Ossus - Geosynchronous High Orbit | Auril Sector | Outer Rim.
Primary Objective: Seize Control of the Station.
Secondary Objective: Eliminate All Hostiles.
Allies: First Order | [member="Zodan Osyk-Drul"] | [member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="Jude Falkrowe"] | [member="Val Kordova"]
Opposition: Silver Jedi | [member="Veiere Arenais"]| [member="Jessica Med-Beq"]
https://youtu.be/2Vn1Q-S7sWg
In the scant moments, before the alabaster-clad thermal detonators had erupted in a fiery shower of thermonuclear fusion, the projected plasmatic barrier that shielded the Imperial soldiers within had begun to flicker and fail. The relentless assault that tore into the deflector screen had started to take its toll, and the onrush of air - heavily spiced with the sickeningly sweet scent of death - had rushed in to fill the void left in its wake. For a single heartbeat, they were exposed to the deadly array of weapons that sought to repel their stoic advance, and three Stormtroopers had found themselves thrown from their feet and came crashing down to the deck in a clatter of armoured plating. With their personal shielding rendered ineffective by the use of ripper weaponry, those whom now adorned the battle-stricken flight deck witnessed first hand how dangerous such weaponry truly was. Their ivory-tinted armour, once polished and pristine, was riven with jagged projectiles and painted with the rich hues of crimson vitality. Of those that had fallen, only one had paid the martyr’s price as a single tonal hum echoed across the twinned squad’s encrypted network. The others, while alive and slowly managing to recover themselves from their tumble, were momentarily taken out of the fight as the ruptured armour began the process of sealing their wounds, and the breached hardsuit thereafter. As they groaned in agony and filled the silence of their helmet’s with a ceaseless string of hateful curses, those that remained standing felt a measure of pride bloom within their breasts. Those that had been deploying the Rampart II shield generators had found themselves successful in bringing the power online - bathing the Imperial firing line before them with yet another projected plasmatic barrier - just as the volleyed explosives had been forced towards their deadly terminus.
Thermal Detonators were, by in large, a potent and deadly weapon when pitted against any material that was unable to conduct thermal energy. Due to the composite materials used in the construction of the device, and further activated by a timed electric charge, the small fusion-fire grenade projected an expanding particulate field with a radius of six metres that atomized everything within its bulbous grasp. As a curious, and thankful, diverging factor that separated standard fragmentation grenades from the thermal detonator, anything that was standing outside the rapidly collapsing blast field - was left unharmed. Thus, despite the structural integrity of the shield gate being compromised by the bombardment of various, slingshotted, meteors and asteroids from the Order’s naval assets - the flight deck did not collapse due to the deployment of such deadly devices. Nor did the orbital battlefield become stricken with hazardous debris from the resultant explosions, that, had they deployed more rudimentary grenades, would’ve brought the entire half-platoon to its knees. Instead, the Stormtroopers were bathed in the harmless heat-wash of their drastic measure, and continuing firing into the endless horde of hostile creatures that stalked towards them atop armoured, and spindly legs. The Veteran Sergeant had found it almost comical in the way they moved, wondering how those that darted from one cargo crate to another were able to keep their balance, as they returned fire. However, that jovial thought soon soured as the Xenos creatures before them stormed towards their lines with what was unmistakably a handful of warhead launchers - bearing who knows what as the payload.
:: Take down those Launchers! :: Torian bellowed as soon as his eyes, and the suit’s integrated systems had realized the newfound threat.
The active scans from the armour’s Combat MicroComputer had managed to latch onto an all too familiar signature resonating from within the forged metallic tubes of the enemy’s portable rocket slings. Before Torian had time to react accordingly, the Xenos creatures clawed at the trigger housing and filled the air with nearly a dozen projectiles - which bathed the surroundings in the unmistakable harmonic tune of highly ionized plasma. They streaked through the air with a tune that reeked of personified vengeance, some unknown sin committed against these vile alien creatures - and were met in turn by the snap-fire of the Veteran Stormtrooper’s own heavy gunner. He had dragged the smoldering nozzle of his repeater across the ever-expanding frontlines, stitching the enemy with crimson bolts of coruscating lightning, as he fired his weapon from the hip. Had their lives not been in mortal peril, the Bakuran-born soldier would’ve chastised the man for consigning his ammunition in futility, however, as the deed had swatted several of the itching projectiles from the iron-shrouded skies of the hangar bay - such a conversation would be pointless. Those that weren’t struck from the magnetically contained atmosphere had impacted their targets, and sending arcing trails of heavily ionized particles across the armoured surface of the Imperial Lander, and forcing one of the Rampart II generators to stutter in the line of duty. An act that had seen one of the fallen soldiers, who had managed to slowly clamber back to his feet, mercilessly struck down in a relentless wave of particle and projectile fury.
Burning embers of rage began to broil within the Veteran Sergeant’s breast, swiftly supplanting the emotional sensation of pride that had beat there mere moment ago. He had been abandoned by the one asset that would’ve been able to turn the tide, and left to die as some distraction for the Security Bureau - so that they may deploy their agents onto the shield gates and assist the ‘Sons of Sieger’ in taking control of this station. Two of his men, from his own squad, had perished in this farce of a conflict - to serve what purpose? His lips peeled across his polished enamel chips, leaving the Stormtrooper with a bestial snarl. They would pay for their arrogance. They would rue the day that they dared defy the coming of the Order. They would die… screaming in agony as his howling weapon tore them apart - limb, by segmented limb. The man’s fingers began to tighten around the chain-bound haft of his weapon, as the flickers of boiling rage began to surge through his veins. He would have vengeance. For every fallen soldier that perished this day, and every day that came before. None would deny him his glory. None would dare stay his wrath. Everything before him slowly darkened into a shade of arterial red, as the smoldering fire of anger built within the foundry of his armour-bound chest - filling the man with the purest sensation known to sentient life. Accented by the injected adrenals pumped into his bloodstream by his warplate, the Stormtrooper’s armoured form shifted with primal grace. All sense of tactics and strategy were torn from his mind by the blood-haze and all that he could see… was
Red.
His breath became heavy, as his eyes shifted towards a unit of enemy infantry that had slowly begun skirting around the Imperial’s slowly diminishing firing line. They were until Torian had set his crazed eyes upon them, unmolested by the Order’s fire - as they were moving into new advantageous positions. That wouldn’t do. Not when their lines would eventually crumble due to the inevitable malady of attrition, as the scene the Sergeant bore witness to repeated itself behind his field of vision. Though, unbeknownst to the newly ordained Berserker, the Pilot of the Atmospheric Lander had been carefully watching the events unfold, as he worked to contain several sparking fires that ruined dozens of his flight instruments. He knew that he was a sitting duck atop the armoured surface of the wounded Lander and that without a Stormtrooper to man the Anti-Personnel Blaster affixed to the surface - he was but a beast without fangs. The man wouldn’t dare call himself helpless, despite the fact that he was trapped within several tonnes of highly ionized, and sundered metal. Knowing that his life was measured in mere minutes, the Pilot hotwired the control terminal stationed before him and managed to stoke the simmering fire of the Lander’s engines, forcing them to ignite with a cacophonous and throaty roar. Those that had sought to flank the Stormtroopers of the First Order, upon the opposite side of where Torian was currently transfixed, were beset by the crashing kinetic waves of the Atmospheric Lander’s engines flaring to activation. A move that sought to scatter the roving band of Xenos warriors in the transport’s heat wash, and would forcibly ignite those that had wandered too close, in the azure flames of ionic energy.
Unleashing a bestial cry of rage, as the boiling point had come to pass, the Sergeant stormed across the polished deck and charged the secondary unit of infantry that sought to flank his comrades. He surged into the fray, amidst a hail of plasmatic discharge and proton weaponry, instinctively weaving through the overwhelming firepower. The protective embrace of his mobility shield had expired several steps away from the enemy’s line, leaving his polished ivory armour scorched and burned - as the alabaster enamel sloughed from his armoured frame in drooping rivulets. Deep furrows were carved into his armour as the flechette slugs tore into his thundering figure, painting the flight deck beneath his person in a vibrant hue of arterial maroon. Though the pain was agonizing and would’ve crippled a man thrice over, Torian pushed through the torment with a savage grin splitting his face wide. Blood painted the interior of his visor and stained his tongue with the unmistakable scent of copper forcing his nostrils to flare, yet still, the man came forth despite all that came his way. None would stay his fury. None would deny him his vengeance. Depressing the activation plate of his weapon, sending the twinned tracks of phrik fangs into a spiraling flurry, the Berserker raised his massive chain-weapon high - and fell upon the flanking militant forces of the Silver Jedi. Underpinning the deafening sound of the murderous weapon within his grasp, was the snarling rasp of the Bakuran’s savage…
thirsting laughter...
