Invasion The Second Coming | TIC Invasion of TSO-Held Thandon Super Hex | Objective One

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Preparing the first stage of defoliation
OBJECTIVE: To bring unlife and decay
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | The Enforcer | KRONOS
ENEMY TAG: Srina Talon | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Gerwald Lechner | T'zarna Khab | Ella Nova | Lirka Ka | Darth Prazutis
DIRECT ENEMY: Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf

I AM THE HUNGER

Offers of great power and evolution went on deaf ears, it was clear that with every word he uttered, rather than open the woman's eyes, she in truth closed them off from Him. While he had hoped for her to come to understand his position, her restraint, her very demeanor screamed the opposite. To make matters worse, it seemed somewhere along his words, somewhere within his monologue, she had made her decision and said decision was not in His favor.

“The wise know when to restrain themselves, and when not to. A smart Sith should never cast aside wisdom, for it allows one to rise where others fall. For all that you have done or been through and have become…it would appear that this is a lesson you have yet to learn.”

Tilting his head a bit, the lord of Hunger showed his disdain to those words, delusions or perhaps underestimation. Usually it was the latter, if she just like the empress knew his name, not his title, she'd come to realize exactly how far the rabbithole went when it came to Him. Still, a chuckle escaped his lips when realizing she did say a "smart sith", which in his case would mean just as much as a "smart jedi"... anachronisms as neither could be considered 'smart' when bound by layers upon layers of rules, hierarchy and dogma.

As the bodies vanished, his eyes kept locked unto her, her words, no matter how shallow or uninspriring they might've ended up sounding to him, had confirmed that despite her potential, despite the growth he could have offered her, Revna Marr seemed to be too firmly rooted in the very system he had so vehemently opposed, that He began to understand that trying to convince her to turn on said system was a pointless effort from his end. She was Sith and she would not step away from it all through his words nor his guidance, and that was a pity...thus as if to show he came to this realisation, he shrugged, a clear sign not just of disappointment, but of acceptance. He would press no further in this case, he would not deign to fall into a fool's folly and expect a different result from the same actions.

Still, if she were to remove his mask, Revna Marr would've seen the wicked smile on his face, as his armor and the connection to KRONOS reported on what Pollux was doing on the battlefield with the tools and machines which had been handed to him. he could hear them, the missiles, the thundering roar of their explosions, the rebuttals, the instinct within the trees, it was a music to him, a concert which was reaching its crescendo. Each and every one of the shocks that reverberated through the forest, every minute shift in the air ressonated with him, for he understood which weapon was being used and no doubt just how fearsome it would be to all.

His eyes though, were drawn to what happened next, when his very core seemed to react to the woman's sudden shift within the force, the violent, yet somehow also serene expansion of strength and connection. He had seen her delve into her connection before, but it was clear she had grown, her control clearly having vastly improved, her strength greatly increased. Yet, perhaps strangely so, the Lord of Hunger didn't react, he simply seemed to wait, to observe...with a certain amount of glee and intrigue visible within the gold and crimson orbs behind the mask. he removed the hand of Avaritia from the root, waving his hand, motioning the Sceleratis to disperse. they'd need to find the others, help them out, for against how Revna Marr was now, they'd be a burden. yet as soon as the large droids moved, slipping away to support Ronhar Tane and T'zarna Khab , the blinding light emerged, the world bathing in brightness for a moment, until...She unleashed that which she had taken into herself.

"You sly little..."

Two of his Sceleratis jumped in front of him, their frames planted into the ground with firm strength and lethal precision, but this release of energy was similar to that of the very warpstars he had allowed Pollux to employ. The Sceleratis were meant to be fighters, hunters and assassins, but were not exactly meant for defensive work. The other Sceleratis scattered, gaining their orders through KRONOS, who ordered half of the remaining ones, five of them in total to reinforce Ronhar Tane , whose messages for help had been heard over the comms and picked up by the AI which essentially ran the entire operation under the Lord of Hunger. the remaining five scattered, attempting to outrun the blast...mostly in vain. For while the two sceleratis attempting to defend the Lord of Hunger were blasted to smithereens, at least two more were unlucky enough to be caught in the blast's radius, being slammed against trees, shattering their cores and gyroscopes, turning them to scrap.

The Lord of Hunger in the meantime attempted his best to ward of this shockwave of raw energy, his reaction was a smidgeon to late though, seeing the two droids disintegrate in front of him, his force shield didn't hold up either. He COULD have put more power into it, he COULD have thrown all he had into this, but he decided not to, there simply was little to gain anymore. If the forest could not be drained, it would burn or break and in truth, it seemed that the Sith themselves were doing a good job of that. Realizing the futility to remain in a gridlock with Revna Marr for much longer, he focused his power unto his force shield, utilizing the Hand of Avaritia to unleash whatever strength it had already drained to hold up the shield, while his other hand became covered in that same dark miasma again, allowing him to conjur up a vortex behind him, through which he allowed himself to be pushed as he removed his force shield, vanishing in thin air...only to reappear much deeper into the forest, for a moment catching his breath as he realised that perhaps he needed a different strategy to deal with the sith.

"How I am now...isn't enough," He looked up, the portal he had used vanishing behind him, his armor hadn't managed to be left unscathed...again, with cracks having formed across his chest and several of the join areas. His HUD flickered as he tried to set up a connection with KRONOS. Just defending himself had taken way more than he had anticipated. Yet, he had still managed to avoid the worst, the Sith had not beaten him, nor had he been forced to rely on his most powerful trump card just yet. And it so happened, something interesting had caught his eye...and not only his eyes, but his very senses as well...He had circumvented the shield around the largest tree, he had managed it, even without realizing it, his calculations had been off, but just because of it, the Lord of Hunger found himself in what possibly might have been a rather awkward, yet also extremely fotuitous position...

For turning down his gaze, he looked down upon perhaps the one greatest nuissance this damned invasion had to have been dealing with. "The Neti..."

Gritting his teeth, the Lord of hunger slowly reached for his Genesis Blade, holding it rather nonchalantly besides himself as he could see not just Madrona A’Mia , but surprisingly Taeli Raaf as well. Two of the most tricky, dangerous and versatile members of the damned Sith Order. Behind his mask, a wicked grin seemed to spread across his face, his eyes squinted, burning brightly in their vibrant gold and crimson hues surrounding the now extremely narrow slit pupils. "Who knew making a mistake could end up being so fortuitous?"

Without warning, without any more words to be said, his hand rose in front of him, a violent, roiling push with the force being sent towards the two powerhouses among the Sith. There would be no restraint, no retreat now... he was too close to the core to allow himself to miss the opportunity his own mistake had given him.

 

[Taregh Garon]

Brosi
Equipment: Greatsaber | Inquisition's Fist | Menasor Armor
Allies: Imperials
Enemies: Sith | Gerwald Lechner​

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Again the Wolf escaped. It did not retreat, it circled its prey preparing to strike again.

Radiation. Uneven ground. Roots that thrashed and attempted to bind his limbs. None of these things mattered to the Inquisitor anymore. The Stims blinded him to pain, augmenting his strength but dimming his mind of its higher functions. To see through Taregh's eyes was to see crimson.

When Gerwald Lechner freed himself, separating the two of them Taregh had rolled onto his stomach. Briefly his face was submerged in the muddy water beneath him. He rose onto all fours, his lightsaber left somewhere on the ground amidst the mud; deactivated now that it had left his hand again.

The Inquisitor knew he had been wounded, flesh and muscle had been ripped through on his left side but there was no pain. Even if there was pain it could not break the chemical cloud that stims had created, fogging his mind with a homicidal rage. The Stims injected into him could ensure Taregh remained this way for hours, oblivious to pain and pushed beyond the rational limits of endurance and stamina. Only a true death would stop him before the stims left his system.

In the blindness of rage the rationale mind was silent, devoid of higher function but the Hunter still existed.

It extended the mind, primed the senses to levels that were not ordinary. Not to the level of an animal but something nearly as close.

Gerwald would not see the Inquisitor rise, he'd discovered the ground was much more stable if he remained low. Roots that stretched out to tug at him were barely an inconvenience. At this moment they would feel like a childs hand attempting to restrain him. They were nothing.

Eyes sought the wolf but they could not discern his location through the steam and rainfall. It wasn't until Gerwald came out of the downpour at his right side that Taregh's senses flared to life. This time he was ready though.

Twisting to the right as the Wolf appeared in his peripheral the Inquisitor swung himself around to take the lunge off his chestplate rather than on his right side. Bringing his right arm around in the same motion he'd arc his elbow across to crush it against bridge of the wolfs maw in a blow meant to stun while he readjusted. Claws would find purchase on his armor, ripping at the plating and tearing pieces away or ripping ruts into it while Taregh reached for the beast.

Perhaps Gerwald thought Taregh just another Imperial albeit a massive one but the Inquisitor had been born a Mandalorian, a Warrior and Hunter. He knew how to fight beasts. He knew that all animals went where their heads went.

When he reached for Gerwald after throwing the elbow Taregh went right for his jaws. He'd slam a hand down to plant it over the wolfs muzzle while the other came up underneath the cleft of his jaw, fingers curling inwards amidst his gauntlets fitted with the Inquisitor's Fists. Pulling he went to open the wolfs jaws wide before accompanying the movement with a quick twist hoping to crank the head and flip the body onto its side where he'd try to bury it in the muddy water.

GRRRRRAAAAAARRRRRRGHGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If he could Taregh would have thrown a leg over the wolfs torso, mounting it while driving its head down. It did not matter to him how the wolf stilled, drowning it in the waters of the torrential downpour its allies had summoned was just as convenient as splitting it upon his knee or crushing its skull in his hands.

No matter the barbarity of the combat between the two of them blood still flowed freely from his side. Looking at the flesh one would see the wounds where teeth had sunk into flesh cracking and snapping bones underneath, reaching for organs that bruised or worse. It was all a mess of crimson. He just didn't feel it. If he could not even feel the pain from wounds rent into his left side then the battles being across Brosi, the drakes and missiles flying overhead, the sounds of men fighting and dying were certainly unknown to him.

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
OBJECTIVE I: TIMBER!!
BROSI

If Ronhar had wanted a fight from Darth Carnifex , he was certainly getting one now.

All of his taunts, all of his efforts, everything he had done to get Carnifex to stop his fowl ritual and focus on him...was now coming to fruition as the Dark Lord of the Sith finally activated his lightsaber.

"Arrogance implies confidence in excess. You will not find me wanting in my conviction. It is no accident that your companions have been drawn in as they have. Your zeal has unmade you".

"Well no kidding, we're here to kill this damned tree after all!", Ronhar thought to himself as he readied himself for Carnifex's onslaught. His unorthodox attack against Carnifex had predictably failed, the Dark Lord having simply caught the weapon and disassembled it using the power of the Force. Ronhar was certain that Carnifex would have just crushed the weapon into dust, but he had instead methodically disassembled the weapon bit by bit and piece by piece, almost as if he had designed the weapon in the first place. In fact, Ronhar was fairly confident that had Carnifex not have been actively trying to kill him, he could just walk over to where the weapon was laying and put it back together exactly as it had come out of the factory. Perhaps there was more to Carnifex than initially met the eye?

Of course, Ronhar didn't have any time to reflect on his observations as Carnifex advanced on him almost impossibly fast, though something seemed off about the way that he used his lightsaber on Ronhar. It was hard to explain, almost as if Carnifex was simply fighting him lazily, as if he wasn't even the slightest bit invested in their fight. Of course, to someone like Ronhar, he could barely keep up, even with his extensive cybernetic implants. If Carnifex wasn't taking the fight seriously, Ronhar certainly was, yet every strike that he made against the Sith was effortlessly parried or deflected away. Regardless of what Carnifex might claim, he was arrogant, for he could have easily ended his and Ronhar's fight right there and then with but a flick of his wrist or a swing of his lightsaber. Yet he choose not to, once again playing with his food rather than just eating it. Such an attitude was going to get the Sith killed one day...but today was not going to be that day.

Ronhar pulled back, breathing heavily, readying himself for his next attack. He was going to charge forward, swinging Burnblade from right to left before feinting at the last possible second, instead turning the blade toward the left side of Carnifex's neck. After that, he would then pull the tip of Burnblade upwards before slashing down diagonally, finishing up with a stab to the throat before bringing his weapon back to a guard position. At the very least, Ronhar no longer had to worry about the bolts of plasma that Carnifex had summoned: he could no longer see them, and could only assume that his HNDA-Mk I was perhaps working as intended.

Ronhar took a deep breath in as he prepared to charge forward...and immediately stopped in his tracks as a burning branch the size of a large freighter came crashing down onto the platform between him and Carnifex. Startled, Ronhar took a moment to look around, having been so focused on not dying that he hadn't even bothered to check his surroundings. The World Tree had been engulfed in flame, and if Ronhar didn't get out of here, so to would he be. He had very much overstayed his welcome.

Time to get out of here.

"It seems we'll have to settle the score another time, Sith. Enjoy burning to death in your sacred tree!"

Wth that, Ronhar sprinted off the side of the platform, his NZ MAM MkII Jet Maneuvering Gear allowing him to avoid scaling the burning bark of the World Tree. He would use the gear to glide all the way down to the bottom of the forest floor, rejoining the forces attacking the tree itself. Of course, Ronhar had escaped the proverbial frying pan, but had now very much landed in the literal fire, as man and machine continued their desperate struggle against nature itself. This struggle was only made all the more difficult by the forces that Darth Carnifex had summoned: giant, lumbering beasts that floated lazily through the air, tunneling horrors that devoured earth and man in equal measure, and thousands of those raving, bloodthirsty lunatics that Ronhar had encountered on his initial climb up the World Tree.

It was an awe-inspiring sight to behold, equally impressive and terrible to the assembled Imperial forces. Yet much like before, the Sith seemingly had no nothing of collateral damage or friendly fire. The great tunneling horrors killed as many as their own forces as they did Imperials, and the floating creatures vaporized both Sith and Imperial in equal measure as the fanatical Sith warriors continued their close ranged assault. Several All Terrain Acid Cannons were destroyed by the tunneling wyrms, spraying acid all over the assembled forces and the World Tree itself. Mahporeeninan Gunships bombarded the flying creatures, raking the topside of their bodies with barrage after barrage of mass driver cannon fire. Down below, the World Tree itself seemed to recoil in horror, attempting to heal as much damage off of itself as it could. Yet the weak spot from before remained, and now had several gaping holes within it. The Imperial Remnant wasted no time in having its All Terrain Modular Artillery Platforms fire their cannons directly inside the tree, burning it from both the inside and the outside. Wave after wave of incendiary shells and acid bursts seeped though the bark of the great World Tree as the fires around it blazed out of control, threatening to engulf everything that stood in their path.

And why shouldn't they? Even with the heavy rain, the Imperial Remnant's desire to see Brosi burned to the ground had ensured that they had dropped an inordinate amount of incendiary material all over the planet. Though the storms did the best that they could to put out the flames, the fire only continued to spread further and further thanks to the copious amount of material that was available to burn and the chemical composition of the fire based weaponry itself. If Madrona A’Mia thought that they way to save Brosi was to actively try and regrow it in the middle of the battle, she was sorely mistaken. The moment she created new vegetation and biomass, the fires all across Brosi would engulf them and spread ever further, locking in a dangerous and deadly cycle. With all the available plant matter that Madrona A’Mia was creating for it, the fires could even potentially spread across the entire planet. After all, there was a very simple but inconvenient truth to the situation at hand:

All things end, its part of living
The trees feed the forest fire
And the forest just keeps on giving

Further away from the World Tree itself, the five droids sent by The Lord of Hunger , along with a number of ZQ Infantry Support Units and Strider Droids had been dispatched to destroy the remaining ritual altars that were somehow untouched by the raging firestorm around them...

TAGS:
Darth Carnifex
Madrona A’Mia
Reina Daival
The Lord of Hunger​

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Spoiler: Ronhar's Equipment

• Wampa-Pattern Industrial Exoskeleton
• Mk 45 Protective Vest
• Mahporeem Acid Rifle
• AAF-8 Scattergun
• BG-D 6 "Outlaw"
• Rhydonium Grenades
• ABC Scramblers
• Burnblade
• HNDA-Mk I
• Carapace Knitters
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannisters
• 5 ARC Troopers
• 2 Storm Commandos

 

[Darth Carnifex]

With only one hand, the Dark Lord contended with Ronhar Tane.

The other He didn't even keep in reserve, He let it hang down by His side. Both blade and lightsaber struck one another in multitudes, each clash ringing across the platform like a death knell. All the while, Carnifex remained undaunted in both demeanor and posture. He never seemed to expend more energy than necessary, eschewing the typical flourishes that duelists of His age often accompanied with their true strikes. Not a single scrap of effort was ever misspent. The position of His blade, the arrangement of His footing, and even the distance between Himself and His adversary was meticulously planned for.

He was like a conductor, and the battle moved to His unseen rhythm. "You will cry out at the hour of your undoing, and the stars themselves will remain unmoved."

In an uncharacteristic move, the Dark Lord didn't even raise His blade to defend Himself against the Imperial's latest attack. The enemy's blade made a straight line for His exposed neck, the Dark Lord even craning His head to the side as if to expose it further. But as the blade got within less than a dozen inches from making contact, all of its momentum ground to a deafening halt. It was as though the blade had been struck by an opposite force, proportionate to the power given to its swing. The diagonal slash ran into the same force, as if another blade slashing up had slammed right into it. As did the stab to the throat, equal and opposite force.

What Ronhar could not have known, could not have even begun to fathom perhaps, was that the Dark Lord continuously sheathed Himself in a thin imperceptible barrier of Force energy from head to toe. Typically, this barrier was entirely inert and did nothing. It only sprung into action whenever a threatening action was taken against Him, the barrier meeting the oncoming blow with the exact amount of energy put into it. When these two perfectly equal forces met, they cancelled each other out; bringing the attack to a screeching stop.

"I will turn your strength against you," intoned Darth Carnifex, His eyes blazing with fiery cruelty. "And your children will taste only soot before they are dashed against the stones of your failed civilization." But before either of them could continue, a large segment of flaming tree fell down on top of them. Darth Carnifex effortlessly leapt backwards and out of harm's way, but His immediate sight of the Imperial was obscured by fire. The man's voice rose above the crackling roar of the flame, and then he was gone.

Carnifex snuffed out His lightsaber and returned it to the holster. Turning back towards His camp, the Dark Lord made His procession back through the empty encampment and to the shores of the lake. Already, the Prophet Darth Isolda was there waiting for Him. There had been a reason the Dark Lord had made His base at the shore of this lake, nestled within the boroughs of the Great Psilofyr. Isolda had divined the future before the Imperials even entered the system, letting the dark currents of the Force portend what was to come.

In the deepest throes of prophecy and with darkened words she thus spoke:

"Behold the Great Tree, whose roots bound the world together and whose branches pierced the firmament.
Fire rose against it like a crown of wrath, and its leaves became embers falling upon the nations.
The faithful cried that the end had come, for the sky burned red and the bark split like wounded flesh.

Yet from the deep came the Dark Waters - silent, cold, and without mercy.
They climbed the roots and drowned the flame, hissing like serpents against the blaze.
The fire was quenched, but the Tree did not return unchanged; its wood turned black, and its fruit bore the taste of night.

Thus was it foretold: not all salvation is light, and what is preserved by shadow shall grow beneath a darker sky."​

All that she had foretold had come to pass, save for the quenching dark waters that would herald salvation. That would come soon, for the Dark Lord had taken many precautions. Seated before the Supreme Prophet was a small chest, raised on a plinth of stone and polished obsidian. Within was a small vial containing a single drop of liquid, one that oscillated between various vibrant colors. Contained within that single drop was the essence of the Wellspring of Life; a font of the Living and Cosmic Force.

Cradling the vial in both hands, Carnifex walked out into the waters of the lake until He stood near knee-deep. As He prepared to uncork the vial, He could sense that His faithful friend and ally Taeli had already put her drop into action. The two of them had spoken at length before the battle, Carnifex revealing the revelations of Isolda to Taeli in great detail. Together, they'd planned for this exact moment.

Tipping the vial over, the drop of the Wellspring splashed into the lake.

The effect was near instantaneous.

Where once the water had been partially translucent, now illuminated by reflections of fire and conflict, the waters turned utterly black; blacker than any natural coloration. Not even light reflected off of its surface. The power of the Wellspring, corrupted through the Dark Side of the Force, now swelled throughout the lake. It seeped into the roots that had woven together on the lake bed, and that same power began to transmit through the tree itself. It spread out from the lake, the dark waters rushing through Great Psilofyr's vascular system.

The fires closest to where Carnifex and the lake were located began to sputter and die, the Dark Side growing increasingly stronger wherever the dark waters spread.

Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf | Srina Talon
Reina Daival | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Prazutis
Mercy | Revna Marr | Darth Caedes
Ronhar Tane ​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The sky split with the kind of scream that made men look up even when they'd trained themselves not to. A single warhead fell out of orbit like judgment, white-hot, perfect, inevitable, its contrail a wound across the bruised clouds. Sirens rose. Systems wailed. Somewhere in the Imperial column, somebody shouted numbers that didn't matter anymore, because the math had already been written into the descent.

Darth Prazutis didn't lift His gaze.

He stood at the torn seam of reality as if it were a throne laid on its side, Qâzjiin'vraal drinking the battlefield's terror in slow, satisfied pulses, Ka'ra'nazat beating against his throat like a second heart, Xûl-Karzaan's black lenses swallowing muzzle-flash and panic alike. The portal behind him yawned and bled corpse-cold into the choke point, soot-black sigils burning crimson without warmth. His sorcery did not rise into a frantic crescendo. It remained measured, law spoken aloud, a verdict recited until the world complied.

The Noćna Mora looked up. It didn't flinch, brace. or even look concerned at what was coming. It was bred beyond such constraints. Instead, it inhaled. Smoke and ash and fear bent toward its maw as if the battlefield had suddenly discovered gravity. The warhead reached its terminal instant and bloomed into an expanding sun meant to turn street, root, and soldier into a single sheet of glass, and the Devourer drank the detonation. Fire folded inward instead of outward. The shockwave still slammed the avenue, still bucked walkers on their suspensions and shoved debris into shields like thrown stone, but the heart of the inferno was seized, swallowed, devoured, pulled down a throat that had no right to exist. For one obscene second the Noćna Mora's fissures became a lattice of molten scripture, ember-lines blazing bright as it absorbed what was meant to erase it.

Then it exhaled. A cathedral-front of stolen flame poured out, dense, sustained, weaponized, hammering the Imperial line with heat that had been taught to hate them. Cryo-fog screamed into steam. Paint blistered off armor. Air became pressure. Men who might throw themselves behind steel and discovered the ground itself was cooking. It wasn't a blast anymore. It was a corridor of punishment. A firestorm of stolen cataclysm. The second Noćna Mora answered the first like a sibling hearing its name. It wouldn't charge with reckless abandon. It advanced with drowning inevitability, broad through the chest, crowned in jagged horn, ember-fissures pulsing like a starving heart. Its presence pressed down on thought. Around it, courage turned heavy in the lungs. Memories rose uninvited, faces, failures, unfinished prayers, because the creature didn't merely terrify; it reached in and pulled fear out by the roots.

The pair went to work. One devoured distance in brutal lunges, claws carving trenches, tail scything through cover and bodies with the same casual cruelty. The other moved like a siege idol come to life, raking its too-long claws through steel, turning barricades into confetti and men into punctuation. Where the first burned, the second ruined, molten breath splattering in clinging arcs that refused to die, fire that searched for seams, fire that crawled into joints and under plating and turned "protected" into "trapped."

The Imperial column fought like disciplined professionals. They earned their seconds the hard way, baradium thunder cracking the avenue, cryoban blooms snapping rime across iron-hard hide, quad guns stitching relentless lines. It mattered. It showed. The Devourer's charge stuttered under cold; its fissures dimmed as frost tried to make it brittle. But it didn't break. It didn't retreat. It became angry. And angry, it killed more efficiently. Somewhere in the furnace haze, a man's will cut through the supernatural hurricane, Rorsch, pushing forward through hallucinations and dread with the ugly discipline of someone who knew what masters really were: Not men who felt nothing, but men who functioned anyway. He spoke. Defiance made into words, as if words could change what stood at the breach. The Dark Lord let him have the breath.

Not as mercy. As allowance. Two sharp cracks answered both quiet, personal. Voidstone-laced rounds punched through the cacophony and found the Dark Lord's warplate. They did not topple him. They did not pierce him. But they bit the sorcery for a heartbeat, and that mattered. A section of rune-lattice along Qâzjiin'vraal flickered, like a mouth forced shut mid-feeding, an aurodium vein dimming as the null-stain spread outward in a brief, ugly mute. For the length of one breath, the dread-field thinned from crushing ocean to heavy river.


Not gone. Never gone. Just dented, enough to prove the General's shots had purpose. The Shadow Hand turned with that same measured inevitability He'd used to hold the breach open. Xûl-Karzaan's lenses fixed on the advancing figure and the clean geometry of the lightfoil line, not as a man "spotting" prey, but as a predator reading intent in the way a duelist carries his weight, in the angle of a shoulder, in the commitment of a step. Qâzjiin'vraal's living sinew tightened. Plates shifted with predatory intelligence, density flowing toward threatened lines even as voidstone interference tried to make the armor's sorcerous instincts sluggish. The shadow-silk cloak drew inward like a closing curtain, swallowing a fraction of his silhouette, just enough to make distance lie. The portal's corpse-cold rolled behind him like breath from a tomb.

Then the Dark Lord lifted one gauntlet, slow, precise, and the world went quiet around the motion, like every living thing held its breath to see whether it would be spared. Godflame did not begin as lightning. It began as recognition, the atmosphere remembering the shape of His malice, the Force folding toward Him like iron filings toward a magnet. The runes along Qâzjiin'vraal answered in slow synchrony, crimson veins brightening as the warplate drank the column's fear and returned it as fuel. Ka'ra'nazat pulsed at His throat, not a charm but a hungry heart, converting panic into pressure. Xûl-Karzaan's black lenses remained fixed on the advancing duelist, unreadable, patient, as if the Dark Lord had already seen this moment and simply arrived to collect it.

Then the storm was born. Crimson and obsidian lightning erupted from His gauntlet in thick, searing arcs that looked less like electricity and more like wounds torn open in the world, veins of blood-bright fire threaded with abyssal black. It did not crackle with showmanship. It tore into existence with cataclysmic fury meant to shake the bones of the earth. Each bolt struck with the sense of being judged by something older than armies, each forked lash a line of execution written across air and armor. The arcs didn't merely lash outward; they hunted, snapping toward metal and circuitry and breath, leaping from point to point as if the storm itself had learned where an army kept its life. Where it found shields, it did not politely stop; it pressed, crawled, and bled through in jagged forks, seeking purchase in any weakness, any grounding, any seam the battlefield could offer. Where it touched plating, the impact was not simply heat but violation. Edges whitening, seams smoking, rivets and joints screaming as the metal flash-heated in ugly, instantaneous pulses.

The very sky answered Him. Might drawn from the dark side storms raging, formed by the Eternal Father. Red lightning clawed down from the bruised clouds in chained arcs, drawn to his work like a congregation drawn to a hymn, bolts splitting, raking, branching across the avenue in violent illumination. In that strobing light the battlefield looked like a fresco of catastrophe. Walkers lit in skeletal flashes, men frozen mid-sprint, shadows thrown long and wrong as if the world itself had started lying about distance and safety.

Along with the burn came the other half of it, the soul-wound. Godflame carried hallucination like a plague carried on heat. Reality wavered at the edges of the bolts. Voices in the ears that weren't there, the taste of ash and blood, the sudden, suffocating certainty of standing inside a memory of dying. For the weak, courage shattered fast, knees buckling, hands forgetting how to aim, breaths turning shallow as fear became physics. For the strong, it wasn't mercy. It was a harder trial. To keep moving while your mind tried to convince you that you were already dead, that the scream you heard was your own, that the shadow behind your eyelids was the last thing you would ever see.

Prazutis did not spray the column blindly.

He poured it, controlled, relentless, laying the arcs in a tightening pattern meant to deny the General the clean tempo he'd claimed, meant to force the approach to become a corridor of heat and screaming nerve-fire. A storm of apocalyptic fury. Bolts snapped low to scour cover. Forks climbed high to bite at walker shielding. Lashes stitched the ground ahead of the duelist's line to turn every step into decision. Advance through hell or retreat into humiliation. If the bolts found true purchase, the consequences would be immediate, systems spitting static, weapons fouling under overload, joints and seals screaming as the armor around a body became a furnace it could not escape. Pain so total it made thought feel like a luxury. If they didn't, if skill, luck, or sheer stubborn discipline carried the General through, then the air still stank of burnt ozone and iron, the stone still blackened and vitrified underfoot, and the message still landed with the weight of inevitability.

It was the single, inescapable truth that the Mortarch had evaluated his opponent and found them lacking, He had grown tired of such trivial games and brought annihilation to their very doorstep. Behind Him the portal widened another inch, the soot-black sigils brightening like fresh wounds. His voice continued, low, relentless, inexhaustible, not because He had the luxury of multitasking, but because this was what mastery looked like. A Dark Lord of the Sith turning battlefield, breach, and enemy into a single ritual mechanism. Even as Godflame lashed outward, the torn seam behind Him breathed, and the darkness beyond it leaned forward, patient, hungry, waiting for His next word to make the end of the world step through.

Rorsch | Darth Carnifex | Srina Talon | Mercy | Madrona A’Mia | Revna Marr | Taeli Raaf | Reina Daival | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Caedes | Ronhar Tane​

 

[Eira Dyn]

​

Objective: 1 - Protect the tree
Armour Mode: WAR
Equipment: Marwolaeth Ddu, Lethal Pursuers, Vibrosword, Blaster Pistol
Allies: TSO
Opposition: Amni Kazda

Eira sighed, the attempts to jab at the lack of intimidation from Eira was the true childish actions. There was a level of disappointment from Eira that this imperial was attempting to sound cocky, overly confident that they could win while ignoring the fact that Eira came for war and she ready to destroy legions. Breathing in deeply, she could feel the power of the robes of hate, intensifying her annoyance for this imperial insect into a hatred for the weakness that was being displayed. The lies that were being spouted, the fear that was hidden behind the thin veil of bravado.

It reeked of an inferior being desiring to desperately prove herself.

Cocking her arm, the vambrace activated and the whistling birds prepped themselves. Eira was going to launch a dozen explosive projectiles at this woman and see how she handled that. Still not reaching for her weapons that remained sheathed on her person. She knew it was far more degrading and frustrating if Eira never used her weapons. It was what this imperial wanted and Eira would deny that. Demonstrating the power that could be achieved through dedication of skill.

As Amni reappeared, Eira launched the whistling birds forward. The darts flew forward and a dozen of them impacted with the launched strikes from Amni. Making sure they never came close to her. There was no way to know what that move was going to be so Eira knew it was safer to just end their attempts before they even got close to her. The smoke of the explosion provided the perfect moment of cover for Eira as she punched her fists down into the ground. The earth cracked and crumbled against her punch, the mask looked up and the red glowing eyes looked towards the direction she knew where Amni was.

Force Lightning blasted through the ground. Eira was send the Lightning in a different direction from where she was once known to be. The lightning breaking the earth up and blasting forward. The growing intense hatred building in Eira caused the lightning to get far more intense and more powerful than the previous attempts to blast Amni. This was no attempt to debilitate. Eira was attempting to destroy.

She was attempting to leave a smoking corpse.

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Allies: Madrona A’Mia Srina Talon Lunaria Talon Matteo Guo-Yian Darth Carnifex Revna Marr Mercy Reina Daival Gerwald Lechner
Directly Engaging: The Lord of Hunger

Armor: Camlann | Equipment: Lightsaber | Shoto | Farrus Sphere containing a Misini Drake
​

As the drop of the Wellspring did its work to restore and empower A'mia and Psilofyr, she would slowly withdraw her hand from the Neti. "Hold onto that and keep channeling it," she instructed. Everything seemed to be getting into order, and she could already feel Brosi starting to try and heal itself. It would be a process though considering the constant continued fires and attacks from the remaining Imperial forces present, but the rain conjured from the storms above and the waters she could feel flowing with the other drop that Kaine had brought, it seemed to her that...

She felt it before she saw it. A gnawing hunger blossoming nearby, vicious and ravenous and... sickly. Diseased. She knew that feeling even if she didn't know the individual, but she knew that sort of hunger. She despised it on principle. She started to stand up from where she had been sitting across from the Neti when the attack came; strong push within the Force to knock them around, to get them out of the way. She had removed her gauntlets to start the empowerment so the Bardottan Shard was out as a counter, but that didn't matter. The attack was also to get their attention.

She would spin in place, lowering her stance and anchoring herself in place with her own command of the Force as the push slammed into them. A'mia would be fine, she was sure, connected as she was to the Tree, but she took the full brunt. It felt like a hammer hitting her in the chest...

But she did not move more than an inch backwards as she kept herself in place. Amethyst eyes would look at the armored and masked Force user. The man was bleeding hunger and pain and disease and foulness into the Force around him, like a cloak of illness and insatiable gluttony.

"The puppet master for our performance today I would assume," she said quietly, but her voice would carry and echo on the breeze and rain. She had learned long ago how best to fight someone consumed by hunger and... that abomination of an Alchemical creation.

"I think you've caused enough damage for one day," she continued, and golden strands of energy would start twisting around her fingers. She would give him a chance to leave, but if not... well... a fight it would be.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Armor | Nightstar | Bracer of the Grove Knight
​

Allies: Madrona A’Mia Revna Marr Gerwald Lechner Srina Talon Darth Carnifex Darth Caedes Taeli Raaf Sophia of House Marr Lunaria Talon Mercy Matteo Guo-Yian
Foe: Kito

Crimson lightning tore across the sky, the glow slicing through the canopy and setting the grove alight; wet leaves hissed as stray embers from fires kissed their surfaces. Each and every breath Lysander drew was heavy with the intensity of the burning battlefield. Nature’s fury on Brosi quickly revealed itself in a dance of light and shadow.

He spun midair, palm seeking out the bark. Without warning, the strike arrived, a blaze surged upward, the blade of another sword flashing past, and grazing his shoulder. His armor absorbed some of the blow, but the heat still seared into his side. Muscles tensed instinctively; his spine arched with reflex. Shock rattled the Sith Knight's balance.

Luckily, momentum would guide his descent. Boots thudded against a branch below. A sharper breath hitched in the teen's chest, jaw clenching tight, and emerald rings narrowing as the flames mirrored in the chaos.

Beneath it all, the Force pulsed as it would.. like a thousand presences tangled.

The sting of the graze would continue burning, but it was not enough to slow him.

“Not bad.. or at least, the lie I’m willing to grant you,” breathed as a murmur into the storm.

It was clear that the entire squad of acolytes had perished; the Covenant had drilled into him these lives were meaningless, and maybe that made the acceptance easier.

Harnessing the power of his forearm cuff, he focused his mind and spirit. In a pulse, he would vanish from sight. And a second later, he reemerged atop a higher branch. Lightning sliced once more.. as though to mark the ascent.

Still concentrating, it was easy to activate the connection bestowed by the bracer. Immediately, damp leaves glistened with a tremor, the branch he stood upon humming softly. Even the saplings nearby would stir with consciousness. A flow of sensations.. vibrations, images, ripples of life. Connected to the Life Tree itself now, perhaps it would unveil the path of whoever this foe was, and aid in anticipating the next strike.

Beneath the armor, a thin line of blood traced his shoulder. In truth, the idea of facing another swordsman was rather exciting to Lysander. Where he stood now was wider, with enough room to maneuver should a true duel be desired.

His grip adjusted on Nightstar, raising the weapon, angling it downward, tip forward.

“Finally.. someone who understands the language of blades.”

 

[Joseph Torson]

S E C O N D_C O M I N G
Objective I : Timber

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
BROSI, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

​

Spoiler: Gear

• Pseudosonic Beam Rifle [1]
• KXV-VBS-01A 'Streiter' Vibroblade [1]
• AAF-8 Scattergun [1]
• Rhydonium Grenades [5]
• Mk II Viral Bombs [3]
• Zsinj-pattern Commando Armor Mark I [w/Jetpack + Service Droid]

Spoiler: Accompanying Forces

• Imperial Assault Gunship [0/1]
• Red Right Hand Operatives [26/36]

Torson watched as the second flying beast made landfall, crashing down on one of the snipers that had targeted the Sith Empress's injured beast. As the beast descended upon the operative killing him upon impact, it sent out a shockwave of radiation and kinetic energy that spread across the battlefield. The operatives closest to the ground zero of the impact were immediately killed by the impact while those at a medium or long distance from the impact area would be able to withstand the shockwave. While some operatives were thrown off their feet and suffered mild concussions, the rest of the task force was still fully operational as their armor were designed with strong environmental resistances.

As Torson and his men recovered from the shockwave and the quake that followed, they focused their attention back to the Sith Empress who had walked over to link up with the second flying beast and it's rider. "Maintain the perimeter around the two targets." Torson instructed, as he approached Srina Talon and the other individual with her which his HUD quickly identified as Mercy, which he immediately recognized as one of the high-ranking members of the Sith Covenant, which had recent struck against the Galactic Empire in the Core Worlds. "Hum. Two for the price of one." he muttered.

Meanwhile, with Torson and his remaining Operatives moving forth to circle around Talon and Mercy, the former appeared to be manipulating the atmosphere itself to turn her immediate surroundings into both a weapon that she could wield against her assailants and a shield that could protect her from incoming attacks. It was most likely that this move was meant to protect her from more traditional energy and kinetic-based attacks, and required a great degree of concentration forcing the Empress to stay in one spot if she was to maintain this little storm she had conjured.

Thus Torson quickly took aim towards Srina Talon with his Beam Rifle and fired it with it's lethal settings on unloading a concentrated beam of sonic energy that rushed towards the abdomen of the Sith Empress where it could deal the most damage to her. At the same time the operatives also took aim with their various weapons towards both Mercy and Talon. Now they were surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned. Even with all their strength, all their force abilities, it still wouldn't be enough to overcome the sheer amount of concentrated firepower they were about to face and the inevitable outcome of this little confrontation.

Tags [Targets] | Srina Talon | Mercy ​

 

[Lirka Ka]

ALLIES - TSO
ENEMIES- TIC, Direct: @T’zarna Khab

Lirka knew the feeling well enough. Hate so deep and so pure that the only thing that mattered was bringing the hated foe down with you - to know that in the end, two graves would be dug.

But Lirka was not a girl anymore. She was a wizened monster who had looked beyond such…mortal perspective. Unlike most of the foes she had clashed with, Lirka was not unfamiliar with death. She had died before, she had danced within that twilight space time and time again as the Primordial Darkness beyond looked to sink its cold abyssal claws into her being and drag her being back into the nothingness where all reality began. She had little intention to allow Brosi to be the next battlefield her cadaver crumbled upon - there was still a war to be fought after all.

Though intent only mattered so much.

Deeper and deeper did she push, the slow grind of her razored hand sinking into meat. She listened to the Inquisitor wail with a sickening glee - but what was this but the beginning? No worthy soul died so pitifully. And in electric form was Lirka shown the determination of foe, that crackling familiarity that arced through the two of them.

For her many mighty plates were potent conductors, when all was said and done. Lightning arced, sizzled, a feedback loop of agony shared between the two of them. But she did not roar, nor cry, nor begs. Even as her armor groaned and systems overloaded, joints seizing and the enhancements to her wretched form going limp till it would nothing but raw gene-crafted muscle to propel her. Her mangled fist tightened within her foe, her relentless advance stalled for a time as her mechanics slowed.

Yet, she stayed close. The tightness between killers, between two monsters born to be Sith-Hunters. Indeed, with her horrid and cruel push they all but stood face-to-mask. The flesh beneath her armor writhing, squirming, convulsing. Undersuit melting and flesh singed. Yet in sheer manically resolution, she still stood there. Letting the feedback loop arc between them as men and women killed and died around them, warriors of both armies clashing in brutal combat as the great cracklings of lightning, storms, earth, and ordinance exploded.

It was all irrelevant. Lives expended so carelessly to either defend or slay those that dwelled within the great tree, if not the monolith itself. Yet there stood the assassin, starring Lirka down.

It brought a certain amusement to her black hearts. In the end, Lirka Ka had been a wall. A roadblock while the great Lords and Ladies flung their mighty mystical powers - for Lirka knew no Imperial Commandant or the like would’ve ever picked the Once-Sephi as the prime target, so long had her life been one of forgettable cruelty thrown within the great dossiers of Carnifex’s menagerie. Yet - her she was.

Soon, one of the slit-lenses of her helmet shattered. Spraying small crystalline shards against her foe - the monster within bore down on the inquisitor now. That single eye, dyed and twirled to that unnatural blue - an alien cruelty behind it all, yet in this moment of supreme agony: a zealots fire behind it.

And then she spoke, words compelled from a mouth that had no right to be able to speak. Gnarled and rasped, but words nonetheless. Motherly and guiding, yet loveless and cruel.

“Don’t give in, Assassin. Even as the twilight scratches at the back of your mind, and darkness creeps to the edges of your vision.”

The brawling of Empires was ultimately second fiddle, for Lirka knew her true purpose was to weed the worthy from the weak. And now, winding up her strength. She pushed ever so slightly deeper into the meat.

“There is no Hive. There is no Empire. There is only you here, in the muck, in the mire. Your moment is now, to hold on. To be strong. Don’t give in, Assassin. Stand proud in the face of death, and prove your time isn’t now. Show the Primordial Darkness your worth.”

And with the whine of gunships overhead. Lirka moved to break their horrid clash, with all the strength still left in her body she wretched herself from within the Inquisitor’s meat. Perhaps from her entrance hole she had already made, or perhaps with the metal clubs she still had for arms to force open a new one as she flung herself back from their crackling loop of agony and to the earth as the missile strike send mud, debris, and death into the air.

But a zealot’s resolution was never bested so easily. And in this moment where the void became a whisper, and the remnants of the power that once coursed through the veins of Lirka Ka came to life. To share in the darkness between herself and her foe, Lirka propelled force that one simple command.

Don’t. Give. In.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Outer Rim
Stygian Caldera
Brosi
Tags: Friends — Srina Talon | Gerwald Lechner | Mercy | Revna Marr | Darth Caedes |
Lirka Ka | Eira Dyn | Darth Carnifex | Reina Daival | Lysander von Ascania | Darth Prazutis
Spencer Varanin | @”Templar”
Foes — The Lord of Hunger | Ronhar Tane | FN-999 (restored) | Joseph Torson | TIC Forces

Load-out

Upon The Soil
​

Living Force surged through her, she felt it welling up within Psilofyr too and branching out through the soil like lifeblood pumped through so many veins and capillaries. For a moment, A'Mia knew ecstasy — her emotional state had been so tenuous and labile of late that this new bank of unspeakably potent power made her momentarily speechless with awe.

Then danger-sense bloomed within her, the seer stone embedded in her forearm pulsed with energy, so A'Mia was drawing Sporebite as the Lord of Hunger materialized before her and Taeli Raaf . Unlike her companion, the neti's patience had been tested one too many times this day. Lady Raaf had just enough time to speak her piece before three loud retorts split the air.

¡BLAM BLAM BLAM!​

A'Mia fired in a tight pattern, aiming for center mass. The taozin fat covered slugs would be hard pressed to miss at such close proximity, but really it was an attack made out of sheer malice and pique.

Still tapped in to the great flow of Brosi, one with the raging conflict not just before her but across vast swaths of her world, the woman trusted Taeli with more than her very life in that moment. So her consciousness retreated down, down deep into the mycelial mat. The neti's body remained, enmeshed with the great root she sat upon and armored, but vacant of awareness.

Bolstered by cosmic force and the fierce stands being made by each of her allies, A'Mia let herself slip from one into many. There, they took hold of the restorative and transmutative properties of the very soil itself.

Roots digging deep, boughs reaching high, grow grow grow again to see a kinder sky.

They willed it so, all the denizens of Brosi could feel the call down to their very atoms. Flora and fauna alike, all who knew this place as their true home could feel as they were called. Those many who lay dying were urged to release, give their life back to the great Weave, whilst those with spirit left to fight or grow were urged to do so.

All the world that was open to Psilofyr's touch could feel that shift, a change in the irradiated winds. Deep down within the crust where naught but worms and fungus generally made their home, they began their great working: all that A'Mia had become in that moment of great empowerment and Psilofyr interwoven with her.

Restorative and healing energy flowed through interconnected root systems, transmutation took hold of radioactive materials to begin the process of making it inert. Radiotropic fungus shared their wisdom with neighboring plants and the working spread. Fallout would not be dispelled without great sacrifice, but nor would it spell doom for Brosi.

New walls of plants surged, rivulets of rain soon gathered into creeks which would soon grow into raging rivers. The rainforest was fighting back, but in too many places it still burned.

A'Mia had thought to face this trial without calling upon the aid of her Master. In truth, for quite some time now she'd been far removed from the title "Acolyte". However, beset as Psilofyr was, A'Mia would choose sacrificing her pride over risking the King's beloved child of sorcery and alchemy.

Hundreds of thousands of disparate but unified voices called out, as if piercing through space and time to call upon the Father of the World Tree: Darth Caedes

Brosi burns, we give no quarter but the great tree cries out.
Gnawed upon by the one element that escapes our mastery.
We need you.

 

[Darth Caedes]

"Brosi burns, we give no quarter but the great tree cries out. Gnawed upon by the one element that escapes our mastery. We need you."
—A'Mia Madrona, to Darth Caedes



E N O U G H
​

Ash fell like black snow around Psilofyr's wounded heart.

Fire carved gaping wounds across the world tree's surface, its vast trunk split by glowing fissures where Imperial fire had bitten too deep. Flames crawled along its bark in hungry torrents, leaping from limb to limb, casting the surrounding forest into a hellish chiaroscuro of ember and shadow. Brosi screamed beneath it all. Engines shrieking through the sky, cannon thunder rolling across the land from walkers and gunships alike, and to those sensitive to the Force, the wounded cry of a world which had only just learned how to breathe; given voice by the groaning of trees as they fell and the wailing of living creatures, lit afire and running aimlessly to their deaths.

And then, through the roar and ruin of war, a voice—many voices—called out and into the Force.

Hundreds of thousands of disparate but unified voices called out, as if piercing through space and time to call upon the Father of the World Tree: Darth Caedes

Brosi burns, we give no quarter but the great tree cries out.
Gnawed upon by the one element that escapes our mastery.
We need you.​

From within the burning core of the home tree, the fire thickened. Not merely becoming brighter, but somehow heavier, too, more solid and opaque. Ash swirled inward, spiraling against the natural rise of heat, defiant to ordinary physics, and drawn towards a single point at the base of Psilofyr's trunk. Something began to form, growing larger. Flames bent inward too, much like sea-grass caught in a slow, invisible tide. For a breath-sucking moment, the inferno 'round Psilofyr seemed to hesitate.

Then something stepped out of it.

A figure emerged from behind the blaze as one might the water of a waterfall. Bare feet touched down upon scorched dirt and hissed, black smoke curling upward. An ashy robe hung simply from his shoulders, unadorned, its edges singed yet never consumed, always lit aglow like embers beneath breath. Dark hair fell loose and unruly about a grey-skinned face, mostly concealed beneath an overlarge hood, yet scarred by the passage of time and the felling of a great many adversaries. His eyes burned gold. Steady and luminous, terrible; not reflecting the fire so much as piercing through it.

Those who witnessed the event would later argue over what they'd seen. Some would swear the King of Korriban had come in the flesh, answering Brosi's call, an avatar shaped of ash and flame and summoned across impossible distances. Others would insist that the world itself came alive, that Psilofyr walked among Brosi's warriors as a phantom, quelling the fire which rained down from above.

Presently, the figure lifted a single hand to call upon the Force. The flame nearest him reacted first. It roiled, surging higher as if in initial defiance... and then faltered. It stretched thin and became dim, then flickered out, extinguishing into thick tongues of smoke, as if the figure's presence was a reaching void in which combustion simply could no longer persist. Fire peeled away from the bark of Psilofyr in widening swaths, retreating out and away from the figure at its base. Where moments before the tree had splintered and cracked beneath a flaming conflagration, now, gradually, its blackened surface smoldered, visible again, bark-scarred despite the tree's sorcerous resilience.

Above, Imperial incendiaries screamed down through the forest's canopy. Though, most would never reach their intended targets.

Missiles and loosed rounds began to wobble mid-flight, their guidance systems and trajectories overwhelmed by a curious pressure no sensor could rightly quantify. Some spiraled wildly, colliding with one another in blinding detonations which blossomed harmlessly high above the treeline. Others ignited prematurely, bursting into fireballs which collapsed inward instead of outward, as if crushed by unseen hands. Streams of burning gel and acid lost cohesion, breaking apart into harmless sparks which guttered and died long before they could touch the ground.

From the clearing around Psilofyr, observers would later describe it the same way, again and again:
The fire parted.

Like an ocean's waters drawn back from a prophet's outstretched palm, flame recoiled from the space Caedes occupied, pushed outward in a vast, expanding ring. Not violently—not with the chaos of an explosion—but with an inexorable certainty. The ground around him blackened as fire fled it, rolling away in thick, reluctant waves. What fire remained clung feebly to the edges of his vision, writhing and snapping, though all of a sudden wholly unwilling to cross an invisible boundary it now seemed to understand.

At the center of it all, his gaze lifted, briefly, tracing the wounded immensity of Psilofyr's trunk, the vast network of burning branches above, and now below him, smoldering. Those close enough might have felt the weight of that look—sorrow which felt heavier than armor. Grief, with a Father's promise of vengeance. Not the fury of a warrior, but the cruel pain of a creator witnessing harm done to one of his children.

The Force deepened around him, Dark and vast. The fire fell back further, continuing to withdraw meter by meter, gasping breath by gasping breath. Each step of retreat revealed more of Brosi's surface beneath the char, revitalized by the efforts of Madrona A’Mia and her allies, Taeli Raaf and Darth Carnifex himself. At A'Mia's command, empowered by the presence of both her Master and the swelling of the Cosmic Force, faint bioluminescent veins began already to glow and burgeon forth, birthing new vines and raw sapling vegetation from the ashes.

Revna Marr Srina Talon Gerwald Lechner Elmindra Xitaar Mercy Lirka Ka Eira Dyn Reina Daival Lysander von Ascania Spencer Varanin
Opp: Ronhar Tane The Lord of Hunger FN-999 (restored) Joseph Torson TIC Forces

​

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
OBJECTIVE I: TIMBER!!
BROSI

The King of Korriban had come home to roost.

At least, that was what it seemed like to the Imperial Remnant forces. In all honesty, it was kind of hard to tell what exactly was going on, for this was the first time that nearly all the forces from the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant had ever seen something like this before. What wasn't hard to tell were the effects that the figure's presence on the battlefield was having on the fighting. Where before the Imperial Remnant had a fighting chance to destroy the tree once and for all, now all efforts to do so seemed futile. The more the Imperial Remnant attacked the World Tree, the less their incendiary rounds and bursts of acid seemed to find their target.

It was time to face a bitter reality: the Imperial Remnant had done all that it could, but had not been able to achieve its objective. Now, the time had come to issue a general retreat.

Regardless, their good be no denying what the Imperial Remnant had done here today. They, a group of non force users, had so rattled the Sith that they had gone running to their King to save them, and for perhaps the first time in their fight against the Sith, the Imperial Remnant had shown them something they were most likely not accustomed to feeling themselves.

FEAR.

Fear that the Imperial Remnant could someday succeed in destroying Brosi once and for all. Fear that the Imperial Remnant would come back to try again, no matter the price they might pay for doing so. Fear, that after everything that had transpired, no longer would the Sith be looked upon as invulnerable conquerors hell bent on destroying everything in their path. Even if the Imperial Remnant couldn't beat them here today, they had shown that the Sith were just as mortal as everyone else, and if you cut, shot, stabbed or blasted them, they would still bleed, no matter how much they might try to convince you of the contrary.

Regardless of all that, the Imperial Remnant still needed to retreat, and thus the mass exodus away from the World Tree began in earnest. Yet, before they left, the Imperial Remnant decided to commit just one more act of defiance against the Sith, to show that they would leave their mark upon this world no matter what happened in the future. A few of the remaining All Terrain Acid Cannons got together and fired at the World Tree with one final attack, burning a massive "M" into the trunk of it as the rest of the Imperial Remnant beat a hasty retreat. Though the Imperial Remnant had planned on burning the Imperial Confederation Rondel into the bark of the tree, this would be the best that they could manage given the situation. Even so, the Imperial Remnant had done what only few would ever dare to do: they had gone toe to toe with the most unrelenting horrors that the Sith could throw at them and came back with equal ferocity of their own, making the Sith pay for even second that the Imperial Remnant remained planetside.

As the various armored vehicles, infantry, and droids made their way back to the waiting transport ships, they couldn't help but wonder what might come next. Would they be redeployed to Brosi or some other Sith World? Or would the Sith strike back at the Imperial Confederation as they sought revenge, eventually moving on to Mahporeem as they burned their way across Imperial space in retaliation toward what the Imperials had done to their planet?

No matter what the future might hold in store, their was one thing that was certain: the Imperial Remnant would fight on to the bitter end, and they certainly wouldn't be going down without a serious fight!

TAGS:
Darth Caedes
Darth Carnifex
Madrona A’Mia
Reina Daival​

---

---

---

Spoiler: Ronhar's Equipment

• Wampa-Pattern Industrial Exoskeleton
• Mk 45 Protective Vest
• Mahporeem Acid Rifle
• AAF-8 Scattergun
• BG-D 6 "Outlaw"
• Rhydonium Grenades
• ABC Scramblers
• Burnblade
• HNDA-Mk I
• Carapace Knitters
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannisters
• 5 ARC Troopers
• 2 Storm Commandos

 

[Reina Daival]

Direct Tag: Darth Carnifex
Ally Tags: Darth Prazutis Srina Talon Mercy Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Madrona A’Mia Revna Marr Darth Caedes Ronhar Tane
Objective:

Hand by hand. Foot by foot. It was taking Reina quite an effort to get back up the tree. First they had been the slight moment to revert back to her somewhat human form. For the octopi arms to shift back into her legs, a strong throbbing pain echoing from one of them from where the arm had been shot. That was good to know at least. The pain stayed even if she shifted back. The scales and teeth could at least shift back whilst she was climbing, as soot and smoke continued to swirl in the air whilst rain was pouring down around her, huffing and puffing away to herself. Just a repeat of the same movements, reaching up, launching herself there and pulling up. There might have been some easy method, like stairs or something...but she wasn't observant enough to notice that.

Yet she froze mid climb, sensing a chill going down her spine as the water beneath her grip, within the tree shifted and changed. Her gaze focusing on the bark beneath her hand, where nary a single bit of light could be felt. Reina's eyes watched, as she reached a hand to her chest, wondering if that was what was happening to her. If it had already happened. If the flame and light within her had been extinguished by the dark and she had yet to even realise it. Even as she could feel the pull of the Darkness flowing through her veins, from the sacrifice He had performed, she wanted to believe there was still a small flicker of Light within her...But perhaps that was foolish thinking.

None of that mattered however as she made her way up the tree, and back towards His camp. Wringing the water and blood out of her hair as she made her way over towards the Great Lake that He was in. Her eyes fixated on the water, how dark it was. Was that what was flowing through her veins? The Ersansyr didn't even notice how her hand seemed to be shaking at her side, refusing to be still as she stood there, silently, with not a single word to give.​

 

[Lunaria Talon]

Ally Tag: Srina Talon | Madrona A’Mia | Mercy | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Taeli Raaf | Darth Prazutis | Darth Caedes | Sophia of House Marr | Horus Rhyne | Lysander von Ascania | Spencer Varanin | "Templar" | Nerralyn Raaf
Enemy Tag: Joseph Torson | FN-999 (restored) | Ronhar Tane | The Lord of Hunger | Rorsch | Venen Vorexar | Kaine Hamilton | Ella Nova
___________________________
_______​

Something changed.

If anyone asked her later on Lunaria wouldn't be able to say when she became aware that her mother KNEW that she and Matteo had stowed away to Brosi, but she knew. There was a cold chill that ran down her spine that made the silence in the Force where the Empress should have been chewing her head off extremely unsettling. "Oh…She's so mad."

Tea-yo would know who "she" was and would also note how hard his friend swallowed. As if to confirm her suspicions she felt them before she saw them, two vast shadows, cutting through smoke and falling ash. The ground gave a little tremor as Vaelcryx descended, landing hard, with one wing trailing blackened ichor where something had torn scale from flesh and bone. The drake gave a weak bellow…But then another one (Babygirl) dropped out of the sky. Much larger. Massive.

Lunaria couldn't remember this one's name but she was fierce…Her wings snapping wide as she positioned herself between the outer bombardment and the base of Psilofyr. If the small Arkanian-Echani hybrid didn't know any better it seemed like both drakes were hard focused on herself and Matteo. Almost, like they had orders. Almost…

"Oh crap."

Because they did have orders. Chit.

Luna knew there would be no hiding from her mother once Kala'anda stirred but she thought there might be more time. A flicker of shame started to rise…but she pushed it down. Later. The Staff of Ascension pulsed in her two-handed grip. It felt heavy and powerful…But it also felt like a man she had never met. It made her eyes sting, against her will, because she had never known a kind word from Darth Empyrean or any words at all…But she felt him now. Her father.

The Kaiburr shard flared from within the dragon-bone mouth, faint at first, then brighter. The talisman Taeli Raaf had thrown arced true; Lunaria (Or Artemis, as many knew her) caught it and pressed it into the staff's maw with shaking fingers before returning to holding the artifact with both hands. The moment it seated into place, something shifted. The ritual stabilized. The edges of the barrier around the World Tree thickened and kept rising. It was like a second skin of dim violet energy that wound around the heartwood of Psilofyr.

Specifically, reinforcing the grove and the area that Madrona A’Mia was located in.

<<Forgive us Hordemother if we are not strong enough…>>​

The hidden Sith Princess didn't know if her mental cry for the neti would reach her with everything else going on, but she knew with startling clarity, that if the Lady of Secrets hadn't assisted them…She might already be dead. Kala'anda recognized her blood and began to feed…Pulling on her strength, her life, to supply the power that was required. Lunaria's breathing hitched, not in pain, not yet…But the pull was so strong.

It was like stepping into deep water and realizing too late that there was no bottom.

Her pulse staggered as the ritual priestesses continued to chant and the Staff of Ascension reached inward, not into muscle or bone, but into the luminous thread that made her…Her. The sensation made her knees weak, but Matteo was there. His hands on her shoulders kept her from swaying and the burden eased while she began to channel his strength.

The bond between them flared while the tips of her fingers began to turn black. Clear silver eyes began to burn while corruption filled them, turning them yellow, while inky darkness began to fill her sclera. Lunaria was silent when he poured strength into her, gasping for air she couldn't find when the staff tried to hollow her out. Matteo filled the gaps. When her vision began to gray at the edges…He anchored her.

The priests that she had borrowed from Darth Carnifex chanted, their voices treading into the rising dome. Psilofyr shuddered beneath them as another distant detonation hit Brosi. Shockwaves tore through the forest and leaves were stripped from branches, while somewhere far above, Imperial fire screamed through atmosphere. Her hands shook while darkness crawled up past her knuckles…Thin blue veins going dark.

Vaelcryx limped closer despite her pain when a new threat appeared in the form of The Lord of Hunger but he didn't seem to take any notice of them at all. The drake positioned her wounded body around the par in a semi-circle while the larger one flexed, wings flaring, to block them from any incoming debris. Kala'anda was not gentle. It would give her the strength to raise the barrier, but that, came at a cost.

It felt like it was trying to drain her dry.

Her fingers went numb around the leviathan leather wrap. The sigils along the alchemized phrik core flared hot white, then deep, ominous violet. The talisman in the mouth cracked along the edge as it struggled to redirect the flow, to temper the flood, and she felt herself thinning…Not physically. It was something else. Like parchment stretched too tight.

Something else happened…Something that she couldn't describe. She had never had contact with something so overwhelming as a Wellspring, and even though it wasn't aimed at them, things felt changed. The grief that had echoed seemed to lessen while fury enough to drown cities rose, strong and more determined than ever.

New walls of plants surged, rivulets of rain soon gathered into creeks which would soon grow into raging rivers. The rainforest was fighting back, but in too many places it still burned.

Brosi was fighting back.

The Force deepened around him, Dark and vast. The fire fell back further, continuing to withdraw meter by meter, gasping breath by gasping breath. Each step of retreat revealed more of Brosi's surface beneath the char, revitalized by the efforts of Madrona A’Mia and her allies, Taeli Raaf and Darth Carnifex himself. At A'Mia's command, empowered by the presence of both her Master and the swelling of the Cosmic Force, faint bioluminescent veins began already to glow and burgeon forth, birthing new vines and raw sapling vegetation from the ashes.

The fire was retreating. The sight of it and the lessening sensation of flame being far too near gave her a renewed sense of strength. She dug deep and pushed herself harder, further, than she ever had before.

"We can do this…We can. I know we can."

Her words were likely lost among the chanting, though, Matteo had a knack for hearing her when no one else could. Power rose up from the blood-soaked earth and tears began to run from mutated eyes, unnoticed, as the barrier surged. It shimmered into a bruise-colored defensive shield that would ripple when struck with heavy artillery…But it would absorb the hit. Kala'anda howled inside her mind now, a chorus of one soul, one voice, pressing against her ribs from the inside. It wanted more. More power. More fuel.

"Kala'anda shûr vakh. Kragh'tor nash ul—Vesh'kara, zoth vahl."

Staff of Ascension, hear me. By blood and bound will—Rise and hold.
​

She repeated the words from the ritual priestesses as if she had known it all her life. Her back slowly melded back against the chest of Matteo Guo-Yian and she doubled down on her faith in him to keep her standing. He knew how important this was. He knew how dangerous this was. They had only survived Brosi last time because Psilofyr, even in infancy, had taken them in and kept them safe from the undead and murder bots.

They had to help this time. They had to win, this time.

They just had to.

"Zoth vahl."

Rise and hold.

The barrier around the World Tree had risen.​

Spoiler: Equipment

Kala'anda, the Staff of Ascension [Permissions] - Only being used for amplification.
Forceline Armor
Saber

 

[Sophia of House Marr]

​

​

Direct Ally Tag: [SO]: Nerralyn Raaf + Horus Rhyne
Distant Ally Tag: [SO]: Taeli Raaf | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Carnifex Madrona A’Mia | Mercy | Darth Prazutis | Srina Talon | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Spencer Varanin | "Templar" | Lirka Ka | Reina Daival
Enemy Tag: [TIC ] - FN-999 (restored)
Location: Brosi [Just Outside Fireball Radius]
NPC's: Ravenscars | Geists | Vheh'Ramikad
Objective: Objective I

| Robes | - | Red Lightsaber | - | Cool Whip | - | Enviro-Shield Generator |
___________

Quote of the Moment:
"...If this is your last stand, you should really stand somewhere else..."
___________​

Before Sophia could wander away, he drew her back, disabling both their enviro-seals... using the Force to keep them protected. "Oh, well, then after this we should retreat to my estate." His lips murmured against hers. "So we can discuss that properly, my Lady..." Truly the worst moment to tease and promise a talk like this.

Her sassy teasing had, apparently, taken on a life of its own. She felt her cheeks heat up behind her rebreather mask, but it was quickly muffled by a kiss that silenced any questions that might bubble up. Sophia was a master of many things, always pulling on her varying charms to get what she wanted, but Horus still had a way of making her feel like she had two left feet. Tripping all over the place like a total buffoon. That…Was now. And he knew it.

"Jackass."

The singular word was purred against him, and for a moment, just a little one, she was tempted to throw in the towel and let this mess sort itself out. But...She couldn't do that.

House Marr couldn't do that, and so it was that she found her Imperial.

FN-999 approached the witch, sizing her up as if he were a hunter in pursuit of particularly dangerous quarry. The charismatic, cautious general of four Empires gave way to something else, something far older and more vicious untethered by responsibility over others.

The Beast of Borosk stirred.

"Hello, beautiful." he stated with mock reverence.

"Hi."

The response was automatic and punctuated with a cheeky tone that might have been friendly under any other circumstances. She didn't stop walking toward the stormtrooper and continued to close the distance at a steady pace. Crimson eyes flowed over his form like water, taking in the state of his armor, the bravado, and the fact that he didn't bother flinching when he was clearly outnumbered. Brave. She liked that in an opponent. He was very brave…But stupid.

Then…Her lips curved.

"You look like you've seen better days…Do you need a time out sweetheart?"

Her head tilted with concern that matched the energy the mock reverence he had given her. If they weren't standing on bodies and bones, one might have thought that he had just complimented her taste in shoes. Her eyes flickered down to the flamethrower he held, then back up his torso, slowly, appraising until she reached the round nugget he might have called a head. She made a sound of unhappiness under her breath, a tsk, before her tongue clicked.

Imperial jumpsuits were just so damn ugly.

What a horrible thing to die in.

Sophia didn't draw her weapon once she got close enough. Instead, she moved sideways. A flicker of crimson coiled around her wrist, and the debris behind him shifted, lifting broken trees, warped durasteel, and shrapnel into a lazy orbit. Too slow to be an immediate threat but too deliberate to ignore. A little distraction for the very, very brave general.

"You've been busy…Busy retreating…", Sophia murmured conversationally, sympathetic, but not without a metaphorical dagger aimed at his back. In truth…The raven-haired woman had no idea who had started this war. She had no idea who had taken the first shot, who, had declared that there would be no peace. She only knew that the Order called her to bear arms…She only knew that Horus, her world, had nearly died at Imperial hands. She would have liked to say it wasn't personal…But it was. "Nearly dying. You're a very lucky man…"

The orbit of the debris tightened.

"Can't say the same for your men."

The first strike wasn't at his head, nor did it come from behind, but rather at his footing. The earth between them liquified for a split second, and the stormtrooper might have the momentary sensation of gravity karking up. That sinking feeling in the stomach while stable ground turned into quicksand. It wasn't an attempt to swallow him but a move to throw off his stance. At the same time, the debris she held snapped toward him.

She didn't aim at his core but at the arm that held his flamethrower. Durasteel shards went straight for the tank and sought to rupture the fuel lines, with full consideration of the fact that Brosi was on fire. Sophia blurred inward several more paces, angling off what appeared to be his dominant side, and a razor-thin wave of Force energy snapped low toward his knees. Her free hand closed into a fist, and she sent a pulse of intense pressure straight toward his nugget-imperial-head. It wouldn't have been enough to cave helmet and skull in…But it was certainly enough to ruin an already piss poor day. At the very least, it ought to ring his bell.

Ring-a-ring-a-ring.

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Preparing the first stage of defoliation
OBJECTIVE: To bring unlife and decay
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | The Enforcer | KRONOS
ENEMY TAG: Srina Talon | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Gerwald Lechner | T'zarna Khab | Ella Nova | Lirka Ka | Darth Prazutis | Lunaria Talon
DIRECT ENEMY: Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf

"Enough damage?" His vibrant golden and crimson eyes seem to light up with a sensation of glee and utter amusement. The woman in front of him, she was well known, even to him, despite never having actually having stood face to face. Darth Arcanix, also known as Taeli Raaf , a member of the Dark Council who's known as the mistress of creation in some circles, as in truth, most, if not all of the greatest sithspawn creations not just in the Sith Empire, but the very galaxy itself have had her hand in them. It was one of the reasons why the Lord of Hunger knew not to underestimate this one, her intelligence was without question her most dangerous weapon.

"If this is what you think...," The dense, unbearable aura of dread and the distorted desires which were carried within this growing, spreading and all-consuming aura indicated exactly what this being was: a monster whose humanity had been diminishing with every evolution he underwent, every time he engorged himself on the lifeforce of others, the cruelty, the ruthless nature, the apathy towards others increased. It was something made manifest in the very shadow which clung to him, a miasma that was so vile, so corrupt and tainted, it began to choke out the air itself. "...you must truly be thinking this is the limit I possess. Perapas it is, perhaps it isn't...would you like to find out?"

"Nu Isar Nenx battle Berniuk, Nu Vyrassu"
​

The Lord of Hunger's hand moved slowly forward again, the tips of his fingers held calmly in a spread position, as the faint crackling could be heard, a shimmering and glistening red light started to spread throughout the black of his armor, until finally at the center of his chest, a jewel of immense value and power manifested itself; a rainbow crystal corrupted and filled with the malice and suffering of a thousand generations.

"S'dies tave vele iv tave prosal, vonin kash tave vele iv tave rodyti, derrinos sh'jatau tave vele iv tave ateitis"

The jewel began to pulsate with a sickening red light, as the dread aura surrounding the Lord of Hunger expanded and intensified at an astonishing rate, his chest seemed to swell, the armor itself practically rippling with strength and vitality, as if the monster covered by it grew its muscles, its own body in the process. The crackling which had been occuring near the tips of his fingers suddenly went silent, while the energy coalesced into a single point in front of his palm, unleashing a torrent of black and white lightning which seemed comparable, if not superior by the lightning which had been devastating the Imperial forces, while the Lord of Hunger had to accept that force storms were perhaps not his best subject in terms of ability, Force lightning had been his forte even when he had been a sith, when he still followed their dogma and their narrowminded philosophies.

Still, perhaps this was not the worst about the lightning, as rather than crackle or boom like a shockwave, it howled and wailed, the sound of hatred and fear, agony and despair audible within it.

"Save us"

"Why does this happen to me?"

"the force has forsaken us"

 

[Mercy]

ALLIES: Taeli Raaf | Madrona A’Mia | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Carnifex | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Lysander von Ascania
DIRECT ALLIES: Srina Talon
DIRECT ENEMIES: Joseph Torson

The radiation was pulsing out of Mercy in waves.

It was a sight to behold.

Her flesh was being annihilated and then knitted back together as fast as the eye could make it. It must have been agony. Radiation destroying the Sith Lord on a molecular level almost as fast as those same cells reformed themselves again. But Mercy seemed to thrive in the pain lacing through her body, drawing from it, blood seeping into the amber of her eyes.

She smashed into the ground from up high. The earth itself shook under her weight, causing rends in the rock as fractures spiraled out of her towards the formation set up by Torson's men.

Mercy did not care.

The mountain was too busy watching in awe as Srina brought the storm down upon them. It was mesmerizing, the power the woman wielded. Not casually, no, with great effort and strain on herself. Yet she powered through. She pushed forward rather than yield or bend. This is what a warrior ought to be, Mercy could think to herself.

Could... if she had the faculty in that moment. If she wasn't a snarling and howling beast filled with joyous pain and rapture.

As Srina moved towards her, Mercy went to her in turn.

The Dragon and the Empress, never far away from one another, when the fighting was at its thickest. There was a great fortification around Srina, it cackled with power, with fury. The storm turned from uncontrolled destruction into a shield that was deflecting even now the shots from the remaining Imperial soldiers.

Anyone wise would have heeded the power thrumming out of the lighting-shield. Mercy... was not wise. She punched through it, grabbing hold of Srina's wrist, to yank her closer to herself.

"I still hunger." She growled down at the Empress, eyes for her, even as they were being shot at. "Give me more."

And then the storm pushed itself into her, from that touch and the proximity. It ripped through her, annihilating the source of continued annihilation, replacing the radiation with purity. It was energy, every cell of her body powering up further as Mercy drank from the storm. In that chaos and madness Torson shot at Srina with a sonic shot, using the hole that Mercy had made in the network of lightning, but sadly it never reached the Empress. Mercy was in front of her.

She took it head-on. Her ear drums burst, her eyes began to bleed, but Mercy just grinned wildly as she looked down at the Empress.

"Together, we are unstoppable." Mercy laughed in ecstasy, perhaps losing herself a touch in the euphoria of pain and power overload.

But she didn't care.

This was so much more fun than Coruscant had been.

Her hand squeezed firmer around Srina's wrist, touching the raw flesh from the radiation pain. "Let's kill them all. You know what I want to do next." Srina would see it clearly through the path their minds had made.

There was a tempest there, pure chaos and joy, but also... the visual of- no, it couldn't be. Except... Mercy grinned and unless Srina objected? She'd only get a moment to prepare herself before she suddenly threw her with all her might towards Joseph Torson. And then immediately leaped herself, higher, going over head to rip him to shreds even as Srina's trajectory would move to take him out clean.

 

[Matteo Guo-Yian]

Ally Tag: Lunaria Talon | Srina Talon | Madrona A’Mia | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Taeli Raaf | Darth Prazutis | Darth Caedes | Sophia of House Marr | Lysander von Ascania | Spencer Varanin | "Templar" | Nerralyn Raaf
Enemy Tag: Joseph Torson | FN-999 (restored) | Ronhar Tane | The Lord of Hunger | Rorsch | Venen Vorexar | Kaine Hamilton | E Ella Nova

Matteo felt it sooner than Luna, because Matteo's presence was wrapped around her.

Srina had to get through him to reach her daughter.

It made him gasp, eyes widening a touch, his arms squeezed around her frame without thinking about it.

"Oh…She's so mad."

Matteo groaned in response. "She is gonna kill us, Art." Even here, remembering that it was her secret, even though he wanted to use her real name. It wasn't his secret to give away. Not to the air, not to the stars, not to anyone unless she gave permission. "Even if we survive this, she is gonna find us, kill us and then bury us."

But somehow that didn't make him reconsider what they were doing.

Luna was right.

Had been right back on Jutrand.

They had a debt to pay here. They couldn't just stay behind where it was safe, just because their previous mission had been... inconclusive. Matteo didn't... really think she'd kill them anyway. Probably. She'd just throw them into some sort of dungeon and then throw out the key. They wouldn't be allowed to leave the building in-

Matteo swallowed the fear and strengthened himself. He felt the way Luna was swaying against him, she needed him, so Matteo would be there for her in the moment.

Pouring his strength into her as her own left to forge the shield around the tree.

The world was fighting back too. Rain turning to river, trying to blush the flames of the Imperial march. The flames were being drawn back. He felt it, even as he focused on the life of Luna in his arms. There was power thrumming, the Dark Side building fiercer, some magick was afoot and it was doing its job.

It left him in awe.

The way these titans, dark and terrible, could accomplish so much.

"We can do this…We can. I know we can."

"We can... we will... together."

He pushed more of himself inside of her, letting his energy turn from a trickle to steady into a current to finalize her works. To strengthen the shield that was forming around them and the tree.

"Zoth vahl."

Rise and hold.

The barrier around the World Tree had risen.

"It is done..." He gasped softly, then... turned Luna around, looking down at her. Cupping her face softly as he steadied her. "Art..." He was speechless, at her strength, at her composure.

The effort she had gone through for the Psilofyr.

It had saved them before... now it was their turn to save it.

"You are brilliant."

 

[FN-999 (restored)]

​

​

Units: 7th Imperial Army, 24th “Dart" and 31st “Silgo" Regiments
Equipment: Flamethrower | Blaster | 2x Vibroblades
Allies: Imperial Confederation | Ronhar Tane & co.
Enemies: Sith | Sophia of House Marr | Srina Talon | Darth Carnifex | Horus Rhyne | Nerralyn Raaf | Open
Directly Engaging: Sophia of House Marr

He made good use of the woman’s monologue.
​

As she spoke, he shifted the flamethrower’s entire weight onto his left arm, reaching with his right hand towards the belt on his waist. Attached was a small white container, almost invisible against the bottom of his chestplate. In the center of the exterior was a simple gray button, which he lightly pressed to open the container before reaching in to grab its contents. Inside were two small syringes, one containing painkillers and one containing a bacta injection. He carefully palmed the two, only the very tips of the syringes visible between the gaps in his fingers. With a single, subtle movement, he exposed the small gap between the armor plates on his left elbow and injected both needles at once, using the bulk of the flamethrower to cleverly conceal the exact procedure he had subjected himself to.

Twin pinpricks of pain radiated through his arm, but they soon subsided as both the painkiller and bacta took effect. His bruised ribs no longer ached half as bad, his breathing no longer strained as it had been before. Other sores gently subsided, his body feeling as flexible as rubber. By the witch finally stopped speaking, he felt as if he was back at full strength.

Which was good, because almost immediately after she ceased her rambling, the woman harnessed the Force to levitate a ring of potentially dangerous objects around them. Suddenly, he had to decide whether or not to commit to an offensive or focus on dodging the threat of a psychic attack. It took him only a split second to decide on the former route, but that brief hesitation was enough for the witch to make her second move.

In an instant, the ground beneath him became viscous and unstable, gluing his feet to the ground. It was a simple, cowardly Force trick to prevent him from moving to attack or dodge, but it too required precious time to escape. Starting with his right foot, he yanked his right leg sharply upwards while keeping his left leg rooted to the ground, freeing it from the Force trap before repeating the same with his trapped left foot using his free right foot for support.

Barely a moment afterwards, debris shot out from portions of the ring ahead of him and on his flanks. With his advanced battlefield intuition, he could tell right away that the woman was targeting his left arm, endangering not only it but the vulnerable fuel tank of his flamethrower. Deciding in a flash that it would be better to lose his flamethrower than his arm, he attempted to toss the weapon forwards in the path of the debris.

It flew around half a meter forwards before being pierced by durasteel shards, the fuel tank almost immediately rupturing with a small explosion as its flammable innards burst out. The heat of the flame pulsed near his left side, prompting him to shift slightly to the right while never letting the woman leave his sight.

Her next strike was with the inhuman speed characteristic of more advanced Force users, his eyes barely keeping pace with her rapid movements and arm gestures. Two miniature shockwaves emerged from her hands, one targeting his knees while another barreled straight towards his helmet. He barely had time to register the attacks while also remaining focused on her movement, forcing him to make a split-second decision on how to avoid being turned into a life-sized bobblehead.

He decided to make a running leap, the energy wave targeting his knees soaring well below him and embedding itself in a tree further back. The second shockwave, intended for his head, instead landed directly upon his chest - or it would have, had he not crossed his now-empty arms over his torso while leaping in anticipation of such a blow. Instead of breaking his chestplate for the second time, the blast of energy instead shattered the armor plates between his wrists and elbows, exposing the bottom half of his muscular arms to the elements. At the same time, a sharp, bruising pain radiated through his partially exposed arms despite the best efforts of the painkiller. He winced in pain as he landed back on the ground, now unarmed and dangerously close to the witch and whatever melee weapons or tricks she might have in store.

He bounded diagonally to the right to put a moderate amount of distance between himself and the woman, but he was careful not to overdo it. He had no delusions about their matchup: at medium to long range, the clearly powerful psychic held every advantage. It was only a brief regroupment, allowing him time to withdraw both vibroblades from their sheaths and activate them. The blades hummed with rapid vibrations as he again lunged forwards, directly at the witch.

During the entire ideal, the Beast in his head had been making observations and calculations at breakneck speed, giving him a steadily improving understanding of her adversary. She was evidently strong in the Force, being highly competent at telekinesis and confidently using it to enhance her physical performance. More notable still was her behavior, revealed in her monologue: she truly saw him, and possibly the Imperials as a whole, as pitiable creatures to be toyed with and put out of their misery. She still seemed to underestimate him, and he could use that to his advantage, both now and later on.

Importantly, at melee range her telekinesis was a double-edged sword, putting her at risk of being struck by one of her own projectiles if she attempted to use them up close. Consequently, he sought to close the distance as much as possible, his vibroblades his weapon of choice.

Barreling towards her at a sprint that would be considered above-average by human standards, and well above average for a man exceeding sixty years old, he struck with unyielding precision.

With his right arm, he swung out in a wide arc, the blade gaining momentum rapidly as it progressed. The arc curved upwards, terminating in a decapitation strike intended to slice her exposed neck clean off. While the blow could be predicted from a mile away, the strength carried in his muscular arm combined with the velocity of his sprint gave the blade immense force, enough to cut through solid titanium.

From his left arm, he sliced in a smaller, more conservative downward arc aiming towards her lower thighs. This blow was quicker but less powerful, intended not to deal damage to her likely armored legs but to knock her off balance, leaving her vulnerable to a followup strike even if she evaded or otherwise blocked the decapitation blow.
​