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Exodus

Coruscant - Galactic Throne

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Coruscant.

Galactic Throne

is burning

 

 


Astrographical Information
Region: Core Worlds
Trade Routes:

  • Corellian Run
  • Koros Trunk Line
  • Martial Cross
  • Metellos Trade Route
  • Perlemian Trade Route
  • Shawken Spur

Orbital Position: --
Grid Coordinates: --

Sun: Coruscant Prime

Moons: 4 Natural

  • Centax-1
  • Centax-2
  • Centax-3
  • Hesperidium
  • Artificial Satellites


Physical Information
Class: Terrestrial
Atmosphere: Type 1; Breathable Oxygen Mix

Climate: Temperate & Irregular
Primary Terrain: Ecumenopolis; Urban Cityscape, Mountains

Major Cities: Galactic City

Points of Interest: 

  • Coruscant Underworld
  • Galactic Museum (Collapsing)
  • Great Western Sea 
  • Imperial Palace (Converted to a Mercenary Encampment)
  • Jedi Temple (Destroyed)
  • Manarai Mountains
  • Senate Building (Collapsed / Under Duress
  • University of Coruscant (Destroyed)

Fauna:

  • Cthon
  • Duracrete Slug/Worm
  • Gartro
  • Hawk-bat
  • Stratt
  • Thrantcill
  • Umrach


Societal Information
Indigenous Species: 

  • Humans (Zhell)
  • Taung (Extinct)
  • Coruscani Ogre

Immigrated Species: Various

Population: Trillion+ (Rapidly Declining)
Primary Language(s): GBS; Thousands of others
Faction Affiliation: Neutral

 

 

! WARNING !

Hazard Criterion

Type: Undomesticated

Difficulty: Extreme (9)

Hazards:

Devastating Climate, Collapsing Infrastructure, Societal Anarchy, Mercenary Contingents, Mandalorian Crusader Outposts, Lawlessness, Post-Apocalyptic Cityscape, Debris Belt, Wildfires, Highly Radioactive Zones, Scarce natural supply, low-functioning utilities

 

 

 

 

 

CURRENT STATE: 

 (Written by Chad G.)

 

Once considered the heart of the galaxy, the planet spanning metropolis of Coruscant is now a savage ruin, bleeding out while the galaxy ignores its slow demise. Life persists on Coruscant, but it bears no resemblance to the lives people once led here. The rich and powerful who survived the attack have long since fled the planet, and with the planet crawling with Crusader zealots and raiders, there is little incentive for offworlders to attempt to stabilize or resupply the people abandoned on the surface, let alone any plans for rebuilding. 

 

The Total Loss Zone (TLZ) refers to the area that the moon impacted the planet’s surface, in what has deceptively been called a glancing impact. This area has been completely destroyed and will most likely remain uninhabitable for centuries. The adjacent regions are the red zones, extremely damaged and unstable areas that are routinely on fire, filled with toxins, highly radioactive, and often all three at the same time. Beyond that are the orange zones, where most of the non Crusader survivors settled or were forced to relocate to by more violent groups. Supplies are ever dwindling, collapsing buildings are a constant threat, and even basic utilities such as power and water are uncertain at best. The rest of the planet is considered a yellow zone, rife with crusaders and blanketed in a lethal cloud of particulates.

 

The Crusaders that have remained planet-side have seized the most intact portions of the planet for themselves, ruling over largely lawless raider communes where might is the only true authority. They routinely launch slaving and supply raids on any survivor colonies that they find, in addition to often demanding tribute, and none have the power to resist them. Occasionally two warlords will skirmish with each other over raiding rights to specific territories, but none of them want to risk ruining what they have here.

 

The lower levels of Coruscant have largely gone dark, but survivors desperate enough to try and look for supplies in the darkness have rarely returned, and those that do speak of cannibal cults and maniacs leading sacrificial rituals to appease dark spirits in the deepest places. Even the raiders avoid the lower levels if given the choice.

Edited by Exodus
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image.thumb.png.9dd2b05687ce2083fef80ca7c72c96fd.png

 

 

 

 

C A M P A I G N

Chapter Two

 

 

The illustrious Sith-Imperial Armada manifested from the scenic wealth of hyperspace, emerging into the Coruscanti System as a commanding incarnation of fear and might. Thousands of ships trailed from behind, burrowing into the black field of space before them, lining the pockets of this ruined system with extreme force. Hesperidium was in complete mar, Coruscant was feverishly ablaze and every level of orbit remained disastrous. The arrival of the Sith-Imperial warships swarmed over a kilometer in distance, jumping from the ringed shipyard of Kuat and into the destruction of Coruscant. Wreckage and Debris spun loosely out of control, tearing themselves apart in volumes that differed in the size of destroyers to spearheaded columns that threatened to impale whatever stood in their way. The formation of the Armada barely shied from the large scope and circumference of desolation that laid before them, but the danger, as they could all see now, was very real. 

 

Defensive screens began to immediately form up from the rear of the Black Scarab, which would now root itself as a staging point for their operations to begin from. Fighters were launched, and smaller ships diverted their heavy usage of power to forward shields as they ventured forward and braved the vollies of wreckage that would soon slam into the body of their vessels. The larger warships and made use of their weaponry to pound open gaps in the wreckage for advance forward. Maintenance crews unraveled from different task forces and began their laboring to manage the havoc all around them. 

 

Beams of energy erupted from the more offensive of task forces, scorching through the debris and slamming into the heaviest arrangements, impacting with tremendous force and displacing whatever was caught in their path. Transports and atmospheric gunships would need the opportunity to make it through this mess in order to make landfall, but there was another obstacle that appeared on the other end of the chaos; vestiges of the infamous Crusaders.  

 

 

 

TIER I / ORBITAL DOMINION

 

Most planets endorsed by a major faction, whether currently or previously, will offer a bevy of orbital defenses for the conquerors to wade through. The first phase of a conquest is to deteriorate the defenses that present themselves, paying careful attention to the current state of the planet in question. Belts of asteroids and debris from a previous battle must be taken into account, dangers that were never once accounted for, can realistically present themselves if the conditions make sense for them to. Planetary shields, mine-fields, rogue task forces and many more options are ripe for exercising, these type of flavors should be engaged to supplement the intensity of a conquest. 

 

For the Sith Empire, it is quite simple; we must establish a staging point for our unwieldy offensive. This can be at a marked rendezvous point, a mock bastion setup on a nearby moon, or as simple as the Faction Flagship. This area will be noted as a Faction Checkpoint, and will be the cornerstone of our orbital operations. The faction leader will track the strategies employed by the members of the faction, as well as their performances before rendering the ability to progress further. If Hazard Zones are in effect, the faction must be able to adapt to the prompts as well as the realism of their forward progress. Faction members will be able to employ all resources accessible to them to achieve success, at the discretion of the faction leader. 

 

 

 

(Sith Empire, you have now arrived. React accordingly to the havoc that is just outside our formations, and the incredible ruin of Coruscant. Post any approved task forces in the appropriate forum and have them engaged here if you wish, understanding that the maximum to deploy is 3. Our objectives are to arrange ourselves for battle, and realize that the Scarab will be used as a preparation/operations vessel in order to move forward. Read the Hazards that are listed and be cognizant of them as we freeform this. Any questions, ask away within our channel.)

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The hazy lights of Coruscant filled the expansive bubble of Delta'scockpit viewport, almost drowning out the bright greens of the forward projected HUD on the viewport itself. He rolled his clear dark eyes and let out a sigh that triggered the microphone inside his helmet. He reached up and without looking twisted a red knob to its brightest settings and the HUD flared back into focus. 

 

“Don’t blast us with static Delta, I’m just liable to just drop a Proton bomb if you blow my sensitive ears out again.” Laughter echoed through his headset in response to the Weapons officer behind him. A friendly enough clone from the fortieth pod in cycle from Delta’s own. Younger, with a different training protocol that stressed rapid preparation instead of disciplined soldiering. Jokes aside, corporal FC-2254-LL2 was likely to do just what he had promised. Delta had heard of it. Undisciplined soldiers were always trouble, and these new rapid breed clones were the most trouble of all. He grimaced under his helmet, thinking of how little they must have learned in the two years from embryo to grown man, At least Delta was only double aging, he was what? Twelve years old now? He suppressed the thoughts that came with that and glanced back down at his control board. Right in time for the ARC-170-AO to glide its nose into the thickening mesosphere. 

 

The control yoke shuddered under his black gloved palms, his eyes scanned his control panels as he depressed the yoke and brought the large modified starfighter towards ground. The thick currents of the Coruscanti atmosphere pulled at every trailing edge of the bulky airframe, buffeting the ship in a mayhem of directions. The harsh sound of static filled his headset as the last member of the crew, the young Jedi Apprentice chimed in her own laughter. Delta grinned in response, causing the other clone to moan his own response of laughter. 

 

It was time to dive.

 

-

 

There was no laughter this time. Delta looked around the command cabin of the dropship as the Hellkite emerged with the Sith Grand Imperial fleet.  This was a very different coruscant then the last he had visited. He stood and grabbed the handle above him. His voice was hoarse as he barked his order to his command over the comms embedded in every mask like helmet. 

 

“Buckle up, check your partner’s jump pack, check your blasters, weapons, we drop as soon as the fleet commander clears a way for us. You bastards ready?” 

 

The cheer strained his ears but he grinned from ear to ear as he checked his companion’s gear.

 

-

 

 

Spoiler

 

Special Operations Company Lima One “Cŵn Annwn” (Devil Hounds)

Attached to the Victory Star Destroyer Hellkite 

 

- Company Makeup -

 

Company Commander: Captain Delta73

Executive Officer: Lieutenant Gerald Frostwin (logistics specialty) 

Ex Black Sun logistics officer for the St. Cathryne

 

Strike Group 1: Specialty | Close Quarters 

Lieutenant Linebris Chambers 

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Marie

Strength 

14 weapon specialists

3 medical specialists  

2 heavy weapon specialists

1 heavy gunnery specialist 

 

Strike Group 2: Specialty | Close Quarters 

Lieutenant Katharis Tr’nbek

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Marie

Strength 

14 weapon specialists

3 medical specialists  

2 heavy weapon specialists

1 heavy gunnery specialist 

 

Strike Group 3: Specialty | Fire Support

Lieutenant Haylee Langraf 

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Holofernes

Strength

6 weapon specialists

4 medical specialists  

5 mortar specialists

5 heavy gunnery specialist 

 

Strike Group 4: Specialty | Anti Vehicle 

Lieutenant Sigrid Hensi

Black Sun SOA (Special Operations Attachment) on the Calpto

Strength

6 weapon specialists

4 medical specialists  

8 heavy weapon specialists

2 heavy gunnery specialist 

 

Strike Group 5: Specialty | Assault

Lieutenant Tares Blacktorin

Black Sun Knight (Special operations and command)  on the Marie

Strength

10 weapon specialists

4 medical specialists  

6 heavy weapon specialists

4 heavy gunnery specialist 

 

Attachment 1: Heavy Vehicle Attachment

Lieutenant David Senvys

Sith Command on the Hellkite

Strength 

20 Zeus Strike Craft

10 ATPT walkers

4 Self Propelled Artillery 

 

 

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Shiro stood there in line, adorning his silver plastoid armor with helmet caressed in arm as the ship he was aboard exited hyperspace. Coruscant. It was a planet he had briefly known when hell broke loose upon his first time arriving. His mind reverted to the chaos he saw, remembering the durasteel beneath his feet shifting and rising as the moon collided with the cityscape that day. It seemed so long ago, yet it still rang fresh in his mind as he gazed upon the debris of ships and rock that now floated in its orbit. He remembered his escape, shackles binding his hands before as he escaped his captors. But now his hands were free, tightly grasping the E-11 Blaster Rifle he held as he realised what laid before him. The last time he was here, he was a captured fugitive. But this time he came as a liberator.

 

But there was a deep sense of fear shaking beneath his hardened exterior. Despite his time in the Arena of House Zibeti, standing here and now, he couldn't help but revert back to that scared child he once was as he gazes upon the destruction before him, his hands trembling and the rattle of his rifle echoing in the silent hanger. Sweat beads down his brow as he snaps to attention as his commanding Officer approaches and gauges the newest recruits, the smell of fear and doubt lingering in the air surrounding them.

 

Shiro, in his silence, dives deep within himself and searches for the courage to overcome the fear, the fear of emanent death, the fear from the lack of training and being thrust into open warfare, and most importantly, the fear of letting down Shaq'teel who had seen so much promise in the young Armegedon. Shifting his gaze from the view of Coruscant for a brief second, he gauged his comrades in arms, beings of all races, and he could see himself in each and everyone of them. He could feel their fear, he could taste their doubt in themselves as firmly as he could taste his own. But mostly, despite the fear, he felt their diligence to survive no matter what was thrown at them. And in that moment, he felt one with them. Shifting his gaze forward, he awaited the Officer's speech.

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The weapon was a classic choice, common amidst the basic infantries applied across the armed forces of the Sith-Imperial. A peculiar man with skin as white as snow, and a head of hair that seemed to inorganically blend with his own flesh, stepped into the hall with wild curiosity sunken into his features. An aristocratic collar covered his neck and further up onto his jawline, the piece of attire was so vividly rich with the color of crimson, contrasting his pale and powdered face. He too held an E-11 standard issue blaster rifle, although his was slung across his shoulder. He surveyed the soldiers that wandered these halls, eyeing a particularly nervous individual.

 

"...Standard issue for our Infantry, the E-11 can alternate between semiautomatic, fully automatic and pulse-fire settings, and is designed to use a variety of ammunition," The officer spoke loudly, clearly commanding the attention of the fresh batch of soldiers within his section. He worked his hands through the weapon, indicating what he spoke of. "An enhanced scope compensates for the most obscure of conditions, while this supplementary scope displays information specific to the weapon's current operating mode." Again, his hand motioned and tapped the two scopes. "You have a maximum range of three hundred meters and can nail anything with ease within a range of a hundred meters. This is crucial for your close-quarters firefights, especially the narrow confines of enemy installations and star-ship corridors you may find yourselves entrenched in."

 

"You understand, Private?"

 

The versatility of the blaster would be wasted if the creature that wielded it was not prepared for their lives to be weighed against another's on the field of battle. The field officer searched the rookie with a curious look, deliberating the nature of his arrival and assignment within his mind. The potential for him to be nothing more than a spy, was something to watch for. The influx of soldiers had been accelerated poorly with their transitioning from Kuat to Coruscant, fundamental operations keenly riddled with negligence. When the time came for pause, the prospects would suffer the malignant pressures of the Inquisition.  

 

 

"Have you ever seen Coruscant like this? Are you ready for what comes next?"

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With the large deployment of ships to Coruscant, Qaela was able, with the blessing and authority of the Spider, to take command of the Kyber Star Destroyer Herløv. As preparations were underway to detach from the main fleet, Qaela stared out of the main viewport at the ruined planet before her with a great deal of distaste and disdain. Part of her was saddened that the Emperor had decided to come here. Had it been her choice, she would have left this planet to the rightful destruction that was needed to sweep away the old and corrupt. Balance in nature sometimes called for culling, and she had never seen a planet more worthy of a culling than Coruscant. Still, it was not her choice to make. She knew of the symbolic significance, but felt it was a waste to try to put any resources here.

 

One of the things that they were waiting was the arrival of a prison transport from Kuat. Upon receiving her assignment to meet with rebel leadership, she had devised a plan to gain their attention. One thousand political prisoners from Kuat and the rest of the captured planets were being transported to the Herløv for her special use. These were mostly low to middle value officials who were still loyal to the Imperial Remnant and Galactic Alliance who, despite having little intelligence value, were still too annoying or inconvenient to allow loose in the general population.

 

She planned on using them as a bribe to show the rebels she was serious. The Dark One had given her significant latitude in accomplishing her mission, and so losing near a thousand generally useless nuisances was a price that she felt was quite meaningless. Even better, though, was the fact that she had also slipped in a few dozen Imperial Sith agents and spies into the thousand to serve as a poison pill. These agents would become deep sleepers who would one day prove useful to the Sith Empire.

 

She also waited for the readiness of an additional force of escorts for her ship. They were under the command of another Sith whom she had not yet met, but was interested in doing so. With many of her own people now on the Herløv, she didn't feel threatened by the newcomer. He hadn't been trained at her academy, so it would be interesting to see what mindset he had. If he was the standard, self centered and reckless variety of Sith, she just might have to find a way to get rid of him. If he threatened her plans for this mission, she would slaughter him outright and report the infraction to the Spider. But if he was more amiable, perhaps they would work well together. She never turned down allies where there was sufficient commonality.

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"You understand, Private?"

 

Shiro had sat in silence, his attention upon the Officer before him as his explaination resounded throughout the hangar and fell heavily upon each of their ears, some more than others as Shiro noticed a Twilek beside him, his teeth gritting with each voiced note. His gaze shifted across the rifle that he too held within his arms, taking note of each element that was pointed out, from the different firing settings to the scope's readout abilities, and even noticing the fold out stock as well as the power cells.

 

"Yes sir." Shiro responded along with the others, his youth filled voice squeaking within the confines of lingering puberty, no longer a boy but neither a man as he felt the Officer's gaze and attention fall upon him.

 

"Have you ever seen Coruscant like this? Are you ready for what comes next?"

 

Unfortunately, Shiro could only nod his head in response to the first portion of his questions, the white hair and crimson eyes mirroring the visage of the Officer in a youthful manner outside the pale versus bronzed skin. He was present for Coruscant's initial blow, but was lucky enough, or unlucky of you prefer, to have managed escape. But if the Arena of House Zibeti had taught him anything, it was that luck played a part in everything, and until you ran out of it, it would continue to run the course of your life.

 

The only doubt in this moment was whether or not this would be the day it ran out on Shiro, especially with such high odds stacked against him as a mere recruit within the mighty Sith Imperial Forces. For in the Arena it was a free for all fight, everyone your enemy and no one your friend during the matches. But here, and now, it would be a testament to his ability of adaptation if he survived this day. For Shiro had never fought beside anyone, let alone beings he would have to learn to trust with his life as much as watching his back and theirs.

 

His hands finally settled, his throat parched from the unsettled nerves. Was he truly ready? "In all honesty, no. But who is ever truly ready to die?"

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C U L L I N G.




The harvest of the weak will be handled by the might of the powerful and no other; the old and the corrupt will be dismantled, the unjust and unworthy will be hung by the sharpened skin of the Reapers’ blades, and the Dark Side would have it's bountiful fill. Coruscant was enveloped in unquestionable devastation, and now the Sith had arrived to sweep through the planet and warrant the unchecked rot with masterful hands. Make no mistake, the Sith Empire would be cast as the truest deliverers of justice and freedom in the eyes of all who could see, while the noose around the neck of the galaxy tightened slowly and without notice. This was why, it was his choice to make. No sliver of opportunity was missed, and the yield of harvest for the Sith since his return, spoke without precedent in how dominant they had truly become.

 

The King of the Sith was on the move. Colossal steel doors to his private quarters heaved open, and a smog of powerful incense unleashed into the wide vestibule. Primitive lamps with oils that burned with the ash of his violent ancestors, suffocated the chambers and imbued those that were within with the clarity of a God. Ancient power crawled the skin of the Spider, searching his flesh and finding the sacred stains of ink that were drawn across his body. He stepped from the obscure awning of his quarters slowly with vapor still dripping from his armor. The anatomical cuirass that covered his abdomen stood out as a solid black, burnished beautifully with the black of alchemy inside his chambers. It appeared as if he were an Imperial Knight, dressed similarly but with a perverse touch, mockingly interpreting the color of death and the emblems of his unruly Empire on their uniform. From his slim greaves, to his gauntlets, and to his neckline and pauldrons, the matte black shading of his armor seemed lacquered with real blood. 

 

There were bodies left in those chambers, bodies that were vampirically hollowed to the bones. Their blood maybe, but the trail was not hard to find. The charming natural hue resting in the eyes of the Dark Lord was utterly deceiving, his posture terrifyingly perfect as he stood beside the mysterious Keepers that kept watch of this corridor.  It was not hard to hear what type of monster the Anzanti Sovereign was, and his efficiency was a matter they could only bow their head in respects too. "Gentlemen." His voice echoed deeply, the sound of the Other side duplicating his words. The doors behind him closed and sealed immediately, just after the Keepers stamped their staves knowingly. Exodus turned and made way for his personal starfighter Lightbreaker, his baronial cape flashing behind him, emblazoned with a large and infamous familial white crest. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The corridor began to fill fast as formations scattered throughout the Sith Dreadnought to present themselves to their commanders. The shifting of armor, the shuffling of feet, and the ringing of alarms were loud enough to feed the rawest of adrenaline rushes. If the mind was not sharp, the sound of the body would become a distraction. Instructions were blared from each end of the hall, from the echoes of neighboring ones, with leadership commands droning out directives. One peak outside of a view-port would reveal pandemonium. Star-fighters were engaged, blasting into an enemy they were uncertain of. Perhaps the remnants of the Crusaders were really here, perhaps raiders had invited themselves to the chaos of Coruscant, and perhaps it was both. There was so much wreckage, that it was difficult to see what was truly out there from a glance. One could only image what the heart of Coruscant really looked like now. Time would soon reveal more. The major laugh maniacally nonetheless, the white of his skin unmatched by the white of his teeth, taunting the feverish soldiers before him. "Reports are that the enemy has a Heavy Cruiser roaming the debris field, a Dauntless. Our objective is to capture it. Boarding operations have began, and you all are late! Launch bay B47 awaits your arrival. Go now, and long live the Empire!" The Major saluted the many in attendance, the expression in his face a most determined one, wondering just how many of them would by alive to see another day. 

Edited by Exodus
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The broken throne of the galaxy, Coruscant, rushed into view from the bridge of the Queen of Air and Darkness, one of the newly constructed Xian'tii war ships. The smell of salt water pervaded the air around Darth Nyrys, for most of the ship was, for lack of a better term, flooded to accommodate it's aquatic xeno crew. The crew in the command pool was excited for their first deployment, and somewhat relieved that it would be something less full scale than the battle at Dark Sun. The Queen and a Kuati task force of Ardent and Raider class ships took up position by the Dark Lord's ship, any threats would have to pass them before they could target the flagship. The Whispered Truth and the Brazen Verdict were further out, on the hunt for targets.

 

Upon reaching planet side, Nyrys looked forward to evaluating her troops as they cut their teeth for the first time under her command. What she had was excellent material and fine tools to sculpt with, potential but not necessarily results. In time she would know what her soldiers were truly capable of, but first they had to land. She had never been to Coruscant, her father considered it a deathtrap with the constant wars and terrorist attacks, and certainly no place for a child. Rumor had it that the rogue lunatic Faust had finally truly broken the planet though, and the Crusaders were picking the corpse. The rumors may have been right, at least about the damage. Chunks of planet and moon propelled so far by the impact that they made orbit drifted lazily in the void. Traffic lanes had been replaced with the pandemonium of mass ship graveyards from failed attempts to escape the violence on the planet. Crusader corsair ships sized up the approaching darkness as it cast a shadow over their former spoils.

 

Sensor feeds were constantly delivering new information, and one bit that surprised Nyrys was that while the Museum of Coruscant had been heavily damaged, the structure was still somewhat intact. While the suffering of the people on the surface was tragic, the museum housed objects of immeasurable cultural value that were irreplaceable. Nyrys's first objective was clear.

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From the mercurial husk of the Lightbreaker, the Dark King could see the undivided expanse of the Sith superstructure as it broadened for miles in each direction. Mighty turbolaser columns were stretched across the breadth of the Black Scarab, opening with a hailstorm of raw energy that imperiously choked congested space. Spotted enemy warships were harshly gored, detonating them into unrecognizable heaps of ruin once they chanced entry into specific firing lanes. It was suicide to rear your head against the Dreadnought, most understood that by now. The coordination of the Sith-Imperial Armada operated under prolific efficiency, while the armaments attached to each formation and each task force, began to breach inlets to the inner orbits of Coruscant. The battlefield was sickening, engorged by death and clutter, worsening as the power flotilla stampeded forward. 

 

"Lord Emperor, integrity of the starfighter will suffer full exposure if engaged."

 

"Pull me through."

 

The image of the artificial intelligence appeared before the Emperor, washed in a computerized backdrop of calculations that bleated as the Lightbreaker accelerated towards the uncertain intensity of the chaos ahead. Hurried breath briefly fogged the inside of his navigational helmet, obscuring the displays before him for a brief moment before the digital pane re-calibrated and cleared the condensation. A chronograph bickered with sound as time moved forward, and once the strike team punched through that Dauntless, the timer would see a final conclusion. A high-pitched whine cut through the riot of space, followed by the unrestrained blare of compound explosions ripping through the enemy Heavy Cruiser.

 


It was time, at last. 


 

A phantasmal energy crawled to life, smothering a large portion of the Heavy Cruiser. Operational luminosity throughout the entire warship flickered and then eclipsed into black. Indiscernible electromagnetic energy drowned the light from around them, and the immobilized warship became ripe for harvest. When the Dauntless fell dark, task forces hidden beneath the shell of the powerful Scarab, readily equipped for boarding operations, jumped into the fray and streamlined themselves one destination. Undoubtedly, it would be easier to blast the Dauntless into smithereens, but the potential to catch a Crusader of merit would be more than lucrative. 

 

 

“Advancing now.”

 

The black-stone luster of the daedalian Lightbreaker shifted into a fierce acceleration, coordinates locked for the mammoth Dauntless. Azurean streaks of burned fuel trailed behind the starfighter as it launched itself recklessly into anarchy. The intelligence network installed inside the prized starship absorbed full reign of navigational system, Exodus surrendering his control over them and himself to the inebriation of the Dark Side. The Lightbreaker drove with impunity through the debris field, performing extraordinary maneuvers, jockeying the full weight of the machine to sweep passed the invariable trajectories of rock, wreckage, and hostile shelling. The Dark King commanded an exhaustive palette of the force, exercising a transparency of the battlefield by way of his foresight, envisioning the way forward.

 


One hangar, and the action would begin.
 

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War had began, its drums beating through the chests of men as much as the mechanics of machines, the throbbing effects of explosions matching the pace of the mortal hearts. Shiro could feel the durasteel beneath his feet shift and rattle as the ripples echoed within, sweat beading upon his brow as he and the rest of the company moved in fluid motion in their turn to exit, the sound of their shift and stomp briefly drowning out the outward noises.

 

The moment of truth was upon them as the relieved themself from their previous stature and headed toward a new destination, the unknowing weighing upon their minds as much as the determination to not fall this day ached within their hearts. Even Shiro refused to perish without taking as many as he could with him. As the monumental march of the company barreled down the hall way adjacent to the hangar bay past Launch Bays 44-46, Helms managed to find their ways upon their heads and HUDS were brought online as they prepared themselves for what surely awaited most of them, if not all, as silent prayers were mumbled beneath hidden breaths in numerous religions.

 

But for Shiro, his heart pounding so loudly that it resounded in his ears, found himself strangely calm. It was a normal occurrence for the young humanoid before battle that he displayed on numerous accounts in the Arena, an ability to grasp upon his fears and anxiety and use them to drive himself, evident in his knee bouncing as he sat within the shuttle during it's release into open space. He would pour all the doubt, all the fear, all the anxieties he felt into himself, using that energy to heighten his alertness and double down on his reactions, letting the rush of the adrenaline that was pumping throughout him to fuel his actions.

 

It was how he survived in the Arena, it was how he had survived most of his life, and hopefully, here today, it would be what caused him to survive once again and even into the future. Outside he could see and hear the ongoing conflict as the escort of fighters barreled down on enemy attackers as well as the shuttle brushed against and by lingering debris, some of the foregoers never having made their destination as bodies floated by the view ports signaling the roughness of the terrain and the Dauntless Class that was their target. It was only a matter of making it there before the real threat began. And in a twisted sense of irony, Shiro welcomed it to the thought of being shot down here and now.

Edited by The Last Armegedon

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