Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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



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Location: Drommond Kaas
Equipment: Jedi Armor, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Second Lightsaber, Promise Ring to Jairdain
Tag: Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex (Enemy)

Jax's entire body felt like it was on fire in fact, he could smell his burnt flesh. "Hmmm," he though once again dropping to his knees after dispensing a massive amount of Force energy. "So that's what I smell like, crispy bacon I love it. I'm pretty sure that Spasa Spasa would try to eat me if she was here."

Humor was a great way to deal with the horror he was enduring at the moment. Jax's armor was steaming, the right shoulder pad was burnt to the point where it was falling apart. Taking his prosthetic arm, Jax hastily ripped the pad as well as the right half of his armor off. The Jedi Master looked up to see that the Sith Lord though thrown a couple of feet still stood his ground unaffected by the blast and now he was floating up in the air as though he was flying. "Damn it." Jax immediately got up activating his Lightsaber in the process.

"Dark Side in my nature?!" Jax yelled back. "You're telling something I already knew! Light and dark exists in all of us! It's in our nature, the balance of the Force!"

It was the only argument he was willing to counter the first statement though, sent shivers down his spine. What did he mean by having a role to play? His mind was flooded with doubt but he quickly dispelled it, he needed to focus on the Sith Lord. Just then, the man waved his hand and the shield surrounding the artifact dropped. Frowning, every instinct that of Jax told him to shut down the device immediately, however what was the catch? Something was off about this a small part of the Force screaming to Jax not to fall for it. "Remember Aveline," He muttered. "Search your feelings Jax."

Taking a deep breath, the Jedi Master held out his Lightsaber towards the Sith Lord looming over him. "Come on big guy!" Jax growled. "You think I'm going to fall for that chit! Who are you?! And what's your deal?!"




 
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Tags: Eina L'lerim-Vandiir Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Draco Miles Draco Miles | Percival Io Percival Io | Closed
Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Allies: BotM
Enemies: Everyone Else
Links: Weapons | Chosen
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Zachariel didn't consider his own actions sins, but knowledge that others considered them sins was loophole enough. Considering the truly staggering list of atrocities committed, there was much pain to be had. However, he could shrug off much of it for later, even as much of the intensity was weakened due to the loophole nature of it all. Still, no one would be envious of the pain he felt, nor would they wish to feel even a fraction of it. Pushing through it all, he focused on Eina once more.

Sneering beneath his helm, Zachariel promptly ignored what she said. She was Little Ingrid, no matter what she did or said. So many of her actions were the same things Ingrid would do, and as she was the younger version of her, she was little Ingrid. At least in Zachariel's mind, and no matter what she said, that wouldn't change easily. Then she advanced on him, calmly and collected. Thought process crashing to a halt at that, he was drawn back to a very similar scene with Ingrid, where she had done the same.

As he watched in mute surprise, Eina did the very same things Ingrid had done. And there was nothing Zachariel did to stop her, both too surprised to do anything, and interested on where this was going. She began to project tranquility to him, somewhat weakening him, but trying to calm him. Distantly in his mind, he snorted. Contrary to popular belief, Zachariel was calm on the inside, though there had to be blood flowing for that to happen. The outer projection of a simply, bloodthirsty brute was half true, half lie. For when blood flowed freely, he was free, and that brought him calm. This other calm though, it simply numbed him, even as he did nothing as she spoke.

Then she was showing him images of her own bloody battles, where she fought against countless demons in the pits of hell. This resonated with Zachariel, for he remembered his own battles against similar foes. Face slowly morphing into a grin, the warlord eventually rotated his neck, imitating the motion of cracking it. He barely heard her words about a different way, so lost in thought was he, merely hearing something about a different way. A light bulb clicked on in his mind then, even as his grin grew.

"That... looked like a delightful vacation." Chuckling low, Zachariel's skull helm shifted to look back at Eina, though he was never speaking to her. "I suppose the hypergates would be useful for that. ...... Yyyyeeeessss, they would be excellent for this."

After another moment of consideration, Zachariel finally nodded to himself before addressing Eina.
"No, you and Ingrid are similar. Every action, word spoken, and deed done, so, so very similar. You and I? We are somewhat, and perhaps one day you shall approach the same level of bloodshed I have, though I doubt it. You are far too weak willed for that."

Then his gaze shifted, looking about them, at all the bloodshed, death, and destruction present. Slowly, his grin became cruel once more, even as he looked at Eina again. He could tell her actions weren't seductive, but they had been practically the same as Ingrids, only different in intent. And just as her intent was different, so was Zachariel's. Without so much as a second thought, he shifted his blaster pistol and fired from the hip. Firing several times in quick suggestion, the man leered forward. And regardless of the outcome, he still spoke, voice cruel and low.
"I. Don't. Care."


======================

The shots levied against the Chosen had rocked them, and though some were wounded, it was far from serious. As such, they had simply avoided the fire and returned the favor. However, Draco ran off before they could finish her off. This prompted curses from the Chosen, some of them aiming to follow her, while the rest turned to finish up with the Neutralizers. Those who decided to chase Draco set off at a light jog, weapons raised and ready for a trap.

As for the Chosen Draco closed in on, she had no such luck. Striking him to drive him off balance succeeded, but his other foots claws sunk into the ground to anchor him. Then, the man roared in fury as he spun towards Draco. Conveniently, this saved his arm, though left a gouge along his armors sole remaining pauldron. Pushing back from Draco to give himself some room, he glanced towards Percival, only to find the man missing. Growling, he focused fully on Draco.
"You just lost me a skull. Yours will take its place."

Then, with another roar, the Chosen leapt forward into battle, his singular sword slashing forward.


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WHERE EVEN THE LIGHT HAS GONE ASTRAY

DROMUND KAAS | JUNGLES | DARK FORCE TEMPLE PERIMETER
BEYOND THE EDGE OF THE UNIVERSE,
THERE'S A KIND OF REAL DARKNESS
WHERE EVEN THE LIGHT HAS GONE ASTRAY
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It seemed Battlemaster Nobel and Ishida’s attacks were putting the cloaked individual on the defensive. If they could keep it up, the Lord could be downed and they could continue with their mission.

He had her blade, and their deadly dance saw her footwork shimmy enough to act as a personal partition between himself and Valery’s deadly violet swords. Ishida shoved herself forward, lifting her blade trapped with his to be above her height and where she supposed his throat would be. The hilt of her katana forced itself with a jerk to that shadowy space, intent on forcing the air from him for Valery to optimize the precious second.

With fluid motions, Ishida maintained her execution – despite the nagging evil that nattered away at the edges of her mind. The shadows were heavy and dense around her shoulders and ears, plaguing the crispness of her usually battle-focused mind.

You know you cannot defeat me, it is only a matter of time before your defenses fail.

It was crushing. The words themselves she could have argued, were she a chattier breed, but the sentiment of doubt, defeat, failure were sewn so deeply between the syllables that Ishida felt her footing falter, drawing her sword back closer to her so she might gather herself. Temporarily, her gaze grew distant, plagued with foresight that was untrue to the future.

Dark thoughts, seedlings of doubt bore down on her mind, spreading throughout and seeking fertile ground where they might take root.

The soil of her mind was packed tightly with her upbringing however, the foundation was so firm that even some of the Jedi code could not fully penetrate the heir’s mentality. She squeezed her eyes shut, stumbling before she dropped to her knees for precious seconds of introspective solace while the rottenness of the Lord’s insidious words saturated her mind.

Death is destiny. Do not trouble yourself with the past, do not worry for the future. Live in the present lest you squander the temporary.

She drew in a sharp breath, drawing her senses back to the damp present as a rich loaminess filled her senses. The coppery smell of her own blood on her shoulder. The vague ache at the nape of her neck from the weight of darkness. The heavy sound of breaths from foe and friend. The light radiating from Master Nobel. The light.

Grunting out an exhale, Ishida tightened her body back to the current, allowing the natural attachment of Ashla to imbue her once more. Even if she could just be a little light in all this darkness, that wouldn’t be a failure. She couldn’t let Valery down, to be alone, to be a burden.

A matter of time was something she could still defy.

On the ground, her hand pressed firmly against the grass. The physical sensation drew her back once again to the now. Her fist clenched at first, kneading the dirt. It was ancient, and dark too. It needed to be cleansed as much as the site behind them, but it was still connected to The Force. Even if it burned. 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.




ALLIES | GA | AC | ENC | Valery Noble Valery Noble
PROXIMITY: Traden Avarice | Heinrich Faust Heinrich Faust | Vulcan Krayt Vulcan Krayt
FOES | SITH | BOTM | Darth Kentarch Darth Kentarch
PROXIMITY: Orlov Ansonnir | Taeli Raaf Taeli Raaf | Darth Maestus

 
Lady Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
The First and the Light of Ashla

Heiress and Princess of the Eternal Empire and Terraris; Angelic Mascot and Representative of the Ashlan Crusade
Eternal Empire's Ambassador to the Ashlan Crusade; Matriarch of the Valkyrja; Leader of Sanctuary and the Fjölkyngi Smiđr Guild
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Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Objective I.: Save the Children
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (swords) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m || Current appearance
Writing With: Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood | Closed
Allies: AC/EE/NIO/GA/Enclave | Heinrich Faust Heinrich Faust | Isla Draellix-Kobitana Isla Draellix-Kobitana | Draco Miles Draco Miles | The Fool The Fool | Percival Io Percival Io
Enemies: BotM | Open
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[ War Music ]
<"High Nelvaanian"> | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

Eina had no idea that her mother had done the same to Zachariel on the planet Thule. It was at this time that her mother successfully persuaded the man to stand by her side and they became allies there. The Valkyrja did not even know that the man and the woman knew each other. The fact that Zachariel mentioned Lady Ingrid to the girl was tantamount to her, he is knowing who the Empress was. She knew her mother had darker deals, but she never thought the two of them would know each other. And it wouldn't have occurred to her that they might be lovers.

Yet that was the reality; And Eina's action was… well, the Valkyrja was always direct. It has been misunderstood many times throughout her life that she is trying to seduce anyone, but it wasn't true, she was only kind and direct. Until she met Gei, she wasn't even attracted to anyone, to him it was also only spiritually attracted at first, but she didn't know that, and she had to learn physical attraction and desire or lust from her beloved crusader. These were unknown to her for a long time. After all, as a Force entity, she was basically neutral, just with a female identity, precisely because of Ingrid, because she inherited more from her personality than from her father.

Eina only felt that the man had not denied the help she had given her; it is true that he did not allow it yet. So, she hoped Ashla would show the way for the man, too. No, she really didn’t want him to join the Light Side, just to be better and repent of his sins. She wanted to see that the man could change. But she was wrong, and it filled her with great sorrow. When she felt the hatred and anger in the man again, she pulled her hand away from the helmet and watched the other one quietly in the pouring rain.

However, the time for speaking seemed to be over. Although she could not see the man's grin because of the helmet, Eina felt the cruelty and intent to attack through the Force. Although it didn't require Force, the woman had enough war experience. The Valkyrja also saw the movement. By the time Zach shot Eina, the woman had already bounced off the ground and flew into the air, then flown to avoid the shots. She could do two things. She knew how to kill a gen'dai. The brain had to be destroyed, damaged for that. The other solution was to send him to learn.

A place in the Netherworld where no one and nothing lives, is at most creatures like the Maw's Avatars. But in any case, the woman was stronger at home than here. There may be more chances there to defeat him. She began to concentrate on creating a rift behind Zachariel, right into the barren area of the Netherworld. When the rift opened, the woman spoke.

"Anyway, you ended the devastation here today." she said.

Since Eina probably, it means, could certainly exert more strength than Draco did, or her spear, so she reached into the Force, then tried to lift Zachariel into the air and throw him across the rift. She had lifted bigger rocks or vehicles before, hoping she would be able to do the same with the man too. And if she succeeds, she'll fly over the rift too, which will close behind them soon after…

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Post: 5
Objective: click click BOOM!
Location: Kaas City, Histroical District
Equipment: Orange Lightsaber (Fire) | Blue Lightsaber (ICE) | x8 throwing daggers | Poison Dagger | x5 thermal detonators | x8 Smoke Grenades | Brown MidNight Duster with Hood
Allies: The Mongrel The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Rowena | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood | Erion Justeene Erion Justeene
Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Pietro Demici Pietro Demici | Baron Reinhardt Ström Baron Reinhardt Ström
Special Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Annor E-059


'Good, now try t'keep up.... AGAIN!!!!


The pace quickened as the Blade stuck to arm finding out what he was dealing with. Back and forth the two went Erskine keeping pace with Blade accelerating speed in flurry. Blade became nearly a blur moving with force aiding him, he could up the pace for a long while given his training. Blade used every move at his disposal from leg sweeps to upper cuts when there were openings. Blade fighting style was brutal and fast and it didn't let up once it got going. Normally it consisted of using twin sabers but in this case, it was one saber and knuckleduster. It hardly mattered as Blade had master so many weapons in his lifetime he could practically pick up anything and kill a man with it.


'Fuckin' quick, man-'



"I'm going easy on you at the moment." Blade smirked in reply not letting up as he did so. His style fast, brutal and dirty Blade learned long ago fighting with some kind of honor or code was pointless. You used anything and everything to gain the upper hand, and nothing was off limits or cheap. Not even kicking dirt in the face of your enemy or punching them right in the groin. He cared little how it got to the end result so long as his opponent was on the ground.


'Oh, I see.... Beskar, of course. But wrought by Mandalorians? No - Sabretooth-QMs. Primitive stuff, hence why there's nothing infused.'


Blade just nodded as he kept up the pace. He knew what was there. so now he knew ways to eliminate it as a possible defense if he had to.


'Against metal plate or trooper-armour, useless. Much better for smashing bones, tendons and flesh instead.... Old-school, but I figured we'd both accord in our appreciation for that sort o' stuff. You can keep yours if ye killed for 'em, if not - keep 'em anyway. Good knucks, y'know?'


"I'm no Jedi I don't intend to let you or any of your men who get in my way live." Blade retorted that was when Erskine managed to get a bit of distance between them, the pulling away at first confused Blade. They were going at each other so hard and fast no doubt at this point both men had felt bruises forming. He had misjudged The General as Blade pushed forward trying not to lose momentum.


'Best hold onto something if you want to keep this fight going.' Blade heard the words as he pushed on but ignored them until he saw the trigger in the man's hands. Confusion only briefly hit those orange orbs before Blade saw the play before him. In a way it was a master stroke draw the enemy in play the suicide car take as many out with you as you could. It was one of the very first things Blade himself had learned as sith, take it all to hell with you mentality. If you were going to die or lose burn it all to the fucking ground. Erskine would make a descent sith if he wasn't hell bent on killing them all and erasing their existence.


'Without Chaos and Order locked in with each other, neither is seeing their full potential.... Watch this, Ice. When the smoke clears on this world - I want you watching for the Galaxy's reaction to this!'


The General beg for an audience to his master stroke and that is where him and Blade truly differed. Both season veterans of war. Both striving for their version of Galaxy to be realized. Both having seen heroes rise and fall, seen the atrocities of war, and both seen great rulers fall. Yet Blade did not seek an audience for what he did, he had largely been forgotten by the Galaxy and sith at large. He was fine with no one speaking of his legacy or remembering it. Remembering all the times he had single handedly handed past sith empires their final notice. For all the Rebel had did, how he would fearlessly march into Jedi territories just to star bar fights at their local cantina's. The time he had challenged the whole sith council to Kaggath to which they refused. Blade had let his Legacy die and Erskine wanted the whole Galaxy to react to what he felt were war crimes.


Blade stopped in his tracks in that moment and shut off his light saber as the general popped the trigger with a maniacal laugh. In that split second Blade didn't say anything he didn't have to he just let a wide grin cross his face. The smile was defiant and cocky as the ground began to shake and beneath his feat. The ground began to crumble beneath his feet and the body began tumble and fall getting slammed but rock, duracreate, and other debris as the historical district began sink into one gigantic hole in the ground.


The body feel into lump buried beneath what once was streets and buildings. The body breathed heavy the only signs of life as it laid there in lump. It didn't twitch or move only safe from ultimate annihilation by being buried alive under what once was Kaas Cities famed district. So much history buried and destroyed in one move. Pure madness as the General had taken his own men with him to this cratered grave. Men who had trusted him with their lives, the only thing that would come from this was a marred legacy for the General Barren among his peers in the imperial order he served that was if he even survived this.
 
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Location: Dromund Kaas, above Kaas City
Allies: Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr
Foes: Baron Reinhardt Ström Baron Reinhardt Ström

  • The Mongrel orders Mercy to hold out rather than focus on information
  • The Scar Hounds realize their forces are outnumbered and hard-countered
    • They begin to withdraw
    • They cover their withdrawal by setting the jungles ablaze with chemical fire
  • The Mongrel thinks about trying to take out Ström in a final blaze of glory
  • Instead, he decides to help Mercy escape and defeat her attackers


An unexpected jolt of emotion crossed The Mongrel's mind as Mercy cried out in pain. It was an emotion he had not felt in a long, long time: genuine concern for another. For those among the ranks of the Brotherhood, particularly those in high positions such as his, all other beings fell into one of three categories: outright enemies, rivals for rank and power, and tools, freely used and freely discarded. He had felt worry at the potential loss of a tool before, but only because it would affect him and his position in the grand scheme of war.

His worry for Mercy was something more.

There was nothing he could do for her, of course; since he had circled around the Eternal Empire forces, coming at them from the north rather than from the direction of Kaas City, he had an entire army between him and her. For any other agent or servant of his, that would have been the end of it; he would have dismissed them from his mind, knowing that they would survive if they were worthy... and that he could replace them, or compensate for their loss, if they were not. But his concern for Mercy had nothing to do with her battlefield worth.

These strange emotions, not entirely new but so long buried they might as well have been, were becoming a dangerous distraction. Even as he knew he could not help Mercy, and that any attempt to do so would utterly compromise his carefully-constructed attack and cause him to lose countless troops over a single life, he could not dismiss her from his mind. Grand visions of turning his Gore Wasp and flying down into the city to aid her played across his damaged brain, and only by force of will did he endure them without carrying them out.

For the moment, anyway.

"Never mind the information," the warlord told his agent. "You have done well enough already. Focus on your enemies. Destroy them, and keep yourself safe." It was not an order he would have given anyone else. His judgement was deeply compromised when it came to Mercy, and he knew it, but he could not bring himself to change it. "You are... too valuable to lose." Valuable to ME, his mind screamed, even beyond your value to the Maw. But he could not bring himself to put that into words. It would make him look soft. Weak.

He could not afford that. Not in the Brotherhood.

Nor could he afford to be further distracted. It was rapidly becoming apparent that the Eternal Empire force The Mongrel had chosen to attack was much, much larger than he had first estimated. Though the initial EE defenses appeared to have been largely anti-infantry, it seemed that the defenders also had plenty of anti-vehicle defenses prepared, with large tank groups that had not been previously detected suddenly joining the battle. The War Skiffs, maneuverability constrained by the forest, would not be able to match them.

Given the huge forces continuously emerging from the jungle, a hard counter to anything the Scar Hounds threw at the forces on the hill suddenly materializing from between the trees, it was clear that this battle had been lost before it had begun. There was no hope of cracking such a durasteel-hard line when the foe had an answer to infantry, light vehicles, and heavy vehicles dug into the rough terrain. And all that was at the same time that another large Eternal Empire force was pushing into northern Kaas City.

The Mawites, by the warlord's estimate, had to be outnumbered at least five to one. Only holovid heroes liked those odds, not real soldiers. A good commander could admit when he had made a mistake; rather than dwelling on the failure, he must then make the best possible tactical decision to preserve what remains of his forces. As The Mongrel watched explosions ripple across his mechanized force, so tiny compared to the massive enemy army that had deployed so far from its home, he knew he must find a way to withdraw.

Martyrdom was one thing. Wastefulness was another.

But how could a fighting withdrawal be achieved when their landers had been destroyed? Falling back into the most intensive artillery barrage zone would be pointless and destructive, given that there was no escape to reach there. They would have to use the rough and shadowed jungles to their advantage... while making those same jungles work against their potential pursuers. "Break off the attack," The Mongrel ordered. He did not bother to explain that breaking the enemy line was hopeless; that much was self-evident.

"MetaCannon crews, load your mega-incendiaries." Aboard the War Skiffs, well-trained loader crews wrestled the huge guns into ammo swap positions. MetaCannons used different barrels for different shells, and swapping them out was a difficult process for the uninitiated, but the Mawite crews had drilled extensively with the weapons and were highly practiced at mid-combat swaps. The main guns fell silent while they worked, though the deck guns kept up steady covering fire. Men and women scrambled, lifting, heaving.

Two of the skiffs went down while the vehicles wheeled away from the hillside and began the swap, their armored hulls breached by massed tank fire and the guns of the trenches. Their titanic bulk smashed into the craggy hillside as their repulsorlifts failed, and they tumbled over and over down the hill, smashing ancient trees to splinters beneath their careening metal hulls, drooling blazing oil in their wake. The walkers, too, began to turn and retreat, the few surviving hounds massing around them as they sprinted back into the jungle.

The withdrawal began, forces moving west.

The Mongrel's final order would give them the cover they needed, or so he hoped. "Target Pattern Sabazios," he instructed the gun crews of the War Skiffs, who quickly wheeled the colossal guns so that they faced behind them, back at the Eternal Empire forces. "Fire at will!" At that last command, the MetaCannons shrieked... and new shells began to fall. They did not target the EE troops or tanks; instead, they targeted the densest concentrations of jungle flora. And where the shells fell, they erupted... for they were flame carpet warheads.

The rainy jungles of Droumund Kaas were too wet for ordinary flames to burn for long; mere heat was quickly extinguished by thick, damp tree trunks and sap-filled vines. But flame carpet warheads were more than just heating elements. The thick, viscous goop inside them was adhesive, sticking to everything - leaves, bark, rocks, metal, skin - and then burning white-hot. And each shell contained enough to splatter across several square kilometers. There was no way the Maw could take the hill from the Eternal Empire forces...

... but they could make the hill a very nasty place to be.

Shells touched down over and over as the MetaCannons roared. They didn't have to be precisely targeted. It didn't matter if they hit actual enemy positions. In the dense jungle, once the fires started - raging chemical fires that water would do nothing to put out - they would grow and spread into a raging inferno. The searing heat, the choking smoke, the burning adhesive goop splattering across everything... suddenly those trenches and bunkers would seem less like refuges and more like tombs as even duracrete threatened to melt.

It was the only solution left to the Scar Hounds. They had been unable to reach the artillery, forcing them to withdraw, and their only hope to escape without that artillery shredding them along the way was to force the artillery to change position or be consumed. Perhaps the hilltop itself, cleared to make room for the Eternal Empire camp, would not burn... but all the countless defensive lines in the jungles beneath were under threat. The Maw was not gracious in defeat, and its rage-filled parting gifts were horrific things indeed.

With his forces making their fighting retreat, The Mongrel himself had a decision to make. His hope of dealing the Eternal Empire a military punch early on had been utterly dashed... or had it? As his nimble Gore Wasp expertly threaded between the incoming rocket fire, its buzzing wings taking it through steep dives and twisting evasions that would have shaken off a rider without his powerful cybernetic grip, he pondered the question. He had come here to confront their general, the Baron so highly ranked among the Empire's military.

Perhaps he still could, if he dared.

It was likely to be a one-way trip. He would be going in alone, and he had already seen the legion of soldiers, specialists, and bodyguards accompanying his foe. If he succeeded in killing the enemy commander, it would be a worthy death. If he failed, it would be an utter waste. But he was tired, tired of being this monstrous machine. He had been ready for years now to enter paradise, to be lifted up to the Galaxy To Come and receive his reward by the hand of the Three Avatars. Without his organic body, the galaxy held no pleasures for him.

That made him think of Mercy... and again he felt that odd protectiveness, that desire to keep her safe and make her his. It was a doomed desire, the last organic longing of his ravaged form. And yet he could not turn away from it. He could rationalize it, could tell himself that trying to save her was nothing more than an extension of the withdrawal he'd ordered for his other troops, preserving what strength he could after being repulsed from the hill. But in his cold, mechanical heart he knew the truth: she was more to him than any of them.

So he turned his wasp away from Ström's command tent. The Mongrel did not choose a blaze of glory that day, chose instead to let the martyrdom he yearned for wait a little longer... favored a different desire. The gore wasp and its rider streaked down toward the city, toward the building from which Mercy had been feeding him information. "Hold them back, Mercy," he ordered... or pleaded. "I am coming." The warlord bent low against the giant bug's chitinous neck, urging it to greater speed as it streaked through the skies.

Beneath him, the darkened jungles burned.
 
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FIRST TODHUSARS REGIMENT

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
FIRST ANAXSI FREE BRIGADE


ALLIES | NIO | TE | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Nukth Kelga'an | Annor E-059 | Hoken Stryte Hoken Stryte | The Fool The Fool | Don Belkora Don Belkora | Stone Gra'tua Stone Gra'tua | Siv Dragr Siv Dragr | Mira Athrani Mira Athrani | Morrow | Djorn Bline | Thonn Rokkal | Julian Qar Julian Qar | Vulcan Krayt Vulcan Krayt | Asa Yubari | Kranak Vizsla |​
ENEMIES | TSE | BotM | GA | NJO | EE | AC | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Rowena | Percival Io Percival Io | The Mongrel The Mongrel | Erion Justeene Erion Justeene | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood | Heinrich Faust Heinrich Faust | Pietro Demici Pietro Demici | Eina L'lerim-Vandiir Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Lyrrin | Baron Reinhardt Ström Baron Reinhardt Ström | Kalie Alverez | Blade Ice Blade Ice | Aerarii Tithe | The Mongrel The Mongrel | Jax Thio Jax Thio | Ingrid L'lerim Ingrid L'lerim | Madelyn Lowe | Saul Colsan | Draco Miles Draco Miles | Iris Arani Iris Arani |


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Jerec groaned as he came back to conciousness. Every spot of his body were aching horrendously, the nerves burnt by the amount of information transmitted.

He didn't understand what had happened as the General had disappeared from his sight. A rain of rocks, the floor exploding under him… a massive explosion.

He had been hit, and well, half-buried under parts of bodies disemboweled by the blast, under rubble and debris of all sorts. He tentatively opened his eyes, only to see he was almost blind. His HUD felt dizzy, sparked, and refused to work. He could only understand a lung was pierced and he was bleeding from the femoral veins, and his squad was wiped out.

The situation seemed desperate. He couldn't process why "Odile" was important to him, but he doubted that man could have survived too. No one was alive around him. No one would get him.

"Medic!", he moaned painfully, trying to understand why he wasn't even surrendering to death's embrace.

From what he could see — or not see, in this case, the war was going to be over at last. The TodHusars were seemingly killed to the last, and he would follow soon. Soon, he would rest.
 
Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw
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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 The Mongrel | Open
Allies: BotM/NIO | Rowena | Open
Enemies: AC/EE/GA/Enclave | Baron Reinhardt Ström Baron Reinhardt Ström
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[ New Order ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>


During the migraine that broke into me while I was kneeling on the ground, I had to take off my helmet. I felt like I wasn’t getting air and that the subsistence system couldn’t handle it. I gasped heavily, feeling the sweat running down my face and back at the same time, and at the same time shivering from the cold.

Knocking and thudding.

The knocking, the helmet was on the metallic floor, the other sound I was as I fell to the ground in pain. The dripping sound, due to the migraine, was much sharper than I thought. My blood, not only my nose was bleeding, but blood was also dripping from my ear, even though my eardrum was not torn. I held my head with my hand and crouched on the ground in a foetal position. I screamed; I think not only out loud, but in my mind as well.

I didn’t feel the pressure, the pain eased. I was still terrible; the room was spinning with me. That's when I heard his voice. Like the purest sound in the universe. I don't know how much time may have passed. The command got to my mind slowly, which wasn’t really a command at all. Save myself? More than once, he sent me into certain death and gave me a task that most would have died in. Keep myself safe? If I can’t beat these, I’ll be with the Avatars in a few minutes.

I knew the customs of Maw very well. If I don't get out, I'm dead. At that moment, the whole building was shaken. MANIAC immediately provided the data. The middle building exploded, according to the data, there were NIO soldiers. I tried to get up, I succeeded. If my head hadn’t throbbed, I would have grinned and laughed.

"You are... too valuable to lose."

Was there almost worry in his mechanic's voice? I went to the terminals with great difficulty. The enemy was already nearby.

<< Are you worried about me, warlord? >> I asked, my tone struck the flirting, even though it was full of pain and even in the thought message I heard that I'm gasping because of the pain.

Destroy them; in any other situation it would have gone easily. There was no further attack, it was good for now, although I was worried about it. What if they're preparing for a bigger attack? I sent the saved data to Maw headquarters and then shot it into the planes, hoping it would be completely destroyed. It was time to get out of here and kill my opponents.

I activated the cloaking device and headed out. Despite the pain, I tried to move fast. I knew where they were, but I couldn’t avoid them. I was able to hurry along two hallways, followed by a hall. They were waiting for me there. I had no illusions, but I was hoping I would get through the hall. Failed. They attacked the moment I entered. The first attacks were mental, through telepathy. Respectively, EMP, my armour systems, and the cloaking device turned off, my pistols discharged, leaving only the shotgun mode of my rifle. Fortunately, the biochip was not affected.

I stumbled; they spoke something; feth! I did not speak in High Nelvaanian. As soon as I thought about it, MANIAC immediately started translating. The two telepaths warned them to be careful, my scream hurting them. That sounded great, just... I don't know what I did or how! However, I seemed to be able to infuriate them enough because they didn’t just want to shoot me, but rather to have fun. They came against me with Bayonets. Maybe I had a little time for a shot or two or so. As the first two swung towards me I picked up the assault rifle and fired. Shotgun; my opponent's head exploded like a melon.

The next one arrived, I hit him in the face and helmet with the grip of the rifle, then I shot him when he was two or three steps away from me. I hit the middle of his chest. I didn’t have any more shots; I didn’t even have time to change the ammunition anymore. There were still ten. Eight were taken in a "circle," meaning a semicircle, the remaining two, the two telepaths remaining in the background. I should take care of them first, to kill them. I snarled. I didn’t know how good warriors were, but it will turn out in the next few moments.

I have to stay alive by order, and I don’t usually break his orders. I was loyal to him, to my warlord. I can't let him down now either. The next moment, hell broke loose as soon as the dance began…

The next moment, my head throbbed with pain as my whole body ached. Based on MANIAC data, I bleed from countless wounds. I lay on the ground; the little hall was soaked in blood. Soldiers and telepaths are also lying on the ground. Three others were still moving, three of a dozen people alive. Everything hurt, I was weak, blood was still flowing from my nose, as were from countless other wounds. What have I done? Pictures flashed through my mind as I began to remember the events of the last few minutes…

They attacked me, I felt the bite of the ice-cold steel as those penetrated my armour over and over again and bit my flesh. The mental attack that those two made. I managed to cut my throat for two, I stabbed one in the heart with my knife, but the overpower won. They were talking about something that MANIAC had translated. My scream was really a problem. While I defended myself another mental attack happened.

"Hold them back, Mercy," he ordered... or pleaded. "I am coming."

I heard Mongrel's voice sharply and painfully again. He is coming for me? Was his voice a plea, or was I just imagining it at that moment? No; he would never do that, he was the warlord. For a moment, though, I believed, I wanted to believe he would. A nice promise at the last minute. I think... I think I deserve this promise. even it was a lie.

<< Prince charming on an ugly bug? I would be happy to see this, but we both know it will never happen… I'm nothing more than your expendable asset, your slave. >> I asked in pain, in a barely audible voice. << I'm just sorry you didn’t choose an HRD as a physical body for yourself… >> in addition to the pain, there was a longing and a little lust in my voice as I remembered for a moment the kiss on board the Triumph that I had given to the "brain-tank" and what I had told him.

The rest took advantage of this, again with stabs and cuts, I was bleeding heavily. One got behind me, the other two caught me. The daggers fell to the ground from my hands. I shouted, I struggled, one of them put their hand on my mouth, a stab in my back; I felt the pain again as the stab hit my kidney or around it. Another attack on my mind. I screamed. Not out loud, in my mind. Everyone staggered in the room, who kept me, letting me go, screaming as they squeezed their heads.

After that, I screamed too; even loudly and then I felt a solid blow to my nape…

And the present, long minutes have passed since the message. If it was true and he comes, the warlord should be here soon. Nine dead, not so bad, I think I'll be proud of myself. I tried to move, but I couldn't. One of the soldiers fell to the ground, ten dead. I grinned despite the pain. I saw vaguely, but the others were lying in blood, their faces bloody, blood flowing from their eyes, noses, mouths, and ears. I think the telepathic scream is not the most pleasant. However, one of the survivors grabbed my hair and pulled me up while grabbing my hair. I groaned in pain.

He forced me to my knees and caught me from behind, then pulled up. He held me under my two armpits so as not to fall to the ground. I couldn’t hold my head; the next moment a blow came from the front, the other standing in front of me. His eyes, nose and ears were bleeding too. He cursed me, calling me a monster for what I did. I grinned, he grabbed my hair and lifted my head. When he saw my sick grin, he hit me again and again. I spat blood on the ground.

I think I lost consciousness again for a few moments. I only vaguely saw what was in front of me. He had the dagger he nailed to my throat. I couldn’t move either, the other was holding me too hard and I didn’t have the strength from the blood loss.

<< I'm sorry, I failed you, I wanted to be more… but… it was a pleasure, warlord... Mongrel. >> the last message.

The cold steel reached my neck and cut into my skin…

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Historical District, Kaas City,
Dromund Kaas (870 ABY)


'Barran, you madman!', Captain Shazzeke chuckled as he pulled himself free of a rubble-pile, dragging his rifle out of it moments later as others began to spring up out of the ground and the rubble around him. Some were as amused as the Mirialan was, but others weren't quite so optimistic or well-humoured about the Woad's explosive change in pace. Fortunately for Nazke, young Branko understood, heard booming his chesty, hoarse laughter somewhere behind him. To have a worthy Mantellian keeping it all together in such moments would always bring the Mirialan menace back from any and all uncertainty in the field, especially due to the fact that Csaus had left it's mark on the Captain, remembering the hulking giant he killed in battle (and his words of wisdom, faith and calmness in his last moments) had been persistent in Nazke's mind of late, even in the fight for the pre-detonation Historical District.

And all it took to give him perspective was a rigged chain-reaction run of detonations beneath the district's surface.

'MASSOUD IS WATCHING!!!! I KNOW HE IS!!!! Honestly, the old man's faith is a potent thing - but in the strangest of ways, sir!'

Marić, don't change. Ever.

Turning round to see where Marić was standing, Shazzeke chuckled with ears still ringing from the mild concussion he was given in the fall's multiple knocks to his helmet, dented heavily but still wearable without any worries of slow asphyxiation or skull-surface discomfort.

'LIEUTENANT!!!! BEHIND YOU!!!!'

But there was an element of the unexpected that neither the Mantellian nor the Mirialan had bothered to consider in their elation, the fact that it wasn't just Imperials falling with the district they were bloodying before, and the glaring reality that the Mawsworn had been falling through the ground with them. Standing behind the 1st-Lieutenant were two raiders, but fortunately for Shazzeke, (fitting in well with all the random, freakish luck they'd enjoyed until that point) had cat-like reactiveness, snatching and sending the stock of his service-rifle into the jaw of the Mawite just off to his right and sliding down the mound he had fallen into. When he reached the bottom, the Lieutenant once again displayed his skill in quick reflex-like reactions by pivoting on his backside and firing a three-round burst into the chest and face of the first assailant, then kicking out like he was stomping on the mound by bending his knees and using his heels to push out across the bed of gravel, spraying twice in burst fire to rip through the arm, chest and the back of the second assailants head as Shazzeke's first single-shots started tearing into the same assailant's back.

*'Jebeni pakao!'
**"Fucking hell!"

'Alright.... ALL UNITS, ON ME!!!!', Nazke roared in earnest, knowing that the greatest challenge of the battle was still to be endeavoured by then. Then, looking over to Marić, seeing him roll over onto his stomach to rise to a kneeling position, Shazzeke exclaimed,'Come on, Branko! On your feet!', at a somewhat quieter volume than his rallying cry, to which a sluggish standing position was attained in response. The Mirialan couldn't help but snigger under his breath in baring witness to the strained, aching Mantellian as he briefly took a moment to stretch his back, left arm and to force a chiropractic click in the right-hand side of his neck to alleviate the pain slightly, something that appeared quite humorous to some of the first Sabretooth-troopers to arrive also. Yet the others gathering on their position would look kindly on the Lieutenant, seeing what Brank was going through as much as feeling every part as much for themselves, something that would turn into fights on base when they got back, but this was expected in law-doctrine that dictated the troopers should have it out with each other this way - legalised brawls in the effort for brutes to seek solidarity.

'Troopers aren't supposed to move like this, Nazke! Just - ah, fuck- just a moment, please!'

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THE LAST DANCE: BARRAN'S FAREWELL TO THE SITH EMPIRE - PART 13
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Historical District, Kaas City,
Dromund Kaas (870 ABY)


'I'm no Jedi, I don't intend to let you or any of your men who get in my way live.'

The last words he could recall Lucid speaking in his stupor, words carrying an intent that far outweighed that of the foes in the wars of the Stormchaser's recent and distant past, one such that mirrored the ill-intent of Clan Campbell in the later centuries of the Goidelic clan wars. However, when Lord Erskine awoke to find that Ice had risen before him, the urgency almost functioned as a rousing slap from unconsciousness, shaking him awake in mind, body and soul as Barran wiped the blood from his lip, nose and eyebrow in the moments he was rising to his feet. The Darth would remain unmoving though, seeing that there was still more fight left in the Laird, though remaining studious as to what sort of mettle burned within the Woads as their Chieftain drew his claymore once more and growled,'That, in case you didn't realise, was IMPAF's personal declaration of war on our former-allies - a statement of intent that my son could only dream of.... Seeing this? All this death and destruction? THE IMPERIUM WANTS NOUGHT BUT THIS FOR ALL WHO STAND IN OUR WAY NOW!!!!', with the smirk returning proudly to his face in the process.

'FUCKIN' - GLORIOUS, MAN!!!! But enough o' that, I want to have some more fun.... AGAIN!!!!'

This time there would be no feeling-out process, no pulling their strikes, no slowing down, no holding back in any way, shape or form; not even in the way they approached each other, practically sprinting towards each other from their new starting points, and dipping their centers of gravity forward to increase the impetus of their attacks and the aggressiveness of their techniques. Lightsabre and Vibrosword would reverberate on contact constantly, creating quite the echoing racket for all the survivors in the distance as they fought on without a single care to be seen, all that Ice and Barran needed was this fight in their lives for the moment; except the Woad still had work to do, playing pieces to throw in for the operation's latter stages - and old Erskine was still young enough at heart to enjoy his wee games for as long as time permitted.

<"Barran to Wardog Actual! Considering your words from earlier, an' you can chide me as much as ye want later - I deserve as much - but what we need now is-">

A very close-reaching slash towards his face barely missed as Lord Erskine's head-movement training pulled through for him at the last, most vital instant, forcing the Woad to backpedal and answer with a close-reaching slash of his own, only it was aimed more towards the temple and the area at the Darth's lower-left parietal. The fight was considerably more difficult for Erskine by then, as the difference in speed and strength between the powerless and the Force-user was more visible for both of them in the moments Erskine was trying to communicate with the Mandalorians, much like it would be in the event the Lord-General contacted the conventional-warfare elements under his own command. Yet still, the Goidel soldiered on and attempted to multitask in what was shaping up to be quite a dangerous encounter, chuckling in the moments before he drawled,'Sorry, perks of the job an' aw that.... Just don't be stopping on my account though, waste o' time by this point.', with a distinct lack of urgency in his tone towards Ice as their weapons clashed again.

<"Sorry about that, Krayt. Got a wee scrap on the go here, but the aim of the game is to swarm the crater and SLAUGHTER EVERY RAIDER YOU FIND!!!! Unleash the fury your bloodline gifted you.... SHOW THEM WHAT IT REALLY MEANS TO FIGHT LIKE A MANDALORIAN!!!!">

'Much better- oooh! Ya cheeky fucker ye!', Erskine continued, almost animatedly jumping back twice from deft attempts to stab through his hip and his knee from a complex elevated angle, seeming like the only real smart move was to evade and reengage accordingly. The man he was fighting was proving his unnatural experience and insight, and in that moment, the Laird realised he was fighting an entity much older than himself, one who had fought for much longer in the grand scale of the Galaxy's timeline. However, instead of feeling unnerved by it, the Stormchaser seemed to find himself quite entertained, like he subconsciously felt he needed this fight to better himself,"For only the greatest become that way by fighting the greatest - one only becomes stronger against stronger opposition than one's self, human nature.", a maxim the Thrasts swore by, even in recent generations.
 
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Objective I: Found a fight, prepare for it.
Location: New Kaas City, Dromund Kaas
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Allies: BOTM, NIO
Enemies: AC/EE/GA/Enclave
Tag: Open | Stone Gra'tua Stone Gra'tua

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There are two options open to Superious, one involves another fight. That is not possible in his condition, he can't hold the inevitable hordes of Mandalorians heading into the city, yeah he can blast them with Lightning, but they might have Crushgaunts on them and that will end everything as he can't afford to not retain use of at least one of his hands. This may allow for another option which involves heading to the temple, no there are bound to be hostiles just waiting for Sith to attempt to reach the hallowed ground.

He had to be practical and selfish, the trouble is, he was heading that way before being intercepted, as far as the day had gone, he regrets nothing about the duel or even facing Stone. Who in his eyes proved to be a worthy opponent. So much so that he's not holding onto the head at this very moment. There was a third option that is only done when there are no other choices that would be viable at this point.

Leave, head away from the planet and recuperate and heal, even while he is standing still, the burns stung blindingly angry at the water from the downpour, raw flesh oozing as the burns were doused, his arm in agony and him, himself suddenly not wishing to run in with anyone else today. There is no logic to it, he still has life to live, things to do, other battles to fight.

So he turned back towards where he came from, but actively avoiding the exact route back, he knows there will be hostiles there, so he took a narrow street back, keeping out of sight, dulling his presence as not to make him a living lighthouse of Darkside Energy. He escaped a few near misses as he hid behind buildings and kept to the shadows.

Superious reached the outskirts, now glad to escape. His fighter was where he left it and it remained undamaged from the chaos around it. The third option was the best one to pick considering how much of a hammering he took during the duel. He will not be much use in his current state.

Lifting into the air above the city, he headed spacewards and away from Dromund Kass, he's going to get his wrist looked at and healed as soon as he possibly can. Hopefully, the nerves aren't permanently damaged.

Special thanks to Stone Gra'tua Stone Gra'tua for being a fantastic duel partner! You were fantastic!
 
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Tags: Eina L'lerim-Vandiir Eina L'lerim-Vandiir | Draco Miles Draco Miles | Percival Io Percival Io | Closed
Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Allies: BotM
Enemies: Everyone Else
Links: Weapons | Chosen
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Were Eina to ever look into the matter, she would see that Ingrid and Zachariel had fought several times. Whether the reports were official and in the open or not, that was a different matter, but no doubt they existed. Of course there were no reports of flirting, or of the pair perhaps being lovers, but it was clear they had met and they had fought. How well they knew one another though, that was up in the air to an outside observer, though perhaps Eina would discover the depths in time.

For now though, she was treated to the warlord that was Zachariel Steelblood, not the intimate version Ingrid had coaxed out of him. Indeed, though she emulated many of Ingrid's actions, Zachariel both knew and was grateful that her actions weren't flirtatious. At the same time, he saw that Eina was disappointed, perhaps saddened even that she couldn't 'help' him. It simply brought him amusement, even as his bloodlust returned. It seemed she sensed this, as she moved before he could properly attack.

Blaster pistol aimed and firing, it was for naught as Eina flew up and away. Firing uselessly after her, Zachariel's fire stopped soon after, even as he snarled in annoyance. Holstering his pistol as he realized its uselessness, Zachariel drew his axe once more. Staring at Eina, he prepared himself for any attack. Focusing on Eina, Zachariel vaguely realized something was being created behind him. Shifting his stance, his own claw feet slammed home, even as his gaze never shifted. Though her next words made him pause, confused. Eventually he snorted, but said nothing. Let her believe what she would.

Her next actions elicited a laugh.. He was still a large and heavy mass, no easy feet to move. As such, he decided to taunt her.
"Keep trying."

And try she did, more and more power being put into it. Eventually her actions forced him to crouch, even as he continued to force himself down. Still she didn't give up. The pressure increased, and Zachariel lost any hope of fighting back in those moments with conventional means. Leaning forward, he speared his sword into the ground, adding more pressure to keep him steady. And yet, the very ground was beginning to crack beneath him, even as he held himself down. Growling, he glared at her, even as the ground beneath him loosened further. By then, he realized he couldn't escape, and yet still he fought.

"One day, your skull shall be mine."
Snarling those words out, he was finally dislodged. Flung backwards, chunks of ground were ripped free thanks to his claws. And as he was pushed towards the portal, his sword cut a deep gouge into the ground, before it too was torn free. Glaring with hate at Eina, Zachariel said no more as he was flung into hell.


======================​


Elsewhere, the Chosen had finally killed the last of the Neutralizers, ensuring that bloodshed had happened. Those that had chased after Draco and Percival were left to finish up their tasks, before they too reunited with the others. During this time though, they had noted their master was gone, as well as the foe he had faced. This disgruntled them somewhat, for they were there to protect him, and though they didn't doubt their lord lived, they were unsure of where he was.

Thankfully for them, there were protocols for this. Yes, the Maw in general was a disorganized mess, but the Bloodsworn were the equivalent of any military currently operating in the galaxy. They had rules and regulations, organization and tasks, the same as the rest. And being separated from their warlord simply meant they reunited. First, a call went out to all Bloodsworn assets present on the planet. They were to return to their ships, or find some other way off world. In orbit, they would return to their ship, and then return to Osseriton.

As these orders were passed out, trophies were taken from the dead, notes were made of fighting styles, and materials were collected for study. These materials ranged from the weapons, to the armor of their foes. They would adapt with what they had faced, ensuring their continued mastership of war. Once all this was concluded, the Chosen left the scene of battle, completely ignoring the orphanage the others had been defending. They hadn't come here to destroy any targets, they had come to kill their enemies. And as the Bloodsworn left Dromund Kaas, the carpet of bodies they left behind certainly attested to that fact.


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CLASH OF LIGHT AND SHADOW
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Tag: Darth Mori // Scyllias Aventor
Location: Dromund Kaas
Equipment:

Felix was glad for the help, his body and expression relaxing a little as this fight became a little easier, in theory so long as the two of them were able to work together. The appearance of their quarry however was an upstart to their ability to prepare. A lightsaber in her hand was not something that he expected, but remembering how fast she was capable of being... he would have to avoid that stinger of hers, there was no doubt in his mind that she would be particularly lethal with it.

Her not answering his plea was almost worse than her refusal, as though he were not even worthy of her contempt, but as she quoted the history books to the two of them, Felix could feel the power of the Dark Side welling up in the area they all stood in. He could feel the shadow, his senses spreading out and feeling it like a sixth sense like a snake feeling the vibrations of the ground around him. The deep antimatter void of Dromund Kaas' shadow was somehow devilish. Deep power of the dark-side was stored there, asking, begging to be used as Mori would explode into motion.

As she rushed him, Felix could feel even the most subtle micro-expression of her muscles as she would dedicate her entire form into rushing him, weapon at the ready and soaring for him, prompting him to raise his weapon to guard against her only for a burst of Tekelinesis to alter her course radically, altering her targets and taking Felix entirely by surprise. There was no way for him to counter physically, he'd planted his feet dedicating into his own personal defense... It was a masterful feint. All the master could do was to reach out out for her light-saber a call of warning following desperately, although he wasn't a master of much, there were few that were able to match him in a contest of Trakata,. it was all he had here...

It would be with a subtle expression of Telekinesis that the moment before her blade would impact with her opponent, Felix would intend to simply flick the switch of her blade, causing it to vanish in that crucial moment. Thankfully, Felix's own weapon's ignition system was a pressure switch he held his finger down on, making it far more difficult for others to hit him with something similar. Felix would answer her speed with his own, Darting around behind her to flank her from the opposite side. Sweeping his mid length light-saber for the back of one of her heels as she would move to take a step, shield raised for the counter-attack.

This fight wasn't going to be the same as their last one. This time, Darth Mori would lose, and meet with the oblivion she wished upon this universe!

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C O N T E S T E D

DROMUND KAAS
B-WING HEAVY STARFIGHTER



Revenant Squadron

New Imperial Order | “Allies”

Brotherhood | Enemies

- NIO TIEs peel off
- The B-wings focus on the
Brotherhood frigate

The NIO TIEs crowded Revenant’s invasion lane, dispatching Brotherhood starfighters and making themselves a general nuisance. Flying alongside Jon during the Sith-Imperial Civil War had been tolerable - their kill counts and mission successes had been shared. But today, every enemy ship the Eyeballs took down was one less for silhouette Chaar could paint on his cockpit. “Not worth the ordnance,” he replied flatly to Jones, one of the NIO pilots, who seemed to share his annoyance at Jon.

Olly, Chaar’s wingmate, brought his B-wing back under control and made a run on the Brotherhood frigate, while elsewhere Mylo scored his fifth kill, earning himself Ace status in the process. The rest of the squadron was raking up promotion points while he was wasting his time dealing with these NIO jokers. While the glory of Revenant Squadron successes was shared, it would not do for their Leader to sit at the bottom of the post-mission rankings.

The stormy sky around them erupted as the Brotherhood intensified their lightning attacks and deployed bomblets to limit manoeuvring and attack corridors. Chaar was about to put a warning shot across Jon’s bow when the TIEs dropped out of sight below the storm. Finally, some room to move.

“Status on the transports?” Chaar called out to Leon and Mylo over the comlink. It was mission complete for Revenant if the dropships were through the storm and on final approach, and time for their real work to begin. “Regroup once they’re clear.”

Chaar locked his targeting computer back onto the lead Brotherhood frigate. His flight computer was working overtime to identify the swarms of enemy bomblets and plot them on his holoscreens - he slapped the proximity alarm override to storm him going deaf from the frantic klaxons.

“Two, Leader, target the shields,” he ordered Olly. Diving toward the Brotherhood frigate, Chaar set his deflectors to double front to stave off the onslaught of anti-starfighter weapon burst. Weaving between the bomblets screens he drew closer to the enemy mothership as lightning strikes danced across the hull of his B-wing. Another bombing run would be pushing their luck.

Thankfully, Revenant Squadron didn’t rely on luck. They relied on skill, hard-earned in the heat of battle.

The Umbaran loaded two high-yield concussion missions and dropped his targeting reticle over the bridge of the frigate and pressed the firing studs. Two flashes of light launched out of his missile tubes and sped toward the enemy vessel, a few seconds from impacting. “Two, get those damn shields down!”

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Post: 6
Objective: We are Gods
Location: Kaas City, Histroical District
Equipment: Orange Lightsaber (Fire) | Blue Lightsaber (ICE) | x8 throwing daggers | Poison Dagger | x5 thermal detonators | x8 Smoke Grenades | Brown MidNight Duster with Hood
Allies: The Mongrel The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Rowena | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood | Erion Justeene Erion Justeene
Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Pietro Demici Pietro Demici | Baron Reinhardt Ström Baron Reinhardt Ström
Special Tags: DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Annor E-059


'That, in case you didn't realise, was IMPAF's personal declaration of war on our former-allies - a statement of intent that my son could only dream of.... Seeing this? All this death and destruction? THE IMPERIUM WANTS NOUGHT BUT THIS FOR ALL WHO STAND IN OUR WAY NOW!!!!'


Arrogance and pride, Lucid had seen the greatest foe of both Jedi and Sith destroy them so utterly. It was what he saw building in the General, one who sought glory and notoriety. He so desperately wanted himself and the Empire he clung to be noticed by friends and foe. Order nor Chaos was what this man sought but fame or infamy is what he wanted. He saw the desperation there in Erskine eyes, a man who had lived long life not as long as Blade but still. He saw it their eyes the want to be remembered weather it be for greatness or Tragedy.


'FUCKIN' - GLORIOUS, MAN!!!! But enough o' that, I want to have some more fun.... AGAIN!!!!'



The Body stared at the man blankly as the general made his declaration of fun. It said nothing didn't speak orange eyes just staring heavily at Erskine breathing in out. The Blue glow of the saber blade bouncing off jagged stone and rock nearby. All those orange eyes of the body saw was the enemy before them making the grandiose speeches as most villains did. Then the body moved forward at great speed and saber and vibrosword seemed to clash once more. The body became a blur as it pressed on the attack unrelenting.


The Body seemed to be having the upper hand forcing Erskine on the defensive. The bodies moves became feints, strikes, slashes and wild swings with knuckle duster with every opening gained. The pace moved rapidly ground being lost and shoring up where the general could retreat and break away. As the battle waged it was clear at least for a moment the General was a bit distracted as he spoke to forces the body could not see. The Body movement fluid and fast like a dance of death it seemed to flow so smoothly like it wasn't real.


'Sorry, perks of the job an' aw that.... Just don't be stopping on my account though, waste o' time by this point.'


The Body did not stop it did not listen it kept pressing on it had not spoken this whole second encounter int the crater. Two strikes to the hip as the General jump back. 'Much better- oooh! Ya cheeky fucker ye!' The body said Pressing on a rapid strike for the Generals chest it would have struck true but the general Parried but a fist striking in for the Generals face but it was blocked it allowed the General an opening as he knocked the bodies saber wide as well as the left arm. It left the body wide open down the middle. A thrust and true strike pierced through just below the sternum and up into he heart the body sliding into the vibrosword as it went through the back severing the spine as well.


That thrill that adrenaline that pumps through your veins as you fight and then the moment of ecstasy you feel as you land the killing blow. There was no other feeling like it in the universe, you felt like a god for just a moment one that could snuff out life in an instant. Those Orange orbs looking into your eyes and knowing you had down an ancient sith master, the rebel sith Darth Lucid. Yet in that moment of exhilaration as the saber blade glow dies and the saber falls from the bodies hand the clanking sound not of a saber falling but of a vibroblade. The illusion drops those orange orbs dying melting away into eyes of grey.


The whole illusion faded away and on the end of the vibrosword is not the body of an ancient sith but that of a soldier one who fought at your side. Those grey eyes staring up at the general as the last breath is gasped and blood comes pouring from the mouth and the life fully fades. In that moment the mind becomes lucid anyone could be corrupted forced to see what was not there weather it be a master sith or in a mawite in the dead soldier's case both fighting for their lives not realizing they were fighting allies.


Then a voice spoke in General's head it seemed to come from all direction though only the General could hear it. "Poor kid didn't stand chance, now you have to write his family a devastating letter. Will you tell them the truth, or will you lie to keep your legacy and clout? I don't need to fight your armies or family I can make them kill and fight each other. While you seek glory, I seek to end your bloodline I'm not blinded in my path. The next time we meet their will be no distractions, me and you one on one only one will walk away." The Voice of Darth Lucid faded, that Darth title fitting for one who had master not only the art of the blade but of the mind. Lucid saw the with clarity and understanding the path that was to come.
 

Annor E-059

Guest
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Annor E-059
Objective 1: Once more unto the breach.
Writing With:
DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran , Blade Ice Blade Ice , Jerec Yularen Jerec Yularen , Stone Gra'tua Stone Gra'tua
Historical District Sinkhole, Kaas City

The silence is pierced by the sudden battle continued its' discordant notes punctuated with the sound of the desperate, dead and dying buried beneath piles of Rubble. Annor slides through the wasteland like a sadistic serpent, her optical camouflage engaged. Annor delivers a couple of swift punches straight into the soft humanoid nape of every Mawsworn she passes, their souls abandoning the mortal plane in whimpers or the wet crackle of fractured bones.

Annor's ears detect a plea for a medic, her death march is given pause, and she pivots on the sea of cinders. The man's voice groans; its' cry for a 'medic' left Annor with the immediate impression it would belong to an Imperial. Annor thought the Mawsworn as religious zealots who seldom speak in this manner; in her mind, one of the Maw would be crying out for their god of death in those final moments. Begging for release.

Hand with long slender fingers reach out, and she begins to steadily pry the collapsed ten-foot-wide bricked wall away. It crashes onto the floor with a rapturous thud and sends a storm of smouldering embers up into the air. Beneath the wall is a man wearing the distinctive garb of the Sabretooth legion. He is wounded severely. Annor regards his broken body for a moment. Annor notes his biometric identify-friend-foe tag that slides across her visor.

Annor reaches to a bloodied white plastoid hoop, an Imperial-issue duty belt. Annor chucks it unceremoniously atop Jerec; she watches his hands move for a moment, a sign of life. "I can't stay." Annor thinks for a moment "Leftenant Greer would stay here with him." Eye lenses swivel around to the distant shouting of the Lord-General's voice, the fibres inside the ear canal sifting through the varied cacophony of battle focusing on the Goidel's taunts echo through the gargantuan sinkhole created in the heart of Kaas city.

"Because he was a rare man, he was courageous." Annor's thoughts pause for a moment, reflecting on the officer's conduct and how she'd watched Greer treat his own life and safety recklessly to protect those subordinates beneath him. Wordless thoughts pass in Annor's mind as she begins walking away from Jerec, now brandishing a new rifle taken from a nearby body and holding it across her chest plate. "But I'm not like Greer." And just like that, Annor leaves Jerec with the trauma kit in ruthless pursuit of her sole objective in Kaas city; keep Lord-General Erskine Barran alive.

A short time later, Annor urgently thrusts into the clearing to find a soldier choking on the edge of Lord-General Erskine Barran's sword. Annor raises her rifle and aims its' laser sight squarely between Erskine's shoulders. "What happened?" The Elite's voice's pitch is modulated up and down through a broken annunciator, Annor's eye lenses webbed with cracks. In a position of strength and power, she couldn't shake the apprehension Barran had lost his mind. Annor keeps the Lord-General's thorax sighted with blue eyes behind polarized anonymity.

 


"Balance is a lie, there is only the totality of the Dark Side."

The Jedi Master's refusal to destroy the artifact was disappointing, but not surprising. The conflict between the Dark Side and the Light was nothing without the moral struggle, the desire to do good conflicting against one's own personal wishes. Had the Jedi done what he was being incited to do without caution, then the Dark Lord's plans would have accelerated. As it stood, everything was proceeding as the Oracles had prophesized; again reinforcing the absolution of their visions.

Demiurge pulled his left hand up to his face, a dagger suddenly materializing between his fingers. He then thrust his arm back down to his side, the dagger flying from his outstretched fingers and embedding in the top of the Sith artifact. Cracks immediately popped open across the entire surface, spreading wider as the entire artifact shimmered with an angry red light. When it crashed into the ground and split directly in half, a burst of energy rushed out and then quickly died out.

All over the city, all those citizens caught in the throes of the artifact's powers were gripped by a sudden and violent seizure before toppling over onto the ground. Many multitudes of men, women, and children crashed to the ground as their lifeforce was forcibly torn from their bodies simultaneously. Entire swaths of the city fell deathly silent as entire neighborhoods were snuffed out in an instant.

"Power comes at a price, Master Jedi. Often too great for the lesser spawn of the galaxy to bear, that is why they need a strong hand to guide them. You could be that hand if only you had the courage to seize your destiny."



 
A Light Shining in Darkness
Allies: Julius Sedaire Julius Sedaire
Enemies: Taeli Raaf Taeli Raaf // Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex

"Redemption is not always our choice, Taeli.", he said slowly twisting his saber around him - giving it momentum for the first strike to no doubt come from one of the watching Ravenscar. His eyes watched them - but his words were focused on the most serious danger in the room - Raaf herself.​
"Like excising a demon, a sword can stop you just as a kind word can - but your ilk has proven to be beyond saving. With no choices left, a Jedi must do what a Jedi must do."​
His knees bent, his hands ready - one to his side as he built up a small resevoir of telekinetic force in his hand. He knew that the Veridian Jedi near him would know the danger they faced; and no doubt match him. Still, he did not strike first; not yet at least.​
Wyatt was a sucker for diplomacy, afterall.​
"I may not be able to say something you have not heard, nor can I make up for the loss of your sister - but what you've done has far eclipsed the wrongs of the past. There is justice, and then there is carnage; and you have fallen far beyond the justice we inspire to uphold.", he said, bringing his gaze upon her.​
"Surrender yourself, Taeli Raaf - I have offered you this many times before, and I will offer you it again. Come with me, and I can save you from your Order, from yourself, and from the wake of carnage you have created."​
 


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Location: Droumund Kaas
Equipment: Jedi Armor, Jax's Prosthetic Arm, Jax's Second Lightsaber, Promise Ring to Jairdain
Tag: Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex (Enemy)

Balance was essential for the Force, the light thrive without the dark and vice versa. Yet if either side starts to dominate than the Force will do what it can to bring it back into balance. This Sith Lord represented an imbalance, the wound in the Force that Jax observed while fighting him. He was so immersed into the Dark Side that it felt like the Dark Side became a part of him. Just like the light became part of Jax whenever he slipped into Oneness. "The totality of the Dark Side will only bring chaos!" Jax yelled holding his Lightsaber towards the Sith Lord. "You need both if you are to truly understand the nature of the Force!"

It was pointless to discuss philosophy with this Sith Lord. It'll be like convincing a Hutt not to start a criminal gang. " Pom Stych Tivé Pom Stych Tivé one of your lovers won't find peace by killing her other self." Jax yelled. "She will be reduced to a feral beast leaching off the Dark Side to sustain her!"

Wait.... how did Jax know that Pom was his lover? What the hell was going on? Beads of sweat began to pour from his brow. The man was that subtle that good at filling Jax's mind with information about himself. It couldn't be him..... could it? "No....." Jax's expression quickly dropped his lower lip quivering in fear. His face entire face now drenched in sweat mixed blood from his injuries. "It can't be....." He shook his head. "You are Carnifex."

The Worm Emperor himself, the man who sealed Spasa Spasa 's soul, the man who was trying to find Spasa. He probably knows where she was right now, Spasa didn't have enough training to resist him! Just as Jax was about to say something, Carnifex took his dagger and stabbed it through the device causing it to short circuit and shut down. Jax remained rooted on the ground flabbergasted at what he just found out and it got worse when he felt a disturbance in the Force. His body shuddered as though he was in cockpit of an X-Wing, his mind was filled with the screams and shouts of the men, women, and the children too.

"NO!" Jax immediately snapped back to reality, and he began stumbling back to the edge of the building. He couldn't see it but Jax could feel it, all of the civilians around the city were dying, their souls forcibly removed from their bodies. The instant deaths were enough to fill Jax with pain and agony, all of those people.....

"NO!" His voice became hoarser, more intense. Anger began to bubble from within. "How dare you...." Jax dropped his Lightsaber ripping off the rest of his armor to the point where he was half naked. The Force began to swirl around inside of him screaming at Jax to take control, but he didn't want to how could he after feeling instant deaths of so many innocents.

He could feel himself immersing into the Force grabbing his Lightsaber and charging at Carnifex. "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY!" Jax roared leaping towards the Sith Lord and prepared to perform a vertical slash.





 

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The Unchained

Engaging:
Siv Dragr Siv Dragr

Allies: Tor’r Tal’Verda, Kralmus Orr, Raus Garrat, Rath Kelborn

Enemies: Faison Kelborn, Stone Gra'tua Stone Gra'tua

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

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Hakkerskaldyr

Death's Hand had continued to clear the surrounding area, purging every Dar'Manda they came across. Khamul stood in place, watching over the glorious slaughter of those that dared to defy the true path of his people. As the bloodbath continued, sounds of struggle began to emerge from behind him. Turning toward the source of the growing violence at his back, Khamul's eyes fell upon a familiar warrior. He had not seen the man's face, but the beskar'gam he wore told Khamul all he needed to know. They had fought once before, upon the cursed and broken glass that remained of their homeworld. The Hellhound didn't interfere as the man cut down his loyal followers, for there was no room for such weakness in the ranks of Death's Hand. If they couldn't even kill a false Mandalorian, then they were not worthy of the namesake of their people.

"On Mandalore, I wasn't the one that willingly broke the sacred rite of single combat. What a disgrace."

The man was clearly trying to goad Khamul into making a mistake, and if he had been his younger self, the ploy may have worked. Khamul was more reckless when he first started on his path toward destiny, allowing himself to forgo the advantage for the sake of pure violence. The years of fighting hadn't made him less violent... they simply made his brand of violence more efficient.

"If wishing our people to return to their rightful place among the stars makes me a traitor, then I will wear the title proudly. I would hear myself called traitor a thousand times before succumbing to living under the thumb of the weak and feeble."

His blade rose to a guard position as Khamul began to move forward, taking care to watch his enemy for any sudden moves.

"If you truly loved your people, if you truly wanted the best for them, then you would cease your heretical acts and join me. All who refuse the way of the Mandalorian will be crushed under its weight. All who defy the true nature of our people will be snuffed out."

He raised his free hand, holding it out toward the man as he spoke.

"This will be my final offer. Once the door is closed, it cannot be opened again. Throw aside the trappings of your misguided brethren, and embrace the future. Embrace the true path of our people."

Khamul was almost certain the man would say no, but he would await the answer nonetheless.

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| Darth Caelitus |

.. --. -. .. - ..- – || I G N I T U M

Armor [Classified + Tsunagu + Cloak] + Weapons [Pistol+ Rifle]

The familiar hum of a mock heartbeat filled the operating theatre. His hands marred up to his sleeve with the dual hue of blood and augmented fluids. Viscera lay in its gut sack beside the table and as he worked he would recall that giddiness he'd felt from their previous conversation. The cyborg had asked him to fit him with bones that could withstand more after the hell he'd experienced in Ziost. And since then, Julian, the New Imperial's lead physician was always a work in progress and Ezra took interest in that. A lot of interest…perhaps far too much.

Cool air ruffled the hair on his neck, for he was not outside in the elements but within the inner sanctum he had created. It was in these hours that he would masquerade as someone of lesser importance, conducting the droids around him with the colorful swaying of his hand.
"Bring me the rib chassis," A tapered rumble cascade from his lips, mixing with a subtle hint of eagerness. He was the only organic being within the theatre. Cutting away old pieces of tissue from the titanium seals underneath his chest paneling. "This will fit nicely," Ezra spoke to no one but himself as he set new Phrik structures in place within his hollowed out cavity.

Beside him in a heavy specimen bag were the butchered remains of the medics old skullcap, ribcage, humorous, and whatever organic bones had been taken out to be discarded with the day's medical waste.

-... . . .--. / -... . . .--. / -... . . . .--.

The sound rang from deep within the doctor's chest causing the engineer grin with excitement. The charge was sandwiched between his new mock ribcage, ready to be fired off at a moment's notice. "Perfect…" he whispered, sealing off the rest of the tissues and metals that held Julian's torso together. The steady chirps soon dissipated, overridden by the sound of that mock heart humming within the operating theatre. How it rested against something so precious created from that chaotic engineer's mind.


.- -.. / .. -. ..-. .. -. .. - ..- -- || A D _ I N F I N I T U M


The charging mechanism continued to ring its deathly song while his hand was pulverized within the dark lord's grasp. Ezra howled in agony, feeling the force of man coupled with unholy might destroy the bones within his palm. There would be no moment for him to react fully, to lick the wounds caused by the crushing blow. Within seconds his body was tossed aside like an armored rag doll against the wall of the reliquary. He was bound like a lamb to the slaughter, his power unmatched, his rifle tossed away from him - what difference would it make for he was constrained and unable to even move from the hell brought down on him.

"Halketh…please…" Those steely orbs peered up at the saint, his offering of blood still pooling from his nose and mouth. Where he thought coming in to put up an even match, so much was cast aside by the sheer magnitude of his power. Ezra could feel the bones within him twist and contort on themselves, threatening to break. Pain was all he could feel on the outside but it did not compare to the pain he felt staring straight at the man who had inflicted so much of it.

"Kezec! P-pl…please s-t-top….."

The epicanthix lowered his head, spitting on the sullied ground beneath him. What more could he offer after he'd given everything? With what energy he had he would lift his crown, just enough to speak.

"Y-you need me as m-much…as…I n-need you…"

His words came out stuttered and haggard, his sights zeroed in on the man before him. How he had wished to see his face, his scars, the red sash that clung to his features. He didn't want to be ruined by a man wearing a suit of armor, that wasn't the man he'd known, the man he had loved all those years and even still through all this chaos and destruction. Ezra was relentless and unbalanced just the same. The frenzied noise continued, his eyes staring daggers into space as his lips curled into a sinister grin. So much of what he'd given had been torn apart with each moment spent in space, and he was not ready to give it al up.

With one final act, with words, one he had hoped to be his saving grace or enough time for the man to entertain conversation instead of gutting him within his altar of power. Ezra funneled all the energy he had left and with it, he spat venom…

"My f-final gift to you lies within Dr. Qar's new chest…and if you kill me….you will miss out on opportunity…." He wheezed in agony…had he broken completely or was this another bluff on his behalf.

b o o m




 
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