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]

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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
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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

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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 was unamused as the other flying beast dropped down on his snippers and began unleashing hellfire throughout the surrounding area catching an unfortunate operative who just happened to be too close to them. "Take care of them." Torson said through the encrypted comms as he took out his Pseudosonic Beam Rifle. Almost immediately another volley of missiles flew right above Torson and across the clearing as they made their way towards the flying beast aimed at it's rider as his operatives began their attack on the flying beast.

Meanwhile Torson shifted his attention back towards the Sith Empress who 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 this point the Sith Empress only had two options left : either she could tank the damage and maintain the storm she conjured up or she could react to it by evading it thus weakening or outright dissolving the storm she had created. In either situation, it gave Torson the upper-hand he would need to defeat Srina Talon and complete his task.

At the same time, a firefight had erupted amongst the burning jungle tress as a group of six operatives tried to keep Mercy contained. Having spread out around Mercy and her flying beast they unleashed a heavy attack on the pair throwing everything they had towards them, Acid Rifles, Scatterguns an flamethrowerss while occasionally throwing detonite towards Mercy as she rode her beast and trying to hit the detonite close enough to Mercy via sniper fire, to force her on the ground just as they previously did with Talon.

Everytime Mercy's flying beast would turn towards them to unleash hellfire upon them, the operatives simply made use of their jetpacks to fly away and outmaneuver their opponent, creating large amounts of distance before returning back to re-engage Mercy, each time attempting to dislodge her from her flying beast before disengaging and reengaging to avoid the beast's wrath, keeping the Sith distracted and buying Torson more time to deal with the Sith Empress.

Tags [Targets] | Srina Talon | Mercy ​