Character
Smoke and ash hung heavy over the ruined street as Korda pressed forward, boots slamming cracked concrete, visor flickering with overlays of heat signatures and terrain. The LO‑25/AAA battery loomed ahead, massive and bristling with twin barrels, a fortress of steel and fire control. Around it, Diarchy DAF troops moved cautiously, huddled behind sandbags and broken barricades, weapons raised, eyes scanning the ruined horizon.
Korda's comm crackled. The lone Mandalorian's voice came weak, ragged, but steady:
"Korda… made it. I got both KIA Mandos back to the one with the leg injury. But… I'm not sure how much longer I can hold. Blood loss… it's bad… staying focused is getting harder."
Korda slowed only slightly, eyes narrowing behind his visor. His thoughts ran over the situation with machine-like precision: Good. They're alive. I'll finish this, then return. Hang time, soldier. Hang time.
He scanned the area again. Debris-strewn cars, shattered streetlights, and burnt-out walls provided cover, but the twin barrels of the LO‑25 tracked the horizon like twin serpents ready to strike. He noted the DAF grunts. four or five of them, spread awkwardly, nervous, waiting for a target. They would see him soon enough. He let his chest rise, taking in the acrid scent of burning rubble, the metallic tang of scorched concrete, the faint smoke rising from the ruins of the previous fights.
This is theirs to defend. But I am the storm, he thought. And the storm never yields.
Korda's hand brushed against his belt, feeling the cold, rough metal of the explosives clipped there. Soon… very soon, he calculated, but first… I will make them see me.
He dropped low and grabbed a jagged piece of steel debris from the street, crude but sturdy. In his other hand, he seized a bent, scorched panel as a makeshift shield, even though his gauntlet shield was more than enough. He wanted them to see him. To feel the weight of what was coming.
The LO‑25's servos whirred as if sensing his approach. Sparks flew as Korda slammed the debris-sword against the panel-shield, the clang ringing out over the battlefield.
Then came the yell: raw, commanding, Mandalorian, and terrifying:
"By Mandalore the Iron! By Kad Ha'rangar the Destroyer! Witness the wrath of the Mandalorian Empire!"
The DAF grunts froze, rifles trembling in their hands. They had expected drones, or cover fire, or a careful tactical approach. Not this, a lone Mandalorian, emerging from smoke and fire, demanding their attention with the sheer force of presence alone.
Korda's eyes flicked once toward the horizon where the lone Mando had fallen back, tending to the wounded. Hold fast. I'll finish this, then return. Hang time.
He stepped forward again, boots hammering rubble, debris crunching underfoot. Each movement was precise, measured. a predator stalking the apex of its territory. He let the heat of the fires wash over him, letting the scent of smoke and scorched steel sharpen his senses.
The battery grew larger in his view, barrels glinting, mounted on their reinforced frame. He could see the gaps in its armor, the seams along the ammo feeds, all the angles that would soon be exploited. He didn't yet strike. Not yet. First, he would announce his arrival. First, he would make them see the storm coming.
Then he raised the jagged steel, shield in his other hand, and slammed them together in a hard, metallic clap. a Spartan salute to the battlefield, to the honor of Mandalore, and to the fury of Kad Ha'rangar. Sparks flew in wide arcs, illuminating the terrified defenders as Korda let out another guttural roar, echoing over the shattered street:
"COME! FACE YOUR DESTINY! MANDALORE AND THE DESTROYER WATCH ME!"
The LO‑25 servos whined, barrels tracking, but Korda didn't hesitate. Every step forward was a message: he was coming. The storm had arrived. And when he reached them, every defender would know the weight of the Mandalorian Empire unleashed.
Allies:
oppisition:
SIT REP: landed with 4 fellow Mando's, 2 KIA, 2 injured. one with leg injury and one with blood loss from multiple injuries