Invasion This is the Way || ME Invasion of DIA-held Yaga Minor

[Korda Veydran]

Korda ducked behind the shattered wall of a ruined building, boots digging into the ash and rubble. The AA battery loomed just ahead, still operational, its barrels swiveling lazily as if scanning for the next target, but beyond that, Korda didn't know what else waited. He could see the streets leading to the corner buildings, but the enemy within them remained hidden. Not yet his problem.


He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the descent, the trench fight, and the nest clearance settle for a heartbeat. Then he shifted his focus to the squad beside him. Four Mandalorians, battered but alive. One of them, the leg wound from earlier, was slumped against the debris, helmet off. Korda crouched beside him, assessing the damage.


"Leg looks worse than it is?" he asked quietly.
The wounded Mando shook their head. "I'm good… still good to fight."
Korda didn't reply with words. Instead, he made a decision. "Stay put. Sit. Breathe. Don't try anything until I give the word."
The injured one nodded, letting Korda work without fuss.


He rose slightly and turned to the other three, moving down the line as he checked their armor, joints, and blasters. Plates were scratched, one shoulder servo had taken a spike but nothing critical. Weapons were loaded, safety switches clicked, and barrels free of debris. He nodded. "Good. Stay sharp."


Then Korda crouched, pulled the Ashen Maw from its mag-lock, and twisted the fuel canister free. Flamer attachment slid into place with a satisfying snap, the weapon hissing softly as it recalibrated. He checked the ammo drum, counted rounds, and ran through the remaining explosives strapped to his harness: standard charges, a few custom modifications of his own design, and three that were… more theatrical than practical.


He tapped one lightly, almost joking. "Think this battery likes things extra spicy?"
The other three Mandalorians laughed quietly, the tension easing just a fraction. They gave him thumbs up as they finished checking themselves and their blasters.


"All systems ready," one reported.
"Confirmed," said the second.
"Clear," said the third.


Korda looked back at the wounded Mando. Helmet off, face pale but eyes alert. He crouched again, fingers brushing the edge of the armor, checking straps and servos.

Korda crouched beside the wounded Mando, assessing the leg wound again. "You're staying here," he said firmly. "Don't try anything. I'll cover you, I promise."
The injured Mando nodded, trusting him completely.


Korda rose slightly and turned to the other three, scanning their armor and weapons one last time. Plates were scratched, servos working, blasters loaded and free of debris. He nodded. "Good. You're ready."
He slung the Ashen Maw back onto his shoulder, vibroblade mag-locked at his side, then motioned for the three to gather close. Quietly, he began, voice low and steady.


"Kad Ha'rangir, watch over us. Bless our weapons and guide our hands. Keep us safe as we strike the heretics, and let our blows honor the path of our people."
The three Mandalorians murmured their assent, hands brushing their helmets in salute, voices joined with his in the prayer.
"Give us courage," Korda continued, "and clarity. Let us move as one. Let the Destroyer watch over the fallen, and grant mercy to those who survive this day."


The prayer ended in silence, the sound of distant AA fire and the rumble of war filling the void. Korda's eyes swept the streets ahead, the ruined buildings at the corner, and the AA battery still in the distance.


"Alright," he said finally, voice low but sharp. "Weapons ready. Explosives counted. We move as one. Kad Ha'rangir watch us, and let the Destroyer guide our steps."

He slung the Ashen Maw firmly, checked the harness, and gestured to the squad. Silent acknowledgment passed between them. The prayer was complete, but the hunt was only beginning.

Tags: Norbert Oro

 

[Norbert Oro]

The Angels of Meu
Allies - Diarchy and Lilaste forces
Support - Friendly FOB 1km away
Current Objective - Restore LO-25/AA battery, down the road
Location - Objective 3 City Ruins
Manpower - 20 Elite Infantrymen
Equipment - LO-20D, LO-44 MKII, LO-RPG20, LO-12S, LO-22S, Beskar Vibro-Bayonet, T9-XO Exo-Suit
Ammunition - LO-AP 19, LO-AVM 1
Current Element Status - All 20 Alive

The Angels watch the Mandalorians from the shadows. They hold their weapons, tightly against themselves, ready to attack when the order is given. As the Mandalorians march up the street Norbert tells his men to hold:

"Exspecta..."

"Signum exspecta..."

"Nunc!"

With the order given, the Angels pounce from behind cover, with their guns held outside the windows. It seems as if the world stoped. Then, they open fire. The platoon's weapons unleash in unison. Many rounds are true, others bounce off of, or ricochet off Beskar and concrete. The rounds that do make contact, pierce and imbed themselves in the Beskar armor. The sacred armor holds against most of the impacts, the metal catches rounds and trap them within its surface or deflect them away in showers of sparks. The sheer impact and force from the hailstorm of bullets stagger their targets; though many rounds may not literally hit skin, every round is felt.

One unlucky soul felt the most of the assault. 5-6 infantry unintentionally shot at the same Mandalorian.

All of their LO-44s were aimed at the Mandos head. The rounds that struck, began to crack and break the Beskar helmet. The helmet is shattered like glass; part of the visor from the helmet shatters and reveals the face of the Mandalorian. The impact of each round is louder than the last and eventually, debris from the helmet and sprawl from the ammunition imbed themselves into the head of the Mandalorian. No round directly pierced the skull, but, whether or not they are dead or alive, they have sustained a life-threatening injury to the head.

Tags: Korda Veydran

 

[Dreidi Xeraic]

​

Objective: 3 - Yaga Minor
Outfit: Nightsister Armour
Equipment: Lightsaber, Ichor Sword and Dathomiri Energy Bow
Opposition: Zinayn

Dreidi took down three Diarchy soldiers, there was no joy in the action. She didn't think that there was ever going to be joy in removing a life in war. There had to be better ways to sort these disputes but at the same time, she could not allow the lives of her own people to be at risk. Her golden eyes locked with the red of a Chiss. There was a tilt in her head as she looked over to him, there was a clear aura of the Force that surrounded him. Something that indicated he was a Force User. Which likely made him more dangerous to the Mandalorians since while they had some technology and experience in fighting Force Users, it was never usually good enough for a one on one style fight.

Looking swiftly around the area, Dreidi took a couple ideas of where the best to move with her abilities. Firing her arrows towards the Chiss, seeing how quick his reflexes were going to be. Then she teleported into a green mist, appearing thirty feet away in a new direction, firing several more arrows towards him. The ruins and current terrain leaned into Dreidi's favoured tactic of ranged attacks while also being in constant movement. It was tiring work to constantly do it but for a short burst, Dreidi could utilise the tactic to overwhelm and test the level of skill that she was coming across.

There were no words that came from her, no attempts to negotiate a peace or understand the opposition. Something she had explored doing in the past when fighting. But things had changed over time. Dreidi had changed over time and she was focused on keeping safe that which she cared about. It was why not even Grisial came with her on this mission. The Vulptex had learned some fighting techniques but she could not shake the idea that there was no guarantee in his safety if she pursued that course of action. Instead he remained home and a colder Dreidi operated the battlefield. One that could move with speed and a level of agility that few could match.

Holding the bow, Dreidi pulled on the energised string, ready to let loose another series of arrows.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

| Location | Yaga Minor, Outer Rim Territories

Explosions erupted across the sky—above, below, everywhere that one looked—vibrant bursts of light cascading like fireworks in full display transformed the darkness of night into the light of a thousand miniature suns, each rippling with a kaleidoscope of colours and thunderous noise that was barely dampened by the Buy'ce that Itzhal wore.

"Get us close," He ordered calmly, his voice contained to the confines of his buy'ce and the comm-signal that he shared between himself and the beast of war beneath him.

With a shriek that rattled the Morellian's bones and poured fire into his soul, the Basillisk descended, spiralling downwards in a mad dash that thrummed with the momentum of sublight engines that tore the distance asunder. His hands braced around the controls, as another twist yanked on the straps attached to his sides and back.

Seconds later, the durasteel walls of the tower consumed his vision, the sky on either side growing smaller as they neared their objective. He grunted under the strain as a wave of force slammed into his shoulders and chest, reduced by the inertia dampeners that prevented his body from turning to a goo, barely contained within the confines of his bodysuit.

Unable to breathe for a second as the pressure held him in its merciless grasp, panic battered against a wall of iron will that slammed down upon it. It would find no purchase here.

Metallic hands forged in the mantle of war descended upon the outer plates of the space elevator. With twin shrieks from both droid and structure, they were ripped apart, durasteel tearing like pieces of clay beneath sharpened nails, scrambling for purchase within the now-exposed layers.

Itzhal gasped, his lungs burning for the relieving gust of air that was injected into his buy'ce with a soft hiss of the internal machinery.

Information flooded Itzhal's visor as a single crucial figure emerged amidst the chaos: Local hull integrity at 23%. Behind that glowing data point, the tensile strength of the detected materials lining the Space Elevator's walls flickered, measured side by side with the pressure exerted by the Jai'galaar-type Basilisk War Droid he piloted. Its relentless assault, unfazed by the burst of pressurised air from the torn open plates and screeching sirens that rattled exposed metal limbs, stretched out in the sky, holding flashing red lights that flickered in the darkness. Subsystems integrated between the structure's plates, glowed beneath Itzhal's visor in a dizzying array of calculations and hypothetical assumptions, strategic targets and pressure points, all leading to a final purpose.

Desolation.

Glinting knives—shaped by uncaring hands—descended from the heavens in senseless waves of death and destruction. A bloody ruin, for those who dared to hide at the base of their staircase to the stars.

Tags: Diarch Rellik

Assets: Standard Basilisk War Droid​

 

[Korda Veydran]

The first shots hit like a thunderclap.
"CONTACT! COVER!" Korda barked, already moving as rounds slammed into his armor. Each impact rang through beskar and bone alike, a brutal percussion that staggered him back behind the ruined wall. Sparks danced across his visor as he hit the ground hard, breath forced from his lungs.


The Angels had waited well.
Korda rolled, dragging one of his Mandalorians down with him as fire shredded the street they'd just crossed. He felt it all, the force of every round, the way even beskar remembered being struck.


Then he saw it.
One of his squad, out in the open, took the full weight of it. Too many rifles. Too much focus. Korda's breath caught as the Mandalorian went down, armor ringing, body collapsing hard against the street.


"No!" Korda surged forward instinctively.
Strong hands grabbed him from behind.
"Hold!" one of the others snarled. "You'll die out there!"


Korda fought them, teeth bared behind the helmet, rage flaring hot and immediate. He could see the fallen Mando twitch, hear the sharp, broken sound of pain through the comm.
The gunfire didn't stop.


Seconds dragged like hours.
Then, just for a heartbeat, the storm faltered. Reloads. Shifting fire. A gap.
Korda tore free.


He sprinted into the open without thinking, rounds cracking past him, armor screaming as he skidded to his knees beside the fallen Mandalorian. The helmet was ruined, broken, useless, but Korda didn't look at that. He hooked an arm under the warrior's shoulders and hauled them back toward cover with a strength born of fury and desperation.


They collapsed behind the rubble together.
The Mandalorian was alive. Barely.
Korda pulled them close, one arm braced around their back as the other pressed against their chest plate, voice low and urgent. "Stay with me. Stay with me."


The reply was faint. Broken. But there.
Then it wasn't.
The weight in his arms changed.
Something inside Korda snapped.


He stayed still for a long moment, helmet bowed, the battlefield noise fading into a distant roar. With shaking hands, he reached up and marked the body for recovery on his HUD. A silent promise. I will bring you home.


He gently laid them down.
When Korda rose, he was no longer shaking.
He turned toward the buildings.
"You," he said, pointing to one Mandalorian. "With me. We take the left."


The other stepped forward without hesitation. "I'll take the second building alone."
Korda hesitated, just a fraction of a second. Then he nodded. "Don't be a hero."
The Mandalorian tapped their helmet. "Never am."


Korda drew the Ashen Maw as he moved, the weapon heavy and eager in his hands. He crossed the street at a dead run, hit the door shoulder-first, and kicked it open.
"TIME TO DIE HU'TUUNS!" he roared as he surged inside, Ashen Maw leveled, rage finally unleashed.

Tags: Norbert Oro