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.

 

[Srina Talon]

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

____________________________________________________

They are all dead already.

The words echoed in her mind without any sort of filter, over and over, and the Blackwall Empress closed her eyes while her fingers pressed against the transparisteel glass. She didn’t need to reach into the thoughts of the giantess at her side. Mercy had always been transparent in ways that mattered…Even when Srina mistook that brutal honesty for an attack. The silence alone was enough to tell her where the wound lay. The phrase was locked in a loop…Just existing, repeating.

They are all dead already.

Over and over…As a secret repeated often enough that it started sounding almost like a prayer. She did not address it directly, if only because some trauma could not be reasoned with. Some wounds ceased to bleed only because they had become part of the bone, part of the whole, and as much as she might have wanted to—She could not change the past. Instead, her pale hand settled into Mercy’s larger one when it was offered without hesitation. Fingers laced, firm.

It wasn’t with comfort or pity, just simply that she was there. Present.

“…Then I will bury your ghosts with my enemies...”, she murmured, her voice little more than winter falling on barren earth. It was clear that her fury knew no bounds when it came to the fate of Brosi, but it was tempered with the knowledge that something was bothering her battle-sister. She could place her thirst for vengeance to the side, for now, and be with her while they descended toward the waiting hangar. Srina would never ask the Sith Order to do something she herself would not do…And so, they went to the source of all that brought her ire. Tion.

The sleek ship that brought them to this world cut through smoke-blackened skies beneath the shadows of massive fleets with engines screaming as anti-air batteries tried, and failed, to find purchase against the Sith escorts that followed them. Columns of fire climbed into the heavens where precise orbital strikes had already ripped open the city’s skin, exposing the rot, the ineptitude that existed beneath. Administrative towers that were once polished monuments to Imperial excess burned from their upper stories downward. Molten transparisteel cascaded down in iridescent rivers while statues of forgotten officials collapsed. Civilians and soldiers fled…Of course, they did.

It was all bluster and bravado when they were burning her planet…But now? When their own world became an avatar of consequence?

There was no spine.

There was no fire—Just the sound of sirens and the scent of burning filth.

The ramp lowered before the dust settled, and they stepped into a city that was already dying. The fabric of her ivory attire stirred gently in a furnace of wind, untouched by the ash and grime, despite how it swirled. Golden eyes swept the street they landed on with practiced efficiency. She skipped over the pitiful sight of the wailing mother, the grieving coworker, and instead looked for pockets of resistance. The Force spread outward from her body like frost over glass. It snapped through every intersection, every rooftop, until fear, true despair began to answer her silent call. She could taste the panic…

The delusion that somehow, the Empire would still hold against such an onslaught.

“They’re rallying.”

The words were delivered softly to her battle-sister, as if she were discussing the weather, rather than war. Her head tilted while she listened to conversations from a distance. They were military… But that was all she could glean without more time. “And—They have noticed our arrival, Sestra.”

Ahead, a barricade that had been hastily assembled from overturned transports erupted with disciplined blaster fire. Crimson bolts tore through the smoke toward the two women and were joined moments later by repeating cannons hidden from beneath shattered duracrete. The silvery woman darted forward rather than looking for cover as one bolt passed where her head had been seconds before. They showered her seemingly delicate form with as much firepower as they could muster on her approach, but it only seemed to find empty air. She pivoted and ducked beneath crimson streaks with almost impossible economy…And the soldiers never quite understood why their aim failed.

They shot where she was.

Not where she was going to be.

One officer found his wrist broken before he realized she’d crossed the distance, another collapsed as a precise strike caused armor to fold inward and pierce a vital organ. Every weapon they had became leverage and every body a shield…They were in the way. Pure and simple. Their goal was one of the Administrative Towers that hadn’t been hit. Yet. Her momentum flowed from one moment to the next with terrifying inevitability, so swift that it hardly looked violent until the street started to go quiet.

Blood had splashed on her face, staining the white of her clothing…But her head turned toward Mercy , and corruption filled eyes held nothing but disgust. Hate so strong that a black latticework began to work its way down the soft skin beneath her eyes and mar snow-pale cheeks.

“Brick by brick.”​

It was a snarl…But it was a promise, reiterated, from the ship. Then the blaster fire started again…They would need to fight their way through the masses. It didn’t matter.

The only good Imperial was a dead one.

 

[Mercy]

Srina Talon

While Srina surveyed the scene like a general, Mercy's vision was much more contemplative as she took in the streets. She, too, skipped over the wailing mothers and the fleeing civilians. Instead she observed the ruined buildings, the skyline on fire, towers crumbling in the distance as the Sith descended down on this world of Imperials like a horde to bring it down in vengeance.

It was the capital... once upon a time it had been her capital.

She recognized some of it, even when it was painted over by the Imperials. The boulevards that had been so beautiful, the rivers flowing through the city, the trees and forestation. All of it was gone. Heavenly white, the Pearl of Tion, had been demolished by Darth Carnifex and then the Imperials had sought to restore it by painting it in a coat of gray.

Somehow that was even worse than glassing it to its atoms.

At least that was honest. This... this was ugly and a betrayal of what Tion had stood for in her youth. Nails squeezed into her palms.

“They’re rallying.”

The words were delivered softly to her battle-sister, as if she were discussing the weather, rather than war. Her head tilted while she listened to conversations from a distance. They were military… But that was all she could glean without more time. “And—They have noticed our arrival, Sestra.”

"Hm?" Her head tilted lightly towards Srina as she spoke. The understanding was there, but the reaction was not. Even as her sestra sped off towards the fortification.

Instead Mercy sighed and started walking calmly. The same direction but with no rush to it. Blaster fire started roaring and hit her mid-stride. Dust welled up, duracrete broke apart, until the large giant was out of sight. Yet they kept firing anyway, wanting to be sure the monstrosity was dead and buried under stone.

Srina took out the forward brigade that were assailing her at the same time as the hideaway ceased their fire.

The dust blew away and there stood Mercy, unharmed, waiting in a small crater.

"My turn." And then she slammed her heel into the ground. The shockwave was instantaneous and had nothing natural to it. It was like a thunder clap, breaking the sound barrier and the sheer rending force breaking through the ground was aimed directly at where the fire had come from. Within heartbeats the bunkers collapsed with the men buried inside of them, crushed by the stone.

Only once Mercy stepped up besides Srina did the latter see that she hadn't left it completely unscathed.

Several burns were running through her shoulders and along her back.

"As my sestra says... brick by brick." Mercy offered her hand again for Srina's to be placed in again. As they pushed forward, they'd encounter the final tower, the one that Mercy spoke of. The one that had been build on top of her childhood palace. What Mercy didn't know, was that the initial glassing had destroyed the upper levels of the palace and caused a collapse into the catacombs.

The Imperials had build their fortification on top of it, but had managed to preserve... some of the old corridors under ground.

"Where would you like to start?" Her golden eyes studying the doors in front of them. It was silent now. If there were more guards inside, they weren't making themselves known yet, after the display Srina and Mercy had showed earlier.