The Shadow of Unity (TSE Dominion of Malachor V)

[Ras'kala'han]

Location: Silver Shadows Temple; Exterior
Objective: Destroy the temple (1); Follow a lead

Oh, how long it has been since he had last joined in battle proper, since he last felt the truest exhilaration there is. He hadn't felt as alive, as in control since he watched the pieces fall into place, watched his sister murder his father - all those years and years ago - but now, now was different yet. This was not a skirmish, this was not an assassination. Oh no, this was war. For a moment, he could imagine why so many Sith, in loyalty or begrudgingly, would bend the knee to this usurper executioner king. His promise was simple, his promise was sweet: "Come with me, and I will give you all the slaughter you desire." Where it not for his pride, he would have let the siren song fill him up body and soul, and even now he was content to dance to its tune for a while.

The corpse-complected Sith Knight raised his left palm, flat and facing forwards against a Jedi Knight striking their way through the wall of soldiers. A nautolan, of inscrutable expression, whirled through the air, executing Ataru forms and leaving a trail of rolling heads, severed limbs, rent weapons and armor, his brown robes tattered by blasterfire. He had a wild glint in his eyes, yet executed what the Jedi doubtlessly knew was his last battle with chilling serenity. For a while, Antherion was content to watch men die in his name. Time has flown since he last saw one of these warriors in action, and the style had evolved over time - their movements were more conservative, a lower silhouette, tighter loops in the shifting of the somersaults. He saw a fluidity also, the styles had blended over time. No, this was no the Ataru of his age, but the 'Fast Style' of the Skywalker era.

"There is no chaos," the Jedi said - he was growing closer, clearer, more dangerous as his movements picked up speed, sinking deeper into a battle-trance, "there is harmony."

"If only that were true." Antherion raised a clawed hand, the dark side pooling around it in a shimmering haze of liquid shadow. "If only." The Silver Shadow whirled his violet blade to reflect the tendril of inky shadow that lanced towards him - his last mistake. The substanceless haze passed through the blade, into his chest, into his mind, and the nautolan's eyes widened with fear, and he lost his grip on his saber and stood still, transfixed by visions of formless nightmares.

As the metallic handle of the tool fell to the ground, the Sith licked black spittle off his lips and spoke clearly to his men. "Kill him." They obliged with a hail of blaster fire. Antherion grinned, and walked forwards, following behind the soldiers.

~​

But what nagged at him? What was troubling him, what danced just out of sight? What was on the edge of his vision, tantalizing his sixth sense? Something was out of order. There was a... gear, a gear in the machine turning the wrong way. It was close to him, closer than he had acknowledged. He inhaled, exhaled, glanced around. The fog of war was literal in the Force, it was like trying to read a message spelled out in a split-second's hail of raindrops in a tempest. So many emotions, passions that it clouded perception. But no matter.

When he walked, it was with the weight of inevitability. Whoever was hidden nearby would be revealed, surely. All he had to do was wait, to follow these threads of fate to their source. His heart may throb with anger, but his eyes shone only with the coldness of the certain.

| [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Darth Morbian"] | [member="Enyo Typhos"] | [member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="K1-77"] |​

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Objective 3
[member="Enyo Typhos"]

"It's a bloodbath, my Lady," one of her Adepts reported. The handful of Dark Side Adepts and Beastmasters she had brought from her personal power base had only sought to secure the rooms directly attached to the Trayus Core, and while they had done so, they could hear the sounds of killing. A few had Sith familiars and had sent them out to scout the Proving Grounds and other major areas of the ancient academy. Even after the operation was done, it was going to require some cleanup before the site could be used.

"At least our allies are exuberant in what they do," she replied, a touch of mirth in her voice. She was seated in the exact center of the Core, a touch of sadness and rage boiling within that Circe in her time here had never sought to restore this place to what it was. Her dark side energies were reaching out, burning away any trace of the plant-lady Sith and allowing Malachor's natural dark side energies, those lovely twisted and corruptive powers swirling through the place. Perhaps she would ask for the Academy as a boon from the Dark Lord? Food for thought.

"Leave me, enslave some of the Storm Beasts and prepare them for transfer to Horizon," she ordered. The Adept bowed and departed, leaving her and her mount alone in the Core. With the strength of will that only one that studied the deepest secrets of the Sith could, she started to command the power of the Core to show her what she sought. She had to center herself in the maelstrom of power, command it with her will. It could only be done for short amounts of time, but all she needed was one scrap of information. Then... she would be able to proceed accordingly.

Show me where it was! Show me where His holocron was!

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Objective 3
[member="Taeli Raaf"]


Bloodbath was a good way to describe things. Unlike another character written by this one, Enyo cared preciously little for ancient history or lost Sith lore. She'd learned her lessons on the battlefield and in the sterile, obsessively clean nest of vipers that was Archangel.


Dispassionate cruelty and manipulation had been the hallmarks of the HRD duo that directed the machine cult. But now Archangel was in retreat. Maelion Liates was dead. One mother down. The other, Moira Skaldi would follow soon. Deep down, she probably knew the end was coming, but her programming would make her unable to change course. Enyo loathed them...but also knew that without them tormenting and oppressing her, she would not have become who she was today. It was tribulation that made you strong.


Mercilessly, she tore through madman and beast alike. The cyborgs began their assault by lobbing in grenades. Cryoban discharges swept the corridor, producing a horrible cold. A bolter round from one of the cyborgs shattered some mutants. Those made of sterner stuff fought on, though they might be missing a few fingers or ears here and there. They faced another hurdle though: Yellowish-green gas that produced an euphoric rush - and dampened the Force connection of the militants.


Enyo had no honour whatsoever. Her concussion rifle roared, producing an explosive discharge so powerful it blew a raptor creature off its feet. Wielding it as a club, she slammed it into the beast's skull with such force it caused brain matter to splatter. Screams, coughing, and shouts of rage and confusion filled the corridor. Fire burst forth from Neda's flamethrower, enveloping a cultist in their fiery embrace. Despite being roasted, the man charged on, before being put down by a series of blaster bolts.


Enyo was in motion once more, putting down enemies with her gun, lightsabre or simply her fists. She could see Thalia slash away blaster bolts, before the girl leapt into the fray and scythe down two cultists in a blaze of light. The young clone had skill and passion...though she would need to temper the latter. She would learn the lesson by going through the school of hard knocks. Still, she felt a bit proud of her. The Geister struck from the shadows, using their great speed to strike unexpectedly and fell opponents with a precise stab here, a precise cut there, before vanishing again.


A telekinetic wave put a spider against a wall, which was then covered in gore. With a loud war cry, the cultist leader charged Enyo. She could tell that his Force aura was weakened, for his mask did not come with breath filters and so he had inhaled some of the gas.


Summoning his anger, he tried to choke her but that obviously did not work, Then he rained down blows on her like a savage and she parried, forcing his blade away to deliver a brutal punch to his solar plexus. One that hit with enough force to push him away and make struggle for breath while experiencing agonising pain. Force Drain tugged at her heart as he sought to devour her aura, drawing upon all his rage even as the gas weakened him.


The clone winced as she felt the draining energies, but kept her wits up to block a mace coming for her head, before driving her blade into the chest of the attacker. A storm beast pounced her and knocked her down with its natural strength and a sonic shockwave. For a moment or two they wrestled before she put a tensor beam into its shoulder and savagely ripped the beast's head off with her bare hands. The leader of this group of cultists was trying to flee, but she was not having it. A telekinetic tug swept the legs down from under him. As he lay there on the ground, she marched towards him and put her lightsabre through his throat.


"Mercy," one cultists cried out, melodramatically raising her hands. "We worship and bow to you, Great One!" By now, there was an awful lot of blood, guts and burnt flesh lying on the floor. More work for housecleaning, but then that applied to the whole academy.


"I do not want your worship. Only your obedience in all things," Enyo retorted icily. The electronic speaker in her helmet modulated her voice, but even without it she would have sounded frosty and mechanical. Grovelling weaklings irritated her.

 

[Arage Bao]

Objective: 2
Location: At the Silver Jedi Temple. Shadows.
Scene: [member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="Darth Morbian"] | [member="Greta Kohler"] | [member="Syss Rembala"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]

It became quite clear that the Jedi was special.

No matter what illusions the Muun created to play with her mind, she shrugged it off as if it was nothing. Nothing at all. It was strange- at first Ardeth assumed this one was an Epicanthix, that would have been unexpected, but plausible. Until his mind burrowed down and pierced her walls once. There was pain there, anger, fury, hate, the perfect bedrock for a Sith's foundation, but before the Muun could dive further he was unceremoniously kicked out.

Violently, he might add.

"My mind is my own​, Sith."

Not there yet completely, but the Muun could see the fall. All that the human needed was a push in the... right direction. He timed it, waited meticulously between their blows, watched as as her mental walls weakened once more from splitting her attention in too many directions. Then Zun moved. Just as the Jedi leaped for him once more his mind shifted the narrative as subtle as possible. A different Jedi taking three steps too far and landing right in the middle of her blow.

Cut through immediately.

The world turned silent as the Jedi froze in place, the hum of the lightsaber all that she could hear.

Collapsing to her knees, holding her brother in her arms, or what remained of him anyway. She cried. Screamed. Blamed herself, blamed the Sith, blamed her brother, blamed the Jedi. Hatred turned to suffering and the last part was complete.

"I could bring him back." Ardeth whispered as he crouched next to her. Her lightsaber fallen and disengaged, his own cut short. The battle raged still... but the Sith were turning the tide as they always did. "Wipe away your sin and make him alive once more."

Tears, eyes amber, blood on her hands.

There was no hesitation - it was what sealed fate. "How?"

"The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be... unnatural." The Jedi did not seem to notice the ironic usage of that particular quote. Jaw was set, determination pushing the path forward as she nodded firmly. It was clear to her what Ardeth was offering. It was the same offer any Sith made, any time, always, to men and women like her. It was an offer she had been taught to resist and violently push away over and over again.

She rose.

Lightsaber suddenly pulled in her hand.

For a moment the Muun thought this would turn violent regardless, but then she surprised him once more. To her knees she went, lightsaber in the cup that made her hands offered to him.

"Master, teach me, please."

Zun looked down on her and then over to the battlefield. Most Jedi were retreating now, they were being cut down, but there was still a chance here. The chaos of the battle made things confusing. None of them were paying attention to them, the Muun had made sure of that. "Rise, my apprentice, my first command: retreat... and as the remnants of the Jedi think they are safe behind their walls? You will cut them down, opening the gates for us."

Hesitation a moment. Ardeth thought for a moment that he pushed too far, but then she nodded.

No more words spoken and she left, joining the fleeing Jedi into their base. The gates closed and the Muun smiled. This was only the beginning.

 

[Zef Halo]

MEDEVAC SHIP
STILETTO TWO-ONE ACTUAL

Eyes open.

White Room.

Eyes close.

Darkness.

Eyes open.

Droid.

Eyes close.

Darkness.

Eyes open.

"Br-bring me ba-"

Eyes close.

Voices.

Eyes open.

"d-down t-"

Eyes close.

Explosions.

"-o fight, ye fethin clowns.!"

Adrenaline rushed through his veins. He stood up, almost blacking out from his abrupt movement.

"Gimme back my armor and get me back." Scipio uttered. Headache slicing his brain into two. But there was no need for him to be taken away.

He'd blacked out from the impact nothing more.

The pain in his joints will disappear with the first stim.

Was this because he was an officer and not a sarge no more?

This nanny treatment, he refused.

Scipio staggered forward and off the med room of the medevac ship, the droid protesting behind him.

"Shut it, ya piece of fused scrap."

The lieutenant reached the cockpit with a crew of medics urging him to go back to his bed and rest. Something about concussion.

But there was no stopping this farmer. You'd have to be a Sith Lord to be able to stop a farmer's mulish spirit. And even then you'd find it difficult.

"Pilot!" Accent heavier than usual. "Git me down NOW!"

"But si-"

"That's ay god damn order, flyboy." Threatening tone in his voice. "And git your hands off me, lady."

The protests stopped. The ship's trajectory proceeded as planned.

"Pi-"

"I can only let you HALO drop. We've got other soldiers on board, can't delay too much their treatment." The pilot explained cooly.

"Good." Scipio nodded. "Now where's my darn armor?"

​

[member="Ardeth Zun"] | [member="Darth Morbian"] | [member="Greta Kohler"] | [member="Anora Demici"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Syss Rembala"]​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

​

​

The walkers continued on their slow, methodical advance, unperturbed by the defenses of the Silver Jedi that had been arrayed before them.

Hellfire bellowed forth from their mouths, staining the air with explosions and debris as the ground was torn asunder by their fury. The shield protecting the Shadow Temple shimmered and began to buckle by their combined, concentrated firepower. The lead walker, known in this operation as Malachor One, was the closest to the shield's perimeter, and without hesitation continued to pour copious amounts of fire into the shield's outer shell while simultaneously crushing Silver defensive emplacements with its massive reinforced footpads.

Colonel Piet Pretorius, commander of Malachor Force, watched the protective shield start to give from the safety of Malachor One's cockpit. All it would take was one more barrage, and the whole thing would come crashing down around the temple.

"Target, maximum firepower!"

​

Energy was redirected to the forward batteries, and with one grand final blast the shield was pierced and the generator sustaining it overloaded and erupted in a fiery explosion. The way was now laid open for the Sith to take the fight directly to the temple steps, and the Silver Jedi were all but routed from the battle beyond the perimeter.

​

​

​

​

The Dark Lord had just finished cleaving another Jedi Knight from crotch to cranium when the fantastical destruction of the shield generator radiated across the battlefield, the enemies of the Empire looking on with worsening despair as the valiant protectors of order and justice were renewed with vigor and tenacity.

"Look at them scurry! The vermin of the Jedi tremble and flee before the might of the Empire! They spurned our mercy at Mirial, so now all we have left to offer them is our hatred!"

Carnifex had taken up position on a rocky outcropping sticking out from the wind-swept grasses, his lightsaber swinging through the air as he spurned on the Imperial advance towards the unveiled temple. "Root them out from their holes, drag them into the light so they can see the faces of their demise bearing down upon them. Not a single stone of this blasphemous edifice will remain standing by today's end, it must all be reduced to rubble and ash!"

[member="Ardeth Zun"] | [member="Darth Morbian"] | [member="Greta Kohler"] | [member="Anora Demici"] | [member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="Syss Rembala"]​

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Objective 4: The Mass Shadow Generator

The last body fell with a thump of limp flesh against the stone floor. Groans of pain permeated the air, but all the Pale could hear was the thu-thump, thu-thump of her own heart and the serrated sensation of her breath. The dark adrenaline pumped through her veins as the Eyes of the Satwas urged her closer and closer to mad rampage, but she resolved to be the stronger party.

Her eyes closed, a deep breath drawn and held as she stilled the storm inside her. Then, an elongated exhale as she resumed control of her self.

“What a mess.”

She lifted her left hand and wiped her brow, smearing her own face with half-dried blood, then looked at the hole in her palm. Another inhale-hold-exhale.

“Enough dallying then.”

Her eyes seemed to roll back in their sockets as she reached through the force-bond to her fellbeast.

Zhelen’s shriek travelled far as he felt her removing the metaphorical leash. The cloaked form of the pseudo-dragon swept down from the skies. The top of the pyramid quaked as he planted his tore into the glassteel with his taloned feet and drew a deep breath. The snub-nosed head reared back, then curved over and inside the rends. The cloaking device in his harness worked over-time trying to cloak his movements, giving him a ghostly, translucent appearance. Then, a cloud of jade-green, noxious gas spewed from its purple maw and filled the red glass ceiling.

Mirialan and human hands tried to cover themselves, but the gas permeated the pyramid’s head and ripped through their attempts at not breathing. The fellbeast then detached himself from the pyramid-face, gas still trailing from the sides of his mouth as he retreated into the air.

Ophidia could sense the carnage as she moved deeper into the Mass Shadow Generator, seeking the central lift that would carry her to its peak.

[member="Kor Vexen"]

 

[H3xle]

OBJECTIVE: 2, Destroy the Silver Jedi Temple
ALLIES: | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="Darth Morbian"] | [member="Greta Kohler"] | [member="Syss Rembala"] |

The world erupted in light and sound, and the soldier who caused it fell.

Anora took a deep breath and popped out of cover, her sniper rifle lay on the ground, and she pulled out her sidearm. She knelt across the soldiers body, the pistol in a two handed grip as it bucked in her hands. She was firing more for effect than to kill, but she knew some shots were lethal on the Rangers that had recovered from the explosion.

She felt the medics pull the soldier from under her, and she stood to make it easier for them. She continued to cover them while they took him back to a shuttle. After that, the soldier was out of her hands. A green arc of energy hit the ground next to her, and she leapt the other way into a combat roll. A second green arc hit her in the lower leg, sending her tumbling.

"Gaahh!" She growled out, sprawled on her back for less than a heartbeat before she rolled and lunged to her feet. She stumbled her way to a tree, and collapsed behind it. Energy lanced down, and hit the tree. Her nostrils flared as pain and anger set fire to her veins. She looked over at her sniper rifle, fifty feet away from her. Anora stood, and stepped out into the open. She dropped to her knees and lunged forward. A lance of green energy came within inches of her. She ran a few steps, paused and jumped into a roll as another lance of energy went through where she would have been. Through the fifty feet of open field, she dipped, dived, dodged, and ducked her way, every bolt missing her by inches until she slid behind the cover where her rifle was. She dropped the cartridge and loaded a new one.

With her heartbeat racing, she popped back up and sent a lance of energy right down through the optics of a sniper, then sent a second through a nearby Ranger. Adrenaline coursing through her blood, she continued to provide what cover she could to the troopers assaulting the temple.

 

[Komo]

OBJECTIVE 2 - Destroy the Temple & Root out Defenders

Greta was in the vicinity of the Dark Lord, causing mayhem and destruction as the group of Sith wrecked havoc and slaughter of the defending Silver Jedi. Padawan or Knight she cared not for they all fell before her blade all the same. She’d long lost count the number she’d killed and all she knew was that by the end of the day when victory was their, her blade would be more than satiated more it's ever hungering blood lust. The Sith knight had just been in the middle of impaling one of the defenders when the monstrous destruction of the shield protecting the temple rocked and sent tremors among the battlefield. That alone proved to be the last straw for the defenders and they began to retreat, fleeing their position as they fled back into the safety of the temple. A false sense of safety.

It was simply a matter of time before those in the building would either be subdued or eliminated anyhow. The Empire and her valiant soldiers would see to it. As the Dark Lord began throwing out mocking words of the the Jedi, Greta along with the rest of the Empire’s forces began to cheer and jeer in equal amounts, buoyed by their success and victory in this part of the battle. Lord Carnifex then gave the orders for the defenders to be rooted out from their little hidey-holes, and the Sith would be more than happy to oblige.

Raising her blade, she cheered as she gave the order to charge and advance in the name of the Sith Empire. Sometimes all it takes was for a little momentum, before the destructive force of the Sith forces could press forward in the bid for victory. “Forward! Forward in the Empire’s name!”

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Darth Morbian"] | [member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="Syss Rembala"] | [member="Ardeth Zun"] | [member="Anora Demici"]

 

[Soldiers By Kage]

Keep your head. Keep calm. It had been a while since Darren wore stormtrooper armor of any kind, and this new uniform was tight. He'd get use to it at some point. At least the gun was similar. He held the blaster rifle in a knowing grip as he followed the other troopers and what he could only see as a monster with the name [member="Antherion"] . A corpse, rotting. You're no different. The voice spoke in his head, sending a shiver down his spine. It was right.

Darren kept his gaze forward as the Sith broke the Jedi's mind and a deep hatred began to rise. Not for the Sith, but your the Jedi. You could use that hate to be just as strong you know. Use it. He didn't deny the offer. Slowly he lowered his gun and as his fellow troopers began to let loose their fury of bolts he raised his hand and let loose a blast of crackling red energy. Pain surged through his mind and body as he did, and it only fueled him.

The shots from his fellow troopers began to slow and stop as they stepped away from Darren, surprised by the sudden blast of electricity. Darren didn't notice, instead letting the blast burn through and unleash. The Jedi was helpless from Antherion's meddling and his skin charred and burned as he released it, and soon enough the Jedi collapsed. Darren stood panting, his white glove charred black. And as he stood there a flash of red washed over his form, a wave that revealed a ghostly form.

 

[Darth Bellum]

Location | Mass Shadow Generator Core
Objective | Ṣ̙͇̟̳̬̯͒͐ĺ̋̀͆ͥ͌͠͏͓͕̙̯̝͉̬̰a͖̹̘̪͔͓̗͎ͬ̔̒̿̇͆ͫ̈u͖̦̍͛͆͌̄͌ͬ́g̣̖̓͒̅̔ͣͤ͂̚h̥̲ͥ̐̇̂ͩt̷̨̟̦̺̬͛̂́͒̏̓̕ë́͂ͨ̒̉̒͊̓͏̨̗̦̥ṙ̢͍̣̘̳̊̔̊̇̚ ̯͎̗̜̠͕ͪͫ̑͂̉̽͠ţ̣̠̦̪̬̩͂̃́̔͋h͍̻̰̭̹̘ͯ͗̀e̥̖̹͖̯̟̥̫̍̈́͝m̨͍̜̳̫̲͈̱̙̪ͨ́ ̴̩̫̒̀̋͌̉͂̈ͣ̿̕à̵͈͕͙͍̦͇̼̟̊̎̀͡l̶̀̉ͭ̅͜҉͓̭͉͔̖̘l̫͇̽̄ͮͦ͐̉̀͘
Company | None

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Vexen growled as he rose up to his feet, the individual he was intent on slaying simply turning away as he made his way to the Mass Shadow Generator controls. Vexen would once more charge forth, saber raised in both hands as he built up a sprint, his thundering footfalls heard echoing throughout the core. The figure would turn and raise a hand up, presumably to send out another wave of Force Lightning. Vexen was prepared this time as his boots magnetically locked to the surface of the floor. A wave of lightning would arc out as he raised his saber up in defense, drawing in some of the lightning, though a few lances of it made it past to strike at his insulated armor. He would stand firm though as he released one magnetic lock to take a step forward before locking to the floor once more, slowly advancing.

Lightning would arc as it sparked around Vexen, stray bolts flying out and striking machinery. The figure would take notice to this and immediately cease his use of Force Lightning, worried that he may end up striking something critical. Vexen would take note of this as he raised a hand out and lifted a crate up in the air before smashing it into one of many consoles throughout the generator. The figure was not at all pleased by this course of action as he turned and held out a saber that ignited, shouting at Vexen, " You savage! Do you have any idea how hard I have labored to be able to use this facility? These cultists make for terrible engineers. " Vexen would disengage his magnetic boots as he marched forward.

His harsh grating and vocoded voice would be heard, " You dare to claim the Mass Shadow Generator as your own? I will tear you apart for your insolence. None but the Dark Lord may command this weapon. " Vexen would pause as he held his saber, gripped tightly in one hand as he watched the robed figure approach. The two would raise their sabers at one another, a formal invitation to duel despite the anger that both clearly were experiencing for different reasons. Vexen, who was clearly the more ambitious of the two would charge forward as he raised his saber in an upward, diagonal slash that was met by the crimson blade of his opponent. The duel between them had begun and would decide whether the Mass Shadow Generator would be fired or not.

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Objective 4: The Mass Shadow Generator

Her breath was quick as she jogged through the Mass Shadow Generator, holding her wounded hand close to her chest. Every other corner, she had to duck and slice up a few of the intruder-hunting cultists fleeing the gas attack, but it was nothing to write words about: She would weave past their initial attack and leave a deep gash in their sides; burning lungs to cinders and drawing their life-force through her blade and into herself, perpetuating the cycle.

The corridors became larger, better lit, and increasingly more triangular as she came closer and closer to the last shaft leading to the peak of the pyramid. Before soon, they opened up in an angular chamber. Light , debris, and trails of green smoke fell down from above. She fastened her rebreather.

Meanwhile, over the pyramid. Shots of plasma whizzed past Zhelen as he threw himself back and away from a second attack. The Fellbeast backed almost all the way to the outer perimeter before climbing once more and setting into another assault from a new angle. He swiped past the pyramid, exhaling his gas along its side. It welled in through the corridors, but did not penetrate with the same effect. Climbing again, he assaulted the glassteel, sending shards falling down in the interior. With a roar, far penetrating his sonic dampeners, he shunted fear through the hearts of resistance, then let his teeth clamp down on a Mirialan.

Darth Ophidia could not see the central platform; the one they knew held the detonator. It was not above, so it had to be further down. She spat in irritation and surveyed the walls. Was it worth it?

It was.

She tightened the muscles in her left hand, sending another surge of pain through her arm. Focusing, she forced herself to deny the restraints that held her. She ran to the edge, turned sharply, and ran back at the wall. Forcing her inertia to shift, she caught herself feet first on the diagonal wall and forced herself not to look down. She darted up along its side and stared at the hole through which she had to pass.

One more.

She jumped, inertia shifting as she twisted her way through the gap and scraped along the floor of the pyramid’s peak. Blood from her wounded hand stained the floor and panicked bodies sought to flee the translucent form of Zhelen as he roared, clawed, and snapped his jaws. The blood remained visible on his form; painting him in sanguine colours like a macabre Donadi stain-painting.

Climbing to her feet, she carved her sabre through the midsection of a cultist who would tear her with him into the abyss. Her eyes trailed over the surroundings, and set upon a crystal cased in black stones, set in the centre. Shifting grip on her sabre, she took five long steps and jumped.

Her robed form flew over panicked heads. The fellbeast spread its wings to once more leave the prickly place. And her bloodshine blade pierced into the crown of the Mass Shadow Geneator.

If it should activate without first repairing it, then it would surely mis-fire. Who knows what that would entail for those who lingered in the pyramid?

Weapon crippled.​

​

[member="Kor Vexen"]

 

[Darth Bellum]

Location | Mass Shadow Generator Core
Objective | Slay the usurper
Company | None

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---

Vexen would continue to push forward, relentlessly directing a staggering assault of overhead blows and swings in an attempt to crush his opponent with his fury and rage. The fight was moving in Vexen's favor as the smaller figure could only be on the defense and step back to avoid getting crushed by the barrage of strikes. Vexen would raise his saber up high as he brought it down, hammering down before lifting an armored foot up and kicking the figure back who began to retreat to the main console. Vexen would march closer in anger, his thundering footsteps heard, " Don't you run from me coward! " Vexen would wave his hands off to the side as he scattered crates and other loose machinery off to the side to clear his path.

The figure would do his best to obstruct Vexen, throwing objects via the Force at him which were cleaved by Vexen's lightsaber as he staggered for the controls. If he would be stopped here, he would not be denied the chance to activate the Mass Shadow Generator and take them with him. The figure would jump high up to the main console, swiftly going through the controls as he primed the activation sequence despite the flashing warning indicators. Something was wrong, as if someone had tampered with the core components to the Generator. It did not matter to the head cultist. He was dead set on the activation, regardless of any complications.

Vexen would have to make his way up on foot, needing to move his slow, hulking form as he pursued. By the time he had reached the console, the figure would turn around and let out a cackle, " You're too late. I have activated the firing sequence. We will all perish! " Vexen would raise a hand up, sending out a wave of force that sent the figure flying back, crashing into the console before curling his fingers into a choking manner, lifting the figure off the floor and suspended in the air as he activated his comms. " All troops, pull out and away from the generator immediately. Have a dropship ready for extraction at these coordinates and do not be late... " The massive convoy that had set up a defensive perimeter would begin to mobilize to get clear of the generator as a single dropship was dispatched to pick up any personnel heading for the rendezvous for extraction.

The figure would grab at his throat, being choked by an invisible hand as his feet kicked out. Vexen would approach, maintaining a steel grip as he was soon upon him, physically grasping the man's throat. Had he more time, this pretender may have made an excellent meal for the Anzati, but he had little time to spare. He would instead give a displeased scoff before lifting the man higher up before power dropping and smashing him into the console, crushing his frail spine with the force and weight. Whether or not he lived was of little importance, he would soon perish. Vexen would begin to sprint as he made his way to the extraction, the Mass Shadow Generator powering up, though its activation would not prove successful due to sabotage. Regardless, it would make for a very unpleasant explosion to be caught in the middle of.

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Juliet Varos]

Malachor Surface
Objective One

"No, no, no, no!" Juliet glared at the man she was currently testing, hands on her hips in disappointment. "Absolutely wrong! You must say it with more confidence, more emotion!" She was attempting to teach these common folk to say what they wished to say with convincing confidence. So far, it was not working, at all.
The man swallowed, and tried again.
"W-Well, good sirs, we would like to put forward the notion, if you didn't mind, of possibly joining the Sith Emp-"
Frustrated beyond reasoning, she reached out and slapped the man across the face, pouting.
"For love of perfection, you sound like a whimpering Jedi fool! You are loyal to the Sith, act like you have us on your side!"
The man rubbed the spot on his face, looking very uncomfortable.
"I think they are nicer ways of criticizing without insult-"
She slapped him again, on the other cheek, her hand smarting with discomfort. "I am a Sith, I am not supposed to be nice. I am here to whip you into representatives of the great Sith Empire. I was not told to be nice to you people."
She glared at him, and shook her head.
"No one is going to give you what you want. If you wish to join the Empire peacefully, then you will do as I say. If you do not, then I shall report back to the Dark Lord and inform him that we must raze your world into more of a complete garbage pile than it already is!" Did she report to the Dark Lord, [member="Darth Carnifex"] himself? Well, no, she wasn't exactly an important member of the Empire at all. Which was probably why she was here, instead of at the Mass Shadow Generator or the mob in the streets. She doubted their Dark Lord knew her name, or cared who she was, let alone taking her recomendation to completely destroy a world into account. But these people did not need to know that, now did they?

"Fine. I don't believe you're ready in the slightest, but we shall confront these opponents of progress, and hopefully your meager appearances and skills will be enough." Even if they weren't, Juliet could always use her mentalism to change their minds for them. But she liked seeing the results of her work enough to go through with the mummer's farce she had set up, at least for a little bit. As her little group of dancing puppets streamed out the door, she followed behind, feeling very satisfied with herself. You are good, Juliet. You are very good.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

What wonders the Galaxy will show you, if only you wait. What surprises it holds in store. Just when one thinks the Force has opened one's eyes to everything, one realizes that the most alluring, soul-tickling surprise has been floating just in one's blind spot. With narrowed eyes, letting out a hissing sigh, Antherion watched the Jedi fall - not in a hail of blaster fire as he expected, but skewered by a spear of Force, incinerated in a pyre of hatred. This was Sith Sorcery - the oldest, most primitive, and yet most elegantly simple refinement: the destruction of one's enemies, the searing of them to charred heaps of lifeless ash. Oh, what a pleasure it was to watch.

He shifted his mask, his neck cracking as he swung his head from side to side, seeking to line up his eyes with the electric impulse of the Force that burned like a fire in his thoughts, hinting at such possibility: hate, death, pain - perhaps even fear. Yes, that was natural. It was right to be afraid, because once one's hand is tipped, once one displays the dreadful Gift, then there is no escape from the talons of Korriban, no matter how high your station or how beneath notice you once were. Such is the mercy of the Empire.

"No... not just a trooper." What did he see? What was this figure in tattered raiment, composed of nothing but light and mist, this emanation of the Dark Side itself? He saw a shadow, and in the shadow he saw, of all things, himself. He blinked for a moment, as the troopers stared at their comrade-turned-Sith in dumbfounded silence, and then he understood. As he was, this body was sustained by the unnatural power of the Dark Side. However, this body was not the vessel's own - so this once insignificant soldier, a speck to be cast in the eye of the Jedi and die for the sake of the Sith, now was caught between life and death, between his old life and the grandeur of a being of the Dark Side.

This merited his complete attention. He pointed at the soldier, his eyes scanning the man's designation patch through the translucent mask of wickedness that Darren wore. "Unit, continue your advance. Press on, the Jedi must be exterminated - but you, K1-77. Come to me, now."

Was he going to be met with the compliance of an army man, or the defiance of a Sith? Would he be met with fleeing, or blasters, or trembling, or rays of lightning and pikes of shadow and the whirlwind assault of a true Force-user? He gazed at the man with hungry curiosity, waiting for the answer. Waiting, perhaps, for some gem of a resource to reveal itself to him. Or perhaps, this would be a threat, and he would get the chance to dispose of it now. Either way, he had a sense of imminent messiness that rendered him both eager and apprehensive, befitting something that walked the fine line between the only two kinds of being Antherion acknowledged - tool and threat.

| [member="Darren Korpil"] |​

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Objective 3
[member="Enyo Typhos"]

The dark side of the Force was one that required a Sith to be dominate, to command the Force to do as they willed. They did just allow things to happen on their, they forced the issue through their own wants and desires. Right now, she wanted that information and she kept gathering the dark side to her, subjugating it temporarily to her will, using it to center herself in the eye of power. It was an almost out of body experience, commanding such power and using it to try and peer through the fog of time and space for answers.

It was the briefest of moments... the fog cleared. She saw a cube being unearthed on a swampy world... deaths and thefts of the cube through the ages, only the vaguest of glimpses... podracers zooming through a landscape... a large bazaar...

And the vision faded, leaving one word in her mind.

"Bahrain," she muttered, getting shakily to her feet. One of her Adepts was waiting for her. "Send a message to Eldaah. She has a trip to make."

"At once, my Lady."

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Objective 4: The Mass Shadow Generator

Darth Ophidia shut down her lightsabre and fell to her feet in front of the floating, crystalline shape. Already before the weapon was ignited, it had started to crack from the breach of surface tension.

Then the ignition-sequence started.

Crackles of red electricity shot out from the cracks and reduced one of the cultists to a singular ball of concentrated mass, which then collided with the exterior of the crystal. The Pale quickly realised the danger as she withdrew, lest she too be crushed. More tongues of red lightning shot out from the crystal and carved deep grooves in the charcoal stone.

Throwing herself up on her feet, Ophidia darted backwards, keeping her eyes on the crystal and its fingers of violent death. She ducked under a tail, pushed a Mirialan cultist in the way of a second, and watched her reach for the Ophidia’ robes as the shift of gravity snuffed her out of existence. Better her than Ophidia.

Seeing its master in peril, Zhelen defied his instinct of flying away and rushed closer to his master. Giving a big flap of his wings, he grabbed on to the Rattataki and turned on his other heel. With a roar, the Fellbeast tore his way out of the top of the Pyramid.

On all the Pyramid’s sides, troops were now being evacuated, while a rumble steadily increased throughout the Mass Shadow Generator’s interior. Light flowed from its core to its peak as it tried to fire its world-crushing attack and destroy all life on Malachor. Crimson shot into the sky like paranormal lightning, but when it came to the thunder, it was only the pyramid that felt the impact.

It was a terrible misfire.

Rather than crumbling Malachor V like a piece of paper, it summoned a localised earthquake that shook the surrounding ruins. A massive breaking sounded as the black pyramid cracked down the middle. Light the hue of a bloodied morning sun shot out in every direction as a wave of black dust cascaded the flats.

Then came the waiting stillness.

The Mass Shadow Generator, now inoperable.​

Zhelen, with the Queen of Shadows in his claws, coasted down to meet the rear of the blockade in their retreat. She was lightly mangled by the venture, but whole and conscious.

OOC: Any PC and most of the NPC's in the pyramid will have time to exit.
[member="Kor Vexen"]

 

[Soldiers By Kage]

Darren froze once [member="Darth Vesper"] spoke. He was only here hiding in the Storm Trooper armor to get his silent revenge against the Jedi, but not to be seen by the Sith. They would only get in the way of his goals.

The Wraith whispered again, but this time to his left. Darkness shrowded everything, the soldiers fading from view and even the sith comamnder who had spoken beginning to glow red. Wraith stood beside him, it's ghostly eyes forward on the undead creature of Antherion. "Your new master calls you. Don't keep him waiting."

Darren swallowed his apprehension and shouldered his rifle, standing in attention as he was taught to for sp long of his life. "K1-77 isn't my name sir. It's Darren Korpil, formerly of the Sith Order some years ago."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

At the remark, Antherion laughed, a high, cold noise. It sounded, more than anything, like an animal dying a painful death as much as laughter. "Formerly? As if you can just... walk away? And the first thing you say to a Sith who calls you over is to correct him? Oh my, this is going to be fun. Very, very fun - I'm glad you ended up tipping your hand in front of me, of all people.

"Now, I'm sure a patriot and soldier such as yourself is familiar with Imperial law. It's what we all fight to uphold, after all, it's the reason for these bloody, vicious battles and these cruel, endless wars. It's the reason we keep you in this rigid tension, but still - you seem to have lapsed in your memory a bit, understandable given the circumstances. There are two kinds of Force Users in the Empire of our Dark Lord. The members of the Sith Order, and traitor heretics who must be put to death in time - preferably sooner rather than later.

"Tell me, then, [member="Darren Korpil"], this is your second chance and your last one. Are you still formerly of the Sith Order?"

 

[Soldiers By Kage]

Darren frowned. "Sith Order, not your Sith Empire. I meant no offence." Still ever the soldier, and very familiar with imperial law. To be force sensitive was a death sentence for most, especially soldiers who were trained from day one to follow orders. The Sith life was a drastic change from all that.

Darren lowered his gun and pulled off his helmet, bright orange eyes staring up to [member="Darth Vesper"] . "I submit myself to your judgement, my lord. I serve the Sith." So long as it gets me to the Jedi.