Junction The Final Countdown - AC/NIO/EE/GA/Enclave/BotM Junction of Dromund Kaas/Centares/Lutrilla/Aruza/Hypori/empty hex above Sposia

[Morrow]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Kyrel Ren | Iris Arani

“I already had to deal with your kind once… Such annoying pests you are, I deal with one and yet more keep coming…” ​

Morrow sneered, flourishing ivory plasma by his side. "Until your kind and their ways are forgotten by even the dust of your greatest temples, there will be no end to us."

No reaction was elicited beyond a raised brow as a ripple of color began to envelop the otherwise blanched Imperial Knight. He recognized it at once as being a Jedi's influence. Pale eyes were pulled across to the individual, equidistant from himself and the devil before him. His expression was hardly any easier on the Jedi than it had been on the Master of Ren. Yet, all objection was quietly cast aside in the name of his knight's onus. Any advantage regardless of how it breached concord was better than no advantage. Fairness and honor were dead men's virtues.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, Morrow shifted and struck a pose: killer waiting.

“I suppose an appetizer couldn’t hurt…” ​

"Your dysphemisms disgust me nearly as much as your gluttony. Enough of your prating, degenerate. You are now outnumbered, accept your fate or die fighting."

Strikes came from the demon quickly, as if punctuating Morrow's sentence. Light strobed beneath the rain at the deflection of each ravenous attack as saber met saber. For the final stroke, Morrow dipped limbo beneath it, managing an adequate defense without fully utilizing the enhancement his impromptu ally had provided. Despite this, the power gap between them became clear in the first few moments. By himself, he was entirely outmatched. How much of difference the Jedi's boon would make was unclear.

"You test your own fortune with these games!" Morrow protested the probing strikes with a scowl, throwing a wild strike that whiffed inches before his opponent's face.

A quick step backward created space adequate space for the tip of Morrow's boot to dig into the mud with a swift kick. Mud, viscera, and tainted rainwater splashed forward in an arc toward the demon's face. Guile would attempt to bridge the gap where prodigy could not. Kicking foot met the ground, carried Morrow forward into an all-in two-handed thrust for the Master of Ren's chest. A sudden, dangerous gambit vying for swift victory.

If only it were so easy.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Location: Dromuund Kaas​

Valery: Appearance​

Outfit: Factory Link​

Lightsabers: Link!​

Tag: Ishida Ashina ​

Baddy Tag: Darth Kentarch ​

​

While the kick from Ishida landed, it didn't off-balance the Sith Lord enough for his mobility to be limited. Valery's attack that followed was fast and determined, but he cleverly moved and positioned himself to not only evade her attack but to keep the Padawan between him and Valery. This rendered any attempt at an aggressive move risky and thus, Valery had to limit the speed and nature of her attacks. ​

​

The coordination with Ishida had only become more important.​

​

Several more clashes followed soon after, all with Kentarch on the defensive, but breaking through at a reduced pace was incredibly challenging. As long as they kept their momentum going though, she was confident that they could break through eventually. ​

​

But then something changed.​

​

Whispers through the Force began to echo through the chasm between the Sith Lord and the Jedi, barraging their minds with seeds of doubt and fear. Valery kept herself shielded but it quickly became clear that his primary target had been Ishida. Seeing her drop down to hands and knees, Valery swiftly reacted and positioned herself between the woman and the attacker, even if it meant a less favorable position. She was not going to allow Ishida to get hurt further.​

​

"Fight back against it; you're stronger than his magic," Valery said before she began to pressure Kentarch again, her attacks fast and meant to keep him from lashing out at Ishida. It bought her just enough time to recover, and she finally joined the fight again.​

With a gesture of her fingers curled over her katana, she motioned the shurikens that had fallen earlier toward the attacker. Simultaneously, she let that fear that had been building within to boil and grow— strong enough to roll from her palm against the ground, burgeoning against the soil and surging out in a blast that shredded through the ground as it travelled toward the feet of the dark lord that had cast the spell earlier.

Ideally, it would knock him back far enough to the temple — the site that demanded cleansing. And for someone to have the ability to cast such evil spells required cleansing too. The light would triumph. It had to.

​

Feeling the surge through the Force, Valery jumped back slightly and extended a hand out towards Kentarch while she channeled the Force. In tandem with Ishida's attack, she released a powerful telekinetic surge his way, hoping to push him back towards the Temple so they could get closer to their ultimate goal.​

​

One way or another, they had to get past him and complete the mission that brought them here. The Light had to prevail.​

​

"We have to get past him and into the Temple, quickly!"​

​

​

 

[Julian Qar]

FIELD MEDICAL REPORT
Protected Document: █ █ █ X-2292701 █ █ █
Obj I
- - -
Field Hospital | Triage Ready
Medical Narrative

NIO: Erskine Barran Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones Shai Krayt The Fool Keilara Kala'myr Don Belkora Annor E-059 Hoken Stryte Bex Tarring

Enemies: THE WHOLE ASS SITH AND THE MAW

Open for opposition

---

✚ P N E U M O T H O R A X ✚
//[-^-^-^----]\\
RESCUE OPS : Jerec Yularen

​

As smoke cleared, his feet were the first to touch the ground. The others had been instructed to scope things out up above and yet from the destruction alone, he was certain there wouldn't be many to take back up. This battle was filled with a level of brutality unlike any other and it was welcomed with open arms and an eagerness to see the end of an era.

<"Makin' a final round here, I'll let y'all know if I need a pick up. Shit's not lookin too good, over."> He tapped the link on his earpiece, clutching the rifle tight against his chest. And like clockwork, a voice was heard from the distance.

"Medic!",

The metallic physician pushed past the rubble, climbing over bodies and parts of those that fought until their final moments. "My name is Dr. Qar! I'm here to help!" He yelled above gunfire and the echo of groaning buildings. Holding his body low to the ground he managed to push his way to the man's side, all pleasantries aside his primary focus on this rescue…even if it meant he'd be the only one he saved that day.

"I gotcha!" He called out, augmented fingers grasped onto one of the heavy sheets of concrete that obstructed his form. There was blood everywhere, staining the wicked ground in crimson. Steadiness was always his saving grace, he was a force unmoved by duty. "Just hang in there, I gotcha." As reassuring as he was, it never fully quieted their fears. Even the strongest of them would plead with a familiar for another chance. Some were granted opportunity and others mere names engraved in monument.

"Alright, this is gonna hurt like hell, I need ya ta hang in there ok!" A hefty shove forward powered by kinetic energy pooled in his lower limbs sent the large piece of debris off him, opening the field to assess all his injuries. Julian acted quickly, slamming the medical bag at his side and pulling out the tourniquet, tube, and nerve blocker.

"Just look at me, alright?" The doctor comforted, keeping his voice level and even-tempered through his care. He'd pressed his hand around the Sabertooth's wrist, waiting for the diagnostic report but nothing. Julian huffed, disregarding the use for his trinkets, and focused on the body. He could see the femoral artery had been severed, a punctured lung could be heard through wheezing breaths and everything else would have to be evaluated back on the evac ship. "Here we go…you're gunna feel a little loopy, and the pains gunna go away…" The small pre-filled syringe went in first, right into the muscle tissue of the wounded thigh. Jerec would feel the steady stream of euphoria cloud his senses as the doctor proceeded.

<"I need transport on my location, got hooo-fuck!">

Pieces of the broken building fell from above them, and with lightning reflexes, the doc pushed his body over Jerec shielding him from another assault. "Alright, we're good, we're good..fuck that was close." Julian shoved stray pieces from his titanium form and Jerac's. The clock was ticking against them, yet he pressed forward, disregarding the pressure. "If ya can still feel this, I'm fucken sorry - jus, tubes goin' in and you'll be able to breathe." He would have counted down from three but without a moment's notice, he shove the plastic tube within the wound in his chest. On impact his lung expanded, wheezed, and gurgled from the fluid build up , spurts of bloodshot up near his face - for now, he wouldn't have to struggle with the most basic of human needs. This would buy them some more time.

Julian pulled the tourniquet, sinching the device tightly around his leg to stop the rush of blood from leaving his body. The doctor rummaged around his pack, eyes on a swivel in case any mawites had crept up from the remains to continue their bloodlust, to feed once more on those wounded until they'd had their fill. He plucked a canister of bacta and sprayed the solution onto the outside of the wound as a temporary sealant. From the outside, this patchwork job had looked messy unlike the care he provided in the hospital - but this was medicine on the battlefield. Their primary objective was always to get the troopers to safety to begin care, at any cost.

<"This is Grey, I need an evac on my location, over!" > He slammed the beacon on his suit and within seconds the medic had hoisted Jerac over his shoulder, up and out the hell he would have been left to rot in.

"You hang in there alright, I'm gunna getcha outta here!"



█ █ █

 

[Dagon Kaze]

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
BROTHERS DIVIDED vol. II
Issue #0 w/ Aeric Kaze

"Always the same with you." his brother's words carried meaning beyond what was said. Ossus. Their minds were linked from the day they were born just as the stars had bound their fates together.

"Likewise." Dagon grunted back as one forearm came up to block the sidekick. Then his own right left shot up upwards for a sidekick and was met in similar fashion by his brother's forearm.

The blue blade sliced the air as Aeric leaned back from the swing, then it was the red blade slicing the air as Dagon leaned away from the retaliation. A cut scorched Dagon's left shoulder and a moment later the same cut burned Aeric's right shoulder. Moves after moves, one mirrored the other in perfect duplicity. Even their breathes, the lapses of air, the rhythms beat in unison.

How do you best yourself? Each move, each step, swing, cut, kick, punch - each thought - they all echoed in their minds like the voice of a foreteller. It was like fighting a perfect reflection of yourself.

He had to change. Evolve. Dissect his own self, his own strengths and flaws, and rebuild anew.

The moment the distance between the two widened, the Jedi's hand jolted forward sending a powerful Force push aiming to send the Sith crashing through the whole house and out of it from the other side.

The old had to be demolished.

"Is this what you want to be, Aeric?!?" he barked, "A slave to a madman?!?"​

​

 

[Vladimir Kovačić]

E V A C U A T E
SAWBONES
MEDICAL NARRATIVE
Julian Qar | Jerec Yularen
OPEN TO OPPOSITION

​

<"This is Grey, I need an evac on my location, over!" >

<"Sawbones to Grey, I'm en-route to your position, standby, over.">

The crackling distress call roused his senses to action, the specialist leaping out of his near mechanical state, where he just moved through mindless motions in cleaning out the back of the AV, prepping for the arrival and transport of the next slew of broken bodies. He overturned his wrist and gazed upon the projection of the battlefield, as haphazard as the scan was, his eyes rapidly darting across the landscape to find the fluttering blip of Julian's position. Vlad climbed over the cots and shoved at the medics in his way, sorting his way to the cockpit where he pounded on the door. "We're squared, let's move!"

<"ETA is 180 seconds, get to a clearing, Sawbones out.">

He didn't have long to scramble back to his seat before the droning engines roared hotter and the ground was left behind, the agile craft teetering between the crumbling buildings at the edge of the city. "Hold on boys, we're extracting hot!" The pilot called over the PA system, urging those within the hold to forsake grips on their seatbelts for grips on their weapons instead. And among them, the specialist checked his magazine, nodding to himself in content before sliding it back into place and chambering another round. Fire splattered the armored hull of the transport, rattling those within, and through clenched teeth, each of them steeled their resolves. The call to demo the city made their work far, far more difficult, even if it was to gain the upper hand in the battle overall. Vladimir couldn't agree with it any less, actually, but it wasn't his call to make. He didn't have all the information the Lord General did, and he certainly didn't envy the man for the decisions he was often forced to make.

"Standby for landing, this is a touch and go, I do NOT plan to sit on the ground long, so move your asses!" The pilot hollered, his stress manifesting in the guttural edge to his voice and the hiss of breath between his teeth.

Vladimir unstrapped himself and hustled to the drop door, reaching high to grasp a stability bar while his rifle rode comfortably in his other hand. This was it, this was the moment. That second, the mere breath before the door was wrenched open and they ventured into the underworld once more. By his own resolve, had he continued to delve into the depths of depravity, willingly throwing himself into combat for the sake of others. It was no longer the thrill of it that drove him to act with such madness, but rather, the purpose of it. The lives he had saved thus far, each one of them, served as a spark to light the inferno of determination in his belly. He hated the Imperials once upon a time, and now here he was, snatching them out of death's clutches with a crooked grin and veins of fire.

"We've got hostile signatures approaching from the west and north, make it snappy! Go!"

The drop door hissed open, exposing the squad of combat medics to the smoldering wastes before them. Vlad didn't take the time to admire the view, rather, he swapped his projection to his HUD and dove to the ground, landing on his feet, and sprinted toward Julian's signature. <"Grey, I'm on the ground, sending coords to AV now, over."> He spoke, commanding his internal processes to do as he said, and brought his rifle to ready. Behind him, the medics fanned out swiftly, making short work of lingering pockets of heat in the middle of the scorched land. They would comb through for mere minutes, not a second longer, searching for friendly survivors and corpses alike to take back with them. It was the rhythm of order in the midst of chaos, and it was all they could do.

"V, over there!" Barnes called from behind him, snapping an arm out to point. A turn of the specialist's head confirmed and at once, the two men shifted their direction and cut down the alleyway, meeting Julian and his patient promptly. "We'll cover you, keep pressing!" Vladimir shouted over the growing disquiet, sliding by the cyborg to situate himself on the flank, where he almost immediately found hostility. Slug rounds howled by, shattering the remnants of a wall to his left, flinging shrapnel into his armor. "They really don't care out here, do they!?" He questioned aloud, tucking the stock into his shoulder and pulling the trigger with practiced discipline.

The return fire worked, for the time, forcing the Mawites on their trail to take cover. Vladimir was no marksman, but he could spray and pray with the best of them.

 

[Halketh]

INTERFERENCE
THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
DARK LORD OF THE SITH
C A E L I T U S
The Aegis of Woe | Lightsaber
// Ezra Dune \\

Stop.​

Triumphant over the external threat, the Dark Lord jeered, his wild grin unseen behind the clamp of steel around his head. Such torment he relished in, the tides of Ezra's pain baptized his strength and renewed his focus, drawing him deeper into the harrowing depths of his sadistic delight. The palpable fear in the man's voice, his grief, all of it culminated in his final throes, his desperation manifesting as his end drew ever near. Ezra had realized it then, just how powerless he was. How insignificant he was. The vanity of his efforts, his arrogance in thinking he could somehow fell the giant who had brought the Iron Empire to heel, to silence the man who orchestrated the crescendo that had plunged the galaxy into chaos once more. The Saint would be silenced no further. The pleading, the cries, each line cast in his direction was deflected off the seemingly impenetrable bulwark sealed around him, the testament to the apathy that betrayed the bleeding heart buried within.

The hand extended grew closer to clenching into a finalizing fist, the death blow which would crush the life from the man for the last, and leave Caelitus alone in the chamber.

"Kezec! P-pl…please s-t-top….."

A frigid chill surged through the Dark Lord, paralytic poison swept through his veins, gripping each nerve, every fiber until its icy touch froze him entirely. Hesitation. But why? His brow furrowed deeply, his strength failing him inexplicably. Fingers strained, struggling against the unseen threads winding them back from the death sentence, that kept him from casting his judgment for the last. The man's bargaining, his pleading fell away, swept aside as silence engulfed the Dark Lord and his senses muddied. The world seemed to freeze, time slowing into an intangible stream that barely passed him by.

STOP!​

The cry burst from the fractures rapidly spreading across his hold, echoing across the writhing parasites in his head. A rhapsody of reckoning overcame him, his resolve stumbling to falter in the last seconds, where it only mattered the most. His head jerked downward, defiant of the paralysis blooming from within, and confusion became him. "What..." his voice broke, leaving him as little more than a haggard whisper, cast out with uncertainty into the maelstrom of malice he had created. Self-flagellation had served as the point of his greatest strength, the perpetual torment of this mortal vessel, anguish had become him. He was an archon to suffering, the patron of despair, the saint of pestilence. That he should be overcome was unheard of. The sound which left him next in his confusion was a tortured growl, thrust between teeth bared in spite. "You dare..." he uttered, panting for breath as fury swelled, draping from his shoulders as a sickening cloak.

Light danced across his false Sight, a disturbance in the tide creating rippling waves that shattered everything around him. Daggers pierced his temples, raking their sharpened edges along the curve of his skull until he could do little but scream, his voice summoning the dead air to stir, sweeping from him in a blast of devastating rage. Down he fell, the Saint brought low, torn from his sanctimonious throne by the very hands he insidiously controlled. Metal crashed to the floor, Caelitus dropping to his knees, his focus was ended. Desperately he groped for the straps of his helmet, panting wildly in a struggled gambit to breathe in the smothering air. He tore the crown from his head, thrusting it wildly to the side, and fell onto his hands, gasping.

"I would have wait-ed..." The specialist blurted out in an odd hiccup of words. His kiss left his lips quivering, his breathing fell disjointed. How could this be happening? Likewise, though, Ezra understood the sentiment of time. "It was long...like someone just kept pulling at time, extending the minutes, the hours...seconds." He exhaled, pushing up away the urge to sob. "Why..." There, finally breaking out from behind the crimson current was the elephant in the room. "Why didn't...you say anything?"

Crimson seeped from his nose, trickling in telling stream to drip onto the floor between his gauntlets. Overwhelmed by the chill, he shivered violently, powerless as wounds were torn open from within, the very man caged inside the corrupted icon had broken through. Fingers tentatively curled into his palms, pressing into the indifferent floor beneath. Wild onyxian strands stuck to his face, obscuring his torment behind a veil, but did nothing to muffle the wretched sob that departed him. The death in the air dwindled, tension shattering upon itself until naught remained but nightmarish memories that haunted him.

"I..." Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he tell Ezra, of all people, where he was? What he was doing? Or even that he was still alive? "I didn't want you to... see how bad..." His confession started fast, easy, as the truth blurted out of him, but the longer he spoke it, the more staggered it became, "I was... I was in a bad state... I couldn't trust myself..."

"Ezra..." Halketh wept, unmoving from his place of rest, "w-why did you... come here?"

​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Dromund Kaas, above Kaas City
Allies: Keilara Kala'myr
Foes: Baron Reinhardt Ström

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel flies in to aid Mercy

As chemical flames raged across the hillside and expanded through the darkened wood, turning millennia-old jungle to ash, The Mongrel held tight to the chain bridle of his gore wasp. If he fell, if a twist of the swift insectoid drone threw him from the saddle, he would plummet into the inferno and be instantly consumed by the searing heat. It would be an ignominious end to a decade of ravaging the galaxy, and one that his dark gods would surely not look kindly upon. But his cybernetic grip was strong, and his will even stronger. He would not fall.

It was clear now, as it had been from the beginning, that the Ashlan Crusade would occupy this place. Perhaps they would be grateful for the cleansing flames, the raging firestorm that was erasing the dark side-infused woodland. After all, if they sought to redeem this shadowed planet, they had their work cut out for them; it was steeped in the vileness of countless generations of Sith. It would take more than fire to drive out such corruption, but burning the place down to the bedrock might at least be a start. Ashes make for fertile soil.

For his part, The Mongrel did not care what became of this place. He never had. Nor did he now care for the mission that had brought the Maw here, the hope to sow chaos and disruption, to take skulls as an offering to the Dark Three. His only concern was for Mercy, always his most trusted agent... and perhaps, against his better judgement, becoming something more. Are you worried about me, warlord? He was, and the pain in her voice made him moreso. She was the source of his new hope, his yearning for life, his desire to keep going.

If he lost her, he would be empty again.

The wasp zipped between the tall, imposing buildings of Kaas City, dark metal structures now lit by the flames raging in the streets and the bursts of artillery shells obliterating Sith monuments. Did the Ashlans believe that they could spare any part of this place? That they could somehow cut the Sith culture out of this Sith city like drawing poison from a wound? The Mongrel doubted that they could succeed in their mission of forcible redemption without leveling the entire city. Mawites understood that some things were past saving.

They viewed the entire galaxy that way, after all. Hopelessly corrupt. Mired in history. The only solution was to burn it all and begin again.

His progress felt painfully slow. With each moment, the threat to Mercy intensified; she was a deadly and capable agent, but even she had limits, and it seemed that the Eternal Empire had spared no expense in attempting to kill her. If she was dead, The Mongrel vowed, he would delay his martyrdom no longer. He would guide his wasp back to Baron Ström's tent, army or no army, elite bodyguards or not, and he would take the man's skull for his cup before dying in a blaze of glory. But he did not want that, not now. He felt something... odd.

He felt hope. Tenuous. Fragile. Motivating.

Her voice was growing weaker, overshadowed by pain. The Mongrel barely registered her words, for he knew the tone too well; she was at the edge of defeat, of death. He could not permit that, not when he was so close. The building he had sent her to infiltrate loomed up before him, and his internal sensors locked directly onto her comm signal, pinpointing her position. He urged the hideous insect onward, digging his mechanical legs into its flanks, demanding all the speed it could give him. He had to be in time. He had to be.

He was not the praying type, but he prayed to his dark gods then.

I will endure this disembodied torment, he swore to the Dark Three, for as long as you ask. I will burn the galaxy in your name so long as I have neurons left to fire in my ravaged brain. I will fight and die and fight again until the day you judge me worthy of paradise, even if it takes a thousand years... if only you let her, and the hope she gives me, remain. He had nothing to bargain with, of course. The Avatars already owned him, could consign his soul to hell or to paradise at their whim. They were omnipotent, and owed him nothing.

They were inevitable, and did not need him.

Still he prayed, because... because what could it hurt?

One of the buildings in the complex was already a smoking ruin, obliterated by an NIO artillery strike. The Mongrel felt his cold, mechanical heart seize at the sight... but reason reasserted itself. She could not have been inside; her last transmission had been too recent, and the signal from her comlink was still active. When the wasp drew just close enough to the ground, the warlord leapt from the saddle, rolling over his shoulder as he hit the unyielding duracrete. He had definitely dented his chassis in that fall. He definitely didn't care.

Like an iron tempest he burst through the doors of the facility, his warblade leaping to hand, blazing fury venting from his exhaust ports like boiling steam. His footfalls were swift and heavy, cracking the paneled floor beneath him with each step. The hallway flashed by as he ran, all out, desperate to arrive before... he dared not even consider it. In his internal sensor suite, the little beep of the comlink signal's proximity grew stronger, faster. Beeeeep. Beeeep. Beeep. Beep. Beep beep beep beep beep. He was here. He was right on top of them.

The Mongrel leapt over the broken bodies that Mercy had left in her wake, the ten dead Eternal Empire elites left strewn about the corridor... and fell upon the survivors in a hurricane of durasteel. Two men stood around Mercy, one holding her up, the other with a knife to her throat. The blade dug in, breaking her skin, inching toward her windpipe... and the warlord gave in to savage rage. One metal hand shot out to grab the soldier's wrist before it could guide the knife any further, and five thousand pounds of pressure turned his bones to dust.

The naked warblade in The Mongrel's other hand decapitated the poor fool before he even had time to scream.

The other soldier held Mercy up, arms under her armpits, leaving her open for the killing blow. But that pose left him equally exposed, with no easy way to react to the sudden arrival of the Mawite champion. The Mongrel twisted his warblade around as it arced through the first man's neck, now fountaining blood, and drove it point-first through the second soldier's forehead. The entire exchange took less than six seconds, the mechanical speed and precision of the warlord's cybernetic limbs enabling him to fight as no mere organic could.

Leaving the sword embedded in the Blackwatch trooper's skull, The Mongrel reached out and caught Mercy before she could fall. For a man made almost entirely of metal and rage, he was surprisingly gentle; he cradled her softly, carefully supporting her spine and head with his broad durasteel limbs so that she felt no jolt or impact. He did not know the extent of her injuries, and would not take the chance of making them worse. He looked down at her, his monstrous metal face incapable of showing any emotion, let alone concern.

"I am here, Mercy," he told her, his grating, mechanical voice - meant only for command and intimidation - struggling to how the concern and care he felt. "Rest now. You have done well." Slowly, gently, The Mongrel rose; he had fallen to one knee to catch her, ensuring she did not hit the floor. With great caution he adjusted his grip to carry her more easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her head and spine. He did not hold her too close, though some part of him wanted to. His body was spiked, jagged; it was meant only for war.

She was the only thing in the galaxy he didn't want to hurt.

He walked on the way out of the building, rather than the desperate sprint he'd gone through on the way in. He could hear buildings tumbling, fires raging, explosions bursting, the sounds of a city being conquered... or perhaps destroyed outright. But he did not even think of the wider war, did not consider his own forces retreating through the jungles with flames and artillery at their heels, did not ponder the fate of the other tribes involved in this mad little conflict. The Mongrel thought only of... tenderness. Of avoiding any further injury for Mercy.

Of how he would mount his gore wasp and bring her home.

 

[Aeric Kaze]

KAAS
ALLIES: /
ENEMIES: All
NOTICE: Dagon Kaze

Punches, kicks, slashes, and stabs. The pair didn't know how to riposte, to turn each other's attacks onto other opponents. Not in a way that was significant, fight finishing. Or maybe they didn't want to. It didn't matter. He'd make him see. He'd make him understand. And then, when it was done? He'd end him. Because he'd have served his purpose on the day.

The Force Push caught him unawares, and he flew backwards, weaving a barrier of protection around himself. Plaster, stone, wood, it all ripped pasdt him as he slipped through the living room, kitchen, and out through a window to bounce and slide across the wet grass beyond. Dagon's voice boomed louder as he came through the house, and Aeric rolled up to his feet.

Reaching into himself as he shook his head.

"I am what I am... But you would never understand."

Eyeing the form of his brother, he threw his hand forwards, the obsidian hilt spinning through the air as the warbling blade of plasma sliced through the drizzle. Leaving a sizzling path of energy arcing up to the Jedi Knight. Behind and above it, Aeric flew up into the air with a force-aided jump, crashingf down through the roof of their father's home and breaking through its construction to slam down behind Dagon.

"Your resolve... Broken by words of all things. Twisted, by a purpose to do good under a title that has done so much wrong." Pale, warmth deprived lips twisted into a smirk. "They destroyed our fucking home! And you BECAME one of THEM?!"

His mouth opened, and the Force exploded out from the Sith Warrior's mouth. Years of pent up frustration, confusion, rage. Peeling back mortar, plaster, and stone as the Force Scream burst from his throat. The Dark Side fueled attack aimed on destroying Dagon, just as much as destroying the part of the house he stood in.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective I.: Doing her job and follow the warlord's commands.
Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Writing With: The Mongrel | Open
Allies: BotM/NIO | Rowena | Open
Enemies: AC/EE/GA/Enclave | Baron Reinhardt Ström

[ New Order ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

I no longer had the strength to scream again when I felt the ice-cold blade at my throat. It was cold and painful, but not cold enough for me to wake up. I was doing my best to move, but my body no longer wanted to obey my will. Move, move, move! I told myself. Warm blood flowed from my wound to my chest, flowed under my armour, but I was still breathing and not choking, the blade crawled even deeper. Hurt. Then the blade and the soldier stopped for a moment.

Everything was infinitely slow, just like then, on Carlac. I could feel every movement of the ice-cold bayonet. Also, the way the gun stopped for a moment. Noise, something tore the door or the ceiling. I couldn’t tell, I couldn’t lift my head so much. I could only feel the air movement, the way the dagger fell out of the wound after that and fell to the ground. There was someone else in the hall.

I tried to lift my head but failed. I just felt like the soldier holding me was letting go. The soldier opposite me falls to the ground, just like the one behind me. And I couldn’t stand on my feet either. However, something caught me and I didn’t fall to the ground. I tried to lift my head but it didn’t work out, I just looked at the ground and gasped thickly. It was not a human being, not a living being, but a metal that held me. But it was quite gentle, which was ironic because I didn’t know tenderness during my short existence.

Caring, worrying, tenderness. It was all about strength, survival. But now, as if he wanted to take care of me. It appeared on my retina, which was already there on Jakku too, if I don't calm down, if I don't arrange my breathing I will pass out. And then there was no question of bleeding out, because it was an opportunity. After the words, I was sure I was imagining, I’m definitely lying on the ground, dying, and it’s just a hallucination. There could be no other.

"Would this be the final gift of the Dark Three before paradise?" I asked, or at least wanted to, I don’t know if I was able to do it or not.

To his words, if I had the strength, I would have laughed mockingly. It really was nothing more than a damn hallucination, the last minutes of a dying woman. These are the damn words I wanted to hear. However, the sober half of my mind would have shouted with anger that it was so humiliating because I did nothing well. I wanted to make him proud, I wanted to be the best, I wanted to be indispensable. In the end a dozen soldiers defeat me? Degrading! Humiliating!

"I failed you, I disappointed you… I am unworthy…" I tried to say.

I didn’t want to die, I wanted to live to prove that I am strong, that I am worthy. And then… I felt something from his direction. Concern, care. My eyes widened. That was the moment I realised I wasn’t hallucinating. I… I thought… I thought he was here because of my thoughts full of desire about him recently. That he was just a hallucination, but no, he was real!

"W… warlord?!" I had a hard time saying it, there was disbelief and admiration in my voice

Never, since I have served him, has he never, never done so. He sacrificed his men at any time and watched them die if they were unworthy. But now he was here. No! Is it possible that my telepathy would be so strong that I would have called him here? No, I didn't think so. But I was glad for him, somehow, I was surrounded by a feeling I didn't even know so far, neither Ziare. Security, peace. Feth! Rest. Yes, that would have been great, but no! I couldn't lose my consciousness. I have to struggle to stay awake.

Moments later, he was holding me in his arms. This was different from the first time. The situation was full of ironic parallels. I wanted to laugh and another part of me to cuddle and embrace him. I was so close to him once and it wasn’t me either. On Carlac, as he clenched Ziare's throat, there Ziare struggled to stay awake. She was afraid the warlord would kill her, I was afraid, if I would die now… I wouldn't see him anymore. Feth with the motto of the Maw, I wanted to live, I didn’t want to die.

We were already heading outside, gathering all my strength and reaching up to his face and stroking him, weakly. I didn’t want to be Ziare, who never dares to do anything. I'm not her. I want to regret what I didn’t do, not what I didn’t have the courage to do. And if I am destined to die now, at least I can say yes, I had the courage to do it! Since I didn’t have more strength physically, I tried to reach for his mind and maybe soul with my own.

The Taskmaster taught me a few things, but I was just directing Ziare, and I used to scream today when my injuries hurt, and due this I hurt them. I didn't want to control him, I didn't want to hurt him. I touched that part of his brain, his mind with my telepathic powers, that could make him feel like I was really touching his face, like I was stroking his cheek. I was hoping that there were still parts of the brain where the receptors had otherwise transmitted the data and stimulus. Gentle caress, then as if I had taken his hand.

My head started to ache; my nose started bleeding again. I didn’t give up, I tried to climb even deeper in his head, to the part where he was. Where he still imagines himself to be human, with a physical body, safe. I was hoping there was such a part. It’s like Ziare’s wretched meadow or the wall outside where I was with the Taskmaster. Or Carlac. If I had such a part of his mind and I managed to get in, I stopped in front of his spiritual eyes without injury.

"Why?" I asked.

No, actually the answer to the question was not important now, there'll be time later to get an answer… as much as I thought of him in the last hours, I wanted to kiss him. I don't want to waste this opportunity. I leaned closer to do it all …

NO! The picture broke, I found myself in his arms again, my hand dropped next to me, everything started to darken. No no! I can't faint, I have to stay awake…

These were my last thoughts before the darkness embraced me and finally the pain disappeared…

Last post.​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Demiurge smiled, laughing heartily in his throat as Jax was bombarded by the collective death of Kaas City's population. The Dark Side swelled with the death of so many simultaneously, a wellspring of darkness that nourished the Dark Lord better than any meal ever could. It affected the Jedi Master differently, driving him further towards the precipice overlooking the vast gulf. All he required was a little more encouragement and he would willingly take that plunge.

Anger flared in the Jedi, righteous fury. He directed that fury at the source of all this misery, the Dark Lord himself. He rushed, lightsaber lashing out to slash the Dark Lord down the middle. He could have raised his saber to block it, used his power of the Dark Side to send the irate Jedi careening into the distance.

Instead, he reached out with his left hand.

And caught the lightsaber before it could reach him.

"Strong enough to have everything you want, but too weak to seize it. The impotence of the Jedi Order." With his hand firmly latched around Jax's lightsaber, the Dark Side redirected the Jedi's momentum to throw him down to the ground. Soon after, the Dark Lord levitated back down as well. "The Light has failed you, Jaxon. Only through the Dark Side can you achieve a power great enough to prevent the misery you so despise. You only need to possess the courage to take it."

Smoke began to pour out from beneath the Dark Lord's clothes, enveloping him in a thick smog-like shroud. "Remember this lesson when the galaxy burns down around you." The smoke fully engulfed the Dark Lord, the thick plume shooting off into the sky and disappearing into shadow.

Jax Thio ​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Location: Some Old Ruins
Objective: Capture or Kill Darth Arcanix
Allies: Wyatt Morga // Romi Jade // Coren Starchaser
Enemies: Taeli Raaf
Equipment: Coat | Armor | Lightsaber: 1 & 2 | Gun | Arm | Corellian Jedi Credit | Ring
Music Theme

One might have expected a snarl, or for Julius to have spat on the ground. None of that was what followed though. The silver-green laser sword never wavered as he focused on Taeli. Such deflection, such rejection of responsibility for one's actions. He gave Wyatt's pleas their time, then stepped forward in lock-synch, as if advancing in a formation, blade pointed straight at Taeli's heart.

"I have never heard such whining before. Even from you Sith. Your sister, from my brief knowledge of her, would be ashamed of your petulance and immaturity. Either accept your guilt and fate, or stand and deliver."

The blue-grey eyes held no anger, nor a hint of remorse or pity. Nor did his aura in the Force... He was strangely empty and carried no trace of intent or malice directly... In this case, the burden of guilt was past proving. Penance or death would be the end of things here today. And whichever one was up to the beast before him.

 

[Dagon Kaze]

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
BROTHERS DIVIDED vol. II
Issue #0 w/ Aeric Kaze

THEIR WAR HERE​

"I am what I am... But you would never understand."

Dagon grunted in response, the hand around his hilt tightening. This was not his brother. Couldn't be. Couldn't be the brother that had carried him for a dozen miles from the wildlands back home when the younger of the two had broken his leg jumping over a ravine. Couldn't be the brother that had fended off predators in the caves beneath Katarn's Hill. Even when Aeric had told him on Ziost the truth of his dark depiction of their childhood, Dagon could never fully believe it.

He could never, never believe that his brother was truly lost.

He could not.

The red blade came fast. Faster than his enhanced reactions could allow. His blue saber came to deflect it but his move was sloppy and the angle of his wrist fickle. Aeric's sword struck hard and both blades extinguished tumbled away into the old house's rubble. A loud crash resounded from behind him. Wood, stone and mortar burst in every direction as Aeric landed, feet punching through the solid concrete foundation beneath.

"Your resolve... Broken by words of all things. Twisted, by a purpose to do good under a title that has done so much wrong.They destroyed our fucking home! And you BECAME one of THEM?!"

His nose wrinkled at the words, then he felt the sudden vacuum of air as the Force rushed through his brother. Dagon hurled his hand to find his blade with the Force but a blast ripped through his chest, tearing his jacket and shirt along with his flesh as the Force scream sent him flying into the distance. His back crashed right through the concrete wall of the house -its last standing pillar - and his body didn't stop there. Pummelling through the air, the wail's whirlwind sliced and diced through yellow grass and barren ground leaving eternal scars about the wretched and torn brown earth of Kaas.

Two hundred meters away, Dagon's body finally came to a stop after a series of bone-cracking tumbles. He lay still for a few moments before his fingers itched to life. The air is crisp, laden with sulfur, lead, and... moisture. Droplets of water, of life, in the air. Meager, barely enough but they tell him enough.

The season of harvest.

He remembers that smell well across the endless, rolling fields of Ruusan. It's a distinct smell. Sweet and ripe just as the fruits that are ready to be picked. It's the season to bear the fruits of your labor. The tireless efforts from sunrise to sunset every single day. But it runs deeper than that. It's when you see the outcome of your choices.

It's when you reap what you have sown.

For all the seasons he'd missed to see the darkness rising within his brother.

Now he paid in blood.

Fingers dug into the earth as his fists clenched tight. No more.

Staggering up to his feet, the pain reverberating across his form abated as the Force surged to fill in his strength. The empyrean radiated around him like a torrent of wind, its strength heavenly in nature and its conviction divine in right.

Dagon shot both hands forward and lunged back towards his brother like a torpedo through the air. Fast as a speeding bullet, determined as a forging hammer to punch his brother into the skies above and follow him into fateful scuffle between light and dark.

A shout escaped his lips, "...and he destroyed..."

All he had lost, all they had lost was reminded to him every time he looked into Yula's eyes and there, in the emerald gaze that looked back, he found it again.

Only one last piece was missing.

"... our FAMILY!"​

​

​

 

[Taeli Raaf]

​

Location: Ruins of the Prophets
Objective: Retrieval of artifacts, confront the hunters
Allies: Darth Carnifex
Enemies: Wyatt Morga Julius Sedaire

Equipment: In signature
Forces: 12 Ravenscar Adepts (four teams of three), some NFU archaeologists and scientists

"Redemption, and for that matter corruption, must always be a choice," she replied to Wyatt quietly. She turned her attention to Julius, at his dispassionate words. "As for whining and accepting my actions, you misunderstand Master Sedaire. I am well aware and accept what I've done. I know what I am. I merely point out what occurred with my sister as a way to frame why I might be very... reluctant to both accept redemption or judgment from such an organization as the current Jedi Orders."

Her attention returned to Wyatt.

"Besides the fall of the previous Galactic Alliance, which deserved to fall if it allowed me to take such a high position in its power structure and allowed me to corrupt so much of it so easily, what carnage do you throw at my feet, Master Morga? My experiments in alchemy and sorcery? The battles I fought against this Alliance and the New Imperials during the war they began? The atrocities of the Maw and Solipsis's New Sith, a group I utterly despise and do not support? Whatever planet Kaine has decided he wants to annihilate this week?"

She stood to her feet, hilt in her hand.

"Not that I care, at this point," she continued before getting a response, waving her hand flippantly. "It would be a pointless argument at this stage. You both made your decision when you came here. I made my decision long ago." Scarlet light ignited to mix with the silvery green and blue, then four other scarlet lights ignited in answer to their Master. Two strung energy bows, prepared to fire. Six ravens continued to watch from around the ruined room they all stood in.

"I won't surrender, Master Morga. I have no reason to, but I'll offer you a courtesy. Walk away from this fight. On Dromund Kaas, it is not one you can win. If not..." She settled into a Soresu defensive stance. "You'll have to be the aggressors."

 

[Wyatt Morga]

Wyatt sighed deep and heavy as he drew in his strength. He knew it would come to this - but a Jedi like Wyatt always had to hope for some alternative. Battle was to be their last resort, Form 0 their primary answer to these situations - but Sith so often ignored their best efforts, substituting narratives with their own.​

​

"You admit guilt in one breath and deny it with the next.", he said with a deep set frown.​

​

"I do not hate you for what you've done, Taeli Raaf, but I do feel sorry for what you've become."​

​

In his mind, he continued 'And I am Sorry for what I must do.', but it was wasted words on her ilk.​

​

So instead his foot broke the duracrete beneath him - snapped it like sand on the beach as he broke into a full sprint towards her. When his lightsaber came forward it was is a devastation, vile strike capable of only the best Battlemasters of the Jedi Order. No doubt she would block it - she herself was no pushover, and when their blades would meet the flash of plasma between his blue and her red would leave nothing but purple sparks flying for dozens of meters all around them.​

​

For that brief moment of a saber lock - he'd look into her eyes and she would see that sorrow he spoke of, but with it, determination, dedication, and justice. He'd press his blade against hers in the hopes of locking her down, readjusting his foot to add leverage. The veins in his hands would bulge and muscles twitched as he let the Force begin to work through him - build upon his righteous strength.​

​

Julius was a tactical genius - he would know to strike her while she was vulnerable, or remove her assistance. So long as Wyatt could keep her occupied - they were able to win this, so long as more didn't appear.​

​

Taeli Raaf // Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Location: Some Old Ruins
Objective: Capture or Kill Darth Arcanix
Allies: Wyatt Morga // Romi Jade // Coren Starchaser
Enemies: Taeli Raaf
Equipment: Coat | Armor | Lightsaber: 1 & 2 | Gun | Arm | Corellian Jedi Credit | Ring
Music Theme

"You'll have to be the aggressors."

Julius shrugged, and as Adepts lit lightsabers, he began to move. A blurring motion, he didn't spare time or effort to coordinate with Wyatt. The former Grandmaster was a more than capable combatant. The quickest way to ensure victory, either by defeat or redemption of the Sith, was to ensure that Wyatt was unbothered by excess threats. One Adept fell quickly, missing hands as they readied the energy bow. But the others were trained and skilled, and with surprised gone they turned to greet Julius with varying expressions amounting to a universal sneer. And they were right to.

Gray shot hair, grayer beard. Lines all across his face. Weariness present in his eyes as yet another Sith spewed the same old lines with different wrappings. A part of him reflected on the half-step it took to go from what he was before Romi Jade and Sel had rescued him from the bottle. As the one Adept dropped in the onslaught, Julius snapped into the same waiting posture as with Taeli, ready and calm in the Force, radiating threats from a dozen angles that would confuse the best Precognitive fighters. Speed worked to help like that, and blended with his Fighting Sight training from the Aing-Tii, and his love of going hot-cold on speed enhancement, it was a hefty task to read the man in combat, if not nigh impossible.

"Come on now, don't be shy children..."

 

[Kyrel Ren]

​

Morrow
Iris Arani
The boy’s words did little if anything to the hulking behemoth that was Kyrel Ren. His first few strikes was not meant to bring him down so easily as it was to test him. His senses still set on finding the Jedi, should he find him he hoped to draw his true prey out. As he tried to sense out through the force. The moment he tried to reach for the location of the meddlesome Jedi his guard was down. The boy before him tried to strike for the death mask on his face, he became too distracted in that moment. Sparks flew as the silver blade touched the mask. The impassive expression on his face slowly turned into a scowl.

The boy then tried to kick him, which had little effect. Now his rage slowly rose to where it couldn’t be stopped. First the probing strikes diminished, going along with more powerful heavier strikes. These strikes themselves would take strength just to deflect, enough to stop Kyrel and his powerful one handed strikes. He started to push his way against him. Only causing the man to shift his feet ever so closer to the mud. With each advance a power strike came just to knock him around.

“Men like you all the same have said that to me… Living or Dead I find it very annoying… time to shut you up little Imp…”

He said his sights still focused on the Kedi, grabbing the man by the throat, he slammed him forcefully to the ground. His undead strength knockoking the saber from his hand. He repeatedly started to bash his head against the rain soaked muddy floor. The repeated bashing making a rain filled crater.

After smashing him to the ground several times, he grabbed him by the back holding him up high. “Can your body take as much damage as that Imperial bravado?? Let’s test that theory…” He said before in such anger, he held him up, and crashed him hard on his knee in a kneeling position. As if trying to put a quick end by breaking his spine. Tossing him aside in the rain, he reached out to the Jedi. “So that’s where you are?” As if the Imperial Knight was indisposed for now. His men keeping up the wanton mayhem and slaughter. He slowly advanced towards the tent. So close his hand could peel back the tent opening.

 

[Aeric Kaze]

KAAS
ALLIES: /
ENEMIES: All
NOTICE: Dagon Kaze

Crimson eyes were alight with pleasure as he watched Dagon skip and bounce across the ground like a rock across a pond. For a while, he remained unmoving, still. Not unlike the visions of this place that had brought him there. When there was peace, before the inevitable devolution of the Galaxy. Differing views, war, enmities millennium old that were barely understood... Merely inherited and honoured for unnamed and unforgotten warriors of times long past.

...

Aeric straightened, walking out of the house. Heavy steps that felt as if they might crack the earth if he wasn't careful. The surging power of the Dark Side at his beck and call, he felt it all. Overgrowth reached up to his thighs, and he brushed his hands through it before he turned his gaze back to Dagon.

It was unnatural to hate ones kin, and yet, it was all Aeric felt. For his Father haunting him and his dreams for as long as he could remember, infesting his mind with memories that were not his own. Constant reminders of the failures of someone else. He constantly felt on the cusp of exploding. To kill Dagon... That'd be one step closer to ending it all.

Caught up in his thoughts, he noticed too late as the raven haire Knight came racing at him. A fist punched into his chest, sending him careening backwards as he was wrenched from hsi feet. Through the air he flew, his hair and wind whipping in one direction as his back arched upwards, slamming into the roof of their ancient homestead as his ragdoll body flew higher.

Twisting and turning, he righted himself, his equilibrum restored through an application of the Force that he had not learned, not been taught, but was natural, nevertheless. Just in time to catch Dagon by the scruff of his neck as he cried out in his face. Aeric shook his head, the pain of his torso his fuel as he used the Force to bend and twist their inertia, spinning them around faster and faster.

I.

Don't.​

Care!​

They went head over heels, and Aeric shoved him downwards, forcing his brother to answer the call of gravity as their spun momentum was used to throw him to the ground uncontrollably. In the following split second, he shot himself downwards after him, a reared hand swinging ahead to return a gut punch into his frame that folded his body around his limb before exploding through him, firing him into the jungle like a cannonball with earth shattering force.

 

[Iris Arani]

He was coming.

Iris could feel the rage directed her way. It wasn't just a wave of black through the colors that she could see, but she actually felt the hate. She didn't even know who Kyrel Ren was, but this rage had to be personal. The people she'd been fighting alongside had left. A spot had been broken through, letting them escape. Some, escape. It was a violent struggle to break through the line, but she couldn't go with them.

She couldn't put the injured in the path of whoever this was.

So she waited. No, not waited. Where chaos continued around, she found a tent to hide in. Set a trap. The spray cans she always had on her set up within the flap of the tent. Waiting for the Master of Ren to approach. She stood in the center, in plain sight. Domxite in hand. Ready to fight.

Though, that was never her plan.

The moment the tent flap was opened the cans exploded. Completely non lethal, but bright blues, pinks, oranges, a cloud of paint to coat the black clad figure. She stayed only for a moment to see what happened, flashed a frightened smile, and ran. She had to lead this beacon of destruction away from the battlefield, that was the only way she'd be able to save more lives.

Domxite came to life, cutting through the side of the tent as she burst into a sprint into the rain soaked mud. "Come and get me!"

Morrow

 

[Taeli Raaf]

​

Location: Ruins of the Prophets
Objective: Retrieval of artifacts, confront the hunters
Allies: Darth Carnifex
Enemies: Wyatt Morga Julius Sedaire

Equipment: In signature
Forces: 11 Ravenscar Adepts (four teams of three), some NFU archaeologists and scientists

"No, but then hate has never been your issue," she said quietly. She didn't hate either of the men that had come to either capture or kill her. It was one reason why she had given them the choice to walk away and nothing would have happened to them. But alas. Wyatt started to draw upon the Force and he rocketed forward, cracking the duracrete of the old ruins in his rush to engage her. Red blade met blue as she caught the attack, purple eyes meeting his.

She could see his underlying emotions, his motives for his attack. She understood them. She could even respect them because it wasn't the eyes of a zealot, full of righteous anger and zeal. There was determination, dedication to the cause of the Light, and a desire for justice. She could feel Wyatt calling the Force to augment himself, could almost see the muscles in his hands and arms strengthening. Red and blue moved against each other as they struggled for that briefest of moments that was a blade lock between two Masters of the Force.

But this was Dromund Kaas, a world that had been saturated in the dark side and Sith magicks for millennia.

It would be harder for the Jedi to call the light to them, and far easier for her to call upon the dark side to come to her aide. No matter what some of the Ashlan crusaders thought a cleansing ritual might do, it would take dozens or perhaps hundreds over months or years to fully cleanse a world within the Stygian Caldera of the dark side's touch... and there was always one other problem. The brightest lights always cast the darkest shadows.

Now that was an idea.

"Riyikrauti Hadzuska," she intoned, even as their blade lock struggled. Wyatt would be able to sense the Sith magic no doubt, drawing the dark side at her spell. But unless he had decided to study High Sith before he came, he might not know what it did. But he would presently. The floodlights of her expedition would be casting such lovely shadows from them all... and with a quiet moan, Wyatt's would start to rise up, solidifying as dark energies twisted into it to give it physical presence. There wouldn't be any facial expressions from the apparition, but its red eyes would glow with contained malevolence and from its hand, a blade of midnight black Darkshear would appear and strike at the Jedi Master as they engaged in their saber lock.

---

For the Adepts, seeing one of their number cut down so easily was concerning, but they were professionals. Even as their fellow Adept fell, and Julius called for them to come after him, they would oblige his request.

Two would rush in from opposing angles, utilizing Ataru strikes, while another would loose an energy bolt from their bow. The other three that were not immediately engaging would start to summon Spears of Midnight Black. The six ravens would continue to perch, to watch and observe.

 

[Wyatt Morga]

Wyatt, unlike many other Jedi dedicated to hunting Sith, never bothered to learn Sith nor its various denominations. He didn't need to know who the Sith were to beat them; he only needed the light. Thus far it had served him well - so even though he didn't understand the words she spoke, the Force spoke to him. A premonition of the dark, shadows cast hunting him - it was many minutes condensed into a single second.​

​

His jaw would set, and amidst the saber lock he would extend his knee into Taeli Raaf 's stomach. Heavy, hard, it was a blow that would cripple a normal person - but for the Lady of Secrets, it would serve to create a moment of distance. As soon as she was clear his blade was shoot backwards over his head and slap away the darkshear of his own reflection. A twist, and he faced it - twisted and pushed his saber around the shadow's own until the light of his blade would point itself directly at the shadow's neck - directly into it, were it not stopped.​

​

Normally it would not affect the creature, but every aspect of Wyatt dripped the light side. It would be magnified by the light, purifying by his blade; it would wash the shadow away just the same if it were struck by him or Force Light directly.​

​

The best he could hope in the moment however, was killing this creature quick. Taeli was here for a reason - but with two Jedi against her, she could quickly depart. If they could antagonize her goals here it would be helpful, but it would be better to take her back to Peace in carbonite.​

​

Julius Sedaire // Taeli Raaf​