Annihilation The Shatterlight of Ka’thaa’rahn

[Aether Verd]

KALLISTOS
"Steel answers when the stars go silent."​

The Mand’alor's projection did not flicker nor waver. It simply was—an iron presence among a sea of opinions and diplomacy. When the Queen of Naboo concluded her decree, and Sibylla Abrantes echoed the acceptance of Mandalorian support, Aether Verd finally moved.

The visor tilted forward.

“You have made the right call.”

His voice carried now—not with volume, but with weight. A force of will wrapped in iron calm.

“Let it be recorded: The Royal Naboo Republic has entered contract with the Mandalorian Empire. Your cause is now ours. Your operation now shielded by beskar and fire.”

The visor turned slightly—acknowledging Sibylla with the barest nod of warrior respect.

“House Abrantes will be remembered as one that acts.”

Then came the final notice, delivered not as suggestion but as inevitable fact.

“Viper Alpha is inbound.”

The holofeed cut.

ABOARD THE RESOLUTE DAWN
"The Drums of War beat anew."​

Aether Verd stood at the command deck of the Resolute Dawn, stars stretching beyond the armored viewport. As the signal from Kallistos faded into static, he gave a single motion to the helmsman.

“Enter hyperspace.”

The stars stretched into blue fire. The Mand’alor turned and stepped toward the center of the command bridge. With the slow authority of someone who had made war a lifestyle, he seated himself upon the iron throne at the heart of his vessel.

From there, he transmitted.

To all Mandalorian channels – encrypted, priority alpha.

“The contract has been established. The Royal Naboo Republic has called. The Mandalorian Empire has answered. Their efforts on Ka’thaa’rahn will be bolstered by our might. Their aide will be protected. Their enemies—exterminated. Effective immediately, this operation is designated Viper Alpha. All warbands, vessels, and specialists deploying to this theater will operate under that call sign. You know the rules. Follow the chain. Get it done."​

He leaned forward slightly in his seat.

“Coordinates for the rendezvous are now broadcasting. Mark your maps. Ka’thaa’rahn awaits.”

The broadcast ended.

And the Resolute Dawn surged through hyperspace—spearpoint of Mandalorian judgment, racing toward a world on the brink of annihilation.

Annis Riyaré , Kalantha , Aiden Porte​

Spoiler: Mandalore's Finest

Montello Deshra
Adonis Angelis IV
Otis Fett
Siv Kryze
Farris Kettefre
Jaikell Wyrvhor
Itzhal Volkihar
Valah Hagen
Khairam Tal
Vytal Noctura
Suleiman Lok
Kyrida Verd
Sari'la Kandosii
Jiriad Galaar
Adenn Vizsla
Kandosii Ka'rta
Manti Wyrvhor
Mia Monroe
Ladante Mamba
Raef Malstadt
Ciri Jade
Lunara Azure
Kirae Orade
Ro'talius Emanti
Alora Vizsla
Zhulghua
Yolaghun
Tomaj Eldar
Lorcan Nanu
Michio Shingai
Kalðr Ísbjørn
Cordelia Malkavian
Drego Ruus
Rhys Swynol
"Templar"
CT-312
Lysara Rynn
Nephthys Nardithi-Verd
Hanna
Siae Andronike
Zlova Rue
Runi Kuryida
Ren Ashbridge
Aliza Vale
Thram Drokor
Sagan Verd
Tarw Rhyfelwr
Ze'bast Verd
Vyse de Valorous
Varuun Rekaal
Kuben Woods
Lyra Scarlet
Talohn Atar
Incitrix
Klavatora Verd
Aselia Verd

 

[Roman Vossari]

Lieutenant Roman Vossari
Objective 2: Echoes in Crystal Entechment
Location: The Crucible Vaults of Eshan'kai & The Grove of Echoes
TAG: @OPEN
GEAR: X | X | X | X | X

The light on Ka'thaa'rahn was wrong.

Roman stood at the edge of the drop bay, helmet cradled in one gloved hand, the other gripping a stabilizer rail as the descent shuttle cut through the upper atmosphere like a falling blade. The light bleeding in through the small, reinforced viewport wasn't sunlight. Not anymore. It was the dying hemorrhage of a star under pressure, the sky rippling with unstable auroras, boiling with stellar sickness.

He'd seen skies like this before. Places where the heavens wept or bled or burned. Places where people made bad decisions, and others paid for them.

Roman didn't blink. Didn't speak. Didn't pray.

He was the quiet presence behind the louder men, the knife behind the hand. His kit was meticulously arranged, his weapons sealed, his vitals stable. If anyone looked, they would see a man prepared to go into hell and, if necessary, make hell afraid of him.

The Special Forces across from him were talking nervously about the soul-crucibles. One whispered something about ancestor ghosts, another asked if that meant they were going to be shooting at Force-powered crystal zombies. Roman ignored them.

He didn't fear ghosts.

Ghosts were the only family he had left.

His HUD pinged as the ship neared the derelict vault-rig clinging to the edge of a tectonic shelf like a dying spider. Radiation levels spiked. Tectonic instability registered at 5.8 and climbing. A dead planet's last tantrum.

He activated comms, his voice low, clipped.

"Ghosthand to Fireteam Black. Tight formations. No freelancing. We get in, secure the vault cores, retrieve or neutralize. Lorekeeper intel takes priority. If it's talking, recording, or glowing, it gets tagged for evac. If it fights, it dies. If it prays, we don't interrupt."

A pause. His tone sharpened like a scalpel.

"And if any of you start waxing poetic about the souls of the damned - keep it internal. We're here to do a job, not write a hymn."

The shuttle jolted, landing gear scraping crystal as it touched down.

The hatch hissed open, pressure equalized, and Ka'thaa'rahn's breath hit them: thin, metallic, electric. The sound of the crucibles murmured beneath the surface. Not voices. Not really. Just...presence. Like the Force humming through a cracked speaker.

Roman exhaled through his nose and pulled on his helmet.

"Move."

And the darkness welcomed him back.
​

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Kasir Dorran Naamino Zuukamano

​

Soah lingered near the rear of the ramp, half shrouded in the gloom of the shuttle's hold, the faint crimson glow of the Ka'thaa'rahn sky reflecting off the sheen of her leathers. Her bright golden eyes slitted like a Nexu, following Kasir as he descended, but she didn't move to follow. Not yet.

The darkness here... it felt alive. Like something crawling beneath the skin, breathing in the shadows. She could taste it. The power. The ache in the ground. The strange, sibilant hum of a dying people too proud to plead. It was the kind of world where the strong wrote their own legacy, and the weak were repurposed into fuel.

More power to them, she thought dryly.

Her tattoos shifted with her mood, inky black lines drawing into sharp barbs and thorned arcs, a visual echo of her brooding silence. Even after all this time, they still reacted before she did, coiling with judgment the moment he stepped onto the ramp behind her.

Naamino Zuukamano .

The Zabrak stank of impulse and unwashed bravado. His scent when he first joined them had hit her first; like spiced meat left too long under Tatooine's Suns. Luna-weed, sweat, and teenage hormonal desperation. Her nostrils flared in open disgust as the Felacatian Acolyte glanced sideways at him, and her eyes narrowed to judgmental slits. The tiny horns on his head didn't help. What were those, training buds?

She snorted, low and feline, before finally descending the ramp behind Kasir, every motion deliberate, her boots making not a sound against the metal. The stormy wind of Ka'thaa'rahn kissed her face, and her fingers flexed like claws.

"Not me who's gonna crack under pressure," she muttered under her breath, sharp enough for both Kasir and Naami to hear and give a flash of sharp, pointed teeth. Her gaze didn't waver from the horizon, but her tone dripped with thorned honey.

"Better make sure your little hornling doesn't get impaled on the first glorified stick out there."

The line was drawn, painted in the sand with a fangtip and a growl. And the shadows at her feet swirled as if in agreement, licking hungrily at her boots.

Kasir's challenge hung heavy in the air, but this time, Soah didn't scoff. She didn't roll her eyes or spit back a bitter retort. Instead, she exhaled slow, the golden glow in her eyes steadying, the shifting tattoos along her throat momentarily smoothing into spiral sigils of discipline and restraint.

She heard him. And more importantly, she understood.

Her claws wouldn't lash out just yet. She would wait. Watch. Learn. Ka'thaa'rahn was a crucible, and Soah had every intention of stepping out the other side stronger.

She fell into step behind Kasir, voice low and dry as desert stone.

"I'm not the one who's gonna need burying." A glance, sharp as obsidian, flicked back at Naami, the thick plaits of heavy dreadlocks shifting over her dusky tattooed shoulders.

"He might."

 

[Nathan Bloodscrawl]

Wearing: Bloodscrawl Jedi Armor

Armed with: Nathan's Synth Crystal Lightsaber, GWE-005 (Armor Piercing, Explosive Rounds)

With: Clone Rangers (20)

Clone Ashla Healers (3)


Navy Forces

Navy Pilot Clones (12 Squadrons)
Squadron Configuration:

Clone Z-95 Aftermarket (Grunts), TIE Avenger (Aces) OR Star Wing (Squadron Leaders)

Squadron Layout:

Z-95 (8)

Avengers (3)

Star Wing (1)

Ground Forces:

EFF-SF Heavy Battle Droid (300)

Crisis Nuetralizer Model 1 (2500)

Nuetralizer Weapons:

GWE-002, Plasma Grenades (3), Stun Grenades(3)

Deployed from: Ashes of Mustafar

Fleet: Venture Galleons (10)

Corporate Heavy Cruiser (2)

Kenobi's Palm





Objective: 3

He didn't know if his grandson, now slain, named Percival Io , had a soul. He had lain awake at night wondering if the Biot's consciousness was still around somehow.

He hoped what he did next would have met with Percival's approval.

A dying world. A hapless people tightening the noose around themselves. Some wanting their whole race to die.

Nathan had no respect for those sorts, and they would be shown no mercy if they interfered.

The hidden Patriarch of House Bloodscrawl was in no mood to humor a suicide pact concocted by fools and forced on a population that only wanted to leave. The great powers were debating or acting as they pleased. Nathan would only act, and rescue as many as he was able to.

The Ashes of Mustafar, flanked by its own small fleet approached the planet in stealth mode.

Nathan had not brought the clone army in full force. He had judged the situation just too dangerous and had instead opted to bring two thousand House Io Defectors specially suited to the environment...the Crisis Nuetralizers.

Two thousand five hundred beautiful, supermodel like women in skintight blue catsuits were unleashed from the two corporate heavy cruisers that had been painted black to disguise their allegiance like the Venture Class Galleons. They had defied the government enforcing the suicide pact. The giant Battleship he was on had snuck through the battlespace slowly as the others had gone ahead, firing without mercy at the governments war frigates. Nathan didn't care about the entechment stuff. That could be sorted out later.

The Navy Clone Squadrons had been ordered to assault any of the military control centers that could be located, all ground forces had orders to execute any Ka'dyraal Forces that attempted to assault them with extreme prejudice.

Nathan had sneered under his armored helmet as his ship intercepted the transmission from Caan Orryx. He had immediately transmitted one of his own back in basic. There was no audio. Only words:

GET WRECKED, ORRYX.

No doubt the message would be intercepted but Nathan couldn't afford to be stealthy today. Not completely. Hopefully it might draw some aggression away from the forces he was actually supporting. He welcomed it. The Ashes of Mustafar would crush the clown act Orryx would no doubt try to put up.

Nathan watched, hands clasped behind his back, from the bridge. Soon he would be down there, fighting to evacuate whoever could not escape in ships of their own. It was dangerous and risky, and his son was so close to being born, but dangerous and absurdly risky were what he loved and breathed now.

"Sir, Kenobi's Palm is reporting coming under heavy fire from Ka'dyraal Warships."

"Shoot to destroy. Target the bridges..." Nathan ordered.

"What if they surrender?" The comm officer asked.

Nathan paused a moment.

"Destroy them anyway. We've already been getting reports of them using their own ships to ram escaping vessels. They made their bed. Let them burn in it."

"Aye aye, Sir..." the officer replied, transmitting encrypted orders.

The Ashes of Mustafar soon de-cloaked high in orbit over the planets largest city center, and immediately unleashed a precision salvo from its weakest weapons on approaching Ka'dyraal Warships, surprised by the massive stealth vessel. Just another piece of the family history, dragged from the depths of space. A horror itself that thirsted for the flesh and ship hulls of evil people.

With the stronger weapons he ordered a short but salvo on the remaining war centers on the surface. Then he ordered the ship to prepare to descend.

The Ashes of Mustafar blasted past an increasingly desperate military blockade, firing ruthlessly on all enemy vessels, fusion accelerator cannons blasting apart the heavier enemy warships. It drew immediate fire from every Ka'dyraal military asset in its immediate area, which would hopefully take focus off other rescue forces.

It did not land, it hovered, a silent menace in the sky, blasting apart any enemy vessel that dated to threaten its ground evac force of venture gallons and cruisers. The Star Destroyer, Kenobi's Palm, showed no more mercy than the larger battle cruiser did.

He soon departed for the hangar heading into one of the Emperor's Shuttle Replicas, his personal force of Clone Rangers, and Ashla Healers accompanying him. Their mission was to personally defend the site around the battleship while their larger forces fanned out to assist and direct evacuees...and screen enemy forces aggressively.

Nathan said nothing as the vessel traveled to the surface, hefting this crazy three barreled rifle that subconsciously made him feel like Duke Nukem (Thanks, Mellifluous Magenta !).

"You three..." he said to the Ashla Healers. "Start casting spells to point out enemy forces amongst the civilians. The Rangers will find whatever elevated positions they can find and start sniping enemy units."

With that, Nathan headed out and began rapidly teleporting. It wasn't long before he found enemy units gunning down fleeing civilians.

Nathan pitilessly opened fire on the Ka'dyraal, watching them burst apart and drawing their fire to him. His raised his hand and teleported a few into the sky, watching them fall to their deaths as he continued teleporting and gunning down enemy squads through the streets.

If being a light sider was going to mean anything at all it surely meant fighting the wicked tooth and nail, especially in the face of annihilation...



OPEN


Vemric Keldra

Aether Verd

Bastila Sal-Soren

Aiden Porte

Niysha

Sibylla Abrantes

Kalantha

Voli Cholrass

Ailmar Dawnstone

Jonyna Si

Mr. Usher

Darth Carnifex

Kasir Dorran

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

He waited, as always, for the right moment - because timing was everything. Especially when the stakes were this galactically dramatic and everyone was so deliciously tense. Let the speeches unfurl, let the Mand'alor thump his armored chest from across the stars, let Sibylla lock eyes and sear meaning into the room like she was auditioning for martyrdom.

And when the holofeed stuttered High Caan Orryx and the words landed like icewater on fire - "Any intervention will be met with lethal force…" - Aurelian stepped into the silence like a man into a ballroom.

Tall, poised, and thoroughly unimpressed.

He moved toward the dais not like he belonged there, but like everything else belonged to him. The long velvet drape of his coat whispered behind his boots, the sigil of his old House stitched subtly into the dark fabric. His hair fell across his brow in a studied mess, the exact chaos that took twenty minutes and a mirror to perfect.

And when he reached Sibylla's side, he offered her a smile that danced somewhere between flirtation and a knife.

"Sibylla." His tone purred, laced with innocence and venom. "I'm shocked, truly, that you're able to extend such warmth to the Mandalorians. After what they did to Dee'ja Peak... to your home… I'd assumed your forgiveness came in smaller portions."

He didn't look at her as he said it. He looked to the gathered assembly, letting the words drift lazily through the air like smoke.

"Me?" He continued, voice honeyed and edged. "I could never forget the screams echoing through the cliffs. But clearly, I lack your generous nature."

A pause, perfectly timed.

Then he turned, just slightly, toward Queen Kalantha, bowing his head an inch - enough to show deference, but not enough to pretend he meant it.

"Your Majesty. I must confess I'm... concerned." His voice brightened, faux-earnest and touched with silk. "You've always carried such dignity. But lately it seems that dignity is eclipsed by... convenience."

He began to walk slowly across the chamber floor now, hands behind his back, a casual predator amid the prey.

"No votes? No deliberations? Just decrees made in the name of compassion?" He gave a theatrical sigh. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the emergency powers are beginning to feel a little too comfortable."

He turned on his heel, eyes catching a few scandalized senators and one particularly red-faced Rodian. Glorious.

"And now, we enter contracts with Mandalorians?" He scoffed lightly, and if there was music, it would've swelled there. "They speak of services and warzones like it's just another line item on an invoice. Beskar and fire? Oh good, nothing says 'diplomatic stability' like mercenaries with flamethrowers."

He stopped beside Sibylla again, giving her a sidelong glance that glittered with trouble.

"But don't mind me. I'm just trying to remember the difference between defense... and occupation."

The chamber buzzed like an overcharged power conduit, but Aurelian - oh, Aurelian - he just smiled wider when the Ka'dyraal warning pulsed again in the air like a death knell.

He turned back to the dais, addressing everyone and no one.

"Let them go," he said softly, almost wistfully. "Let Ka'thaa'rahn choose its end. We can't save a people that don't want to be saved. And we certainly shouldn't rewrite the rules of this Republic just because one doomed planet gasps louder than the rest."

Then he stepped back with grace and gall, a gloved hand brushing the edge of his coat, as if he'd just dusted off some cosmic responsibility he never wanted in the first place.

But oh, wasn't it fun to stir the pot?

And now, he waited - head cocked, smile sharp - for someone to dare disagree.

Sibylla Abrantes | Annis Riyaré | Aether Verd | Kalantha | Aiden Porte​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Vexx had no rancor in the race. Ka'thaa'rahn was hardly worth all the fuss, economically speaking. A planet in certain peril could be exploited for resources previously shielded from access previously, but only for a short period of time. Mobilizing a massive, coordinated effort to secure those resources would in turn require significant investment. As a world not even remotely on anyone's radar up to that point, such an effort would be even more costly as measures were hastily implemented uncertain what exactly would be claimed.

Sibylla Abrantes and Kalantha were not immune to such haste. Despite what she must have known was political peril, they choose to accept the Mandalorian Empire's unusual diplomatic overture of assistance. Not a terribly shocking turn. Not for the Republic. They might not be the Foundation, but they were still... 'good' galactic citizens concerned with the well-being of others. Some might argue too concerned. Vexx didn't disagree per se, though their concern over matters such as the movement and distribution of refugees was warranted. Much as it was convenient to ignore them, they would eventually end up on one than one shore and then what should happen? Endless debate all the while forced to shelter or corral such souls. A framework would streamline such things and minimize economic impacts.

Equally as expected was the inevitable backlash to their magnanimous acceptance of Mandalorian assistance. Dominique leaned forward and watched from behind her glareshades as the scene gradually unfolded before the chamber. Politics at its finest.

Aurelian Veruna was obviously seeking to give voice to doubts and misgivings a few Senators held, but chose to keep to themselves out of fear of being isolated among their peers. And here Aurelian was trying to show them they had nothing to fear, and a powerful ally among them to seek now or outside of the chambers. A smile touched her lips beneath her glasses. It was a delightful move on his part; quite the sight to witness in this new Republic she'd found herself.

But was he the one Dominique should back?

In truth, under the circumstances, Dominique felt it was wiser to remain a neutral party. While it was an obvious attempt to sow discord, Vexx couldn't just dismiss certain points the man had made as though they held no merit. If the Queen's faction could not defend themselves, backing them would only drag Denon down with them in time. On the other hand, if they could weather the opening salvo, support might be garner further influence with them. It was the shrewd calculus of politics at play. She hoped the Naboo royalty would not disappoint, else other factions, like Aurelian, might warrant consideration.

Annis Riyaré | Aiden Porte​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

"Sibylla."

A small smirk came to the face of the eldest sibling of House Abrantes. Of course, it had to be him. Always the last word, always the last quip. It was enough to get those riled up and respond in manner that was unbefitting of ones station or post. Cass had long know Aurelian Veruna...

Halfwit....

Cassian had opted to accompany his sister on this venture, for it was of the upmost importance. He wasn't going to let her do this alone, not this time. The Guard of House Abrantes accompanied him and the protection of his sister. Cassian close to his sisters side. Not to interfere, but to watch. The Colonel knew she had a tact for showing up sometimes in the most dangerous of places. Usually Lysander was around her, so that didn't worry him too much.

I'm shocked, truly, that you're able to extend such warmth to the Mandalorians. After what they did to Dee'ja Peak... to your home… I'd assumed your forgiveness came in smaller portions."

He knows the right buttons to press. Cassian place a gentle hand on the shoulder of his sister, not to deter her. If it came to a battle of wits and words. He knew she would win the day, if that was indeed the case. It was more so an air of confidence and support before he withdrew and placed his hands behind his back.

The rest of the words that followed were filled with poison, a seed to plant in the minds of those around them. The words he spoke would sound like wisdom, but they were something else completely.

"Let Ka'thaa'rahn choose its end. We can't save a people that don't want to be saved. And we certainly shouldn't rewrite the rules of this Republic just because one doomed planet gasps louder than the rest."

"We can save them, not all of them. But some, that is their choice." The voice of Cassian speaking out finally. "If you would choose to let people die then that is on you. Luckily, today it isn't up to you, dear Aurelian."

Sibylla Abrantes Kalantha Aurelian Veruna Aether Verd Annis Riyaré Dominique Vexx

 

[Mr. Usher]

NONE WASTED
NOT LEFT WANTING

The Banquet of Extinction​

The final hatches sealed with the sound of wet parchment folding in on itself.

Ka’thaa’rahn’s skies still churned with ion fire and solar grief, but the Threnody of Mercy had already begun to rise—its hull bulging at the seams, heavy with victory. Every corridor, chamber, and storage press now bore witness to the harvest: flensed torsos, silken nerve bundles, hyper-condensed marrow tablets, and perfectly intact entechment crystals, still softly singing through their containment folds.

Above the dying world, Mr. Usher was sated.

One of the Prowlers knelt beside the final soul-crystal vault and let its mask retract. Beneath, its face was a replica of a fallen Ka’venn child—blank-eyed, expressionless. It opened its mouth and inhaled a vapor of lingering voices before retreating into the loading bay.

Elsewhere, a Hulk vomited one last Warrior from its back—a newborn, wet and ready. It would not see battle. It would be taught to act independently of the Greater Ego. For the first time in Usher’s long dominion, he had enough biomass to build in advance.

The Threnody departed orbit without resistance. Ka’thaa’rahn collapsed behind it, a cinder of noble failure and technological cruelty soon to be nothing at all.

And within the freighter’s silent cathedral of corpses, a Husk knelt at the wall of soul-crystals and whispered:

“You will be remembered. I have made you useful, when you would forfeit yourself.”

Mr. Usher’s hive-mind pulsed in measured calm, every synapse stretched wide with satisfaction. Plans unfurled in the darkness between stars.

New vessels.
New spawnforms.
New memories.
New technologies.
New inquiries into the spiritual resonance of captive memory.

The art of Entechment had been thoroughly learned by the memories of the consumed. This was perhaps the single most useful — or dangerous — discovery the Greater Ego coul have made. And naught but paltry planetary defenses stood in his path.

The dead of Ka’thaa’rahn would build him a citadel, and it would echo with voices the galaxy had chosen to forget.

For now, he had to share his newfound knowledge, and crystals with Liin "Tera" Terallo .

Already he had plans for self-Entechment with isolated, minor husks. New means to power his ecosystem beyond the Biological.

“They chose extinction.”
“I chose endurance.”
“Now we build something new.”

EXIT​

​

 

[Bernard]

Objective 2
The Crucible Vaults

PRIDE.​

Bernard was not plagued by hesitation. He silenced the agonized screams of countless souls with a clinical finality. It took only three shots from his disrutpor pistol and the first of many crystal lattices began to disintegrate. The process wasn't instant, though it wasn't slow either. The crystal structure dissolved on an atomic level, until it was, for a lack of a better term, dead. Only an emptied husk of the crystals was left behind.

Bernard didn't linger to watch the molecular fire burn the lattice away. The souls within it faded in the Force, he didn't need to see the crystal break to confirm its death. The clock was working against him, anyways. He lacked the time. He could sense those disparate signatures draw closer, hostile and otherwise. The agents of galactic powers were nearing the crucibles, and there was so much work left to be done.

He moved to the next lattice. The Ka'thaa'rahn people had built dozens of their crucible chambers within the underground tunnels underneath crystal forests. Each one housed several lattices.

They weren't filled with life, not in the sense that Bernard understood life. They housed the twisted remnants of innocents, trapped in agony. Remnants of living souls—echoes of the living—that had been ripped from them in their final, tortured moments and imprisoned for an eternity of torture within a lattice. So many had to die to create even one. So many more had to die to keep them 'alive'. Bernard didn't think on the number of deaths, nor did he consider the number of lattices still left. Either one would have lit a flame of deep hatred, and he needed his head clear of emotion.

He aimed the disruptor at the crystalline lattice. It fired. Three shots struck the lattice with meticulous precision. By its top, at its center, and by the bottom. The spread was chosen deliberately, to spread the damage for maximum effect. It left the crystal hollowed out, unusable, thereby silencing the souls within.

'Harvesting', they called the process of creating the lattices. A harvest of living souls, deemed expendable and 'not worthy of life'. It sickened Bernard. Death on such a scale, exacted with purpose. With full knowledge of consequence. Full intent. And the psychotic minds behind it still roamed the galaxy alive. At least they'd die in the fires of their own star. The thought brought no comfort.

Bernard checked the disruptor's charge. It flashed at 0%.

He snapped the pistol open and ejected the tibanna canister. The empty cell rolled on the floor, bumping into the helmet of a dead Ka'thaa'rahn guard. Several of them lay dead on the floor, the aftermath of Bernard's entry into the chamber.

He replaced the canister with a fresh one, and moved on to the next lattice. There was so much work left to be done here. He couldn't bring the dead back to life, nor stop the creation of more soul crucibles, but he could end their agony. Before they were taken by whoever was approaching.

--nearby: Corazona von Ascania Lysander von Ascania ; presumably Victor Lee Burukai
--incoming: Darth Carnifex Thilarii Altinova

 

[Kesh Hevro]

SHATTERLIGHT
Wayward Son - Chapter 1
———
GEAR: Customized Type 76 Covert Armour | Type 73 Compact Pistol | Type 74 Assault Rifle
TAG: Imperius Indomitus | Kroeger | Roman Vossari | Tibera Jessen | Open

RUMBLE​

KA’THAA’RAHN

Somewhere else in the galaxy a couple of newly wed is making love under the beautiful red flares that painted the sky. Kesh stared out the hangar for the same scenery, just light years closer. The Hellions Cruiser he is on is approaching the maw of death, yet he feels nothing but serenity. If this is the end of it all, then he can live with it. He’s had a fulfilling life and that’s a constant mindset he always has approaching a life-threatening event.

Everything has been sorted out, the briefings, the gears, now it’s just him, inside the Orbital Drop Pod, going through with all his pre-mission rituals. He closed his eyes to meditate, until the alarms blared, signaling the countdown to the drop.

Hear the rumble.

12 orbital drop pods are shot down towards near the Crucible Vaults of Eshan'kai & the Grove of Echoes, with one clear objective in mind; take or destroy, and evacuate the lorekeepers. The drop pods launched down, scraping through blasts and blockade, breaking the atmosphere, then touched down firmly on the dead planet, near the intended target. 12 Hellions Commando unit emerges from each of their pods, weapons ready and senses sharpened beyond perfect.

<Fireteam Black this is Legion Commander Kesh Hevro of Hellions Commando, we’re touching down on the other side, approaching the target.> The Pyke contacted Roman Vossari through the communication device. He is not fully familiar with the lieutenant, only hearing rumors that he is a runaway Serennian noble, a story not that much different from his.

He scanned the area between words, spotting what seems like an Imperial landing ship closing down the atmo.

<A landing ship approaching at my 10, possibly Imperial. Watch your back. Do not open fire, but make sure they’re not in our way.> he added, before making formation and leading the 12 Hellions Commando towards the target.​

 

[Mykel Dawson]

EXODUS RED ​

Location: The Mace Windu, Awaiting Departure

This wasn't Mykel's first rescue operation, but it was certainly the wildest. Before the refugees could even be rescued, the relieving forces of various powers had to contend with the resident defense force attempting to shoot down their own. Such cruelty born from a spiteful desire to see all the inhabitants of the world burn as one. Equity taken to maddening suicidal extremes.

However, the refugees that made it past the blockade were met with a new terror in orbit, pirates and looters waiting like vultures, picking apart the civilian vessels when opportunity struck.

It was amid this hellish ordeal that Mykel and other Jedi worked, fighter screens fending off hordes and clearing debris while delivering the refugees to the safety of the Windu and the formation of hospital ships within the task force. Fitted with its rescue module, the battle carrier could conduct spot repairs to allow the refugee ships to remain spaceworthy enough to escape the system while saving space within its holds for the truly stranded. Meanwhile, the critically wounded were directed to the hospital ships.

Mykel and the other fighter pilots furiously worked around the clock, taking stim packs so they could go from sortie to sortie without pause. They didn't stop until all the ships were practically bursting with refugees. Yet, all their efforts still felt like a drop in the bucket in the end, his radio still full of the cries countless souls stuck planetside or drifting through the growing clouds of debris. He dreaded the Force Wound to come.

---

For the last time, he landed Amphrite within the main hangar of the Windu, barely standing on his feet. Soon his master was dismounted and beside him too, in a similar wasted state.

"It's alright, we did what we could," Kaldor said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The forces that brought Ka'thaa'rahn to its end are still beyond our understanding."

"That's not good enough," he muttered, eyes trained to the floor as he shuffled from Kaldor's grasp for the turbolift.

It was a maze of man and machine inside, navigating around surplus parked ships and civilians now packed inside. As expected, the crowds of refugee were riddled with fear...but also rage and indignation. Mykel stiffened as he felt a fight about to break out, and then he saw security forces rush past him, brandishing stun batons and shields.

The Jedi had attempted to protect the refugees from the problems of their dying world, but in fact they had carried those problems right up the stars with them.

The work of the two Consulars was just beginning.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March - OPERATION WRAITH SEED
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Kroeger
Kesh Hevro | Tibera Jessen | Roman Vossari

Task Force Wraith
Imperator Rex | Sword of Bastion | Solar Trident | Black Talon | Firehawk
181st Stormtrooper Legion "Dragonguard"

WRAITH SEED​

Ghral'teth System | Outer Orbit | Imperator Rex

Imperius offered a nod, everyone was in the picture about their mission objective. Tactical control was down to the individual unit commanders, while he would maintain operational command while going to the surface as well together with the 181st and 182nd Regiments of the Legion. He expected Kroeger to have his veterans provide the backbone of the ground operations, while his Stormtroopers supported him and the overall operation with mass and hands to help.

"The blockade is ahead, Sire." Echoed Admiral Vaiken's voice over the comms, her steady and rasp tone confirming what he had expected. "Proceed as planned?"

"Eliminate opposition and anything that endangers our objectives. Do not shoot refugees or other groups unless being directly threatened." He confirmed. It was no use to start a war here with whoever felt compassionate enough for a splintered species to be rescued. But the rescue was on them if they so wished. The Iron-Imperials were not here to play the benevolent ones.

With that the task force continued in its diamond shaped formation, the Rex at the front, a destroyer on each side and behind was the Gage-class while the Firehawk remained in the center. The Destroyers were quite empty, their task being to provide overwatch and firepower in space, and depending on the progress on the surface, storage room. The Gage-class was similar, though would directly take all cargo haulers in they had mustered. The Firehawk was fully packed with Stormtroopers and theri vehicles, mostly AT-STs and Gladius tanks rapid movements, ready to descend onto the planet itself. Above them all would be the Imperator Rex, providing close air support and acting both as barge and carrier for the troops to land and evacuate.

Imperius was part of the first wave, gunships and Stormtroopers that would clear the space necessary for the Firehawk and the HVADs of the Iron Legion to bring down the heavy equipment. And to see the situation at hand. The mess of a civilisation that was ending and then split to die and force the rest to die, was unpredictable and he would not rely on second hand reports from his officers to make that call yet.

He entered the gunship and checked his heavy blaster, activating its energy cell and then checked with a push of his clawed thumb if Valoris was not stuck in the sheath. A small ritual he performed before every combat drop, pragmatism gone routine. Then he opened a comms channel for the entire Imperial task force.

"Soldiers of the Iron Sun. Your combat readiness and eagerness needs no praise, it is as stalwart as ever, even without an Empire to serve. The duty we will perform here today is just one step towards making the Galaxy remember that the Empire is in fact not dead - it is in every one of us. We carry it in our hearts. And our hearts are on fire! Let it become a beacon of order and strength, of purpose and discipline. It will never be extinguished. I expect every one of you to do your duty. Long live the Empire."

In the vast hangars of the Imperator Rex, almost a single sound could be heard as maintenance crews, Stormtroopers, pilots, engineers, mechanics and everyone that wore the uniform of the Empire, saluted with their fist on the heart before they swiftly resumed their duties. The Stormtroopers of the 181st boarded their gunships, TIE pilots fired up their engines. Meanwhile on the Firehawk the air was thick, the soldiers of the 182nd's 1st Battalion stood close to each other, ready to descend from the assault ramps as soon as their ship made planetfall. The engines of the AT-STs and Gladius tanks roared in neutral.

Task Force Wraith entered the outer orbit of the doomed planet, proximity sensors screaming as both debris and civilian ships were all around, at least, very close for imperial protocols. Ahead were the ravenous fanatics that tried to shoot down as many escaping vessel as possible, their guns blazing as various small explosions littered the sky. But many more left the atmosphere and the orbit, running for their lives. Aemicia Vaiken observed it from her command throne, she was disgusted by the idea of giving up and then dragging everyone around down as well.

"I want clean shots, get those zealots out of our way. Launch screens and prepare the escorts for the Firehawk and gunships. Ready the cargo shuttles. Make sure that the hangars are cleared up and ready for extensive rotation, all depends on this running smoothly." Her voice was iron, calm and cold, commanding with precision and confidence.

And thus the Imperial Navy claimed its first scores. Not the first on the battlefield, those went to the crazed natives, but it would be far from the last. Green and blue bolts zapped through the void as the formation moved towards the planet.

 

[Dreidi Xeraic]

Location: Ka'thaa'rahn
Outfit: Jedi Attire
Companion: Grisial
Equipment: Lightsaber, Nightsister energy bow, Ichor sword
Tag: Voli Cholrass (Directly)

Voli was Dreidi's first and currently only Padawan that she had trained, there had been concerns that she would be falling victim to the lure of the Dark Side but Dreidi worked her best to keep an eye over the Padawan and there were definitely things that Voli thought she was keeping secret from Dreidi but the older woman knew and was just waiting for Voli to confess to them. Having a teenage son, Dreidi was more than aware of things that happened behind her back when others assumed that she would not be keeping an eye on them.

However, Dreidi knew that she could not be too harsh on Voli and that she couldn't keep a short lead on the Padawan without risking the problem of pushing Voli into the arms of the Dark Side. So, she was keeping a careful balance. She hoped taking Voli on a mission would demonstrate that there was a level of trust and respect that Dreidi had to Voli that would allow Voli to realise that keeping her secrets was doing more harm to their training than it was doing good.

The mission was something fairly dangerous with the death of a planet looming in the very near future, however, word had finally gotten out that there was a desire for aid finally and Dreidi knew that they needed to do their work as part of the RNR. As someone who championed herself as an ambassador for Force Cultures and traditions, the crystals that held long memories and the crux of allowing the species maintain their heritage and traditions even if they were no longer connected to the place that they once called home.

Dreidi looked over to Voli, "from reports, there are a few locations where these crystals are I believe and our mission is to ensure safe extraction and getting them to where the citizens of this world will be. They are important to people who lived here and sure that you can feel the Force connection that flows through these crystals as I can. Preserving them is crucial." Dreidi stated, honouring the people and making sure that they were remembered was far more important in her mind than exploiting such things for personal or any other agenda.

Taking the steering controls of the ship, Dreidi flicked a few switches on the console and dove them into the atmosphere of the world. "Now, we don't have long so we can't save everything but remember, stealing or collecting these crystals for personal gain is wrong. I wouldn't allow people to raid Dathomir for culturally important artefacts, even if it was dying. I refuse to do the same here." There was a knowing glint in her eyes as she looked over to Voli, as if she could sense the ideas that had formed in her Padawan's mind.

 

[U40a]

THE PORTION OF OBJECTIVE 4 THAT IS BLACK SUN'S OPERATION KANDOR


What a moment. A veritable armada of individually innocuous-looking ships, all flying for Black Sun, had taken up ground and aerial positions around the military caste's mountain fortress of Thaal'quorr. The most peripheral defenses were chugging away, but the Black Sun ships were just a little too far out for serious opposition. Right now, presumably, commanders were just waking up to the notion that something unusual and hostile was happening. Soon enough there might be, oh, repositioned artillery, air strikes, elite soldiers coming along the ground, but that would take minutes the defenders might or might not actually have.

Any minute now, unless some disaster occurred, the ships would activate their Ganker Limpet modules and the entire mountain would be thrown into hyperspace.

Aboard one such ship, U40a juggled the playlist and pondered such things as coordination and whether these ships' individual commanders had decided to be in or out of the miles-wide hyperspace bubble that was about to be created. There were advantages and disadvantages to both cases. For U40a, the question was primarily important in terms of speaker capacity projections.

The vessel he was on, an airborne freighter with a Ganker Limpet on its back, positioned directly above the base, rocked as quad laser-equivalent fire got dialed in, weak at this range but not negligible. Sin of sins, the playlist skipped.

And it skipped to the single most powerful track in U40a's arsenal. A superweapon of sound.



Electric wails of unbelievable complexity hammered through the Black Sun ships and many of their exterior speakers. Elite Ka'dyraal cyborg squads quailed. Counterfire outright paused. Just for a heartbeat, Thaal'quorr Mountain knew a stunned and dominated peace.


K4-ZAN Kinley Pryse Parvati Zayah Bane Razmir Tezhyn

 

[Dazzleskin]

Objective 3: Fractured Skies – The Last Exodus
Location: High Orbit above Ka'thaa'rahn Lattice Debris Belts

To tread the Human Galaxy was to be alone. Every Ssi-Ruu aboard Dazzleskin's ovoid cruiser knew it, surrounded though they were by comrades and by similar vessels. Out here, whether you believed in the traditions of consecrated worlds and the associated death-terrors or not, out here you were the alien. This was one reason that Ssi-Ruuvi beyond the Lwhekk star cluster, beyond home, were all too rare. So when the shock, horror, and rapid outrage of this situation had reached the Powers That Be, few assets had been in range to make a difference. Stray ships had congregated, and far-flung independents had received a summons impossible to ignore. Dazzleskin himself had been very busy elsewhere in the Human Galaxy's underworld, and yet had quickly found himself one of the ranking bluescales of the disparate group out of raw seniority and sheer necessity. Privately amusing as certain elements of his situation were, even he understood the sobering reality, the overriding mandate.

This world of millions of humans and human-cyborgs, built on debased versions of Ssi-Ruuvi technology, also contained tens of thousands of marginalized Ssi-Ruuk. The Ssi-Ruuk had to come home. The rest of everything could burn.

"They call this kind of mission 'humanitarian,' of course," said Dazzleskin to one of his bluescale bridge crew. "Are we 'Ssi-Ruuvitarian' today?"

"We are on a Ssi-Ruuvitarian mission every day," said the bluescale very seriously.

"Naturally, naturally." Dazzleskin sucked his teeth and contemplated the chaos in orbit. It was intimidating in scope and complexity but soft, unformed. "Deploy."

---

SSI-RUUVITARIAN EXPEDITION 'NEST-THIEF-PUNISHER-AND-EGG-RECLAIMER' (it's shorter in Ssi-Ruuk)
SOLE OBJECTIVE: SCAN PLANET FOR SSI-RUUK AND RESCUE THEM
WHETHER THEY WANT TO BE RESCUED OR NOT
ALL COLLATERAL DAMAGE ACCEPTABLE

• 1 x updated Shree-class battle cruiser
• 1 x updated Sh'ner-class planetary assault carrier deploying updated D'kee-class landing ships
• 2 x updated Wurrif-class light cruisers
• 4 x updated Fw'Sen-class picket ships being engaged by Ka'dyraal ships in orbit
• Several hundred updated Swarm-class battle droids being engaged by Ka'dyraal ships in orbit

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Their boots crunched over jagged mineral shards that glowed faintly with a pulse all their own. The path had narrowed, funnelling them between steep, obsidian ridges. Here, vines threaded with crystalline filaments arched above them like stained-glass arteries. When the wind passed through, the vines chimed—soft, sorrowful.

It was as if the world wept in chords.

Brandyn slowed as the terrain opened to a precipice overlooking a fractured valley below. Down there, glowing fissures painted the jungle in ghostlight, and massive shards of soul crystal jutted up like gravestones. Some flickered faintly—some not at all.

Even Jhoren paused.

"We shouldn't be here," the Zeltron hybrid said quietly, more thought than conviction. He adjusted the strap on his pack again, grunting under his breath as he tried to shift the weight. Brandyn stepped forward, hand half-raised.

"Here—let me help—"

"No." The refusal came sharp, faster than expected. Jhoren gave a tight smile, brushing past him. "Just—loaded it wrong."

Brandyn let the moment pass, but the echo of it lingered like static. Something in the way he said it... something about the bag.

They moved on, slower now. Both thoughtful.

"The Council’s choice was never going to satisfy everyone," Brandyn finally said, eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Evacuate some. Honor the rites where we can. But still leave others behind. There’s no mercy clean enough for this."

Jhoren said nothing for a while. Then—"We should’ve respected their wishes. They didn’t ask for rescue. Not really."

There was no accusation in it. Only weariness. And maybe a crack of something deeper.

They rounded another outcropping—and there it was. The Vault. Like a wound in the earth, crystalline ribs protruding from the crater walls, dimly pulsing in sick, uneven rhythm.

Brandyn drew a breath to speak, but his comms chirped.

He turned, a small smile breaking his solemnity as he caught sight of the figure picking her way down the slope. "I told you to stay with the shuttle." He didn’t sound angry. Only glad she was here.

| TAG: Bastila Sal-Soren |



​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Weal & Woe, Rakghoul House Robes layered with
Kor'ethyr Issued Kainate Trooper Armor
Armor Permissions
& Shadow Mask in place of a helmet.

Commanding Officer: Kasir Dorran
Fellow Soldier: Soah Ty’Jyn

​

During the intervening time between leaving Korriban and touchdown on Ka'thaa'ra, the zabrak had kept to himself in a state of contemplative readiness. Despite having a bit of a reputation around the campus of Kor'ethyr, for posturing and backing that bravado up with decisive action, he knew he was currently at the bottom of this particular pecking order until proving himself otherwise.

So Naamino merely straightened his spine beneath the judgemental gaze of his fellow acolyte but said nothing and remained focused. Never mind that he basically towered over the odd, cathar-like woman, he would show a modicum of respect toward her under the watchful gaze of her Master and indifference else-wise.

Donning armor as they drew close, the teen took note of preparations made by the others. Naami recognized that the others seemed confident without helmets, so he switched out his for the mask Kivah had recently given him instead. Rising to stand, he followed the others out of the shuttle. He eyed Soah's odd tattoos with immense curiosity but determined small talk would be unwelcome and impractical.

Exhaling slowly, he shifted toward Naamino. "This place will shape you, if you let it. If not, then allow it to bury you." His voice was neither cruel nor kind but simply speaking the truth. As he took a moment to gather his thoughts, the weight of their selfish nature relentlessly gnawed at him, yet he knew he must carry the responsibility of guiding those who chose to follow him.

And as his attention remained fixated on him, he spoke once more, voice low. "Today, I will teach you the difference between survival and slaughter."

"Sir," the boy acknowledged with a nod, in a voice with slightly more brass than his average tone, modulated by the somewhat vulpine visage of the mask he wore.

This field work was just as crucial, if not more, than any direct assignment he'd received at Kor'ethyr. Today he was not only representing Elmindra Xitaar in a more official capacity for the first time, but upon his shoulders rested newly forged bonds of alliance. He knew not all the specifics, but the First Lord had made it clear that he must comport himself as one of Kor'ethyr's finest and aid these agents of Wonosa.

In contrast to the lithe, predatory movements of the two that led the way, the zabrak moved with the steadfast momentum of a coasting hovertrain. Woe in one hand, Force blast simmering and readied in his other, the boy was like a boulder within the Force, solid and unwavering. His ability to exert his will over those energies created as much stir as diverting the flow of a raging river. A power that he exerted without hesitation as they made their way into an area of conflict.

At first sign of fleeing Ka'thaaran and Jedi aid, the zabrak fired into the group. Already a wicked good shot with the technique at middle range, the gift of Kivah's mask made him downright formidable from afar. The first shot connected with an unfortunate GA trooper's legs and atomized the appendages in a shower of gore. Naami then activated his saber and readied himself for all out assault, keeping his allies in the periphery always and remaining alert to any forthcoming orders from the Darkseeker.

 

[Tibera Jessen]

Objective II: Echoes in Crystal Entenchment
Tags: Kesh Hevro , Kroeger , Roman Vossari , Imperius Indomitus , Soah Ty’Jyn , Kasir Dorran , Naamino Zuukamano

Tibera was feeling jumpy watching the area fill with potential enemies, units she didn't recognize right off hand. These men and women were either here to help the crystal evac, or here to exploit the situation, it mattered very little. So long as they kept their blasters on safe, she wouldn't have to vaporize anyone. It had all the makings of a powder keg ready to touch off at any moment.

Soon enough, a message came in from Kesh, the Hellion commander for this op. While not her direct point of contact, he was technically a superior officer to the freelancer. She respected the Hellions and their command, even if she questioned letting imperial troops run amuck with the crystals. She knew what Imperials did with anything potentially valuable. Exploitation and destruction was all that followed in their wake, she'd been a part of their war machine, she'd seen it first hand.

"This is War Dog to Hellion Command, so far so good at this drop zone. I have seen some Sith markings on some of the gear around here along with the Imperials... Please advise, over."

Sith meant that there could be some powerful force users about, something that made the situation even more complicated. Pissing off Sith would be bad enough, but being in a three way dance between Sith and Imps? That was beyond hazard pay...

The mercenary leaned her armored back against a stack of crates, observing some of the distant crystal spires, one of them suddenly exploding in the distance. The shockwave following slowly behind it. As the crystals fell apart, Tibera scrambled for her comms to report the development. "We have someone blowing up crystals near the western sector! I just saw a whole column of them crash and burn! Do we have any eyes over there?!"

There went Tibera's milk run...

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

Jaikell Wyrvhor: Aboard the Oath of Iron
Moving his way to Ka'thaa'rahn

“Coordinates for the rendezvous are now broadcasting. Mark your maps. Ka’thaa’rahn awaits.”

Jaikell stands on the observation deck, watching the swirl of hyperspace as it devours the stars.

The ship hums with restrained violence, Mandalorian crew moving with silent precision, preparing for war. He understands what Viper Alpha means: no retreat, no second chances, no excuses. Show them what being a Mandalorian means.

He gets on the speaker of his ship, talking to his crew, "Naboo has called on the Mandalorian's to come help in their dire need and the Mand'alor has agreed, Confirm readiness. I want loadouts finalized for land engagements, fire teams sorted, We're Mandalorian, We're born for this. Show No Mercy to our Enemies"
Then he moves—purposeful strides taking him through the Oath of Iron's war-scarred halls. Toward the war room.

There, he opens a tactical projection of Ka'thaa'rahn's terrain. His HUD lights up with possible landing locations.
preparing for what's to come

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Bastila’s boots slid slightly on the loose shale as she descended, one hand braced on the ridge wall beside her. The crystalline vines overhead cast glimmers across her dark tunic, flickering as if in silent recognition. She didn't look up, she really didn't need to. The tension in the air had shifted the moment she'd crossed into the valley's breath.

She heard Brandyn before she saw him full of that familiar blend of exasperation and quiet relief. It stirred something in her, even now.

"I told you to stay with the shuttle," he called out.

Bastila reached the ledge, dusted herself off, and finally looked at him. Her eyes lingered on his face longer than they should have—on the concern not fully hidden there.

"You tell me a lot of things." Her voice was low but steady. "And most of them assume I’d listen."

She stepped forward. The Vault pulsed behind them like a buried heart, casting long, fevered shadows along the ground. Her gaze slid to it—and then to Jhoren, who looked windblown and too quiet.

"You felt it too?" It wasn’t a question. The air around them had changed. Denser now. She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. "There’s something below. Not just the Vault. Something... deeper. Maybe the council wasn’t entirely right about…"

She moved past them both, to the edge of the descent, where the ribbed crystal columns rose in uneven spirals around the crater. Her breath caught. Not in fear.

In recognition.

"This place remembers." Her voice was softer now, and not entirely her own.

A gust swept through the canyon. The Columns chimed again.

A funeral hymn, or a warning.

Brandyn Sal-Soren

​