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Faction The Blood Price | TSC Faction Thread of Metellos


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Lily Rhodes Lily Rhodes
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Arris stepped out onto the landing pad and kept walking.

Light cruisers rained fire from above while gunships and troop transports scrambled across the airspace. It was war... But it was oddly peaceful given all that's transpired.

She stopped and looked at Lily.

"None of us are too good."

There was a pause.

"But I understand. I told Ace the same thing. He didn't have the heart for this."

It's also why he couldn't kill her on Jakku. But that hesitation died on Bonadan.

Arris turned to face her fully, arms crossed.

"You followed me all the way out here, no questions asked. Just like you did in Hapes, Jakku, and on Abregado-rae.

"You gave up the quiet life. You left your girlfriend... And you chose me. You chose the Covenant."


Her arms relaxed. One rested on her hip while the other hung loosely at her side. She looked down at her feet for a second before raising her head just enough to see Lily's expression.

"Why? Because of what I asked?"

"Will you stand beside me?"

She pointed at the stronghold under siege, then turned towards it, standing on the edge

"Because that is my life.

"So - be very honest with yourself, Lily."


She turned back around. "Why are you here?"
 


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Lily wasn’t looking at Arris, her voice washed over her as she tracked the movement of the war ahead of them, a backdrop that was slowly becoming familiar. Not comfortable, just something she knew and something she hated.

"You gave up the quiet life. You left your girlfriend... And you chose me. You chose the Covenant."

"...I love you.”

Her stomach twisted. “But I choose Arris.

Her lower lip trembled, a tidal wave of grief threatening to overwhelm her as she closed her eyes, refusing to let it win, refusing to fall apart in front of Arris. She’d already done that, she’d already given her a part of herself without meaning to. She shook her head, sucking in a shuddering breath and exhaling it slowly forcing it back down, back into its box where it belonged until she could survive letting it out.

“She asked the same.” she said finally, looking up, finally meeting her gaze “So did Ace.”

That wasn’t an answer.

“I’ve spent my whole life running. Running from Coruscant, running because being still felt wrong, running from the box my cousin wanted to fit me into, running from the truth of what I am, running from this fucking Covenant.” She let out a humourless laugh at that.

“I’m tired of running, of being made to feel insignificant, of people stepping on me because they can…but it's more than that…”

Her eyes drifted away back to the war, to the streaks of red and green that lit up the sky and the soft ember glow of fire and swirling smoke that coloured the horizon.

“I’m meant to be here. I need to be here. For better or worse. And I need you.” She looked back at Arris adding rapidly “Not in that way…I just…" She let out a nervous laugh and shook her head, her feet shifting beneath her.

"I need what you can give me, what you can make of me. So I never have to run.”

 


The mention of Ace caught her off guard.

What did he have to do with this? She caught, briefly, that they must've known each other on Jakku.

Arris frowned a little as Lily kept on, though. About her life. How she was running. Though nowhere in that did Lily actually reveal the why. Arris chuckled dryly when Lily corrected herself.

"Gimme a fuckin' break," she muttered.

Arris sighed. "Look at me, 'kay? I'm always running... but I can help you get stronger. Strong enough until you're only running from the one person you can't ever escape."

She reached out to put her hand on Lily's upper arm and lowered her head until they were eye level.

"All of this can feel better... It can feel really good. But you have to let go. You have to stop pretending there's weight to this world, or the last, or the next one. Stop pretending that the nameless matter. They've got their families, their friends. We've got ours."

She turned and straightened. She walked into the building and rode the lift until they were at street level. The Governor's stronghold was something else from down below. A gravity-defying palace armed to the teeth and fortified. That was how the ultrawealthy lived on Metellos. Literally above and detached from the rest.

Arris looked up. She knew Varin had his to kill, and no doubt others were put to the task. He wouldn't need her up there. Down the stretch, however, two squadrons of Sith troopers were pinned down by enemy fire. It seems the Governor's private army was more committed than they'd anticipated. Usually, mercenaries didn't fight too hard - they'd slaughter a village or harass locals, but put 'em up against a real fight? They'd take performative blows and call it a day.

She looked over to Lily. "Solve their problem."
 


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The one person she couldn’t escape.

She’d been in Arris’ head, far deeper than she’d ever want to go willingly again but she understood. The business, the drugs, commanding the Covenant’s army. That was Arris running from herself, endlessly chasing stimulation beyond the reaches of her own mind so she’d never have to face it.

For a moment, annoyance flashed across her face at how easily she dismissed the nameless. The people caught in the collateral of the Covenant’s war with whoever dared stand against them. To Lily the nameless did matter, the nameless were who was left behind, the nameless was where she had come from. The nameless were the two kids she’d pulled off Celanon when the blackwing virus had hit, they were the jedi padawans whom Arris had spared on Hapes, they were the refugees scattered in the wind from Abregado-rae.

“I’m not going to do that, Arris.” she replied softly “Because I’m not a monster.”

Not yet.

“They do matter, what we leave behind matters. But you’re not wrong. They do have their own families and friends.”

She followed Arris into the lift, arms folding as she leaned against the wall, wondering for the first time what they were even doing here. The answer became evident enough as they stepped out of the lift the stronghold loomed above them, a grotesque representation of the gap that existed between the wealthy and the poor that stirred the anger in Lily.

It reminded her of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, of the shadow it cast high above those who fought to survive while they paraded around like white knights, incapable of solving the suffering happening beneath their feet.

“Fuck this place.” she muttered.

Arris drew her attention to the fight down the street, to the private military fighting far harder than they had any right to, because those above no doubt lined their pockets. She didn’t hesitate, she didn’t even ask for clarification. One moment she was walking beside Arris the next she wasn’t.
She appeared among them, her hand snapped out closing around the barrel of a gun yanking it off its trajectory as it fired, bolts slamming into the back of the mercenaries' ally. Her fist sailed for his jaw before he even had time to understand, pulling the weapon free as he stumbled then dropped with two glowing holes in his chest.

Lily killed two more before they even knew what was happening, their guns turning away from the sith troopers to her, but she was gone again. The rifle tossed aside as she appeared behind them, lightsaber snapping to life, punching through a skull before angling down to deflect blaster bolts back to their senders. Then she was upon them in a haze of fury.

These weren’t nameless. They were part of the problem, they protected that that kept the rich rich and the poor poor. They were a disease that could only be removed violently and permanently. Her lightsaber carved though the barrel of a rifle, the following swing removing a head, the saber settling into a reverse grip and driving back into the sternum of one trying to sneak up behind her.

The lightsaber deactivated as she teleported again, appearing behind one, so close he could’ve felt her breath on the back of his neck if she was tall enough. She reached for his belt, pulling pins on the grenades resting there before snapping away a final time reappearing beside Arris, spinning the rings on her finger.

BANG.

A very small, but very smug smile pulled at Lily’s face as the sound of limbs and rubble rained down

 
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Lily disappeared just as Arris was about to say something.

She knew immediately what her apprentice was up to. Her eyes snapped to the mercenaries, to Lily right beside them. She cut through them systematically, weaponizing their confusion and using their own equipment against them. One by one, they fell to the slaughter - Lily was a veritable killing machine. Arris could feel the fear and panic. Even the Sith troopers who watched on were afraid of their own ally.

Then, Lily pulled the pin and appeared beside Arris. An explosion followed, followed by a rain of meat, torn armor, and broken equipment.

The troopers looked around in a panic.

"Move!" Arris called out to them.

Their attention snapped to the voice as it came from behind them. When they saw who it was - and the killing machine beside her - there wasn't any hesitation. They pushed forward.

Arris smiled faintly at Lily. "How did it feel to cut them down, to make them helpless?" She asked.

She activated her communication device. It opened across multiple channels. Varin Mortifer Varin Mortifer would undoubtedly hear the order. This was to be his world when he was done, but...

<:"Get tractor beams on those floating cities, and cast them into the wastelands.":>


If Mortifer wanted to override that order, he could. It was his operation, after all.

 



VARIN MORTIFER



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Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber | Wyrmfang

POV: Rak Tuban Grimmin​

His chest tightened as he struggled to breathe, his footing failing him as he scrambled into the halls, the sound of blasterfire began to quiet behind him, finally silencing as the doors slammed shut.

“AN ATTACK?! AN ATTACK ON MY GREAT CITY! THE SITH A CRAZY!!!”

He quickly picked himself up as a few troopers passed him.

“KILL THEM KILL THEM ALL I WILL GIVE TOP PROMOTION FOR ANY TROOPER WHO KILLS A SITH! AND ACTIVATE MY TURRETS NOW!”

Explosions rocked the city harsh from side to side causing the governor to slam into the nearest wall. The pain rocked from his head throughout his body, knocking the wind out of him leaving just a deep long winded grunt as he attempted to regain his breath.

“...My office! I have to get to my office.”

He took a step forward just as a small cleaning droid came through taking his footing from him. Pain pulsed from his legs as his foot shot from under him nearly doing a split.

“OOOOOOH YOU VILE THING I SHOULD HAVE YOU DISMANTLED!”

The small droid chirped and chittered before speeding off as Rak’s hand reached for it.

“NONO GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE-”

Another explosion rocked the flying fortress as he now began to crawl towards his office door.

“It’s a bad dream.”

A nervous laughter escaped him.

“It’s all a bad dream. Certainly the Sith would not target me??? Rak Grimmin!”

The doors to his private office opened as he crawled further into the room, the doors slamming shut as alarms ringed through the halls. Rak took his seat after struggling to pull his body up onto the chair. His finger pressed a button and his voice rang through the intercoms.

“Ahem…Dear Sith of the Covenant, Though your intrusion and appearance is much appreciated, get the hell off my beautiful city!”

His finger on the button released not realizing the button was stuck to the on position blasting his voice throughout the halls and the flying fortress.

“Ha, that will show them. They have yet to see my true power….wait…”

He fished into his robes pulling out a gaudy gold and gem encrusted communicator.

“Commander, release the battle droids! I want them all over this building! No nook and cranny uninhabited is that clear?”

Meanwhile: On the main surface of the city where the Sith fought, sections of the walls and floors of the main building opened up, rising from the openings were heavy automotive blaster turrets designed originally for riot control had been modified for lethal intent lobbing large plasma bolts towards the Sith.


 
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VARIN MORTIFER


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Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber | Wyrmfang​

Varin listened as each member voiced their opinions, seemingly split between killing the governor or bringing him in alive to make an example or gain information out of. Varin kept his focus on the battle as he held his stance against the barrage of blaster fire.

“We will take him alive.”

If for any reason Varin could take him in for questioning on some personal matters, but after that, whatever the Covenant wanted was theirs.

Varin watched as each member that had joined him took their places against the assault, some holding a line and others pushing forward. The flying city had turned into a warzone within moments of the Sith landing. Varin heard Arris’ orders of bringing down the flying cities.

<:"Get tractor beams on those floating cities, and cast them into the wastelands.":>

Varin’s gaze glared at the blockade ahead of them before he responded to the order.

<Leave the Governors city standing. The rest, pluck them from the skies.>

Varin’s attention shifted completely as heavy blaster turrets ascended from the round and the walls of the palace, firing down upon them. He quickly retracted his shield.

“MOVE!”

His voice boomed across the battlefield as heavy bolts of plasma rained down on them, his speeder taking a brunt of the damage utterly destroying his craft. A growl left Varin’s throat as he watched his vehicle blow into smithereens and engulf itself in flame.

Varin tapped into his comms to Sumire Raiza Sumire Raiza , hoping she was in place to help with the situation.

“We have heavy turret fire on us surrounding the palace. I want those guns silenced or turned on their own.”

This slippery governor was starting to become an annoyance to the young Knight. His attention now taken by a trooper with a bayonet at the end of his weapon aiming to thrust it into Varin’s gut. He side stepped the attack bringing the hook of his blade up to bite onto the barrel, he jerked the weapon around as the trooper desperately fired. Varin turned the barrel on to the other approaching troopers before leg sweeping the soldier then driving his knee on his neck with a loud snap.

“Naniti.”

His voice cut towards the violet Togruta that accompanied them.

“See if you can flank.”

His gaze moved to Kaelyr.

“Kaelyr and I will draw attention. We will cause as much havoc as we can. Just make sure the city stays afloat.”

His gaze then moved to Sorc and Ayrith.

“I want you two moving with her. Watch each other's backs.”

Finally he looked towards Lysander and Isley.

“I need you and Lysander to watch our backs as well. If there is anything either of you all can do about the incoming droids as well, take creative liberty.”

Varin’s orders were given to each individual, how they handled the job was up to them. Life would only be harder while the turrets were still up. Varin quickly stood back up, smoke erupting from his back to faintly conceal the battlefield before them, giving Naniti and her team a veil to be concealed behind.


 
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The buzz of electricity flowed painfully from the tip of Brool's head to the base of his feet. He could feel each of his muscles reacting individually, then all at once. Tightening, loosening, tightening again. It was a pain meant to embarrass as much as torment. The type of pain that caused all your muscles to give out if you weren't expecting it. The Sith were masters of manipulation, both mentally and physically. The cruel shackle they had given Brool was only further proof of that.

He wasn't going to let himself die, though. He wasn't going to let himself be another victim of the Sith and their twisted games. Instead, he would play along for now. He would do what he had to do to ensure his safety. Then he would strike, sometime in the future, sometime when they least expected it. To do that, however, he had to break himself apart. He had to make part of himself strong enough to do what needed to be done for the other side of himself. He had to be like a broken mirror, refusing to let anyone see what was actually happening.

Then something moved.

It wasn't anything that would normally draw his attention, but with his life on the line, his senses were heightened. A box of files had fallen from a metal desk, papers strewn across the floor and feeding the fire that slowly crept through the building. Then came the sound of muffled, panicked talking. Not wanting to give the collar another reason to punish him, Brool made sure his thoughts and emotions were in line with what the Sith demanded of him. He reached out with the Force, trying to see if he could tell anything about his next victims. He knew he had to kill them if he wanted to live. The Sith could not see him as a liability.

Three lives, likely workers who had been caught in the crossfire. The Kel Dor knew he didn't have time to rationalize what he was about to do, and dwelling on who they were would only drive him mad. Instead, Brool reached out with the Force and brought down a durasteel bookshelf across from them. The weight alone was enough to kill them instantly.

"Nine."

His breath was shallow. He wasn't sure what would be worse, dying from the collar or seeing who he was if he survived. It didn't feel like things could get much worse.

"Actually, that only counts as one."

A voice from the collar broke his concentration.

They were listening to him too?!

"Seven."

OPEN​

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"Turrets." Naniti didn't bother igniting the sabers held in either hand. She took a step forward. As plasma was hurled toward them, the Togruta lifted her hands and commanded the bolts off course using the Force. Just a little judge of a high velocity projectile.

Suppose she should have seen Varin's speeder getting blown up as a result of the barrage though. Perhaps she had, but a woman that could peek into the future never told the whole truth. People started expecting you to tell them the Watto numbers.

Jaw tight, the violet woman took one step forward at a time under the onslaught. A Knight sought to skewer Varin in the meantime, and were slaughtered for their trouble. Naniti expected the rest would manage to keep the chaff from reaching her as she made the turrets' accuracy fall well short of expectations with the group clustered together as they were in that moment.

Then Varin called out her name and bright emerald eyes turned his direction.

If? A sharp nod followed the 'request.' Sorc Nenn Sorc Nenn and Ayrith Drayen Ayrith Drayen were given leave to join the violet Togruta in that task as well.

A look was spared over toward Lysander, but no words uttered before she called out, "To the left." With that, her hands fell and she darted left along the perimeter of the structure they were to penetrate. There hadn't been timed to talk, and she trusted Lysander would understand what even a moment spared to share a glance was worth.

"Are you fast? Agile? Strong?" she asked those that accompanied her. "We must make it beyond that wall to take control from them." Simple plan: attack. Toward that end, she hoped her companions would offer up a little something about their capabilities. Perhaps she'd go first as a demonstration, "I can tell you where they will be when we strike." Who didn't enjoy knowing where the enemy would be around blind corners? Combat-hungry Sith, but Naniti would assume those with her might care for strategic advantages until she learned otherwise.

Varin Mortifer | Lysander von Ascania | Kaelyr | Sorc Nenn | Ayrith Drayen | Isley Verd | Ayrith Drayen​


 

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"Why do you care?"

The voice rose from the shadows as a dark figure metallic heels clicked around the corner of a building. Adorned from head to toe in armor, the figure's glowing eyes easily found the blue lightsaber-wielding man growling to himself.

"They'd live only to die a minute, an hour later. Perhaps they'd escape, flee to some other worlds, scrape a living off barren rocks, and then die. You would suffer so they have that chance to feign a life worth living? Does that give meaning to yours?"

Armored fingers lifted and then curled into a fist off to her left. A loud snap and pop preceded the growing rumble of an avalanche; shattered duracrete as it succumbed to the pull of gravity. A monolith of ingenuity and progress turned into a bludgeoning weapon as it crushed another small group of five figures as they scurried away. Had there been small figures among them? Did it matter?

"Why do you suffer alone?"

Run? Really. Such a thoughtful man to languish in this desolate landscape for the vain hope of salvation. Astra was dying to learn what motivated him. What he aspired toward. Was it revenge? You could never look down upon a classic. And perhaps, one day, he'd have it. Perhaps. But did that matter? Everyone was different, and so she'd enjoy figuring out the puzzle that was this Kel Dor.



 
COVENANT FIELD RECORD // SR-30
SUMIRE RAIZA
EXECUTIONER
LOCATION // Metellos
OBJECTIVE // NO DEFENSE
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Varin's voice reached her before the next junction did.

"We have heavy turret fire on us surrounding the palace. I want those guns silenced or turned on their own."​

An impact swallowed the end of his transmission. Another followed before the channel cleared, then three more in quick succession. They lacked the weight of the artillery above. These were closer, fast enough that the walls never quite stopped trembling between them.

Sumire stopped at a maintenance display and laid Varin's coordinates over the palace schematic. His position sat beyond the artillery network she'd just hobbled, beneath a fresh knot of power demands around the governor's palace. Warning icons flashed across the western grounds as concealed housings opened and heavy automated turrets rose into firing position. The city's records still called them riot-control emplacements, a designation that had outlived whatever restraint the weapons once possessed. The feeds showed plasma bolts large enough to turn a speeder into burning wreckage.

Three Covenant signals were already moving left along the palace perimeter. Above them, the weapons covering the western approach all led back to a security-control station built into the palace wall. It sat one level above Sumire and only a short distance from the amber route toward the primary fire-control nexus.

She opened the channel.

"Maintain their attention. Western arc first."

Sumire closed the connection before Varin could answer and turned away from the amber line.

The maintenance corridor tightened around the palace foundations. New conduits had been fastened over older construction, their casings shivering whenever the turrets fired. She followed the vibration to a service stair cut into the inner wall. With every step upward, the impacts sharpened. Beneath them came the muted whine of weapons traversing somewhere beyond the durasteel.

The stair ended at the rear of the western control station. A reinforced service door barred the way, but whoever had designed it had also given maintenance crews a manual release in case a power failure trapped them on the wrong side. Sumire drew the mechanism back a fraction at a time.

Five presences waited beyond it.

The room was long and narrow, divided by a waist-high tactical console. Two operators sat at stations recessed into the right-hand wall. Their officer moved behind them, demanding firing updates and leaning over whichever display failed to answer quickly enough. A guard stood near the operators; another covered the main entrance at the far end. The alarm from the damaged artillery relay had reached them. Every few seconds, the nearer guard's attention returned to the service door.

Sumire eased it open.

The hinges made no sound. A status light on the officer's console changed from green to amber.

"Service door!"

The nearer guard fired with the warning still in his mouth.

Sumire's lightsaber cleared her belt and ignited. The shortened red blade caught the first bolt and threw it into the wall above the operators. They ducked as sparks rained across their stations. The guard fired twice more while the man at the main entrance turned toward her. Sumire batted one shot into the central console. The next crossed beyond the reach of her blade and struck her shoulder plate at an angle.

Heat punched through the armor. Her shoulder hit the wall, and the edge of the central console gave her cover before the guard corrected his aim.

Surprise had carried her through the door. It hadn't taken the room.

"Lock the station down," the officer shouted.

One operator slapped the emergency control. An armored cover dropped from the ceiling toward the entire bank of turret controls. Beside him, the second operator reached for the communications panel.

Sumire caught the descending cover with the Force. Its motor groaned. The plate stopped halfway down, leaving only a narrow band of displays exposed beneath it.

The guards moved before she could do more. The nearer man rounded the left side of the central console at a run. His companion left the main entrance and advanced along the right aisle, keeping the console between them as long as he could. The officer drew his sidearm and stayed near the operators, waiting for either guard to force Sumire into his line of fire.

The left-hand guard reached her first.

Her free hand swept one of the kamas from behind her waist. Its plasma edge remained dark as she caught his rifle beneath the hook and drove the muzzle toward the deck. He didn't fight the turn. He stepped into it, planted a shoulder against her breastplate and used the weapon between them to pin her to the wall.

Across the console, his companion found his angle.

"Clear!"

The first guard tried to wrench himself aside. Sumire held him close and tore his rifle across his body instead. The bolt from the right aisle struck its receiver. The carbine burst between their hands, spraying molten fragments across the wall. The guard cried out and recoiled, one gauntlet smoking.

Sumire ripped the kama free of the ruined weapon. Its hook caught behind his shoulder plate. She pulled him down and across, wrenching his arm away from his side. Her lightsaber passed through the seam beneath it. His weight left his legs, and he folded against the left side of the console.

The armored cover lurched downward.

Sumire seized it again before it closed over the control bank. The strain tightened behind her eyes. She tore the ruined rifle from the dead guard's hands and hurled it into the cover's track. The descending plate caught the weapon with a metallic shriek, crushed the stock flat and stopped. The exposed displays flickered beneath it.

On the right, the second guard had used the struggle to close the distance. He reached the near end of the central console and dropped behind its corner, bracing his rifle along the edge. His first burst chewed glowing pits across the surface in front of Sumire. The next struck the dead guard's armor and filled the left aisle with sparks.

The guard kept Sumire behind the console with another burst. Farther up the right aisle, the officer shifted along the operator stations until the narrow gap between the chairs and the wall gave him a second angle.

His first shot passed close enough for Sumire to feel its heat against her cheek.

She snapped her free hand toward him before he fired again.

The Force dragged the officer out from behind the chairs. His second shot crossed behind Sumire and vanished into the wall. He struck the central console chest-first, lost his sidearm and crumpled beside the operators. One shouted, "Sir!" and reached toward him. The other flinched away from the controls.

The right-hand guard saw her attention leave him and rushed the last few steps.

Sumire met him at the mouth of the aisle. His rifle discharged into the floor as her kama caught the sling near his shoulder and hauled the weapon across his chest. He abandoned it before the strap could take him down and reached for the compact blaster at his hip. The kama slipped from the sling and closed around his wrist. Sumire pulled his arm across his body before the blaster cleared its holster. The motion opened the seam beneath his breastplate. Her shortened blade entered there and vanished again. The guard sagged. Sumire turned with him, keeping his armored body between herself and the officer, who had recovered his sidearm beneath the operator's station.

The officer froze with the weapon leveled. For one breath, neither of them moved. The guard's boots dragged against the deck between them.

Then Sumire let the body fall.

The officer fired.

She pulled him forward with the Force as the kama's inner edge flared to life. His shot passed over her shoulder. The sidearm came between them; Sumire caught it inside the hook and ripped the kama sideways. The plasma edge sheared through barrel and emitter. Both halves struck the floor before the officer reached her.

His momentum carried him into the operator's station. The impact drove the breath from his lungs. Sumire followed him in and punched the kama's pointed head through the outer plate of his forearm guard and into the reinforced console beneath it.

The active edge hissed through armor and machinery. Sparks scattered over the deck. The sharper smell of scorched padding followed, and the officer's scream filled the station.

One operator lurched out of his chair so hard that it struck the wall behind him and rebounded into his legs.

The officer seized the kama's haft with his free hand. "Get it out!"

He pulled once. The inner edge bit deeper into the split bracer. Smoke curled from beneath it, and his scream collapsed into a strangled gasp. His fingers opened. He stayed rigid against the console, drawing short, uneven breaths, his free hand hovering near the weapon without daring to touch it again.

A green light winked across the communications panel.

Sumire tore its power conduit from the wall with the Force. The display died, but the signal had escaped while she fought. Reinforcements would be moving. That gave the two operators value and everyone in the room a finite amount of time.

Her lightsaber went dark. She returned it to her belt and took the officer's code cylinder from his uniform. One operator stood with both hands raised. The other remained frozen at the communications panel, staring at the two bodies on the floor.

"Manual control," Sumire said. "Western turrets."

"The lockdown sealed manual control." The seated operator's voice caught on the last word.

Sumire fitted the officer's code cylinder into the authorization port. The lockout warning disappeared. Above them, the armored cover shuddered and withdrew, releasing the mangled rifle from its track. It struck the deck between the operators with a clang. Both men flinched.

"Not anymore."

New controls opened across the display, replacing the automated firing solutions with a manual targeting grid.

Three active emplacements made up the western arc. All three were still pouring fire into the Covenant position at the palace approach. At the edge of one feed, a violet Togruta moved left through the barrage with two others behind her. The guns hadn't found them yet. Bright impacts walked across the ground they would have to cross once their cover ended.

Sumire selected the first emplacement and drew its targeting mark away from the avenue.

The operator stared at the new coordinates. "That's inside the perimeter."

"I know."

His hand settled on the controls. The first gun turned toward a battle-droid deployment bay opening in the palace grounds. Sumire gave the second gun a line on the neighboring northern emplacement. The third could reach the barricades guarding the western wall.

An authorization prompt filled the center of the display, demanding confirmation before the guns could fire inside the palace perimeter. The operator looked toward his officer. Pinned against the console, the man managed a tight shake of his head.

"Don't," he rasped.

Sumire shifted her grip on the kama's haft. The officer's breath stopped.

"Confirm."

The operator swallowed. His finger came down.

On the feeds, the western barrage stopped.

The first turret rotated inward, its servos whining as it abandoned the avenue it had been assigned to cover. A heavy plasma bolt crossed the inner grounds and burst among the droids emerging from their deployment bay. Fire filled the entrance. The first rank disappeared, and broken machines tumbled back into those behind them.

The second emplacement fired. Its bolt struck the northern turret beneath the armored housing. Metal peeled away in glowing sheets as the weapon tore loose and collapsed into the palace wall.

The third gun opened on the western barricades. Its first shot broke the position nearest the wall. Another struck the ground behind it, driving the defenders away from the gap they'd been holding.

The control station trembled with each discharge. On the feed, the impacts ahead of the three Covenant signals stopped. A clear strip opened between them and the western wall. The standing operator found those signals on the display and stared as they continued toward it.

Warning tones rose from the console.

"They're taking the guns back," the standing operator said. Red override requests multiplied across the display as palace command tried to reclaim the western arc.

"Sever the remote link."

The officer tried to object. Only a broken sound emerged. The operator reached under the control bank and turned the local-isolation switch.

The first override failed. A second followed it. The western guns remained theirs.

Sumire gave the emplacements one final firing cycle. Plasma tore through the deployment bay, the ruined northern housing and the barricades beside the wall. Then she turned the sector's master cutoff.

The three feeds vanished together.

Silence settled over the western side of the schematic. Fire from the palace's remaining defenses continued, but its rhythm had changed. One whole side of the structure no longer answered.

Sumire removed the cutoff key and the officer's code cylinder. The surviving displays still held the station's command history and the service routes connecting it to the palace network. She copied both, then erased the local record of the transfer.

Only after the data was secure did she return to the officer. Sumire extinguished the kama's plasma edge and pulled its head free of the console and his ruined bracer. He screamed once more, then slid to his knees with his injured arm clutched against his chest. She cleaned the weapon against his uniform and returned it behind her waist.

She stripped the commlinks from all three survivors and pointed toward the station's armored communications booth.

"Inside."

The operators moved first. One kicked the mangled rifle aside while the other caught the officer beneath his uninjured arm. He tried to remain where he was until the Force closed around his armor and dragged him after them. Sumire sealed the booth, engaged its manual lock and tore the external release from the wall. Three prisoners. Two bodies. No one left in the station who could interfere.

She reopened the Covenant channel Varin had used earlier.

"Western palace arc disabled. Turrets redirected against the inner defenses, then disabled. Western approach is open. Updated breach and defense routes attached."

Sumire transmitted the schematic and closed the connection.

The amber route toward the primary fire-control nexus remained on the display beside three Covenant signals closing on the western breach. Sumire considered both. Continuing alone would gain little with the first element already within reach. The nexus could wait. An inspection hatch at the rear of the station opened onto a narrow service ledge beneath the parapet. Sumire released it and stepped into the open air. The top of the wall stood several meters above her. She drew the Force beneath her and jumped.

Her boots struck the parapet between two silent turret housings.

The Covenant standard she had carried into the city resembled little more than a durasteel rod while collapsed. Sumire twisted the grip, locking its segmented shaft at full length as the banner unfurled above her. She slammed its pointed end into a seam in the nearest turret's armored shell. Metal buckled beneath the impact. The point buried itself in the machinery below and held, leaving the banner snapping above the opening the guns had made.

Below, the violet Togruta and her companions were closing on the wall. Sumire raised one hand in brief acknowledgment, then pointed toward the breach, eyes scanning for the next threat.

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LEONTIS ANTALIS
Outfit/Armor


The plan was working. That was becoming a dangerous phrase in Leontis Antalis's experience. Grimmin's forces had responded exactly as anticipated. What had begun as scattered resistance ahead of the Antalis advance was becoming organized. Infantry poured into adjoining streets. Another armored transport had appeared behind the intersection ahead, disgorging soldiers before withdrawing behind the protection of the surrounding buildings. Every soldier sent against House Antalis was one not hunting the Covenant forces elsewhere in the city. Which meant Leontis wanted more.

"Third Platoon holds here. Second keeps pressure on the intersection, but nobody crosses it until our heavy weapons are repositioned."

"Understood."

"And tell Captain Arlan that drawing their fire does not require standing in the middle of the street."

The lieutenant hesitated. "He claims the position provides the clearest field of fire."

"It provides the enemy the clearest field of fire too." Leontis leaned from behind the corner just long enough to examine the street beyond. A blaster bolt snapped past. He immediately withdrew. "Case demonstrated." One of his guards made a noise that might have been amusement. Leontis elected not to investigate.

His comm crackled. "Antalis Actual, Aurek-Two."

Leontis touched the receiver at his ear. "Go ahead."

"Movement east of our position. Shopping concourse, approximately one block. Unknown Force-user."

That got his attention. "Sith?"

"Kel Dor. Blue lightsaber." Leontis frowned. That certainly did not answer the question as cleanly as he would have liked. "We've got bodies around him. Civilians. Multiple."

Before Leontis could answer, something enormous collapsed nearby. The sound came first. A tremendous crack echoed between the towers, followed by the grinding roar of duracrete surrendering to gravity. The street beneath Leontis's boots trembled. A cloud of dust rolled from the adjoining avenue as soldiers instinctively ducked behind cover.

One of the House Guards looked east. "That came from the concourse."

Of course it had. "Aurek-Two, do not engage unless attacked. Mark the position."

"Copy."

The location appeared on Leontis's tactical display. Unfortunately, it was almost directly along the route his forward elements needed to take if they were going to threaten the flank of Grimmin's defensive position. Leontis sighed. "Apparently we're going sightseeing."

"My lord—"

"Yes, yes. The command position is very safe. We've already had this conversation." His six guards fell around him as Leontis started east. They moved behind the Antalis line rather than beyond it this time, passing soldiers occupying storefronts and firing positions carved from the wreckage. The devastation grew worse as they approached the concourse. Smoke reduced visibility to a few dozen meters in places.

Then came the blue light. A lightsaber blade shone through the haze. Every Antalis weapon around Leontis rose. "Hold." The command carried down the line. Leontis stepped far enough forward to see the Kel Dor properly. Blue lightsaber. Bodies. A collar around his neck. And nearby—

Leontis blinked. Astra Sadow. That substantially complicated the picture. He knew Astra well enough from Abregado-rae and the negotiations that followed to recognize her immediately. More importantly, she was standing near the Kel Dor rather than attempting to kill him.

Leontis raised one hand. "Weapons down. Not away. Down." Rifles lowered several degrees. Not particularly welcoming. But no longer an execution waiting for permission. Leontis advanced another few steps with his guards. His gaze briefly wandered across the devastation around Astra and the stranger.

The civilians bothered him. More than he particularly wanted to examine at that moment. This was war. He had ordered artillery used. He had sent soldiers into buildings knowing some would not emerge. People died when cities became battlefields. He understood that. This looked different. His eyes returned to Astra. "Miss Sadow."

Despite the smoke, gunfire and bodies, Leontis managed something approaching the polite inclination of his head that he might have offered her at a Chandrilan reception. "We really must stop meeting in places like this."

His attention shifted toward Brool. The blue blade was difficult to ignore. So was the collar. So were the dead. Leontis's hand remained close to his own weapon. "I presume the gentleman with the blue lightsaber isn't one of Governor Grimmin's?"

A burst of automatic blaster fire rattled somewhere behind them. House Antalis answered. Leontis glanced toward the sound before returning his attention to Astra and Brool. "Because if he is, this is going to become rather awkward."

His gaze lingered on Brool. Something about the Kel Dor didn't fit the scene. The posture. The collar. The bodies. None of it produced an explanation Leontis particularly liked. He hadn't heard the entire exchange between Astra and Brool. But approaching through the ruins, he had heard one thing. A number. Seven. Leontis looked from Brool to the bodies, then back again. "And why is he counting?"

Astra Sadow Astra Sadow | Brool Koon Brool Koon
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Moribedo District, Metellos
Not a Prophet


Metellos watched its people disappear into the same war machine that stamped out its resistance, one conscript after another. The streets accumulated scars from blaster fire and explosions, while the survivors cowered in fear of becoming the next to join the missing.

Yet, amid the carnage Ives could not stop fixating on the left shoulder of a middle-aged Arkanian businessman. He couldn't shake the feeling that it would come apart like frayed cloth. Skin, muscle, sinew, and bone all seemed poised to unravel at the smallest tug of a loose thread.

The Arkanian sat in uncomfortable silence among the lucky few who'd been spared conscription. Ives was among them, too. They waited in the confines of a small convenience store, where they had no choice but to watch as the invaders marched their fellow citizens into transports. Across the road, the remains of citizens who had made attempts to resist the occupation had been left at the site of their execution. Whether the Sith kept them there as a warning or simply couldn't be bothered to clear them away didn't matter. The message was clear either way, the price for defiance was absolute.

The Arkanian stiffened at the sight of another Sith patrol, and Ives observed his movements closely. Nothing in his posture betrayed discomfort. He looked physically fit and healthy. But Ives could see the seam beneath the skin with unmistakable clarity, and he knew it would come undone--the same way one knew that a coin tossed in the air would eventually land.

Ives tore himself from his fixation and moved behind the store's single cashier's station. He rummaged around, there had to be a first aid kit here somewhere. Any medical tools would be fine. He found it sequestered away at the back of a drawer filled with paperwork. He pulled the white tin case free and set it down on the counter. When he checked on the Arkanian again, the man had collapsed. Dozens of small pinpricks bloomed on the fabric around his shoulder.

Ives cursed and vaulted the counter, skidding to the man's side. Ives had cut away the tunic to get at the skin beneath by the time the first bystander had noticed what was going on. A gurgling shriek bubbled from a selkath bystander. Someone else muttered a few fretful words under their breath.

The shoulder had become blood-streaked. The skin had frayed. The surface layer had become thin like stretched linen against sunlight, and the dissolving web barely contained the deteriorating tissue beneath.

"Shit," Ives rasped. He stared wide-eyed, dread clotting his throat.

Naamino Zuukamano Naamino Zuukamano
 
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/// DIRECTIVE SET, ASSIST IN TARGET APPREHENSION.
/// TERMINATE OFFENSIVE MEASURES, GUARD ALLIED FORCES.
/// REMEMBER YOUR BANNER, REMEMBER YOUR PURPOSE.


/// LOCATION: METELLOS
/// OBJECTIVE: RIP & TEAR

/// NEARBY: Varin Mortifer Varin Mortifer | Lysander von Ascania Lysander von Ascania | Kaelyr Kaelyr | Isley Verd Isley Verd |
/// FLANKING TEAM: Naniti Naniti | Sorc Nenn Sorc Nenn |
/// EQUIPMENT: IN BIO

/// DIVERGENCE FROM FORWARD CONTINGENT... DIRECTIVE UPDATED.
/// SPLINTER UNIT ENGAGING.


"Razor disengaging from main body, redirecting offensive measures."

Strategy was coming into play, tactical machinations to further clip and cripple the opposition. Ayrith acknowledged the leading element of the party, splintering off and away with two others; under the lead of a violet Togruta, along with an Umbaran in tow, Ayrith regarded either without a singular thought of bias.

Ayrith may have been deployed to aid, but her service on Metellos was purely mechanical. Like the many weapons let loose, 19-SC-V was but another addition to the inventory, just of a more distinct caliber. This would be a glaring disconnect from the rest of her comrades, and an even stranger anomaly among Sith that operated on tradition. Ayrith held no such subtext.

All she needed was a direction to be pointed in, and a target to erase from the mortal coil.

They were the hand, she was the sword.

Focusing on the Togruta leading them, Ayrith's visor pulsed briefly, offering a response to her query on prowess.

"19-SC-V is adequate with the systematic erasure of flesh-based lifeforms, along with droid-based combatants. Sterilization is this asset's prime functional commitment."

A smooth twirl of the lightsaber in her hand.

"Assess target density, then observe their obliteration by my hand. Does this response and request satisfy the query?"

Ayrith shifted her attention between the woman and Umbaran male, ready to act on whatever scheme deemed operationally sound.

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The turret fire found a rhythm. Discharge, traverse, settle, discharge. Whoever programmed them understood the language of slaughter well. Lysander stood at his brother's shoulder as the speeder disintegrated, feeling the heat of it against his cheek.

Once Varin settled on taking Grimmin alive, he gave a single nod; it was the same acceptance with which a sabacc player received a dealt card, neither blessing nor curse, only a fixed point in a game waiting on the rest of the hand to play out. Some of the others would've preferred something final, the period at the end of a sentence already made ugly by too many hands; but the living Neimoidian was more useful alive than dead. The purpose would surely declare itself soon enough. It took little scrutiny to discern whom the governor was connected to.

There was no bristle at the orders. One moment he was just another blade in the press; the next, he and Isley had been entrusted with the task of keeping the advance intact. Smoke unfurled for the flankers, and naturally he found violet against the shade of grey. Lysander dipped his chin. Helm off, she might've caught the smallest change at the corner of his mouth.

He turned to find the droids spilling from an opening in the palace grounds like insects from disturbed earth; the gardens vanished beneath the sheen of durasteel.

Watching them draw closer, his mind raced several steps ahead of his body. Weapons rose in near perfect unison. Others peeled wider, perhaps an attempt to encircle them. Red light swept upward just as the first shot reached him, catching the bolt and hurling it screaming into the ground. Another would pass his shoulder. Then, a third came lower, only to be turned aside with the rotation of his wrist.

Destroying them had never truly been the question; given sufficient time, even the mightiest fortress could be reduced to ash. Time, however, was the most precious resource right now. In his opinion, at least.

From there, he cast a sidelong glance toward Isley but held his tongue; he studied the stranger from beneath those lowered brows, wondering how the man might embrace the violence.
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Through the smoke and fire, something dark crept up Brool's spine. There was enough destruction and death around him to numb his senses, but this was something...different. The energy it emitted was something that felt like it drew from him, like he was weaker just for feeling it. He wasn't sure if that was the intended effect or if he was simply delirious, but he knew that whatever he was feeling was coming for him.

Eyes like Brool's were not able to see well through the haze that lined the former shopping mall. Instead, he used the Force to feel what was coming, to try to see through it. What he saw was what he feared, a darkness that echoed his deepest fears. The Sith themselves were as dangerous as they were hungry. When the dark woman approached, Brool instinctively drew himself up to stand so she did not have easy access to him.

"Why do you care?"

Her voice cut like knives against his ears. The shadows surrounding her stuck to Brool like a thicket, enveloping the Padawan in their embrace. When she spoke, it felt like the words lingered, taking their time to drill through his head. Why did he care so much? He had been left here by the Jedi. They hadn't come looking for him, and he was another step closer to dying. All for the family to be crushed anyway. The only good deed he had been able to do had been negated with the grip of a fist. What would it have gained him to let them leave?

No.

He couldn't let himself slip into the darkness that welcomed him so warmly. The thoughts that haunted his mind weren't going to save his life any more than letting that family go. No, if he were going to survive the Sith, he was going to have to outlast them. He couldn't let himself get caught up in either side, as neither of them were going to save his life. He needed to focus on his mission at hand. He still had thirteen more to kill, or else none of it would matter anyway.

"Why do you suffer alone?"

For the first time since Astra appeared, Brool turned to face her. She would be able to see the contempt on his face, even through his alien features. Sometimes body language was universal- this was one of those times. Instead of hatred, instead of rage, he focused on what he could control.

Disgust.

He could relish in the disgust he felt at her actions, at how easily she had killed those innocents. He could think about that without letting his thoughts wander toward anything that might trigger the collar, and without giving in to the more sinister urges that had begun to feel increasingly natural.

"The only thing I'm suffering is this conversation." He looked her up and down, the darkness still beckoning to him, teasing him with the offer of ending it now if he just struck quickly. It was the same call he had heard since his master died back on Thyferra.

"I am here to do what must be done to save my own life." The blade in his hands ignited again, though Astra need not fear. He wasn't stupid enough to strike at her. He wouldn't see his plans derailed because of petty feelings like revenge.

Any further thoughts he had were interrupted by the arrival of even more soldiers, noticeably more armed than Astra. They were led by a younger man, though a similar darkness swirled around him like it had the woman. He was flanked by six guards, all varying degrees of intimidating, and he spoke with a familiarity that was uncommon for Brool. Most of the Sith he endured had treated him with disdain or even contempt. None had been so...casual.

"I am counting the number of innocent lives I have taken today." The tone of his voice held steady, teetering between emotions so as not to trigger the collar.

"Or I should say how many lives your Sith patrons consider worthy of counting."

He knew they were listening to him, so he had to phrase everything carefully. Even explaining what was happening could be interpreted as asking for help if he wasn't careful.

"Have you been sent to stop me?"

Were they there to add another challenge to his already near impossible task?

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Brool Koon Brool Koon had some snide and rote words for Astra. She was certain everyone read the same stories as children and learned to say the same things in the face of "evil." Terrible lessons parents brainwashed their children with without understanding what it was they did. Defiance underminded a nefarious person and robbed them of their ability to gloat, and therefore their power. Fanciful thought. Utter nonsense, of course. Astra was not a bully. She was a monster.

"Delightful," was her sole reply to Brool saying his purpose was simply to survive. At any cost. As it should be. What need were there for boundaries and tying one or both hands behind your back just to appease others?

The helmed head with the eyes of mystic fire turned to regard Leontis Antalis Leontis Antalis as he drew near. "Why?" she asked in response to his comment of how they kept meeting one another. "There is an order to things, General. The important thing is making use of them. Lamenting that which is out of your control is mentally exhausting." A truth that Brool should probably take to heart if he wasn't too busy staring daggers at her. So many prospective Acolytes missed out on a great deal of wisdom too enveloped in their preconceptions.

Leontis' question was then answered by Brool as he explained he was counting the number of innocent lives taken.

"And why would I do that?" Astra asked in return. "Do you want to die? You kill, or you are killed. Simple maths. Though," the helm tilted a bit to one side as if she were regarding the contraption around Brool's neck, "their methods seem so... impersonal. They've even given you a time limit, haven't they?" The otherworldly voice almost sounded like it wanted to sigh. "How are you supposed to learn to savor the moment if you're too busy looking for the next body to slay?"

She turned to look over at Leontis. "You see, there is much work to do in the galaxy. As simple as teaching people that there is more to life then swinging a lightsaber."

How was Brool supposed to be sufficiently mortified at his own actions if he ran through the night like a crazy man? Oh, yes, it could all come back to him later, but then they'd be merely statistics. Ten. Fifty. A hundred. What did it matter? Wouldn't one do just as well? But if you experienced all of them -- if you took your time and let the moment breathe -- then you could grapple with all those juicy philosophical questions time and time again. The weak would mentally collapse, and the strong would define something new for themselves.

"How many are left?" she asked of Brool.



 



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LEONTIS ANTALIS
Outfit/Armor


Leontis stared at Brool. The explanation raised considerably more questions than it answered. He had expected the Kel Dor to be counting victories, perhaps. Enemy soldiers. Some strange Jedi meditation technique. Anything other than what he actually received. Innocent lives. His eyes drifted toward the collar around Brool's neck.

There were moments when Leontis was reminded that, despite the company he kept, he was not Sith. This was one of them. Astra supplied the missing pieces with disturbing ease. Kill or be killed. A time limit. Whoever had placed the device around Brool's neck apparently expected a certain number of deaths before that limit expired.

Leontis didn't know precisely what happened if Brool failed. Judging by the collar, he suspected it wasn't a strongly worded reprimand. Astra, meanwhile, seemed principally disappointed in the educational philosophy behind the exercise. Leontis slowly turned his head toward her.

General. His eyebrows rose. ”General?” A glance passed toward the Antalis soldiers occupying the ruined concourse behind him, then toward the guards surrounding him. Apparently titles were becoming increasingly creative. He didn't correct her. Instead, Leontis considered Astra's observation that there was more to life than swinging a lightsaber.

”I wholeheartedly agree.” He gestured vaguely toward the company of soldiers currently doing the majority of his fighting. ”Some of us delegate.” A distant explosion punctuated the observation.

His comm immediately crackled. "Antalis Actual, Second Platoon. They've reinforced the eastern intersection. Two additional squads, possibly more inside the structures. Heavy emplacement is still active."

Leontis's expression tightened. ”Maintain position. Do not attempt to cross. I'm coming back to you.”

"Copy, Actual."

His attention returned to Brool. "Have you been sent to stop me?"

”No.” The answer came easily. ”Until approximately two minutes ago, I didn't know you existed.” Leontis looked toward the bodies. That was becoming increasingly difficult to do casually. He had killed people before. More accurately, he had ordered people killed. There were men lying dead elsewhere in this city because Leontis Antalis had told House soldiers to advance, fire or hold their positions.

That was war. At least, that was the distinction he had settled upon. Whatever this was, it was something else. Yet indignation wouldn't remove the collar from Brool's neck. It might very well cause it to kill him. So Leontis returned to the sort of problem he understood.

Astra asked how many remained. Leontis looked toward Brool as well, waiting for the answer. Whatever number the Kel Dor gave, Leontis nodded once. Then he activated the tactical projection from his gauntlet. A small representation of the surrounding district appeared between them. House Antalis positions marked one end of the avenue. Grimmin's defenders clustered around the next major intersection. Leontis indicated the latter.

”There are considerably more than that many armed men approximately two hundred meters in that direction.” He enlarged the position. [COLOR=#8A2BE2”]Governor Grimmin has been kind enough to reinforce them for us.”[/COLOR] One of the House Guards glanced toward him. Leontis ignored it. His eyes remained on Brool. ”I don't know who put that collar around your neck. I don't know precisely what they expect you to do.” A brief pause. ”And I certainly don't know enough about Sith contraptions to start tampering with it while you're wearing it.”

That seemed an excellent way to turn a difficult situation into a short one. Leontis dismissed the hologram. ”But unless the damned thing is particularly discerning about whom you kill, I see no reason to waste your remaining tally on civilians.” Blaster fire echoed from the direction he'd indicated. A much heavier weapon answered a moment later. Leontis looked toward the sound. ”Those people are armed. They're actively trying to kill my soldiers, and I need that intersection sufficiently threatened that Grimmin continues feeding troops into it.”

His gaze returned to Brool. There was no grand offer of salvation. No promise that Leontis could free him. He couldn't. What he could offer was considerably simpler. ”If you must kill to remain alive, kill people who are already trying to kill us.” Leontis turned slightly toward Astra. ”Lady Sadow, you're naturally welcome to continue the lesson.” His tone suggested he wasn't entirely certain what the lesson actually was. Perhaps he preferred not knowing.

Another transmission sounded in his ear. "Actual, we're seeing another transport approaching the intersection." Good. More troops.

The diversion was still working. Leontis drew his weapon and looked back toward the avenue. ”I have an intersection to make unnecessarily expensive.” He started walking, his six guards immediately moving with him. After several steps, Leontis glanced back toward Brool. ”Coming?”

Astra Sadow Astra Sadow | Brool Koon Brool Koon
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Lieutenant of Kor’ethyr Military Academy


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BYOO
Underbelly
Gear: Mask | Weal & Woe | Zhaboka | Chest Plate
Tag: Ives Ives​



That curious sensation continued to prickle up his spine, as if the ridge of horn atop Naamino’s thick skull were a compass needle. Distant shouts and blaster fire couldn’t pull his attention away as instinct called him toward a small convenience store.

A question from his platoon crackled over comms and Naami answered in rumbling bass.

“Zuukamano here, sweeping rear flank. To the rest: Advance.”

Padding forward with grace that was impressive for such a big man, the zabrak soon came level with the convenience store. Something told him to keep his zhaboka lowered but ready. One could never predict how the locals would act, though he knew the flavors of panic and fear well at that point in his career. What bustling concern and murmured wonderings came from the convenience store felt pointedly different from the usual sharp terror of war.

The Sith warrior remained cautiously curious, lowering his weapon further so it was clear he wasn’t taking umbrage with anyone within. Wolf mask scanning the clustered civilians, his great horned head turned to the miniature medical drama unfolding before him as heavy boots crunched over debris where he entered the building proper.

Naami scowled behind the mask and wondered if his men had acted out of turn, taking pot shots at those already partitioned off to be left untouched. They’d have their asses handed to them if so. The zabrak had little tolerance to mistakes or misbehavior from his subordinates.

But no, it didn’t appear this was the result of blaster fire. Naami stepped closer still, towering over the situation whilst maintaining a respectable enough distance to watch the citizen medic work. He decided to ask anyway, for his own sense of order and certainty of mind.

“Did my men have anything to do with this?”

He asked the room at large, gesturing with a large tattooed hand at the scene. Hard to know if his mask had a vocoder or if the zabrak’s voice was truly that deep. Regardless, his calm measured tone seemed genuine.

 
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