Duel The Killing Field

[Kaila Irons]

Continuation of: Paschendale, Battle of Mystral Canyon, Serenno...
​

Tag: Indra Quin

The sun shone hot that day, Kaila would remember for some time.

Bodies crunched beside her, loyal legionnaires cut down by exotic yet primitive slug-munitions where one would expect to face blasters, instead their armor was burst and crushed. She did her best to protect them, let none say that Darth Anathemous did not reward courage at least, as she targeted the most lethal foes with spears of midnight black or rooted oncoming combatants in place before they were gunned down by the legion.

That was when she noticed the girl.

It wasn't until that red saber cut down one of her own that she bitterly acknowledged her as a threat, assuming a Niman stance.

The false-sith lunged forward, blade held high. Normally when a foe attempted to lure Anathemous in with a feint it had been a low blow to the leg. Kasir, Mystra, and so many more had tried it, reinforcing a pattern of raw battlefield experience. This one was unusual, but telegraphed, enough that she'd not risk the assumption that it was a mistake on the foe's part and die for her own arrogance.

The young Darth leapt back rather than engage the false opening.

While Indra surged forward, executing an uppercut with a hidden dagger, Anathemous would twist on her feet and spin in a near circle, her reversed saber poised to strike the Diarch warrior in her side or back while she recovered from her own lunge, all while the sith's hand shot forward to deliver a powerful telekinetic push, trying to topple the enemy with their own weight.

This attack by the Diarchy would not stand, she would make sure of it.

"You trespass. Sith. I am your reward,"

"This is OUR land!" she spat, voice deep and distorted through a vocal modulator "A few nobles in your pocket changes nothing."

Then with a flick of her wrist, a second lightsaber shot to her free hand.

She would match the invader blade for blade.

​

 

[Indra Quin]

The telekinetic push hit her with staggering force, sending Indra skidding back, but she refused to fall. Her boots scraped across the ground as she fought to keep her balance, muscles straining under the pressure.

The pain was sharp, but it wasn’t enough to break her. Her grip tightened on her lightsaber as she fought to steady herself, drawing a deep breath. She could feel it—the way Kaila’s strength had sent a ripple through the Force, challenging her, testing her in ways she’d never been tested before. But no, she would not falter.

“This is OUR land!” Kaila’s words rang through the air, distorted by the vocal modulator, and something within Indra snapped. Her heart burned with the knowledge that the Diarchy had every right to claim Serenno, and this woman — whoever she was — would not be allowed to take it from them.

With her helmet still firmly in place, Indra’s voice came out cold, yet unwavering. “You trespass, Sith. You speak of land as if it’s yours to steal. You’re nothing more than an invader. The Diarchy will never bow to you.”

Indra’s side ached from the impact of the telekinetic push, but her loyalty was stronger than any wound. She would fight for the Diarchy, no matter the cost. Kaila would see that.

In a blur of motion, Indra surged forward, her lightsaber humming as she advanced with a flurry of precise, incisive strikes. Each swing was sharp and calculated, aiming for Kaila’s defenses with quick jabs meant to pressure her into a mistake. A downward slash, followed by a fast upward thrust, and then a rapid horizontal sweep—all designed to keep Kaila on the defensive, each strike pushing harder than the last.

She didn’t wait. There was no hesitation, no moment of weakness—just the drive to keep pressing forward, to make Kaila feel the weight of her resolve.

And yet, the pain in her side was still there, a reminder of Kaila's power, of the danger she posed. But Indra didn’t slow. She couldn’t.

Her helmeted gaze never left Kaila, not for a moment. Every word, every movement was an affirmation of her cause—the Diarchy would never back down, no matter how powerful her foe might be.

Her breaths came faster now, each one measured, each one a step closer to a reckoning. She will break before I do.

OUTFIT: Modified Optio Uniform |
| TAG: Kaila Irons |
| EQUIPMENT: Indra's Lightsaber, Utility Belt |​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Tag: Indra Quin

Anathemous would tilt her head, watching the girl recover quickly from her fall.

While Indra sought to probe the young Darth's defenses, so too was she observing her, learning how the false sith fought. Aggressive, light on her feet, Anathemous could see that this one was likely an assassin or some sort of bodyguard, not a shield per se, but the kind of woman to eliminate one's enemies before they struck.

But there would be no surprising her.

With her helmet still firmly in place, Indra’s voice came out cold, yet unwavering. “You trespass, Sith. You speak of land as if it’s yours to steal. You’re nothing more than an invader. The Diarchy will never bow to you.”

"Someone needs a history lesson then." she stated coldly.

"We were here first, the tenth empire, now the eleventh. Sith blood runs in the veins of those who rule here, their legacies built on sith credits beside."

Indra lunged into a sudden storm of blows.

Her strike from on high was immediately met a crimson bladed shoto, followed by her violet saber being violently slammed into the thrust with inhuman strength, the artificial musculature flexing along her arms as micro-hydraulics moved to direct the blow away from her body with frightening speed.

Kaila gave no ground, as if Indra were slashing at a castle wall.

Not until her blade swept low, forcing the dark knight to intervene. In a sudden series of clicks and sparks, her saber's hilt extended into a telescopic staff of black phrik to intercept the blow.

"Argh!" she hissed as Indra's blade stopped just short, searing the surface of her skin though it did not sever the limb.

Her retaliation was swift as it was petty, raising her foot as though to step forward, only to stomp her whole weight bearing down at the girl's foot, her own bearing heavy metal for bones and powered-muscle atop well developed legs.

She planned to crush the fleet footed, see how agile this one would be then.

All the while that shoto shot forward and up from below to shank her foe as if they were in some back ally brawl.

Kaila fought with honor, once.

Not here.

​

 

[Indra Quin]

The shoto's thrust came fast — far too fast.

Indra barely managed to twist aside, but not before the blade kissed her helmet with a screech of protesting glass and reinforced durasteel. The crack split across her visor, fracturing her vision into jagged shards. The world became a fragmented mosaic of light and shadow, but there was no time to clear it. No time to fix it. The only option was to fight on.

Pain flared through her boot next, a brutal, crushing weight pinning her foot to the ground. The crushing force of Kaila's armored leg drove her down, anchoring her in place. Indra strained, muscles burning as she fought against it, but the heavy exosuit ground her into the dirt with an uncaring, mechanical precision.

Fear, cold and biting, slipped into her chest.

She's too strong.

The thought hissed through her mind before she could silence it. This woman — this Sith — fought with a brutality and power Indra hadn't expected. It was like trying to cut down a fortress with a dagger. And deep inside her heart, the terrible thought bloomed:

I might fail. I might fail him. I might fail Lord Rellik.

The shame was worse than the fear. She would not be the reason the Diarchy stumbled. She would not disgrace the one who had believed in her.

Gritting her teeth, Indra lashed out. With a quick, snapping movement, she drove her blade low, aiming a sharp, focused strike at Kaila’s leg — not to kill, but to force her to move, to loosen her crushing hold. It was a desperate move, but a calculated one. She needed space. She needed air.

She pushed all the strength she could muster into the blow, her breathing ragged behind the cracked mask. Victory felt far away — but survival, stubborn and vicious, was still within her reach.

She refused to fall.

OUTFIT: Modified Optio Uniform |
| TAG: Kaila Irons |
| EQUIPMENT: Indra's Lightsaber, Utility Belt |​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Tag: Indra Quin

Kaila respected that serpentine grace, at least.

Though it did not kill her as Indra wove around her blade, seeing the girl's visor crack sent a jolt of primal thrill, eyes dilating behind her own as the contest continued. Who was faster? stronger? which of these martial virtues would win the day? She believed herself a patient and calculating sort, but really this is what she lived for.

The moments when her mind could be emptied, unburdened of schemes and duties, survival her only thought.

Warmth struck her first, then a slick feeling beneath her armor that should not have been. A pierced hydraulic perhaps? She felt something wrong pushing against her then, more and more until she realized what was happening. Anathemous retreated from the blur of movement that was Indra, leaping back in a motion that felt as though she'd been struck by fire.

She glanced down, coiled nylasteel—once acting as additional muscle—spilt from her suit and frayed like rope, dripping crimson.

Indra had stabbed her in the leg, and it damn well hurt.

Anathemous growled deeply, and with a flourish to ward off any advance, planted the butt of her staff to the ground.

She let go of the smaller shoto, though it never dropped. It continued to float there where her hand had once been, pointing ominously at it's soon to be target. And yet it waited there, patiently, while it's master began to summon her power. With two fingers pointed skyward, the flames of war all around and the heat therein traveled to her beckoning hand, forming a ball of fiery energy which crackled and hummed louder and louder.

"Dziri."

And with but a word, the shoto shot forth like a crimson arrow. So too did an explosive bolt of energy from the flaming sphere, as the master pyromancer began releasing gathered energy in a tight beam.

A two pronged attack.

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[Indra Quin]

The floating saber shot forward like a crimson streak—Indra’s blade snapped up just in time, locking with the shoto in a flash of sparking plasma. The impact jolted her arm, driving her half a step back, but she held firm. It was the fire that followed that caught her off guard.

She didn’t see it—couldn’t. The fractured, smeared vision through her cracked visor distorted the battlefield into a bleeding collage of light and motion. One second there was only heat; the next, flame bloomed like a vengeful spirit. Her cape ignited along the hem, fire racing up its length toward her shoulder.

She twisted instinctively, the motion half-formed as she turned to avoid the worst of it—but the cape, drawn tight across her back, whipped up and across her shoulder. The flaming fabric slapped against the gash in her helmet with a hiss.

Indra cried out in surprise—more panic than pain—as the sudden flare of light and heat overwhelmed her senses. She dropped to one knee, fingers fumbling for the clasps at her neck. Her breath rasped in the confined helmet, hot and rising, no time to think, no room to act. It was a moment of pure reflex.

With a sharp yank, the helmet came free, clattering to the scorched ground beside her.

The cape followed a heartbeat later, thrown off with a fierce pull, left to crumple and burn beside the gravel and ash.

Indra stayed there, kneeling, chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm. Her face was turned from Kaila, one gauntleted hand braced in the dirt, the other still gripping her saber. Her bare shoulders were dusted with soot, her curly hair—sweaty, tangled, but unmistakably voluminous—spilled down her back in heavy, defiant waves.

She didn’t look back.

But she was already shifting her weight, readying to rise again.

| TAG: Kaila Irons |​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Tag: Indra Quin

The foe's panicked yelp was... satisfying.

If Anathemous was truly the invader, then the woman before her was little more than a rebel. Be it glory or idealism the diarchy dreamed of, she was here to end such delusions. The bitter truth, the only truth, was Sith supremacy.

No matter how much they both hated it.

As Indra fell to a knee, the young Darth had already taken her first step forward. Heavy armor rustled with every step as she raised her spear in both hands, flipping it so that she may press down it into her foe and silence that smug voice. But as she neared, as Indra cast her helm aside and clutched her wound, Anathemous slowed.

There was something familiar about her. Uncanny.

Her stomach felt as though it would twist as she glared down at the soft haired woman, realizing it was her curls.

Curls she'd seen only once before.

Her breath hitched. Impossible, she thought. An illusion caused by wishful thinking- No. She refused to finish that thought. Her heart belonged to Quinn, the jedi could haunt her no more. The princess had seen to that, helped her move on when all beside had abandoned her. Even then, that ghost of her past was far from here, as she would always be.

Yet no matter how many times she blinked, this illusion would not leave her be.

"Who are you really...?"

Anathemous continued to drag dirt and rock with every slow, cautious step, inching forward with her spear.

"Show me your face." she demanded.

"Show me your face!"

​

 

[Indra Quin]

She heard the voice behind her.

Demanding. Unsettled.

But Indra didn’t rise. Not yet.

She knelt in silence, one hand braced to the ground, the other still wrapped around the hilt of her saber, blade crackling idly beside her. Her breath came fast through her nose, heat still clinging to her skin as the cold air bit into her now-exposed face. Her curls clung to her cheekbones, sticky with sweat and ash.

The footsteps were drawing closer, slow now. Hesitant. Like something had shifted.

She wasn’t sure what had changed, only that the pressure of the battlefield—the sense that death was moments away—had altered. Not vanished. Just… paused. Waiting.

“Who are you really...?”

The question struck her harder than expected. Not because she had the answer—but because she didn’t understand why it mattered.

Was it meant to intimidate her? Break her concentration? Or was there something else in the voice—something that didn’t sound like triumph?

Indra didn’t turn fully. But she shifted just enough, lifting her chin slightly, so that a single eye could glance over her shoulder beneath the veil of curls.

Her voice was quiet. Even. “Why does it matter?”

There was no mockery in the question—only the chill of curiosity. A note of truth hidden beneath the silence.

And still, she did not stand. Not yet. But her knees tensed, heels anchored. Ready.

Always ready.

| TAG: Kaila Irons |​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Tag: Indra Quin

A sith does not hesitate.

And that made this moment unbearable.

Anathemous grit her teeth, slowing to a halt. Everything about this felt wrong, screamed at her to finish the job and move on as she had done so many times before. The very force itself felt as though it was pressing a sense of danger into her skull, deeper and deeper with every second she continued to fight her own instincts, turning restraint into the cruelest agony a sith could know.

Her voice was quiet. Even. “Why does it matter?”

"Because-?"

She hesitated, disbelief bleeding through the mask.

Then her voice deepened, anger, regret and confusion all blurred into one discordant sound.

"Why... do you look like her?!"

The warrior had enough sense left to protect herself, reaching out her gloved hand, fingers splayed and readied to summon her dark powers whilst the staff retracted and collapsed into it's most maneuverable form, but the shift was clear. Suddenly this wasn't about disposing of the enemy, but clawing answers out of the canyon floor.

"What sorcery—what illusions—do you play at?!"

Anathemous pointed her blade at the kneeling woman, weight shifting, anxiously waiting to defend, or strike, or whatever the hell fate had planned for the two.

Anything to relieve her from the burden of conscience.

Anything to prove her sanity.

​

 

[Indra Quin]

Indra’s breath caught as the Sith’s words spilled out—disjointed, raw, confused.

Why do you look like her?!

It meant nothing to her. There was no understanding, no flash of memory. Only the sound of madness cloaked in desperation. And in that moment, Indra saw not a monster—but a broken thing wrapped in armor and flame.

The hesitation was everything. The Diarch’s sword did not waste it.

She turned sharply, pushing up from her knee in a flash of motion, boots kicking up dust. The insult poured out of her lips as naturally as breath:

“You’re not well.”

And then she struck.

Saber igniting fully once more, Indra lunged—her entire body behind the attack. She didn’t aim for elegance. She didn’t need finesse. She came in with a flurry of brutal, chopping arcs, meant to drive Anathemous back step by step, to beat her down with pressure and fury.

She wasn’t just retaliating. She was making a point.

“You see ghosts where there are none! You call yourself Sith—but you can't even hold your mind together!”

Each strike punctuated her voice, rhythm matching rage.

“I've served the Diarchy my entire life. I don't know who you think I am—but I am not her.”

| TAG: Kaila Irons |​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Tag: Indra Quin

The first step back was one of instinct.

The assassin moved quickly, blade sliding across her own as she raised it in defense.

Her helmless face was a blur at first, something natural reflexes would have missed. When Ala Quin 's face emerged through the blinding motion, it was... socking... Kaila however was used to thinking on her feet. Pitched battle was as if a sieve, separating the most unnecessary thoughts and emotions which often clouded her administrative mind, leaving behind only the most refined senses of war.

It is here that she thought most clearly.

Her next step back anchored her stance. She did not merely block now, instead she struck Indra's saber hard with her enhanced strength, a violent parry.

Ala was not like her, she was a gentle soul. Kaila would burn cities for love, conquer worlds as gifts.

That is why she left.

And if she was gone, if this imposter truly wore her face, than Kaila's heart was no traitorous thing as she once feared. It still belonged to Quinn Varanin , her one true loyalty. Whatever reason they shared a face, be it bloodline or cloning, Kaila's mission thus remained.

The third step sang with finality.

"You're right." she relented, speaking through grit teeth.

Another parry, and another, each stronger than the last as she attacked Indra's blade. The assassin would surely tire herself by wildly lashing out. Kaila might have too, once. She was only human after all.

But Anathemous was no such creature.

Servos and hydraulics audibly groaned as Exo-muscle worked tirelessly where arms might have failed her. Hate and fear across the battlefield was siphoned into her core, her rage and Indra's own, converted into energizing fuel.

"You are not her. She was soft hearted."

With a roar she slammed her blade together with Indra's one last time and threw her empty hand out. Sailing right past them both, her shoto returned. Anathemous caught it in a reverse grip, and just as Indra's blade threatened to strike again, a shimmering barrier formed between the two.

"BUT STRONGER THAN YOU WILL EVER BE."

Without warning the air crackled around them and hairs stood up involuntarily amidst the static. A blue glow shot from her fingers as she placed them against the barrier, electrifying the entire sphere in a near instant.

The lightning shield, one of the many terrible powers imparted upon her by Darth Carnifex .

And as she poured her hate and heartache into it, turning it to a sickly purple, bolts of electrified malice shot forth and lapped at her foe. The now lethal sphere grew with alarming speed.

"AND I-"

"-I AM BEYOND YOU BOTH!"​

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