Junction The Spoils | Sith Order/Mandalorian Empire Junction for Apoptosia and Empty Hex

[Mig Gred]

Minerva Fhirdiad

Mig watched her work. She was good at this. Good. It was hard sometimes, especially if someone was dedicated to The Way, or too harsh. Never everyone could do this in any culture, but Mandalorian culture in particular seemed to have a habit of being as approachable as a sarlacc. But still, some of them could sure as anything try.

“Boss! Over here! Structure’s got them trapped!” Mig snapped to the call. Great. Buildings. He ran up, looking at it. This wasn’t good. He could already see the hesitating. Mig sighed, removing his helmet.

“I know, but right now I’m your best bet. Ok. I promise my kin won’t be doing anything else to you.” It was maybe harsh to hear, but he figured that was the real fear here. Still, he steady himself, planting a foot and altering the ground beneath the structure as he combined his own telekinetics into a single push to lift a way out.

“Hurry! I’m no jetii.” He said as he watched them get out from the rubble, and once they were clear he let go, allowing it to fall back in place. He directed them to the landing before hearing Minerva, turning and nodding.

“I appreciate you saying so, vod. I feel like some don’t really appreciate this side of things all the time.”

 

[Korda Veydran]

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Korda moved in silence beside Adonis, the ruined corridor groaning softly around them as fire somewhere deeper in the structure chewed at the bones of the building. Emergency lights flickered overhead in sickly red pulses, painting the smoke in shifting shadows. Every step echoed louder than it should have, like the building itself was holding its breath.

His helmet turned slightly as Adonis spoke.
"I have heat signatures, they're still alive… So are the Imperials."
Korda gave a slow nod.
"Good," he answered, voice low through the vocoder. "Means we are not too late."

The Ashen Maw remained steady in his hands for another few steps before he paused. His gaze settled on the warped remains of the reinforced blast door he had introduced to his shoulder. Twisted durasteel. Heavy enough. Useful enough.
He slung the Ashen Maw back across his shoulder.
Then reached down.

With one armored hand, he grabbed the largest surviving section of the broken door and ripped it free from the floor with a grinding scream of metal. The slab was thick, scorched, and ugly, perfect. His other hand moved to the hilt at his side, drawing the Stalwart Beskad free.

The blade came loose with a low metallic whisper.
Broad. Heavy. Brutal.
Not a duelist's weapon. A war blade. Built for men who solved problems by making sure they stayed solved.

Korda gave a low chuckle inside his helmet, testing the weight of the broken door like a makeshift riot shield.
"…Good enough."
Then he moved.
Adonis rounded the corner first, dropping the first Imperial before the man had time to finish realizing his mistake. Korda came immediately after.

Three more stormed into view from the adjoining hall, rifles raised, panic already in their posture.
Korda laughed.
Not loudly. Just once. Short. Sharp.
Then he charged.

The slab of durasteel hit the first Imperial like a speeder collision. Armor crumpled, the man disappearing into the wall with a violent crack that split plaster and support frame alike. The second barely got a shout out before Korda drove forward again, shield-bashing him hard enough that both men behind him stumbled into each other.

The wall behind them gave way with the force.
Duracrete shattered.
Bodies hit the ground.

Korda stepped through the debris like he had every right to be there.
The Beskad moved once.
A single brutal arc.
Then again.

Clean. Final. Efficient.
Silence returned to the hallway, broken only by the settling debris and the crackle of distant fire.
From above, a vent cover clattered softly.

Oro slipped free like pale smoke, slithering down the wall before winding herself back up Korda's armor with familiar ease. She climbed to her usual place along his shoulders, small head resting near the collar of his chestplate as though she had merely gone for a pleasant walk.

Korda tilted his head slightly.
"Well?"
A soft tongue flick.
He sighed.
"Yes, very helpful."

Another flick, this one followed by her head turning slowly down the left corridor.
Korda followed her gaze.
"There."
He pointed with the tip of his blade.

"Children."
He looked toward Adonis, voice calm and certain beneath the helmet.
"Imperials will fortify around them. They will use them as cover if they are desperate enough."
His grip tightened on the Beskad.

"So we make sure desperation does not last long."
Without another word, Korda started down the hall, shield in one hand, blade in the other, Oro resting at his shoulders like some strange war omen.
The kind children would remember.
And the kind Imperials would fear.

Adonis Angelis IV

 

[Srina Talon]

TAG: Mercy
LOCATION: The Ferocity [Near Planet Tion]

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Srina allowed the kiss to her hand without pulling away.

It was soft.

Hawkish eyes narrowed faintly, not because of the audacity, but because she could indeed see through the miasma of what Mercy hadn't said. She was never this quiet. Her fingers shifted afterward, turning just enough within the taller woman's grasp to return the pressure rather than merely tolerate it. Her gaze remained fixed on the soon-to-be hellscape of Tion below, but something in her sharpened at the mention of an Administrative Core. Opulence.

Of course.

Imperial scum had always been parasites at heart who dressed carrion in gold and called it civilization. Baleful orbs or burnished yellow, while hate slowly began to make sluggish blood move and burn through her veins. It was rare for any one thing, any nation, to hold her ire for this long, but fighting the faithless had become a personal pursuit. They had killed her. They had karked around with the wrong Sith Empress, and she had no qualms with turning their precious worlds into scrap. They would be lucky if she didn't treat their remaining bastions to Hammerfall just as the tenth Sith Empire had gifted it to Mandalore. Wherein their homeworld became so broken—It made Corellia look put together.

"Brick by brick…", she repeated after her sister, words laced with venom and fire that didn't typically belong to the wintry Echani. There was almost something thoughtful in those words, and her mouth curved, not warm, never that, but with a cold and dangerous sort of understanding. Would it please her to raze Tion to the ground? Would it satiate the bloodlust that burned like lava around her frozen heart?

"Yes."

The word was offered with finality, the answer, coming too swiftly…Because she could already see it.

"I think I would enjoy that very much."

Violence lay within typically tranquil orbs, steeped so thick that her foresight caught glimpses of shattered halls and screaming durasteel. She could see Imperial banners dragging through ash and blood while she walked the burning streets with her battle-sister. She could sense that something had changed within the Titan, and her thumb brushed once across Mercy's knuckles. Soft. So…Delicate.

How could the hands of a woman so slight of frame bring such ruin?

"If this isn't your desire…Speak now, sister. I will offer no sanctuary."

It was a chance that she wouldn't have given anyone else, a chance, to spare the lives of anyone that still lingered in the once bustling city-states and penal colony that now screamed in terror while vessels of Sith origin sought to blot the sun from the sky. "But…I will have Order."

She pressed the Ferocity onward with the ships that flanked the vessel with only the presence of her mind. They cut through space like white-hot needles, swift and without any care for the shipyards that burned and burned amidst varying attacks. Many would see it as a waste. Many…Wouldn't realize the shoddy ships that came from these ports weren't worth a damn. This was a cleansing of their own making, primarily because of trespass.

They touched her planet.

They touched her wall.

They hurt her children.

She would burn this system until there was nothing left.

 

[Mercy]

Srina Talon

​

She looked down at the world of her youth.

Mercy's mind wasn't the usual source of easily accessed facts and information or even emotions. It was a whirlwind of chaos, but someone close to her, like Srina would easily be able to pluck things out of it if she cared to.

The fact that the large woman did not give an immediate response was a response in itself. Mercy wasn't known for being contemplative. She did things immediately, living in the moment, without consideration of what would come next because next didn't matter. Only now did. And yet here, Mercy hesitated when Srina asked her that question.

For the first time in a long time words started to float up from her mind. So easy for Srina to access, because Mercy had no barriers around her mind, she had never a need for them.

They are all dead already.

They are all dead already. ​

​

They are all dead already. ​

​

They are all dead already. ​

​

​

They are all dead already. ​

​

Then Mercy blinked, as if her hand was caught in the cookie jar.

"I am sure." She finally said, offering a soft smirk, that held the pain inside. "There is nothing there worth keeping. We kill them all and build something new."

Only then offering her hand again for Srina to take into hers.

To walk them both to the hangars, so they could descend.