apparent to Andromeda until now. She could understand the feeling because she had felt something similar only a short while ago: an understanding of what she might be capable of if they hurt William. Now they seemed to be feeling something very much like it.

Part of her rejected it. Wasn't loss the price you paid for evil? The fury she would feel for losing William was that he was good, and true. He acted in defense of the light, not against it. The Sith deserved all the bad they got and worse, surely. Still, she could understand it. She could almost feel it, the madness from grief.

Maybe it was this empathy that distracted her. Maybe it was what made her forget in the most crucial half-second that the Force was gone, because she did what she always did when faced with danger -- what years of Jedi training and drills and work had ingrained in her like a reflex, like muscle memory, like breathing. Andromeda saw the gun come up, and she reached.

And she reached.

And she reached.

And the Force never answered.

The impulse cost her enormously. She understood too late and tried to move too late. Her dodge was merely a twist before the round landed, so rather than being clear she had only shifted herself a little. At first it felt like she had been slammed in the chest by a hammer. The blunt pain gave way to a bewildering sizzle of heat, and Andromeda was immediately greeted by the sickening smell of scorched cloth and cooked flesh.

Left to her own devices, she would have fallen backward, thrown by the force of the slug that had struck her. But Omen was there -- Omen, the loyal Republic Marine who had been entrusted with the care of Andromeda Demir by Master Thule, who followed his orders come hell or high water. He tackled her, sending a violent shockwave of fresh pain through her, first when he collided with her wounded side and again when she landed hard on the ground on the other. Omen made a hissing sound of fury and suppressed pain.

Bits of the Marine's shattered upper-arm armor showered Andromeda's hair and face. The blood splatter missed her somehow, but she saw the evidence of it across his dirty armor.

The third shot whistled overhead where Andromeda's body had been moments ago.

Omen rolled off her and began barking orders that Andromeda couldn't make out. The Marines formed up in front of them, weapons pouring fire at the swamp creature. Omen knelt by Andromeda's side, and though he was talking she couldn't hear him over the rush of blood and adrenaline thudding in her ears. She took a breath in preparation for sitting up, and --

It was pain unlike anything she had ever felt. The wind had been knocked out of her, and the effort to gasp was so painful that the edges of her vision started to darken.

"Help -- me -- up," Andromeda tried to say, though her lips merely gaped and flexed.

Omen said something and pressed a hand to her shoulder, forcing her back onto the ground. His other hand went to the damaged fabric below her left breast, trying to expose enough of the wound to assess it, and lights exploded behind Andromeda's eyes as even the pressure near it sent pain lancing through her, so intense that it seemed to blast away every other sensation available to her. Andromeda tried another breath and powered through the agonizing pain with significant difficulty. The breath felt unsatisfying, too shallow, but when she tried to take anything deeper the pain was so intense that her vision narrowed.

Andromeda's hand batted at Omen's as he reached for the wound again, and he caught it as if they were going for a handshake. He locked his thumb against hers, holding her hand steady while his other replaced it, working quickly to get a field dressing over the injury. Omen's weight kept her there as he worked, and she felt tears streaming from her eyes, unbidden. She felt foolish, and sluggish, and bewildered, and exposed.

"Can't stay here," she said, the words coming out in painful croaks.

She looked around at last and was relieved to see that she hadn't lost her lightsaber in the kerfuffle. Her fingers were still wrapped around the hilt, and beyond them, just over the ridge, she saw something that brought a weak smile to her face despite the burning, crushing pain in her chest: William Thule, alive, on his feet, and apparently confident enough to quip at a Sith monster.

x

x

WITH

Madrona A’Mia • Darth Strosius • William Thule

 

[Mantys Thranx]

Location: Bacta Refinery Laboratory
Tag: Makko Vyres Tobias Dib Jaun Smyth Dominique Vexx

"We stand today at a defining crossroads in our history. The peace we have cherished, the security we have built, and the values we hold dear face an existential threat. We did not seek this conflict. We exhausted every avenue of diplomacy, extended every hand of peace, and exercised every ounce of patience. But the Sith Order has mistaken our reach for peace as a sign of weakness. They have chosen the path of aggression, and the people of Thyferra are at this very moment forced to bear witness to the travesties that Order seeks to impose upon us all. They have left us with no choice but to respond with the full, unyielding might of our assembled worlds.

"This is not merely a fight for territory or resources. This is a battle for the very survival of our way of life, our freedom, and the future of our children. If we falter now, we compromise everything that generations before us bled to protect. The cost of inaction is far greater than the sacrifice of action.

"To our brave men and women in uniform: you carry the hopes of your world and that the Republic on your shoulders. You are the shield against tyranny and the sword of justice. We promise you right now that you will have the full backing of this government, the unwavering support of our industries, and the daily prayers of every household in this land. We will not send you into harm's way without the tools, the strategy, and the absolute resolve to win.

"To the families at home: I know the heavy burden of anxiety you carry. I know the fear that comes with parting from those you love. But history proves that when our worlds are united, there is no force in this galaxy that can break our spirit. We will come together in our factories, our communities, and our homes. We will out-produce, out-innovate, and out-last anyone that dares to challenge our resolve.

"Our cause is just. Our determination is absolute. We will face the dark days ahead with courage, dignity, and unity. We will endure the hardships, we will overcome the obstacles, and we will emerge from this conflict stronger and more secure than ever before.

"Let our adversaries hear us clearly today: we will not back down, we will not surrender, and we will prevail.

"Thank you, and may Shiraya protect our soldiers and bless this Republic."

The room quieted when Dominique's address crackled over the laboratory's transceiver. Given that they were running on emergency power, the Chancellor's voice wouldn't carry over the PA system.

Her message settled over them regardless. The city was still under siege, but the Republic and their reinforcements were pushing back against the Sith interlopers. Thyferra might've been battered and poisoned, but the Republic had held true in its pledge to defend their member worlds.

And defend them, they did. Going so far as to deploy strange, ancient technology that Mantys and his team were not aware of - nor did it affect them, not as the explosions and pathogens had already permanently altered so many lives!

"Sir," Faisal said, motioning to his monitor. He flipped to another display, this one with a smattering of red, pulsing dots. They'd been multiplying at an alarming rate until now. "The rate of transmission has slowed significantly."

Mantys nodded, his softly-angled triangular head bobbing up and down. A datapad was passed to him by a face he hadn’t yet catalogued.

"Cytology is clear," he called back toward the upper lab. "I am not bringing you a souvenir."

“I thought you Jedi would be up to the task,” Mantys chuckled. “No matter. There will be no shortage of subjects once all is said and done.” He paused. “Unfortunately.”

"Just heard some explosions and picked up some EM interference. What was that?"

“Ah!” Mantys adjusted his spectacles with the brush of his foreleg. “Ah, yes. Those little EMP droids we’ve acquired. No bigger than an ant, they are. They release an electromagnetic pulse and then die. Quite a silly concept, but they seem to have found use in felling those Sith-made beasts.” Unfortunately, they were a one-time use - and most of them had already detonated. “I’ll send you the schematics if you find them so interesting. How are you faring, May-co? Have you come across any more creatures?”

Mantys did not bother waiting for the Jedi’s reply. He was already drafting up a quick communication to the secretaries of Senator Jaun Smyth and Dominique Vexx , unaware that the latter was stuck aboard the Grade of Theed with a dangerous, raving lunatic, and also the Sith:

Whatever The Grace of Theed has done became a great boon to us here at the refinery. Some of our own staff fell victim to the Sith pathogen, mutating into horribly fascinating creatures of flesh and machine. We've been monitoring the rate of new infections which have suddenly dropped sharply.

"D-Dr. Thranx," the pale technician from earlier approached. Mantys turned, vaguely surprised that the girl had not yet succumbed to anxiety or fear - and surprised, too, that he'd begun to recognize her.

"I- I have an idea for how we can head off the Krytos infection." She swallowed thickly, fighting the nerves that tried to rise as bile in her throat. "As…as well as a way to test what these cr-creaturesrespond to."

"Oh?" Mantys looked taken aback as the intern explained her idea. Perhaps he would have to learn her name after this.

"Get me May-co!" The Vratix demanded, reaching for the datapad. He activated the comm app and spoke at a rushed pace.

"Jedi, make your way to the refinery basement. There you'll find storage vats of bacta and rylca…" He went on to relay specific instructions until a series of chain explosions rocked the refinery. Several of the lighter table-top instruments were thrown into a sturdy cooling unit. A delicate (and profoundly expensive) thermal cycler lay smashed on the floor, and the machinery that had not been powered down or heavily damaged began trilling with flashing lights and alarming beeps.

"Vats four, nine, eleven, and twenty-two are down!" someone cried. "There's a fire in the next building over!"

"My exome!" Mantys cried, running toward the extraction room to check on his precious data.

 

[Makko Vyres]

MAKKO

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

Allies: Mantys Thranx
Enemies: Tobias Dib

"Jedi, make your way to the refinery basement. There you'll find storage vats of bacta and rylca…"

"Sounds delightful," Makko muttered once he was on mute.

The stairwell down to the basement swallowed the last of the emergency lighting. Makko’s Nightshrike HUD compensated in thin overlays of thermal and acoustic returns while the two Skirtons drifted ahead of him, one hugging the ceiling, the other sweeping the wet floor. Darkfire stayed in its short second phase, a near-black blade that barely marked affected the darkness.

He hated being this blind without the Force. He felt a cold tremor of fear crawl up his spine and grip him.

Condensation ran down the vat housings. Between them, the lifeform scanner kept pinging contacts briefly before returning nothing. He felt - more than heard - something moving.

"Makko reporting back, I'm not alone down..."

It came out of the gap between vats nine and eleven with a wet, clicking gait. It was half a technician and half the machinery that had fused through him. Makko let the shield take the first lunge and cut through the joint the blight had built into the zombie's body.

The thing dropped hard. Before Makko could deliver a finishing blow, two more answered the noise from farther down the aisle, their outlines stuttering across the HUD as their metallic components caught what little light remained.

Makko backed away and sent the drones forward. The lead Skirton pinned one with its retractable blade. The second took in a sudden turn of speed. By leapt up to the vat and then down at Makko. It hit the shield and went over the railing into the runoff channel, thrashing until Makko could unload a blaster pistol until it stopped writhing.

Makko kept moving. His back still ached from the hours at the terminals and from too many nights bent after Luciana, but the pain was useful. It kept him in his body and in the present. He approached the pinned beast slowly. He timed his attack and decapitated the beast.

"Makko here, still alive in case that's of interesting. Working on the plan now."

The remaining storage row was intact enough to work with. Bacta and rylca sat in neighbouring tanks, their status boards flickering on emergency power. Mantys’s instructions were still clear enough.

He opened the local control panel through the armour link. He then forced the feed lines past their safe working pressure. The mixture did not stay in the pipes. It atomised through cracked regulators and emergency vents as a fine, clinging mist that rolled down the aisles and out toward the stairwells and service ducts.

Bacta and rylca together, pushed the same way Nemesis had pushed the gas lines, except this time the payload was meant to treat instead of infect.

The last remaining host on the ground was surrounded in the mist. It shook in sudden seizures. The conflict between organic organs and the virus lasted a few seconds. It did not recover. Makko swore under his breath and leaned against a vat in the settling haze while the Skirtons confirmed the immediate aisle was clear.

He keyed the upstairs channel.

"Basement is under control. I have the remaining bacta and rylca vats over-pressured and venting as mist through the lower ducts. It dropped the first one I tested. You are going to want someone watching the upper floors before it reaches the labs."

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

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

She had waited rather patiently for Brandyn’s answer.

Perhaps with more grace than the question deserved.

The man had seemed to be crestfallen since forever. Well before his marriage to Cybelle and before he had taken on his vows with her.

But this spell of disquisition within him had her truly wondering what he thought Velda had done to him. Especially since the topic came circling back around to the same subject that was apparently on his mind.

A daughter.

Bastila had asked the same question that was on Velda’s mind.

Just what had she done?

Communications from allied Sith Forces had all said the same thing. That the High Republic and the Jedi had apparently deployed something that could sever The Force over a large area.

And whatever that was had begun creeping into the bunker. The change wasn’t exactly sudden for her.

Anxiety came over her that seemed to come directly from her stomach.

She was being disconnected from The Force, and as she knew from the reports, they all were.

Before, everything felt alive. She could feel Brandyn, she could feel Bastila, even the spaces between inside the bunker, the jungle surrounding it. And the death that was brought to Thyferra and which ravaging its surface and the fleet war above the planet.

And what had replaced all of that? A cold, disquieting emptiness. It felt like death itself, almost. And even with her base five senses still present. The disconnection was strangely disorienting.

She didn’t have the time though, to speak about it to Bastila and Brandyn. On how this order’s relationship with The Force did not seem to be as unconditional as portrayed. It Appeared to be more transactional in nature. After all, The High Republic and The Jedi did remove the Force from the battlefield at their discretion, didn’t they?

So, Brandyn finally spoke and believed that Velda had taken his daughter.

Which left Velda utterly confused, the statement gave her the subject that troubled him of course. But it didn’t give her quite the context. She began searching for the words to respond. When Brandyn came forward with his saber ignited.

He was convinced, and she was guilty as charged apparently.

All the above had sent her mind spinning. She had just lost her connection to the Force, mixed with feeling nauseous and weak. And now, she was apparently, a kidnapper.

She didn’t have time to think about it. Running on sheer instinct, she backed up, slowly retreating, trying to commit some space between them. But it was no use. She raised her saber in defense of his but even with all her terrifying abilities with the saber as a duelist. It was a hopeless defensive move given her state of being.

She was disarmed of her blade upon contact, and Brandyn had lost his lightsaber as well. She heard the clatter of both, and that deep electronic predatory signature growl of hers grew silent as both sabers disengaged.

After that, there was no fighting him. There was no way she could.

And as he reached for her throat, and she could feel his fingers wrap around her neck.

He was choking her…

He pushed her back further when she finally felt the thud against the bunker wall at her back. Which had forced out what little air she still in her lungs.

Then his next question came. He wanted to know where his daughter was.

Of course, none of this changed her state of confusion, so, before she answered, she would ask a question of her own.

“Which one??”

She let those two simple words settle in before continuing.

“You’ve been a father for over three years, lover boy.”

She kept struggling for breath, but she continued anyway.

“I disconnected her from The Force, much like we are now, to protect her from you.”

And as she was still struggling for breath, she continued.

“She’s absolutely adorable, but she needs a father.”

Then her thoughts shifted to Xander. There was a freedom in knowing her thoughts couldn’t be read. But she would speak them out loud anyway.

“And Xander will be the father you never could be.”

She looked into his remaining natural eye, his right one, that gorgeous dirty window into his soul.

“After all, Xander is already the lover you should have been. Isn’t that right??”

She had no plans to shut up about Xander anytime soon.

“Xander is my everything...”

She struggled to breathe, but she still got the words out in ragged breaths.

Still, if she was gonna die in this bunker... no, this...tomb. She was going to bow out of this galaxy with Brandyn knowing exactly how she felt about him. If only out of petty spite...

“You know what you are, Brandyn?”

She let that question sit in the air between them as she still struggled for breath.

“You’re a jerk who thinks he can skirt damnation’s edge between light and dark. You avoid taking the stars as your own. All the while you reach for low hanging rotten fruit from long dead trees. That’s no life...”

Breathing was becoming excruciating difficult for her, and she was growing tired.

“Those are the chains you willingly wear, and those are the ones that are the most difficult to break.”

Another breath for her voice...and she continued.

“You think I don’t know it, your thoughts, and your conflict, poisons this very chamber. And the weight is so blatant and heavy that I don’t even need the force to sense it.”

She felt her time growing short. Still, she wanted him to know one last thing. Breathing was becoming more and more harsh, as her lungs struggled to grab air.

But his face, his left side was literally disintegrating in front of her. It reminded her of the black, cracked lava plains on Mustafar, highlighted by the planets crimson veins of lava. It was surreal and so difficult to witness.

Just three more words, that’s all she needed, three more special words she wanted him to hear.

“But I....”

It was too much...she couldn’t continue...

“I...” Her voice was growing quieter now like a whisper on the wind.

“I....” Her eyes were growing heavy.

She couldn’t finish her last declaration from her heart as her brown eyes slowly shut and everything faded to black.

Velda gave up struggling, as her body went limp in Brandyn’s hands.

Then a rhythmic beeping began to echo inside the chamber.

The encrypted distress beacon. That Velda had promised Xander she would wear, but she never really thought she ever would need, started signaling.

And the transmission was being sent directly to Xander.

 

[Muad Dib]

It wasn't much. But it was still fun.

The first charging Sith ran straight for Muad, the lightsaber held in a baseball swing for his buy'ce. All the mad man needed to do was suck and allow the Sith to overshoot and teeter on the edge of the broken window. His arms windmilled before he completely lost his balance and fell five stories to his death. Muad raised an eyebrow as he muttered, "Really?" The two others used caution and split apart until they stood on either side of the Mandalorian. The Sith acted in concert, striking at the same time. Although they acted in concert, they didn't coordinate with one another. One drove forward with a thrust while the second swung his lightsaber down from above as he leaped forward. Muad merely dropped to his stomach as one Sith was impaled and the other slashed his ally nearly in half.

The mad master rolled away, swatting the dust and glass shards from his form as he stared down at the dead Sith. "Really?" His head shook as he retreated the way he had come. The fifth floor was clear. And he gave his word he would check the apartment on the ninth floor. Several minutes later, he was moving down another hall, headed for the home of the family on the streets. Most of the family had evacuated, but the father said he needed to get something from their home. Their oldest daughter went with him. That was a choice he couldn't understand. Your family was in danger, and your first duty was to get them to safety. Not reenter a building currently on fire, filled with enemies, and bring your daughter along like a "bring your kid to work day."

Muad paused outside the family residence. One hand lightly pressed against the door. He felt no life within. Or at least, not the life of a father and daughter. It was something else. One hand retrieved the lightsaber hilt as the other pressed the pad on the door, which opened with a swoosh. The living room was spacious. Two overstuffed couches and static holoframes showed the family in different locales, all with the same happy smiles. A tan rug matched the walls, and the ceiling was eggshell white. A coffee table rested in front of the larger couch, stained rings marring the mahogany surface. The room wasn't immaculate, though it was clean. Heavy use had trampled parts of the rug, and the sofa cushions were worn. Normally it would have been a welcoming, homey sight. Not anymore.

In the center of the living room, the father was hunched over a body. Blood pooled around the figures as the man raised his face from his daughter's body and turned to look at Muad. Blood covered his face and drenched his shirt. Spikes of metal sprouted from his form while his jaw was unhinged. Teeth varied in length, and a serpentine tongue swept over the fresh blood. Eyes were reptilian, and the only emotion left recognizable on the father's face was hunger. He sprang forward in a lurch, face driving for the Mandalorian in the entranceway. Muad side-stepped, activated the lightsaber, and decapitated the Sithspawn in a smooth motion. The motion drew his gaze to the dead girl on the floor. Limbs twitched, and the body began to seize. Slow steps compressed the springy carpet before another swipe of the lightsaber stopped her resurrection.

His eyes looked between the dead before he left the apartment and closed the door with another press of his free hand. It was no longer a home but a mausoleum for the dead. Soon enough, the building would burn and cremate the remains of the family. Perhaps then they would find the peace denied to them tonight. He headed back to the stairwell and looked down. The lower levels were burning, smoke and flames rising from the bottom of the building. There wasn't much time to help any families that survived. Quickly, he climbed the stairs two at a time as he searched for where his soldiers had gone. As he climbed, he let his touch drift along the bond shared with Rin. Not enough to disturb her in whatever she was doing. Just a warm reminder that they were both there. However, after seeing the painful loss in the room, a sentiment drifted through his mind. I wish we could live like there wouldn't be a tomorrow. Because one day, I'll be right.

Eventually he reached the twenty-second floor. He paused as he stretched out with the Force, searching for life. And then he wavered and almost fell. Only his hands at the rail saved him from dropping to his knees. Muad couldn't feel Rin anymore. There was no flash of pain or fear, just an immediate nothingness. An emptiness that echoed from inside. All he could think was to find her in their tether and try to do what she had done on Veradune, to go from where he was to wherever she was. But the Force was just as silent. His grip tightened on the railing as he forced himself to breathe. She wasn't gone, only their connection and the flow of the Force. While that was concerning, the worry for Rin's safety almost sent him running down the stairs and out into the ravaged city to find her. However, his faith in her stopped him from acting hastily. She was strong, smart, and capable. He had seen what she could do, and he had to trust she would continue her mission of saving as many as she could. While the schism created in the Force, the disruption of the bond built several planets ago, created a longing he wished to fill, the absence afforded him a moment to consider his feelings for her.

Death and destruction lay all around. The sounds of battle echoed just as loudly as the detonations of bombs and missiles. But when he thought of Rin, it was for more than all of this. It was the quiet moments shared. The smile she tried to conceal. The glow of her eyes. They had both harbored a worry that their bond had fostered their feelings, the connection overriding how they would have felt bereft of it. Yet it wasn't the Force that drew his thoughts and feelings toward her, but his own choice. And she was whom he had chosen. Apparently, even without the Force, he would continue to choose her. Despite the carnage all around, the affirmation made him smile. And then he heard the twisted howls that came from the floor he stood upon.

Carefully, his left hand eased the door open, and he looked down the hall that stretched out the length of that side of the complex. Dozens of figures stood under the flickering light, armor of his soldiers and the plain clothes of civilians easily visible. "Hells, I wondered where you got to ..." Every head snapped in his direction, the distorted expressions, gaping maws, and corrupted flesh visible. They let out a small cry, and Muad shrugged. "Sorry, mates. Wrong floor." The sithspawn went from a standstill to a sprint in half a second. "I thought zombies were supposed to be slow ..." Then he slammed the door and shattered the glass box next to it, pulling an emergency vibroax from the shattered pane of glass and shoving it between the door handle and the pipes lining the door. He leaned against the door as a massive impact hit the other side, bending the axe and nearly launching him over the rail and into the void between the stairwell to fall to his death. Nearly. He swung back to his feet and braced his back against the door and his feet against the railing to shove, trying to keep the door shut.

"I've seen this movie ... on the holochannels at night ... the grandkids love this chit ... you always run down the stairs ... not up ..." Just as he was about to release the door and run down the stairwell, he heard several doors slam open from above. A group, maybe a dozen strong, ran down from above. If he let go now, they'd never make it. Muad grimaced from within the buy'ce, then shouted. "Move it!" Anything else he would have spoken was silenced as an arm slipped through the gap between door and frame and grabbed his head. The power in the arm began dragging his head backward until the majority of the helm was on the other side of the frame. A mouth unhinged on one of the monsters and lurched forward to latch onto his head. Teeth initially scraped on the beskar, unable to find a purchase. Then the fangs caught on the visor, and glass shattered as the creature clamped even harder. It wasn't ideal, but the teeth were not long enough to reach his face, and the beskar held under the intense pressure of the bite. Then the teeth began to elongate, the sharp points heading directly for his glowing eyes.

"Sithspit!" One hand released the collar and depressurized the suit, and he yanked his head from the helmet and back through the gap before getting blinded by a sithspawn's fangs. The group descended onto two floors above. "Hurry it up!" Then the sounds of countless doors slamming open drew his gaze downward, where dozens and dozens of sithspawn streamed into the stairwell before looking up and seeing them. Not a second later, they screeched and began running up the stairs. "Run toward the roof," he shouted to the group above, who paused and then turned to retreat the way they had come. "Okay ... what to do ... Setting fire to the building seems redundant ... STOP CLAWING BY BACKSIDE! IT'S BESKAR, AND THE BUTT BELONGS TO SOMEONE ELSE! ... I could stand and fight ... Rin, where are ya when I need you, ner cyar'ika?"

The sithspawn climbed the stairs eerily fast. Only four levels away. There would be no escape downwards, no surviving on this level, and only upwards was the choice left to him. "I've seen how this plays out ... we all die. What was the name of ... oof ... that movie? 'Shriek if you Saw what Chuck did last Friday on my 13th Lifeday, which ended up being a Nightmare that was Insidiously Conjured before being Exorcised by a Hellraising Nun.' Everyone always dies in the end. Usually cause they run upstairs ... what the hells, why not?"

And he ran. Three steps, six stairs, and the axe snapped in half and the flood gate released. Several went flying right over the railing, falling twenty-plus stories to the ground floor. Muad was so high he couldn't hear the impact they made with the ground. The horde turned in his wake and ran in pursuit. Ahead, the group had slowed, and Muad rapidly closed in on them who seemed to mill. He splashed through broken pipes, avoiding the water that almost sprayed him in the face, and reached out a hand to shake a large man at the rear. The dozen turned their heads, vertebrae snapping as silver eyes stared at him. "You know, this was so much easier when I didn't care about anyone."

The group in front of him swarmed over his body; the freshly turned big man reared back a hinged jaw before lowering it toward Muad's face. The horde from behind arrived and joined the dog pile, each open mouth and clawed hand seeking his flesh to feel the warmth of his blood on their diseased limbs. The stairwell filled with smoke and flame, and the body of Muad Dib disappeared.

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The absence of the Force continued to press against Bastila from every direction, it was making her feel ill, isolated and like she just wanted to collapse and end the null nothing that she was feeling.

She kept reached for it instinctively and finding nothing. There was just nothing at all, no absence because it was like it never had existed. How could you miss something that had never been there? Even the familiar presence of her brother only metres away was reliant on the sight of him.

There was just dead silence and Bastila had to force herself through it as Brandyn had made his move. She crossed the bunker quickly, catching Brandyn’s forearm with both hands and pulling against the tension locked through his armour. Without the Force however, there was no strength beyond her own, which compared to her brother meant that there was no fairness in this fight. She only had leverage, desperation and her boots slipping against the flooded deck a memory like when she was only a child trying to wrestle a boy who had every physical advantage over her.

“Brandyn, let her go.” The amount of times she had said those words while they were growing up, yet never had they come out like this. Velda had began to hang limp against the wall, a small rhythmic beeping matching the slowing of her breathing.

Bastila pulled harder.

“She knows where your daughter is. We need her alive.”

Her eyes lifted to what remained of Brandyn’s face. She could see the agony carving through him, but in this new reality she could no longer feel the brother beneath it.

“This isn't you! This isn’t going to bring Gianna back!”

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren Velda Nar-Donna EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Rin Taal]

The first shuttle had barely settled before the plaza changed from a place of waiting into one of movement. Its landing gear compressed against broken pavement while the ramp descended through rain and drifting smoke, and the refugees who had spent so long following Rin through streets and utility passages instinctively pressed forward at the sight of an escape finally made real. She lifted one hand before desperation could become a crush, directing the wounded toward the front while those carrying children followed close behind. There were still too many people exposed beneath the open sky, but every figure disappearing up that ramp was one less life balanced precariously against whatever the city might throw at them next. "Easy. They're not going anywhere without us. Wounded and children first, then everyone else. Keep moving."

The words came steadily despite the noise surrounding her. Engines beat against the air hard enough to send rain skittering sideways across the plaza, fighters swept overhead before banking back toward the corridor Tiberius had cleared for them, and somewhere beyond the buildings another explosion rolled through the city with enough force to tremble beneath Rin's boots. Through all of it, the Force remained threaded through her awareness as naturally as every other sense she possessed. Hundreds of frightened lives crowded close enough to blur together at the edges, while farther out there were flashes of violence and movement she did not have the luxury of examining too closely. Beneath all of that was Muad, nowhere near her and yet present in a way that distance had ceased to matter to some time ago. Rin did not need to search for the dyad any more than she needed to deliberately remember the ground beneath her feet. It was simply there.

When warmth moved gently across the bond, she recognized him before thought had any reason to put his name to the sensation. There were no words, no urgency, and none of the irreverent commentary he might have offered if circumstances had allowed it. He touched the connection just enough to let her know that somewhere amid all the ruin, he was still there. Rin's expression softened as she watched another child disappear into the shuttle, and she let her own awareness lean gently toward his in answer. She had no words to send either, only the warmth of her presence carrying what she hoped he already knew. Be careful. I am here. Find me when this is over.

The connection vanished before the thought had finished forming, yet for several seconds Rin continued moving because her body had not caught up with what the rest of her had already recognized. She caught the arm of a wounded, elderly man stumbling near the bottom of the ramp, steadied him, and guided him toward the crew waiting above. Someone brushed past her shoulder while a child cried somewhere behind her, calling repeatedly for someone Rin could not see. Rain struck her face and gathered along her lashes; the engines continued their deafening rhythm overhead, and another group began making its way toward the ramp exactly as they had been doing moments earlier. The plaza had not changed at all, which somehow made the sudden wrongness inside her worse.

Rin reached for Muad automatically and discovered an emptiness so absolute that her breath faltered. There had been no flash of pain through the dyad, no fear suddenly becoming hers and no sensation of something tearing or breaking. One moment he had been there, warm and unmistakably alive on the other side of a connection that had survived distance, injury, terror and death, reaching greedy fingers toward one or both of them. In the next, there was only an absence where Muad belonged, so clean and complete that she could not even feel the edges of what had disappeared. Her hand closed around the necklace beneath her clothing hard enough for its shape to press painfully into her palm as she reached for him again, harder this time, only to discover that it was not merely Muad she could no longer find.

The Force itself had fallen silent. Hundreds of lives that moments earlier had crowded her awareness were suddenly only bodies she could see and voices she could hear, while the wounded city beyond the plaza ceased to exist anywhere except through smoke, sound, and the occasional tremor beneath her boots. Rin had spent nearly all of her life knowing the living world in ways that extended beyond ordinary senses, and its abrupt disappearance left an emptiness she had no frame of reference for. Yet even that paled beside the place where Muad should have been. She could no longer tell whether he was hurt, frightened, unconscious, fighting, running, or doing something so spectacularly foolish that she would spend the next week reminding him of it. She could not tell whether he was alive at all.

"Muad..." His name escaped beneath her breath and disappeared beneath the shuttle engines without an answer. An old and terrible memory tried to rise with it, bringing back another moment when he had been somewhere she could not physically reach, and his life had begun slipping away from her. She remembered finding him through the dyad then, finding something to hold onto when death had nearly taken everything else, and refusing to release him. If that was happening again, she could do nothing because there was no connection to follow, no distant heartbeat of a presence to seize and no living current through which she could reach. For the first time since the transports arrived, Rin lost track of the people boarding in front of her.

Fear offered her an immediate answer. She knew the general direction Muad had gone, and every instinct she possessed demanded that she leave the plaza, return to the streets, and search until she found him. Her body responded before reason caught up, one foot shifting away from the shuttle while her eyes went toward the ruined avenue beyond the evacuation point. Muad had become someone she could reach across worlds, someone whose presence had settled so naturally beside her own that losing it did not feel like ordinary separation. The absence felt wrong in a way she could not explain, like reaching for a familiar hand in darkness and finding empty air where there had never been empty air before.

A small hand caught the edge of her sleeve before she could take another step. Rin looked down to find a little girl standing beside her with rain plastering hair against her forehead, one hand clutching Rin while the other remained wrapped around the fingers of a woman whose bloodied bandage had begun soaking through again. Neither said anything, and neither needed to. Behind them waited hundreds more people who had followed Rin because she had promised them a way through this, while before them stood the transports that could finally make that promise real. Rin looked from the child toward the street once more, and for perhaps the first time since she had chosen Muad she understood how badly loving someone could divide a person without making either choice less necessary.

Her fingers slowly loosened from the necklace. She did not know what had happened to Muad, and no matter how viciously fear tried to fill that ignorance, she could not turn possibility into certainty. She had not felt him die because she had felt nothing at all. The Force itself had disappeared in the same instant as the dyad, which meant the silence could not tell her what had happened on the other side of it. Running blindly into a city under attack might bring her closer to him, or it might accomplish nothing except leave hundreds of people behind who were unquestionably alive and needed her now. Muad had trusted her to protect them when they parted, and Rin had to trust that the man who had survived a thousand years could remain alive a little longer without her.

She crouched enough to meet the girl's eyes, gently freeing her sleeve before nodding toward the shuttle. "Stay with her. You're almost safe." When Rin straightened again, the world remained painfully diminished, but she forced herself to inhabit what remained of it. Marta had never allowed the Force to become a substitute for learning how to survive, and more than a century of travel had reinforced that lesson in ways no teacher ever could. Rin knew how to fight without anticipating an opponent through the Force, how to read weight shifting through hips and shoulders, how to recognize an attack from the position of a hand or the angle of a foot, and how to trust timing, balance, and experience rather than precognition. A weapon retained the same weight in her hand whether the Force flowed through her or not, and an enemy's body possessed the same joints and vulnerabilities.

So Rin looked instead of reaching. Rain had made the pavement slick, the shuttle ramp created a bottleneck near its base, and several intact windows in the buildings overlooking the eastern side of the plaza offered positions from which someone could fire into the crowd. Smoke obscured part of the northern approach, while the roar of engines made hearing anything beneath them difficult enough that she would need to rely more heavily upon movement. Her eyes moved constantly between rooftops, streets, civilians, and transports while her hands remained ready, and little by little old habits took over where the Force had gone silent. The training worked exactly as it was supposed to. It did not lessen the hollow place inside her or stop part of her from instinctively reaching toward the Force and Muad every few breaths, but it allowed her to keep functioning despite it.

Rin helped the wounded woman toward the ramp, her daughter beside her, then turned to the next group rather than allow herself another glance at the street. "Keep moving. Give them room at the ramp, and stay with your families." Her voice remained steady because it had to, even as another futile instinctive reach toward the dyad found the same silence waiting. She could almost resent Muad for how completely accustomed she had become to finding him there, except the thought brought with it an image of his expression if she ever accused him of making himself too difficult to live without. It hurt enough to nearly become a laugh and never quite managed it.

That tiny fragment of affection gave her something to place beside the fear. Muad Dib had survived wars, monsters, wounds and an astonishing number of decisions that any reasonable person would have recognized as invitations to an early grave. Rin had watched him walk away from things that should have killed him and had once reached into the very edge of death to help drag him back herself. She could not know whether any of that mattered now, but she knew him, and until she had something more than silence to tell her otherwise, she would not turn his absence into his death.

Another shuttle settled into the plaza while the first continued filling, and Rin moved toward the next cluster of civilians as rain ran from her hair and down the back of her neck. Every person who reached a transport brought her closer to the moment when her promise to them would be fulfilled, and with every passing minute the urge to abandon the plaza and search for Muad became harder rather than easier to ignore. She carried it anyway, because loving him did not give her permission to sacrifice people who had trusted her to the terror of what might have happened somewhere beyond her reach.

Rin continued counting the living as they boarded, watching each family disappear into safety while the empty place where Muad should have been remained beside her. She did not know whether he was calling for her somewhere beyond the silence or whether he could feel the same absence and was wondering what had happened to her. All she possessed was the memory of that final warmth across the dyad, offered without fear or pain, and for the moment she chose to believe it meant exactly what it had felt like when it reached her.

He had been there.

When these people were away, Rin would go looking for him, and until she had proof that there was no one left to find, she refused to believe otherwise.

 

[Srina Talon]

OBJECTIVE: Poison The Well [2]
LOCATION: Thyferra [Refinery]
SITH ALLIES: Mercy
SITH ENEMIES: Acier Moonbound | Lorn Reingard | Judah Lesan

Her sense of time was slipping.

The white-haired woman was caught by fluctuating waves of agony so strong, so sharp, that it kept filling her vision with shadows. Every time she thought she could lift her head, something heavy settled on her chest, on her forehead, and she stayed prone. She could remember some things. Her name, where she was…But it was overwhelmingly a blur. The taste of warm copper filled her sinuses while she aspirated, low on oxygen, barely managing to stay…Partially aware.

Her breathing could barely be called that, so shallow, dragging through clotting blood and injury like her body was a clogged filter. It was a slow, brutal style of execution because while the Jedi Knight had managed to shoot her—He’d missed. It wasn’t a shot to the head or heart but something slightly adjacent that made everything so much worse.

If it was death…It sure as hell wasn’t quick.

She felt herself being moved and knew someone was holding her, but it didn’t register. Were she in her right mind, Srina would have scoffed at the symptoms of shock she was currently experiencing. She was always in control of every situation, no matter her opponent, and one trip to Thyferra would not be her undoing. She refused. She refused so much that when a hand pressed against her throat, her own snapped up clumsily to attempt to stop it.

This was war.

"I'm..." His breath hitched. "I'm sorry... so sorry..."

The pressure hurt so much that she tried to turn away, but a distant, broken apology began to penetrate the haze. There was an arm beneath her and an indistinct face above her that made her heart ache for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. She wanted to know what they were sorry for, and why they refused to just…Let her go. Her hand rose to cover the one that stopped her from bleeding out, and her eyes opened with a soundless expression of pain, her face twisting into something that had no words while she tried to bury it.

She couldn’t have screamed if she wanted to…

Eyes of yellow-gold met those of Acier Moonbound , and in that split second everything rushed back in. She remembered herself, this place…But he seemed so lost. His face spoke of something tormenting him, something awful she couldn’t see, couldn’t know, but the words wouldn’t come. It was all she could do to stay semi-conscious, to keep forcing over-saturated lungs to take in soggy air that it suddenly despised…

If only…To never see that look on his face again.

"Stay with me. Please..."

She was trying.

Her gaze held his once he snapped back to her. Trying to show him without words that she wasn’t going to disappear. That…If this was all there was—She was strong.

Beneath his palm, her body was beginning the absolutely miserable work of attempting to survive. The Firrerrean blood that had been shared with her before the incursion had several strange and unknowable side effects…But it did try to repair her body when it was damaged until it burned itself out. It was hard to imagine that one little blaster shot could do so much damage, but it had ripped through her without pity. It was such a small wound…

But burned vessels constricted and torn tissue pulled inward.

She squeezed Acier’s hand.

"STOP! SHE'S STILL ALIVE!"

Yes…She was alive. For now. The shout desperately hurt her ears while the sounds of things breaking didn’t help either. Her eyes moved, but without the leverage to see properly, she couldn’t confirm what Acier was trying to stop…But she had an educated guess. She had no otherworldly awareness of the Titan that had remained at her side through thick and thin.

There was no familiar impression of heat, violence, and joy waiting at the edge of her consciousness. She couldn’t sense her…

But Srina knew, Mercy.

Even though the giantess had laid her body down gently, it did not mean there was any reprieve for those she would inevitably hold responsible. She had seen her battle-sister kill with a smile and sleep like a baby after making decisions that would haunt most others. In those instances, Mercy had still been capable of reason because there was a mind behind the violence.

This was different and infinitely more dangerous. This was her grief…Her expression of loss, acting on instinct, with the need to rip, tear, and crush anything in her path to oblivion. And Acier…Acier was yelling at that wall of destruction. He was drawing attention to himself, and her hand tightened around his wrist in warning. ‘...Don’t…’

He could not go near the Covenant Lord.

“A-Acier…”

His name tore painfully from her throat, and she swallowed against the blood and immediately gagged. Her body folded inward and for several seconds the world narrowed while her head swam. She dragged in a thin breath, wheezing before another word carried through in a broken whisper...“Run.”

He needed to understand.

He had to leave, now, because the moment her battle-sister finished with the other one, she would round on her nephew with the might of a vengeful god.

"STOP! SHE'S STILL ALIVE!"

There wasn’t time to fully explain the sudden well of urgency that had nothing to do with herself. The prospect of death hanging so close should have sent her into a tailspin, but it didn’t. If she died, serving her people, that was the natural order. The Field of Blades or the Nether had been holding a spot for her since Coruscant. “S-She…will…kill, you.”

Srina moved like the walking dead, slow, but certain and stubborn. She slipped in her own blood and could only partially manage trying to push herself up. Body shaking, skin so white that translucent was a better word. Srina took one last glance at Acier, eyes full of things that she had never gotten to say. That she might never get the chance to say if Mercy couldn’t recognize her anymore…Her children knew how she loved them, but Acier hadn’t had the same experience. Did he know?

“,,,me’rscy—”

Her voice cracked and slurred, the name mangled, and her shoulders hunched as she coughed. Every time she tried to talk, it felt like someone was stabbing her in the throat with a dagger. Twisting…Just to see how much she could take. By all rights, she should have let her battle-sister tear into Lorn Reingard and not stop until he was a bloody stain. But that..

It would hurt Acier. And if he tried to intervene?

MERCY!​

She didn’t say anything out loud, nor use telepathy, but screamed for the mountain of a woman through the bi-directional line of communication they shared through the creation of the Warform. It didn’t get actual words, but it could be felt, the same way the flame-haired woman had used it to try and calm her before. Srina couldn’t speak…

The Blackwall Empress could only hope, ironically, that her battle-sister wasn’t too far gone. That Mercy would still know her no matter what, with the Force or without…

Alive or dead.

Spoiler: Equpiment

Armour Saber Ring Ring Terentatek Body Gloves HG-54 "The Vora" Class Hand Cannon Holding Aces Popper Echo Implant NPC Units (On Standby) Drake "Vaelcryx" (On Standby)

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

"Brandyn, let her go."

"She knows where your daughter is. We need her alive."

Of all the things to become accustomed to, relying on the Force to know when a life had ended was not something Brandyn ever thought he'd take for granted. And yet, when Velda slumped into his grasp, dead by all accounts, he didn't think to check for a pulse. The absence of conciousness was proof enough.

Instead, he held her corpse, her dying words ringing like a curse in his ears. Bastila's frantic pulling wore on him with that persistent desperation that only true love could muster. But in this moment of hollow victory, his broken spirit recoiled at her concern. Her voice was trying to drag him back from the edge, and he didn't want to go.

Bastila could not understand. She could not know. Velda had tormented him for years. She had ridden his dreams, stalked his waking hours, and tormented his drug-ravaged hallucinations. She had infected his mind during the tumultuous battle of Exegol. And now? NOW. She. Paid. The. Price.

For every accusation she had hurled against Cybelle's character.

For every mockery of her name, brandishing Cybelle's suffering as a weapon of mental torture.

For every dream she had invaded, laughing at him for desperately holding onto the Light.

For every single moment she had kept his daughter from him.

Yet, Velda's parting words refused to leave the silence. Three years. The timing made no sense, fracturing against her nonsensical ramblings about a man named Xander. Another daughter? No. She lied. She was Sith. They always lied. There was too much to process, too little time, and no Force to help him filter the noise. It was too much.

"This isn't you! This isn't going to bring Gianna back!"

The snap of Bastila's voice broke his fraying restraint. Brandyn swiped at her without a second thought. The back of his armored hand lashed against her cheek in a harsh, thoughtless dismissal. "Nothing can bring her back! She is dead!"

His face contorted into an ugly, dominant visage entirely unrecognizable from the soft, tenderhearted boy he had once been. Brandyn watched with a detached horror as the momentum of his strike stumbled Bastila toward the ground.

Velda's body hit the floor with a heavy thud, followed closely by his sister. The sounds, though small compared to the roaring explosions outside, sent Brandyn staggering backward. His eyes locked onto what he had just done. The folly of his quest had finally unraveled him.

Irredeemable.

Undeserving.

You were never the hero, Brandyn Sal-Soren.

In a final, pathetic reflex, he reached outward into the void, begging for a connection to Cybelle — for any solace across the vast distances of the galaxy. The absolute silence of the universe became his judge.

The rupture across his face tore open further, red-orange heat emanating from the exposed tissue as his knees finally buckled. He collapsed to his knees. A primal scream ripped from his throat, his fingers curling into claws as he began to tear at his own splitting face, desperately chasing the relief of self-inflicted pain.

"She's dead...gone...gone...gone..."

He had given his soul for a ghost of a chance. And now, all was lost.

Bastila Sal-Soren Velda Nar-Donna
Hits called with permission.
​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
ALLIES: Quinn Varanin
ENEMIES: Briana Sal-Soren | Rik Perris

Briana caught the strike without the Force to lend speed or strength to the defense, and the adjustment was good. Rather than try to meet his weight directly, she changed the angle and let the pressure begin to slide away from her centerline. The Dread Wolf felt the resistance give beneath his blade and turned with the momentum she redirected, drawing his saber back across his body as the white blade came toward his flank.

He had to give ground to close the opening she had created. Without the Force there was nothing beyond training and instinct to warn him where the next strike would come from, so he watched the movement of her shoulders, hips, and blade instead. Briana had lost much when the suppression settled over Thyferra, but her skill remained.

The explosions continued somewhere beyond them, and he had seen the way her expression changed when they began. Horror had settled into her features as the industrial park answered the command he had given.

“Your Republic wanted a war without the Force.”

He settled back into his stance, red blade held between them.

“This is what it looks like.”

There was no satisfaction in the words. The suppression had not stopped the fighting. It had only removed the Force from everyone still trapped inside it.

“You can hate what you hear happening around you. You can hate me for pressing the button.” His gaze remained fixed on hers. “But taking the Force away did not end the war. It only dictates the way we fight it, and we don't need the force to take Thyferra.”

Quinn's voice still lingered in his memory, strained beneath an order she had forced through the Sith command network. He knew her too well not to hear something wrong beneath it, and that knowledge sat heavier now because there was nothing else. No presence at the edge of his senses. No familiar thread in the Force. No way to reach across the battlefield and know whether the girl he had watched grow into family was frightened, bleeding, or barely holding herself upright.

For years the Force had made distance feel smaller than it truly was. He had grown accustomed to being able to reach for those he cared about and find something there, some quiet proof that they still existed beyond whatever danger separated them. Now Quinn might have been a hundred meters away or on the other side of the planet and it would have felt exactly the same.

Empty.

His hand tightened around the saber until the leather beneath his fingers creaked.

“Somewhere on this world, someone I love is in trouble, and I cannot even reach for her.”

The words came quieter than everything before them. Anger would have been easier. Anger had direction. This was something colder, something that settled beneath his ribs and refused to move because there was nothing he could do with it.

“That is what your Republic chose when it removed the Force from this battlefield.”

He began to move again, measuring Briana's stance without rushing the distance between them. Whatever fear had settled into him over Quinn remained there, but he had long ago learned that loving someone did not mean the galaxy stopped while you tried to save them. Sometimes all you could do was keep moving and trust that they were doing the same.

“So if you want to call me a monster for what comes next, then do it. Hate me for every fire you see and every explosion you hear, but do not stand there and pretend your Republic is removed from this. They chose to strip the Force from everyone on this world and leave the war behind. I am simply showing you what survives when the Force does not.”

His blade shifted toward the outside of Briana's guard as he closed the remaining distance. The first cut came high toward her shoulder, committed enough to demand an answer but not enough to leave him exposed if she tried to redirect him again. He had already felt how readily she could turn strength aside when given the proper angle, and there was no reason to offer her the same attack twice.

As soon as the blades met, he changed direction. The crimson saber dropped sharply toward her opposite side while his body continued forward, forcing the exchange into closer quarters where Briana had less room to use footwork to bleed away his momentum. The movement was slower than anything the Force might have allowed, but there was nothing diminished about the weight behind it.

He pressed that advantage deliberately. There was no need to overpower her blade every time when exhaustion could do some of the work for him. Every block now came through shoulders and arms already pushed far past comfort, every reposition through muscles that could no longer call upon the Force to make the impossible feel routine. His own body felt the loss as well, but the strength of the Lupo had never depended upon it.

A third strike followed from low on his right, rising diagonally toward the center of Briana's guard before he stepped hard inside the reach of her blade. Rather than give her the distance Djem So preferred for answering power with power, the Dark Councilor drove his armored shoulder forward behind the attack, attempting to use his weight to force her backward before she could properly reset her footing.

There was nothing elegant about the choice, and there did not need to be. The Force was gone, the battlefield had changed, and he had no intention of pretending otherwise. If Briana wanted to stand between him and Thyferra with nothing but training, muscle, and stubbornness left to her, then he would meet her on exactly those terms.

---

Beyond the western approach, the rest of the Dreadguard continued moving without him. The loss of the Howl had severed the cohesion they normally drew from Gerwald, but it had not erased their orders. Conventional comms carried what the Force no longer could, and the surviving elements reorganized around the last command structure they had been given before the suppression took hold.

Rather than force their way through the obstruction Briana had created, the formation split and redirected around the refinery perimeter. One element moved along the outer service lanes while another pressed through the less damaged approach to the opposite side, using the terrain and surviving structures to mask the shift where possible. Their objective remained unchanged: get around the refinery, tighten the pressure from the flank, and deny the defenders a single direction from which to answer the assault.

The maneuver was slower without the force knitting every movement together, but it was no less deliberate. The Dreadguard did not need Gerwald standing beside them to understand what he expected. They had been given a battlefield, an objective, and enough freedom to adapt when the original route failed, and now they were doing exactly that as they worked their way into position along the refinery’s flank.

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The fields surrounding the Sal-Soren estate had once stretched across Bastila’s entire world.

In childhood, they had seemed endless. Tall summer grass rolled beneath the warm Naboo wind, broken by old trees, low stone walls and the distant silver of the lake. It was a place large enough for wars, and for whole kingdoms and monsters to exist within it, provided one possessed the imagination to place them there. Brandyn always had that imagination, even though he was the older brother.

He had been the hero of every story they created, always caring enough to fun through the fields with his little sister while the others played noble daughter.

A fallen branch became a lightsaber in his hands. Or one of their mother’s old blankets became the cloak of a Jedi Master. The ruined stonework at the edge of the estate became a Sith fortress that only he could breach. It was the tales of heroism that he lived for and Bastila had followed him through all of it.

She had been smaller then. Small enough that the grass reached her shoulders and concealed the uneven ground beneath it. During one of their imagined battles, her foot had caught against a buried root and sent her tumbling into the dirt. She remembered falling with her palms open against the stones, the fall caused blood to well through the mud, and the pain had seemed like the worst thing she had ever experienced at the time and age.

Yet she also remembered that the monster they had been fleeing had continued towards her. Brandyn turned back. He placed himself between Bastila and the imagined horror without hesitation, brandishing his wooden sword with all the conviction of a hero from the stories their mother told them. He had rolled and tumbled, jumped and yelled until that monster was defeated and they had carried on right up until the fortress fell and the whole galaxy was saved because Brandyn Sal-Soren had decided it would be.

He had offered Bastila his hand. She remembered looking up at him through tears, sunlight burning around his head like a halo, and understanding something with the simple certainty only a child could possess.

Nothing could hurt her while Brandyn was there because her brother was a hero.

That memory shattered against the back of his hand. Armoured knuckles struck Bastila across the cheek. Her head snapped sideways, the rebreather tearing loose from her face as the force of the blow sent her stumbling over Velda’s fallen weapon.

Her knee struck the deck first followed quickly by her palms and the sensation of cold, filthy water closed around her hands.

For an instant, Bastila was a child in the fields again, staring at blood gathering beneath the heel of her palm. Only Brandyn was no longer standing between her and the monster.

He was the monster.

Bastila looked up from the floor as Velda’s body struck the durasteel beside her, discarded as though whatever life it had contained no longer mattered. Brandyn staggered backwards, horror breaking across what remained of his face before his knees buckled beneath him and his scream filled the bunker causing Bastila to flinch.

She watched her brother tear at the wound splitting across his face, his fingers clawing into ruined flesh as he repeated Gianna’s death to himself. Each word was smaller than the last. A denial that was fast becoming a confession. A man trying to make loss permanent because hope had become too painful to endure.

Once, in times not that distant Bastila would have gone to him immediately. She would have crossed any distance and any threat to reach Brandyn. She would have taken his hands away from his face, held him through the agony and insisted that whatever he had done could be survived.

Now however, on that cold and wet floor Bastila Sal-Soren did not move. Here there was no Force to tell her what lived beneath his rage. She felt no familiar light assuring her that the brother she knew remained somewhere inside the man kneeling before her.

The only absolute was the taste of blood in her mouth, the ache spreading through her cheek and the sight of Velda crumpled between them.

Something inside Bastila died with remarkably little ceremony. Not her love for him. That remained, wounded and furious, because love was cruel enough to survive almost anything; but the worship did not survive.

The boy in the summer field lowered his wooden sword. The sunlight faded from behind him. The hero Bastila had carried through every war, every disagreement and every terrible rumour about what Brandyn had become finally disappeared. He had not fallen as a hero was known to do. Heroes could fall and rise again. He had not fallen.

Bastila slowly pushed herself upright. Her legs trembled beneath her, still struggling with the terrible wrongness of a body moving without the Force guiding it. She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of one glove and looked at the dark smear it left behind.

Nearby the distress beacon continued to pulse almost patiently reminding them that this was real and not make believe.

Bastila turned away from Brandyn and lowered herself beside Velda. Two fingers moved towards the woman’s throat, searching for the pulse the Force could no longer find for her while behind Bastila, her brother continued to break.

She finally moved towards him, standing as close as she wanted to be. Brandyn Sal-Soren had been her hero for as long as she could remember.

“Get up. We need to regroup.” Now he was only her brother. “I said get up.”

The galaxy had no heroes.

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren Velda Nar-Donna Briana Sal-Soren (because she needs this) EQUIPMENT:

​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Sibylla Abrantes //:

Hearing everything repeated back at her didn't take the sting away. It didn't shatter the weight that crushed her throat as the words had left it. It was a command, one made from emotion, but also necessity in the Echani's eyes. She still condemned the Republic, and in that same understanding, she condemned herself. But she would rather bear the weight of that choice than someone else.

Even if they were monsters, they were her monsters.

Quinn didn't say anything; she didn't respond and let Sibylla continue speaking. The woman had remained mostly in shock during their time in the building, and there was something almost comforting about having the Noble's mind focused somewhere else. Maybe that was the plan? Quinn smirked, almost scoffing at the deflection she could use. No, she owned her choice and her conviction at this moment. She wondered, though, if it was the right choice, even if it wasn't.

Maybe she'll live long enough to learn from it.

Pathetic.

As they moved, Quinn paused and wondered if Sibylla had realized what Quinn was hoping to hide. Without the Force, the delicate threads that her parents had woven were coming undone. The body that Srina had clutched, lifeless, protecting it like only a mother could, was fraying. Quinn exhaled, her breath shaky as she began to taste copper on the end of her tongue. She understood her state; everything was beginning to reject life.

At least this time the only pain was the wound in her belly, another scar… how unfortunate. How was she going to wear some of her dresses now? Fingers palpated gently against the burned and cracking skin; each press from her finger only drew fresh blood, staining her once pristine clothing.

Sibylla's words faded in and out of her mind as she wondered if her mother was okay. She hoped she was; Mercy wouldn't let anything unsettle a single strand on the Empress's head. No, Srina was okay; she was safe. A new wave of sadness hit her, knowing that once this was over, her mother was going to have to find her. Lifeless, too far gone to hold, to demand the Force return her. Srina Talon was someone who commanded at times life itself to shift for her — but would this be the case again?

She stumbled again, but Sibylla caught her; the silence broke into an ultimatum. The same one that Quinn had given her. Frowning, Quinn's attention was finally pulled from the recesses of her own despair.

"You can't do that," she answered finally. Quinn shook her head, "I said it first." Her eyes narrowed while looking at the other woman.

"I'm not rescinding the order. As much as I probably want to, even if I did, the order has been empowered by another Councilor." Quinn gathered the last bit of her strength to stand upright. Her mind remembered the words the Jedi on the hill had spoken to her. The only person who had given her a chance to explain why she wanted to learn and experience Naboo and the Republic.

"Yes, I've condemned your people…" She paused, trying not to choke on the blood or her own words as she did her best to focus.

"But the Republic did that first. This device, whatever it is… it disrupts everything natural in the galaxy. Jedi fighting Sith, good fighting evil — that's as natural as breathing. Everything the Sith have done has been an act of war." She scoffed.

"You think I don't know that? I may disagree, I may not want to participate, but this is what I am; this is what your Jedi shoved down my throat to accept. So, no. I'm not going to call them back, I'm not going to tell them to go hide behind the wall."

Quinn frowned as she ran a hand gently under her eyes, smearing the mascara and the tears doing her best to hide them. She needed to at least pretend to look the part of a future Empress, and the woman who condemned so many to death.

"At this point, while Thyferra was our goal because OUR people also need bacta, also wish to live — but the Republic doesn't care about that. I'm sorry Sibylla, but you have to look out for yours, and I have to look out for mine."

She looked at the horde and how Sibylla had chosen to show her the answer to her previous statement.

"No one should have the ability to destroy the Force, shut it out, or anything like that. The Force is what brings us together," She frowned. "Even your moon goddess, Shiraya, she's the Force as well. Isn't it wrong to pray to her asking for safety, wanting her blessing while also killing what allows her to give?"

Quinn had learned to recognize the deity; it reminded her of the lessons she learned about the Echani's own Moon Goddess.

"So, today it might be Thyferra with this weapon, tomorrow it could be Eshan… even Naboo. If we are to fight a war, then let's fight it — but not like this — not with such cowardice."

She moved, finding enough strength. Her eyes trailed the woman's belt, figuring there were things on there that were meant to protect her. She had seen before, perhaps Moorja or on Weilu; either way, she pressed one of the buttons, and she heard the instant hum of a personal shield. Next to it was a communicator that had been flashing at the corner of her eye.

Her hand moved about the belt, and she grabbed the communicator and looked at it. From the corner of her eye, a small, mischievous little smirk curled along her lip.

"Don't get any ideas," she mused, for some reason trying to be light in the matter. She'd hate to die miserable even though she was slowly coming to terms that Sibylla was the last person she was going to talk to and see. How anti-climatic...

"You're not my type."

A few shakes and a couple of smacks, Quinn saw the dim yellow light turn green. A connection was established with the other end, which, unknown to the Echani, was the man ( Aurelian Veruna ) she hated more than Darth Strosius .

"This is Quinn Varanin. Whoever is on the other end of this thing, I suggest you do something about this contingency plan of yours. I have with me Sibylla Abrantas." She looked to the woman she was depending on to cover her as she spoke.

"We're in the middle of one of the office buildings, surrounded by probably thousands of hungry undead. And I'm having to depend on the skills of a noble woman's blaster."

Arrogance and the typical haughty behavior that came easily to the Echani echoed over the comm device.

"So if you're wanting her to survive this rather gruesome nightmare, I suggest you allow me to touch the Force again. Because if you don't…" She looked over her shoulder at what was probably the biggest horde they have seen yet began to creep along towards them.

"We'll probably not be too recognizable."

She turned off the communicator and clipped it back to Sibylla's belt. Reaching back, she drew the spear once more and held the blaster she had picked up from the corpse from earlier at the ready.

"You know now that I think about it, perhaps in another life, we could have been cute together."

Shrugging, Quinn did her best to not pay attention to the pain, forget the absence of the tethers that brought her such comfort in dire times like this. She tried to tell herself someone out there wanted to save her, wanted to see her when the sun came up after this nightmare.

Someone out there who was sending help.

Somewhere in the distance… ( CT-312 )

A large beast of a warmachine landed, the pod around it falling and crushing several of the shambling horde. A roar echoed, drawing more of the creatures towards it. With ease, its maw tore through them, and the mechanical war mount sniffed the air.

It caught the scent of the one it was looking for… along with another's.

It now hunted, knowing its command to protect its Master's charge.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

Thyferra
Tags: Darth Strosius & Lina Ovmar
Equipment: Here sans armor, satchel of scientific tools
Shambling Vines In Feeding Frenzy: 8
Opponents: William Thule & Andromeda Demir

Even as blaster bolts whizzed by and a few struck home against her hunched form, particle beams burning away dense woody flesh where they clipped her, A'Mia was awestruck and heartened by the sight of Alisteri. Defensive maneuvering with her saber combined with agile dodges were the only thing keeping her from more imminent harm. Even so, one of her several arms withered away and the robes she wore began to tatter, showing cracked and oozing bark-skin beneath in a few places.

His arms lengthened, pointed fingers bursting from their gloves as they merged together with sickening cracks and sounds of flesh tearing. Claws that glinted like metal formed into jagged points like blades, pale flesh and armored ashen skin poking through the now-torn remnants of the Sith Lord's ornate robes as the creature that He had became loosed a deafening wail before pouncing on the Jedi with an open maw and lashing bladed arms.

Finally, he wasn't shying away from his power.

Pushed to the edge, aggrieved as he must be at the uncertainty of Lina's fate, Alisteri was surely experiencing turmoil the likes of which was impossible to quantify. Despite that, perhaps in addition to that, the man seemed like he'd gotten out of his own way for a time.

An immense sense of pride surged within her even as she registered that the little body cradled against her still showed signs of life: a heartbeat, respiration… but without the Force she couldn't be certain. A'Mia could only guess that Lina's soul had fled from the vessel. Yet the vessel remained, so it must be protected.

Moving with eerie grace as she slunk yet lower, the arboreal woman carefully slung Lina's body across where shoulders might exist on a bipedal organism. Her form rapidly shifted and twisted, clearly an inborn ability rather than anything bestowed by sorcery or the Force.

Like this, A'Mia pulled her lover's form into hers with reaching tendrils and creeping vines that grew from her body and lashed the unresponsive woman in place. It all happened in a matter of seconds or else the scene might have registered as far more disturbing to those with wherewithal to notice.

Deployment vessels still positioned above Thyferra, launch indicators changed from red to green. The drop pods CT-312 had inspected before the battle were filled with packs of War-X and Pred-X battle droids. The first group of pods fired toward Darth Strosius’ position.

Emboldened by Alisteri's warform and taking note of Sith droids rushing to their position, the neti decided to press forward against the odds. Though she leveled her pistol at the foe embroiled with her still standing companion, the risk was too high. She wouldn't fire if there was a chance it might hit Alisteri. So A'Mia decided to rush the other group instead, retraining the pistol on those standing defensively around the girl she'd shot.

BLAM!

BLAM!​

Two more shots, one round left.

All around the water churned muddy and red, Sithspawn dragging Jedi soldiers down even as the beasts were torn apart in turn by blaster fire. Amidst the madness A'Mia charged forward with inhuman speed, able to move with frightening agility in terrain which didn't favor human feet.

By the look in her eyes, she meant to gut the honor guard which surrounded Andromeda. Emboldened by reinforcements and inspired by the Sangnir at her side, A'Mia bowled forward low and furious, like a tornado of deadly limbs powered by malice.