The Eighth Battle - Coalition Invasion of Triumvirate Ruusan

[Laira Darkhold]

Location: Valley of the Jedi
Gear: Weapons in Signature

• Shoulder Dartlauncher loaded with (2) Dragon's Fire Darts, (2) Cyroban Darts
• (2) Class-A Thermal Detonators, (2) Force Breakers
• Carrying an Individual Field Disruptor on belt with other mundane equipment

[member="Darell Irani"] | [member="Nima Tann"]​

The Mandalorian's eyes widened as the sickly pale green light erupting and the air churned, swirling around the trio. His instincts were to grab both of the others and surge backwards, put some distance between them and the rift being torn open, pulling at reality itself. He actually considered putting several hundred parsecs between himself and the rift and never coming any closer than that.

He had hoped to find Carach with enough time to figure out what was happening and perhaps together they would have been able to put a stop to the churning and wrongness he could feel coming from the pale green light, but, that time was long past. It was far too late to put a stop to anything like this. Not right now at least. Maybe someone, some group of Jedi or something could heal what was happening in the Valley of the Jedi, but it was likely this place, this holy ground would be permanently effected by such... Chaos.

Draco saw Carach become consumed in the light, his features bathed in green and he heard his voice echo in the pits of his mind. <Draco. Center your being, focus solely on what it means to be Draco Vereen. Think of the bonds that bind your soul to your body and your body to this world. Think of Faith, of the children.> Rage filled his mind, all that he could think about was bashing the Sith Lord's face in, turning him to pulp. His instincts as a father, a protective Dragon that guarded his closest treasures with the ferocity of a cornered and wounded wild beast. Teeth bared, the Mandalorian took the Sith's advice, finding his center. Whatever anger he felt from the Sith Lord's seeming omniscience could be handled later. Memory rubs weren't exactly Draco's strong suit, but he had done them before.

It was easy given his current state. What made him who he was was all he really had, the bonds with Faith were the strongest he had developed since being severed and reattached to the Force. Even his bonds to his his friends and his people were not as strong. Whispers and screams filled his mind as he focused, seeing Carach disappear into the rift, the light consuming him.

<Keep them in your mind, don't lose yourself.>

The twi'lek seemed to be pulled towards the rift, as though it were a vortex and began floating in the air towards the apex of the rift after Carach. Draco kept his focus on his center, his very being, but he acted, still moving forward. As much as he wanted to flee from whatever unknown evil this was, the Mandalorian could not. His friend and ally had passed through, and he couldn't leave him there.

The light bathed him and Draco's vision blurred, distorted as he lifted from the ground.

<I looked, and there before me was a pale horse. And its rider was named Death, and hell came with him.>​

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Olmondo
Allies: [member="Dak Canton"]
Enemies: [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"] | [member="Charlyra Araano"] | [member="Arisa Yune"] | [member="Tempest"]

Having relocated to the outskirts of the city well before the initial bombing run had begun, the Sith Lord was tangentially aware of the actions happening within the ruins of Olmondo at best. Amid the chaos and intensity of constant blaster fire, the rumbling of mechanized vehicles to such a high concentration that the earth literally vibrated, and the darting to and fro of spacecraft from at least three separate government entities, the Sith Lord preferred to allow his focus to center on the truth of what was happening in and around Olmondo. The Force was a living entity...it had its own language, and it reacted to the actions of others as it deemed necessary. Whenever a being capable of sensing the Force's presence deigned to manipulate the life-energy, it caused large, aggressive ripples.

It was no surprise then that the rather focused efforts of the dark siders still inside the city washed against the Sith Lord's mind with a force equal to the effort poured into the manipulations of the invaders. Even as proton bombs from secondary runs and reserve units continued to fall in sporadic locations as indicated by Triumvirate troops, Cameron turned his silver-green gaze back in the direction of the city.

If there was any benefit to inheriting general command of Triumvirate forces in the evacuated city of Olmondo, it was the reality of his direct influence being rather...limited. Energy stores that he would have otherwise very nearly exhausted in a traditional battle remained more or less completely intact. As a smile settled over his features, the Sith Lord followed the ripples of the Force with his mind. Between Siobhan's manipulation and the shockingly powerful action of Charlyra, it took less than a handful of seconds to have their precise position located.

Closing his eyes, Cameron inhaled steadily, drawing on the secrets he had learned during his extensive time with the Aing-Tii. The ability had more than its fair share of drawbacks, and he'd nearly killed himself on several occasions during the many, many months it had taken to even begin to learn how to fold space. Manipulating the fabric of reality, the Sith Lord opened his eyes just as the air around him seemed to bend and fold in an unnatural fashion. Amid a loud crack, his presence disappeared.

No more than a second later, a similar phenomenon occurred within three hundred meters of where the Dark Jedi were sheltered in place. Transports that [member="Tempest"] had radioed for were certainly in the area, managing to remain largely ignored with the wide variety of strategic objectives pulling the attention of Triumvirate air support in the skies over Olmondo. A thin smile touched Cameron's lips as he outstretched both of his hands, focusing on the epicenter of previously utilized powers and the closest transport. Fortunately, the previous actions of the Dark Jedi had wiped out not only most of the Triumvirate support in the area but, logically, the vast majority of their own.

The unbridled darkness of Darth Ashmedai's entire presence flooded the ethereal existence of the Force in the immediate area. There was only darkness in Olmondo today. It did not matter for what purpose they had come. At this point, the vast majority of people in the city were operating on survival instinct...whether for themselves or specifically for one other. The forsaking of all else to accomplish an objective...that was the intensity of focus that channeled out of emotion.

If the Dark Jedi thought the dark side they were just only scratching the surface of owed loyalty to them, they were wrong.

Abruptly, Cameron's mouth opened as brilliant streaks of blinding light erupted from his mouth, eyes, and outstretched palms. To the observer...it might have looked like Force Light. The Force was ironic in this way...for it was nothing less than one of the most devastating manipulations of the Force, capable of vaporizing anything on impact when wielded by a trained user.

The Force Destruction carrying the fury and power of the Sith ripped across the expanse...seeking only the death and destruction of anything in its path.

 

[Siobhan Kerrigan]

Location: Olmondo
Allies: [member="Tempest"], [member="Charlyra Araano"], [member="Arisa Yune"]
Enemies: [member="Cameron Centurion"]
OOC Note: Making an exit. I have the permission of Tempest's writer to bot her.


Siobhan's armoured form was slumped against the ducracte wall of the broken building when Charlyra rained down destruction upon Sith Triumvirate forces. She felt the power of the Light surge through Charlyra as she channelled what was left of her Jedi Master's essence into a last roar of defiance. And what a roar it was.


Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, like something out of a holovid. Ruusan's sun bled through her, clouds of smoke and dust billowed up into the air, the screams and lamentations of the wounded were heard. Her body ached, but the sight of Charlyra falling to the ground seemed to give strength to her muscles, and so Siobhan immediately arose. The pain she was feeling no longer mattered.


The only thing that mattered at this point was her apprentice...her sister. "You're such a fething, goddessdamn, foolish girl," Siobhan cursed when she felt Charlyra's pulse and discovered how weak it was. But the angry birb was still breathing, though barely. She was alive. Only that was of import at this moment.


"But I love you anyway. You've made me proud," Siobhan breathed in deeply, sucking in air. "I'm getting you out of here." Relief came in form of a dropship when the mechanical bird descended down from the sky, blowing up a good deal of dust along the way. Siobhan scooped Charlyra up in her arms, holding the younger woman close and craddling her like something precious.


She gave a nod to Tempest and limped towards the dropship. Presumably the Dahomian amazon followed in tow. Medics and troopers accompanied them, carrying their wounded comrades. Soon all three Dark Jedi had boarded the heavily armoured transport. Medics would take over and see to Charlyra, who was laid down.


As she sat down upon a seat, Siobhan gazed at the now thoroughly devastated town. "What a massacre. And without result," she muttered, feeling strangely melancholic. However, their struggles were not completely over, for she suddenly felt massive ripples resonate through the Force when it exploded in an outburst of stygian might.


Brilliant streaks of brilliant light were shooting towards them. By all outward appearances, it looked like Force Light, but appearances could be deceiving, for it was a manifestation of the Dark Side. It was like staring into a white-hot reactor core. The outburst of Force Destruction tore across the expanse, seeking naught but annihilation.


"Pilot, take off. Tempest, join with me," Siobhan spoke. Her voice was tired...but calm. She had a duty to do. Thus she pulled upon the tangled web of power that was the Force, drawing upon all the energies she could summon. Anger, hatred, rage...and love, all these emotions gave her fuel. She channelled this, focused all this. Her own exhaustion and pain did not matter. The Countess had two very clear strengths in the Force: Telekinesis and defensive powers. In many ways, one supported the other.


Tempest moved in perfect sync with her, adding her power to that of her master and friend. Thus, Siobhan exacted her willpower upon the Force to summon a powerful protective cocoon, shielding them and their craft as it pulled up. The cocoon would manifest as a shimmering bubble of Force energy, which bore a strong resemblance to a force field. Strain was evident upon Siobhan's features. The Dark Master's body was baked in sweat, here and there small cracks seemed to appear in her skin as she drew upon as much energy as she could. Her arms were outstretched as she used her body as a conduit of energy.

Then there was an epic crash when the blasts of light collided with her barrier, just as the dropship slowly pulled into the sky. All around them the ground trembled, ruins caved in and the air was twisted into strange shapes. Impact caused an eruption of light so bright that anyone in the immediate vicinity would have to avert their eyes, lest they risked being blinded.


However, though the bubble collapsed under the immense strain, the blast had been reflected away before it could vaporise them. Overcome by exhaustion and feeling drained, Siobhan fell to the ground, hitting the dropship's floor with a loud thud. Her face bore burns, her armour was scorched and everything turned dark for her as exhaustion took over. Her pulse was weak...but she was still breathing. The transport ship was intact and her companions were still alive and unscathed. The dropship vanished into the sky, leaving the ruins of Olmondo and the accursed wastelands of Ruusan behind it. The battle was over for the three Dark Jedi.


FIN

 

[Tempest]

(OK, the Invasion 'officially' is now over, having reached two weeks. However, feel free to continue any stories you have here, but they will not be counted for decisions of victory.
Thank you to all participants for their time and effort.)

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

The Valley of the Jedi
[member="Haytham Kaze"]

A red haze obfuscated the whole of the Darth’s vision, consuming him wholly in the depths of profound rage. Rage at the Coalition for breaking what he sought to build. Rage at this mercenary for wielding a blade that did not belong to him. But most of all, rage at himself, for falling all those years ago to the wiles of the soulsaber. What life might he have led now if he’d stayed the true and constant path? Was any of this worth it? They did not understand. He had sacrificed his own salvation in the hopes of making the galaxy a better place. Why could none of them see?

Blinded by crimson, Orcus could only feel the tremors wrack his body as shield collided with the shimmering beam of lilac and his hammer stood halted by a familiar presence. Winds howled at him. Lightning tore from his shield and cascaded about the trio in a crescendo of agony. The ground shook below. The heavens reached down. Worlds converged, tearing at the fabric of existence.

The Herglic bellowed long and loud, shout snatched up into the shrieking winds. Lost forever. He felt as though he were being ripped to pieces and stitched back together. Over and over again. The torment made him long for death. The collision of worlds seized the Sith Lord and slammed him into the valley floor with a titanic quake. He lay there in the sand. Strength ebbed from his body, pain too great. Darkness overtook the haze of red. Consciousness slipped away.

He awoke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was the pain. He did not know the locale, nor the gravity, only that every inch of him from spout to toes ached as it never had before; whether from the corruption of the Dark Side deteriorating his body or the wounds he had sustained he knew not. Around him he could still hear the din of battle. Orcus struggled to open dirt-encrusted eyes.

They tore open, light flooded in. He saw the sky, craning his neck he saw the rift rising up from the ground like a pillar into the heavens. It was still there, but he was no longer in the Nether. With an exhausted sigh, Orcus rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet.

“Vanitas,” he rumbled. Why was his sight so bleary? “Vanitas where are you?”

 

[Haytham Kaze]

The Valley of the Jedi.
[member="Darth Orcus"]

Not only was Orcus drawn through the tear between worlds, but also his Apprentice, Darth Vanitas.

This time, the Sith Knight was ready to be pulled through the rift, but it was still painful, still... Unearthly were the sensations he felt as the Force was weaved around his person and he was drawn towards the Ruusan Valley, crashing into the valley floor with a heavy thud. His already large frame was tucked into itself to reduce the pain he would've otherwise felt.

Even through the shield he had weaved around himself, he knew he had broken his right arm, the force that had been weaved around him torn off sometime through the portal before he had touched the ground.

I hadn't even realized.

He rose up slowly from the ground, largely aware of the Herglic raising nearby. Stopping at a crouch, Orcus's gaze must've swept over him, and it drew a frown from Vanitas.

His left hand tightened into a fist, clenching tightly as he looked around. The battle still raged around them, but further away as if none wanted to be pulled through the portal as they had been previously. His black hair flicked around his golden gaze as he rose to his feet.

When he heard Orcus's words touch his eardrums, his left hand grasped the hilt of a dagger that had been gifted to him. Gifted to him from so long ago by the being that stood before him now. It was meant for Nikias, a Dark Jedi that had ambushed him on Cloud Nine. Of course, Vanitas hadn't encountered the Dark Jedi this time around. Instead, he had been faced with [member="Joza Perl"], his lover. The only woman he could call a lover, whether she accepted it or not.

His golden orbs burned in his skull, calculating.

She's still on the other side.

But she had said they would settle this later. And he believed her. They would find each other again, and then with a faint voice, he called back to Orcus, too weak to muster much more strength.

"I'm right here, Master!"

The spectre strode forward slowly, his right arm limp at his side.

 

[Joza Perl]

Valley of the Jedi
(dragging Solan along cos he said I could)

Joza had landed not far from [member="Haytham Kaze"] and [member="Darth Orcus"]. Though she and [member="Solan Charr"] were out of range of whatever new rift was created, they’d made the decision to turn back and try their luck as the two worlds were seemingly pulled together.

It took a few moments for her to be able to come to, but she’d heard Orcus and Vanitas calling out for each other in the back of her head while her consciousness wavered. The Zeltron had been firmly smashed into the ground upon her arrival, leaving an indent in the rocky earth below. Groaning into the dirt, she shifted and then winced as her right side seized up in pain. Her ribs were broken. She knew not to what degree or how many, but it wasn’t easy to move or breathe right now. Her armor had cracked and dented from the various heavy impacts, and had even broken completely in places.

Turning over, she groaned again and coughed violently. Specks of crimson dotted the outside of her mouth and chin, quickly giving way to a steady bleeding from her split lip. The blood from her broken nose had dried, but the wound reopened upon impact. And now she probably had two black eyes instead of one. All in all, she was not a pretty sight.

Hefting herself into a sitting position supported by her sturdy and thankfully unscathed cybernetic arm, Joza’s organic hand wrapped around her injured ribs as she sat there in a haze, squinting at her surroundings and almost looking as if she was on the verge of passing out. Her eyes tracked to Vanitas, injured but well enough to move about as he made his way over to his unfortunate Master. Fear pricked at her like a sharp barb, and her gaze shot around frantically in search of any allies.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Orcus turned and through his swimming vision spotted the blurred figure of his apprentice.

"Ah, you made it."

He chuckled a deep laugh that turned to a coughing wheeze. Perhaps a broken rib? Surely not a punctured lung. He would need medical attention at battle's end. No doubt they all would.

"Once more," he grunted, lumbering toward the youth with a limping gait, "We emerge alive 'gainst all fearful odds."

The portal to the Nether still flared open, disgorging hundreds of ghosts of long dead Sith. He could feel them racing across the Valley, the man in black armor at their head. Perhaps they would be victorious this day after all.

Orcus doubted he would be able to partake further in the violence. He'd had his share and it left him breathless now, limbs exhausted and bones aching. The mere act of maintaining consciousness in and of itself seemed taxing.

"Hauum. What a day. Come, let me lean on you," the Herglic flung an arm around the much smaller human, "and we will walk from the field of battle together. Your woman, she is watching us. I thought she would turn..."

He'd been so certain that she would join. Their cause was just, though their methods harsh. Vanitas had seen it, so why couldn't she?

[member="Joza Perl"] | [member="Haytham Kaze"]

 

[Jericho]

Everything happened so fast as Jericho charged at the whale so did the two powerful masters when the four clashed in the wake of each other's monumental strength the world they were in could no longer hold themselves and another portal was made. The sucked them in before Jericho could resist the pull of the portal he was sucked in as well with the grain of sands and his body pierced by many blades and a dagger flew into his head piercing clear through his brain.

This dagger though it cleaved through him instead of the sweet touch of death it pushed him through another world. As he flew, he was still hanging in midair when it happened. The inferno. The area around him turned into living hell as it was set aflame, following the path of oil that he had traced. A serpent-like figure from above, as the fire waved through the maze and spread into any branches unintentionally set ablaze. He had failed once again, but the chaos that reigned following the ear-splitting blast was incredible, more than enough to satisfy a monster's needs. But he never enjoyed that satisfaction, at least that is what he told himself. Jericho looked around in the ever spinning vortex, what seconds felt like hundreds of years. As the warrior moved his hand to pull the dagger from his head there was nothing only to touch his forehead. There was nothing yet there was a blister and every festering and agonizing pain that only grew and grew.

As he continued to fly through this longer portal, he saw his memories each of his memories began to fade, the memories of his master, his lovers, his padawans, his children, everything. The normally calm, cool, powerful, Jericho saw his faults, his anger blinded him of everything he once had and could have kept. Like a child he attempts to reach out of every one of those memories made physical and did everything he could to grab them and hold on to them. With every touch of his memories, each would break to his very eye, those he did not wish to touch again remained those of his training of his painful missions and those of his isolations from the rest. Before he knew it he returned to the world he could not remember surrounded by beings he did not know, the dead circled around him and he could feel a warmth to his as the drip of blood streamed out of his mouth and varies parts of his body that were piereced by blades. Tears ran down his face as the last his good memories began to fade and the close his eyes for a moment and slept his body kept standing by a few blades.....

Seconds later...

His breathing was heavy but strong the warrior clasps his mask and tore it off spitting blood out as he did. His body felt heavy so he tore off his heavy armor and weighted cloak revealing is white hair, scarred body, and numerous tattoos. He felt pain and looked down seeing objects through him and push and pulled them out and almost instantaneously his body began to heal. He dropped to the ground, hands clenching his face in a fit of rage and, most of all, pain. Both of his limbs were on fire, as well as, to his horror, his face, covered in a wild blaze. The sweat blood that he had danced in, the substance he had used to bring about the others' demise, had inflicted great damage upon himself as well. Catching fire, he writhed in agony as he lay in the grass, the flames eating away at his flesh. Or so he thought, the fire just laid there heeding his call to protect him. He lowered his hands ever slightly to take a look at the world around him and there laid only death bodies upon bodies upon bodies and the number every growing cause by a spectrum of untamed beast slashing to the fleshy human beings.

He rose to his feet, an unconscious action. He had never run so fast in his entire life as he sped toward what he would assume as the direction of the local river. The warrior dove in to feel the refreshing coolness. There was silence away from the screams of those around him. Then he resurfaced, moments later, with a gasp and a following scream from his own throat. The reflection that he saw in the water as the dawning sun rose slowly, it was more than what he could bear. The inferno continued to live on in its chaos, slowly eating away at the remnant of his mind, as the people died, ran, and were cut down. But now it all meant nothing to him, as he continued to kneel there, on the banks of the river, staring down at the at the face he did not recognize. It was a youthful face and the body felt strong and young yet the mind felt like it was full of experience that of lone training. He felt alone and angry but did not know why.

It was then he uttered the words...."Who am I?" He whispered but his voice boomed with strength. The warrior stood up and looked up to the sky for a moment and tried to think. As he a rogue sith charged at him seeing an opening only to be stopped out of reflex, his throat caught by a cybernetic hand reinforced by the powerful energy. The man stared into the eyes of the sith with a pale look in his white eyes. "Who am I?" The man asked the sith. The sith choked and struggled his legs kicking as he struggled flightlessly in the air for a moment wanting for air. Another came to his aid but the man unaware of his own strength crush his throat and caught the other who attempted to aid him this time in mid air with telekinesis to avoid killing him for the moment and asked again as he dropped the other lifeless body on the ground.

"You....Who am I?" The sith in the air cried and dropped his weapon and sent a wave of energy of his own but the man didn't even move. The man out of instinct with a slight clench of his hand and the power within him responded crushing the sith's arm painfully. "You are a monster! A destroyer of order!" The sith wailed in agony. "You and those other damned JEDI!" For whatever reason, this angered him and made the man respond. "I never claimed to be a Jedi." The man did not know what a Jedi was but felt that was not a title that belonged to him for whatever reason. The man clenched his hand and the power again responded the body of the sith crushed in his wake and tossed aside like a used toy. "A monster?" The man questioned as he looked around him, a part of felt sadden by the name bestowed for him but it had to be true. He had to be a monster, he was the one that caused this right?

Again, a voice called out to him, it was a voice of many yet it was one distorted and crude. "You are." It said with a giggle. "I remember who you are." The man looked around but saw no one but those fighting in the distance. "I'm in your head but not." The voice called out to him. "I am one with you but need you to come to me." The voice called out. The man had his doubts but listened to the voice like an obedient dog, knowing the truth the voice giggled with delight. "I am your guide, little god." The voice called out. "What is....A god?" The man responded. "A being of great power; someone others bow to." The man had his doubt once again but continued to listen. "You are no monster. These bodies asked to be saved. To be cleansed of their pain. This galaxy needs to be saved! You are one of those chosen to save it!" The voice said with excitement. "I...Was?" The man asked. "Yes....Yes...You are a god of power! Little one." The voice said to him. "I...Am? I do not feel little....Why do you call me little if I am a god?" The man asked him. "Because I am your guide....I am older than you, little one. I am here to help you with your powers and what you have to do with them you are still very young. Here is proof. you can not only just use what you just did the very elements obey you. Try it...Feel it." The voice started quickly as if rehearsed just for this occasion. The man looked around to the bodies and felt the power with him.

With his mind controlling his movements, the earth rumbled, fire spewed from his fist, the water jumped at his call and the wind raced around him and stopped. "That is but a taste...Little god. Before long all will learn of your power and bow to...You will cleanse this galaxy...But you have to listen to me as I am your guide....Your master." The voice said with excitement. The man looked to his hands clenched them tightly. "Yes...I will...My guide...My master...." The voice giggled at the obedience made by the man. "Good, good....There is much for us to do.....There is much to do....If you want to play and test yourself do so.....This world, this realm, here will be your playground." The man looked around and nodded, stripping the dead of gear and covered himself once again, a need for him, a habit for himself; he looked down and looked at the masked that took off and left it putting on the sith mask for now to cover his face and walked towards the field of screams and battle to play. More scream erupted in the area, now cause by him....

One who is faceless.....One who is nameless.....One who is alone.....

One who is The God Of Power.

Spoiler

If anyone wanted to continue the story here with jer and dev more tag me; if not consider this his exit.

 

[Haytham Kaze]

Haytham watched Darth Orcus trudge towards him.

Glancing past his Master, he spotted the formerly fallen Sith Lords running across the battlefield, likely slaughtering both Sith and Silver Jedi alike. Not that he particularly cared about either.

He owed his allegiance to none of them. Not even to the Herglic that stood before him, the one that had taken him from the Underground. The one that had counselled him to not be like the One Sith that were more akin to barbarians than anything else.

He had even been akin to a grandfather to him.

He hadn't been unkind.

But they were Sith.

And things like that didn't last.

The Sith Lord's blubbery arm reached out to Haytham to lean on, and that's when his previously high voice lowered, drastically as he spoke with the same power that he felt flowing through him.

"The strong always stepped forward." The shikar, the glass dagger was ripped from the sheath that it was in. He dropped to a knee quickly, he knew he wouldn't have enough time. "The weak had no choice but to follow." He lunged upwards, an opening in the armpit of his Master, and he stabbed forth, sinking it deep into him with nothing but pure malice within his golden gaze. He was too short to stand over the Herglic, but if he hadn't been, Orcus surely would've seen the burning coals in his skull. The forge of hatred that burned deep within him was seen, only briefly in his corrupted gaze. "And I'm done following."

[member="Darth Orcus"] | [member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

Joza grimaced as she heard the deep reverb of Orcus’ voice. Her head was still swimming, trying to make sense of what was happening. Vanitas and his Master were walking towards eachother, the Herglic seemingly in a worse state than his apprentice. Is…he going to kill me? Another bolt of fear ran thought her system like lightning, jolting her back to her senses. No, Haytham’s focus was completely on his mentor. He didn’t even bother to look back when her presence was mentioned.

Not that she could blame him.

Had she not been in the middle of a raging battlefield, Joza would have closed her eyes as she gathered the Force and focused it on her wounded ribs. Not the actual cracked bones themselves, but rather the battered nerves and sore muscles that made moving difficult. Crucitorn could be used to either exacerbate wounds to excruciating lengths or lessen their pain. It was a skill she’d picked up during her servitude under Darth Ax’no, one that she would begrudgingly admit has served her well. She watched Haytham and Orucs interact, all the while the pain slowly began to fade from her torso.

Faster than she could process, her lover brandished a glass blade and speared it up into the Herglic’s armpit. A look of utter shock crossed her face, a delayed reaction coming moments after the act. Vanitas had never really said anything disparaging against Orcus, but was their relationship strained or did this betrayal serve another purpose?

Either way, she wouldn’t move from her spot, too afraid to draw attention to herself.

[member="Haytham Kaze"] [member="Darth Orcus"]

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

A sharp, cold thing slid smoothly into the Herglic's armpit. The axillary artery parted. Hot blood spurted out, spattering [member="Haytham Kaze"] and soaking his arm to the elbow in scarlet. Creeping numbness ate away at the Sith's nervous system. He did not fully comprehend. Black eyes swiveled down toward Vanitas.

No pain?

There came a sharp twist of the wrist, then a snick of snapping glass. Orcus gasped, eyes rolling back to show their whites.

Aaaah.

The thought slipped from his mind like a sigh, a slow dawn of understanding. He'd been betrayed. Not by some erstwhile ally, no, by his own apprentice. The youth still stood there, eyes of storm gray watching, waiting. Not so very far away. He could kill the youth, a simple crushing blow to the skull. Maybe he could crawl his way to safety afterward, or surrender himself to the Jedi for healing. It would be all too easy, but Orcus was so very tired.

The Herglic fell to his knees and the ground shook. Even this brought a fresh wave of pain. He could still feel the blade inside his body, a cubit's length of razor edged glass cutting into his muscles with each small movement. The shikar he'd given to the boy as a gift... used against him. Orcus stared ahead, vision swimming, buckets of blood draining from his body.

He told [member="Spark Finn"] he'd known that the Dark Side would destroy him eventually, but not like this... not when he knew he would be unable to come back of his own volition. No, he did not want to die again.

Maybe, maybe he should just kill the boy. Orcus tried to raise a flipper, but found he had not the strength. He snorted air through his spout.

"Hauum. You've killed me, boy."

In the depths of those fathomless black eyes shone hate, along with an interminable sadness. He had taken him in, trained him as his own, given him all the trappings and attention that he would have a son. And yet he had still been betrayed. Perhaps death was better than living with such knowledge.

But how could this ending be any different? He'd taught him how to be a Sith.

"And now... your training is complete."

A rumbling chuckle filled Orcus' chest. He let it roll out through the pain, larger than life and louder than thunder, until at last he slumped forward into the dirt and the light faded from his eyes.

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Haytham Kaze]

Vanitas watched as his Master began his collapse to the ground.

He half expected a fat arm to swing back into his body and shatter every single bone in his chest. He watched [member="Darth Orcus"] hit the ground... His words washing over him, when the deep voice of the Herglic spoke them from his dying lips.

He couldn't even remember if he had dropped the hilt of the shikar, or left it inside his enemy, but when he spotted it on the floor, he felt something lurch within him.

Sadness? No. Not entirely. This was necessary. It was something that Haytham had promised from the beginning on that Underworld Space Station in the middle of nowhere. And Haytham was no liar. But even if it was necessary because they were Sith, or even because Orcus had taught him much of how to treat people and how to be a proper Sith... His upper and lower row of teeth grinded upon each other as he shook his head and looked back down the Herglic.

"Your lessons will not be forgotten, Orcus."

Turning to the side as if waiting for the perfect moment, the Triumvirate reinforcements arrived. Primarily stormtroopers as they cleared the immediate and nearby area of the remaining Coalition forces. Whether they chased them off or killed them, it didn't matter to Haytham. He felt someone growing closer and he turned to spot an armoured soldier with his helmet off. "What happened to Lord Or-?" He waved his hand at the man to cut off his talking.

"Darth Orcus has been slain by the Coalition forces." He said plainly, his gaze sweeping over the Valley of the Jedi. "Strip his body of his weapons and armour. Bring his corpse to the Citadel, I'll decide what to do with it then." He headed towards the ships, already boarding the first ship back to the Citadel.