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The Last Armegedon

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  1. Wrath was like a storm, unrelenting, wild, and powerful. It was ample in it destruction, leaving nothingness in its wake. For Shiro, it had been his awakening. It was the flowing current ever pushing toward the mouth of the ocean, blackened and deep. But it was a simply introduction, incapable of being steered without aid. It simply swept him toward his destination, his fate. And when he accessed it, opened himself up to it, it simply took him forward in time blindly and unstoppable to the point of injury. But Pride was the oar, capable of steering Shiro even amidst the raging storm. It was the Captain of the Sea, undeterred in his war against nature. It was logic in chaos. Where Wrath would sweep him, Pride would give control. It was the perfect combination of a perfect storm, powerful and yet honed, strength with sight. Shiro could see it even as he contemplated the potential of the blade. The Force he grasped at was its Forge, and he, the Blacksmith. Yet, what would be the material? Shiro opened his gaze upon the bubbling brooke, then shifted it toward the boiling sea, scanning along the darkened beach head. The bodies along it no longer existed, nor did the materials that they adorned. A few links of wood swayed in the crashing waves further down the shore as the sea boiled with his Master. But as his gaze shifted back toward the brooke, something familiar caught his eye. His shoulder ached with grotesque pain as the memory replayed its self, the darkened maw reaching up from the bloodied sands as it swallowed flesh and bone from its socket, a worthy sacrifice made in what appeared to be vain. Yet now, the ivory form sat with inches sticking from its grave, flesh and bone boiling separate from the heat the sea emitted, the flesh leathered across the cooked meat as it dripped into the sand from bone. Shiro grinned as he Rose and made his way over, pulling his former arm from its placement and laying it before him. Gathering his blade from the sheath near his ankle, Shiro sliced away flesh and meat, stripping the white ivory bone from it. Was this the purpose of his sacrifice before he became one of them? He didn't possess the time nor care to question, something within driving him forward. Laying strips of hide to the side, he continued until only the white ivory remained laying before him and a weapon began forming in his mind at the sight of the bones, most notably the Humurus and Scapula bones. And so he set forth to forging what he envisioned. The Humurus would make a great handle, whether for this weapon or any other, a true extension of himself like his arm once was. The Scapula was more brunt than he liked, but with a few chisels of his blade, it's own edge began to form. But muscle and ligament were boiled and cooked away, leaving the joining almost improbable until he gazed at the hide he had stripped away. His blade in hand, Shiro began to carve away at the bone until the Scapula could fit solidly into the Humurus and the hide grown strong enough in the boiling waters to rejoin together. And as the last of the hide was tied tightly together with his teeth and hand, Cathar would inexplicably resound in his creation. "Bone of my bone, forged in the fashion of those who destroyed, may my Wrath and Pride be heard." The voice echoed in his head as his Maater emerged from the Sea and her cackle brough his gaze up from the ivory to meet her own horrific form. Shiro smiled with a nod, and turned his focus inward and to the blade, letting his memories imprint themselves upon his creation. Wrath brought forth his childhood, his slavery, his pain. And Pride brought forth his escape, his rise in the Arena, and now his rise as a Sith Apprentice. As each of these memories and emotion flowed through Shiro and into the Blade, it echoed and mirrored his own intent. And as he stood, the axe seemed to drip with power visually. With each swing and test of the blade, power flowed forth from it, the darkness within seeping and splattering from its form into the direction of its aim like blood. Satisfied, Shiro sheathed the blade on his hip and made his way toward his Master, the Pride evident in his eyes and his silence.
  2. Heat boiled the air around Shiro as he gazed upon the fallen forms in disgust. Pathetic, weak, insignificant, pitiful. His gaze shifted back to the sea where Hayley had disappeared to, his blood boiled with wrath. Sweat dripped from his brow as he gazed upon its expanse. If he was too weak as an Apprentice, yet too strong to be a Soldier, then where did he truly stand? The thought plagued him devilishly. And then it spoke... As he stood there watching the corpses fade into the passage of halted time, his gaze fixated and settled upon the floating black mass. What kind of creature was this, to tear its self into his reality to speak to him, an endless starry night amidst the boiling beach scenery? It reeked of darkness and reveled in his soul's awakening, speaking to his mind like a mirrored sibling as it pulled at his heart. He could feel its crawl beneath his skin as its voice fell upon familiar yet hungered ears. Apprentice of Pride So it did know Shiro, what laid in his heart and mind, knowing what he truly bore beneath his mortal visage? Shiro grinned, his crimson and golden gaze piercing the veil it hid behind. It wanted him to grow, the harness its power in combination, to delve in the deepest pits of his soul and find the fire within. Shiro knew the desire all too well. For Shiro wanted the same. He wanted to know and taste the true power he could possess, he wanted to know who he truly was. The heat around him was bothersome and irritating, making it harder to focus upon himself. But Shiro did as it asked, and turned himself inward to find this power of pride and wrath, a deadly combination of balance to say the least. Pain rought anger, anger rought power. But it was wild, untamed, feverish: Wrath. But Pride was a different beast. It was glory, honed and tactical: Like a blade. But how could the two combine to make such power? Shiro opened his eyes as they stung against the sweat that slid down his brow. And for a moment, it reminded him of a forge, pounding away hour after hour to make a singular blade strong and sturdy. That's it! Pride and Wrath, Wrath and Pride, a blade worthy of forging in the midst of battle, a deadly combination of the most powerful of sins. Was this truly his power waiting to be rought into fruition? Would this be the blade that would forge him anew? His gaze shifted toward the blackened creature as if questioning, but instead turned inward to his heart. This was it. Wrath may have been wild and untamed, but with the tactical honing of Pride, it would be a double edge sword with untapped power. It would be the culmination of pure darkness. It would be Shiro and it would be marvelous. Shiro crossed his legs and opened himself up, finding the Force flowing through his surroundings. With a smirk adorning his face, he grasped at it and ensnared it, calling it to him and bending its will. With a deep breath and chilling exhale, he began...
  3. "How can you bend fate to your will?" Shiro snarled as his gaze shot toward Hayley only to find the tips of her disappearing into the sea. Shifting his gaze back toward the sand, his anger fueling him, he snarled silently to himself. "I am nothing but a joke." Shiro sat down where he was standing, his gaze looking over the sea as he took her words in, the sudden plop of his form sending his arm into extrucating pain, like fire burning away at his side, a constant throbbing and unrelentless pain. Under his breath he cursed at his own stupidity. His whole life was an utter joke. From being outcast for his lineage, to the taunts that led to his crime of murder and arrest, to his escape and enslavement, and finally to his awarded freedom at the cost of his enlistment. And in truth, if it hadn't been for Hayley and that pilot, he wouldn't have survived that infested ship. And now here he was, her Apprentice, upon a world that awakened the truth in him only to toy him further. He spat upon the sands, kicking it away in anger only to feel the pain again as it enraged him. "Apprentice, be the weapon only of yourself." He jousted mockingly, rolling his eyes with a subtle scoff. "Bow not to the Force, bend it to your will." "Riddles and sithspit." He spoke, crossing his legs as he touched softly upon the cauterized scab that covered where his arm was once. "Easy for a Sith Lord to say. They've Mastered it. It's not like they're the joke of the universe." Shiro gazed around, looking at the bodies surrounding him, a smirk crossing his face. Dunstan, Saldana... they were all weak, clinging to him for his strength, his courage. None of them had lived the life he had. Despite his feelings of being a joke as an Apprentice, he knew he was strong. Life had made him this way. It forged him into what he was. And they relied too much upon him, even trying to persuade him from standing his ground against Hayley and that Intrusive One when they thought to belittle him. No. He was what life had made him and he found pride in that. They're lives seemed pointless now, nothing but a burden upon his own. And that was why he slaughtered them, to truly free himself from their weakness, their cares. Looking at them, he chuckled. "At least I've rid myself of you lot. May you rest in the eternal damnation you deserve, weaklings." Waving his hand in a shooing motion, Shiro nearly jumped when their bodies moved inches with his motion.
  4. Watching his Master rise and hearing her words, Shiro grew confused. Was he not supposed to feast upon the emotions that surround him and use the power that he connected with as his own? Use the transference as a conduit of application? He was lost as his gaze fell upon the unraveling of the wound as the past became the present and the present the past, confliction both in himself and the planet that gave rise to him. Perplexed, he felt the power he held diminish, slipping out of his grasp like grains of sand. His anger bolstered, the feeling of failure washing over him with despair. If his strength came from within, what was the purpose of tantalizing him with such bait, begging for him to sample? What was the point of his sacrifice when the darkness claimed his arm if it was not meant to relish on pain and suffering, especially in others. Reaching up, Shiro grasped at his missing arm, the touch sending signals to each of its unburnt pain receptors. Shiro bellowed with pain, his voice rippling through the Force as his anger echoed from his gut in both displeasure and the pain of his stupidity. No matter what level he would rise to, whether upon his Homeworld, in the Arena, or even amongst the Sith, he would never truly rise above himself. His power, his skill, it was all for nought, wasted upon a mere murderer, a mere criminal with no truth of a future. Even now, he still relied upon others to further his advancements. Just like with Dunstan and Saldana. Just like with the others he slew. Just like the hollowed eyes he stared into. "Do what you wish to me!" Shiro spoke as he stepped aside Hayley and shook his fist toward the heavens, his anger toward the fates infuriating, his life just one joke after the other within their eyes. "I am nothing but a toy for you to play with anyways, a pawn made for nothing more than your war!" Yet, unbeknownst to him, as his anger grew against the Force, as his temper flared with his power, his own pain and injustice fueling his inner wrath at the hand life had dealt him, his power echoed stronger and more focused than it have before. Refined and uncharted, purity in it's own right as his skin steeled against the passing storm and his pain from loss of limb subsided away in his mind, Shiro stood firm and strong. "I'll be you're weapon!" Shiro cursed at the Force, still unaware at the rising tide of his inner power, his disdain at the life he had been handed nothing more than insignificant and his place in life minuscule at best. If that was all he would ever be, then so be it. "Nothing more, nothing less!"
  5. As Shiro sat there in his struggle, both inward and outward as the storm within matched the storm around. The friction of his mind against the Force that flowed through him matched that only of the friction that his form fought against nature, both feverish and growing. Shiro could feel it, his weakness against it as his mind fought against it, similar to one's antibodies fought against a virus or disease, and yet he kept fighting. His bronze skin only reddened even more as sweat began to bead against his warmed body, the internal struggle reaching its peak. Only when he heard the cracking of bones and felt the life force leave the man's body did he lessen his struggle and open his crimson and gold gaze, it shifting upon the disfigured form. This power, it was addictive, his craving growing more at its knowledge. But it was hard to temper, to control. As he applied more will against the Force, so did the Force will against him. And for a brief moment, it felt almost pointless to defy, like one's second nature amidst his true nature. He almost thought to give in. At least until the taste.... “Will you consume, or turn away?” It was a tantalizing sensation, to feel the essence she presented. Like a substance that provided nutrient, he could feel the hunger grow as his soul ached to nibble. His mind salivated, a small brush of his thoughts licking upon the nutrient as his soul growled to feast. And in that moment, Shiro's nature gave in and he grasped at the essence ravenously. It was in that moment that he felt true power, his hunger met only by his wrath, a mixture of the two rolling into his will as the Force bowed before him. And it was that moment the truth was revealed. As the shackles of his will and the Force broke, freeing his mind and soul as one, Shiro could feel his control grow. He could feel his Mastery over the Force harden, an iron fist wielding what he fought so hard against. Through the passions of others, through the selfishness and sins of others in their final moments, his wrath and hunger became one, and his will would be done as the storm became his own. As his chaotic gaze stared into the abyss, he saw his own reflection, for the abyss was he, shimmering against the flashes of light. Feeling the Force be willed, he felt his skin tighten and harden against the wind and debris, the once abusive storm growing powerless against his form. He could feel his power surging through his veins, his once heated form growing cooler like stone against the waves. Standing against the remaining onslaught that lingered, he came to his feet and stood like cliff face, sturdy and unwavering, his gaze staring into the lifeless eyes lingering before him as he devoured the chaos that remained in limbo. "Such power, such control. I must have more."
  6. “Do you truly think you can understand the depths of The Force through an adherence to codes?” “We all achieve definition in conflict, it is there we find ourselves or find ourselves lacking.” Shiro could hear her words echoing through his mind over the sounds of the storm as it raged on. He had thought the mantra of the Sith would quell the storm within him, quiet his mind so he could find focus, but now he saw that it only aided his focus in its brief quotation. It was her words that truly struck a nerve that he had yet to ponder. "Conflict?" His mind thought across its entirety as he pondered the meaning. Conflict was all that he knew. It was the very thing that forged him. But would it continue to forge him farther? He wasn't quite certain. Forged of blood, guilt, and war, his wrath had became his power. But this darkness within him, this power granted by gift and by touch, wasn't born of it like he was. Was this truly the problem he had been facing this entire time? His gaze shifted toward the man who fought against his Master's will, the entire conflict tantalizing as it was fruitless in the man's endeavor. He was but an instrument in the overall lesson Shiro was meant to learn, even as his will fell before her own and all that was left was a husk with the only desire left being that of death. Standing there, pelted by sand and debris, Shiro's mind opened wide. He had been too accepting of this gift, letting it's draw hypnotize him with its power rather than bending it to his own. It was a powerful ally, this Force, but without guidance, it was uncontrollable and unpredictable. He was letting its instincts control him, rather than honing it and controlling it to fit his needs. He could see it now, even as the moments of its uses flooded his mind. And in that moment, his wrath turned inward at himself. "Pathetic". His thoughts echoed. “Now, strengthen your flesh and fight the wind. Let us see what echoes your conflict produce.” Shiro struggled internally, his form becoming feverish as he sought for control. Sand cut against his form, leaving rash and abrasions against his uncovered skin as debris pelted his form with slivers and gashes, tearing even through cloth as the storm bore down its hardest. He would control this power. It would bend to his will and be his domain. He had already decided it. But as he fought, so did the darkness within, his bronze skin growing red with its feverish heat. Falling to his knees as washed ashore limbs flew across his form, leaving bruises, he continued the conflict within, bellowing in anger as his wrath grew intense. It was time he was the Master of it, not it the Master of he. It was time for the shackles to break. He would be the dominant power. Or he would fall in trying.
  7. To feel Hayley's touch was refreshing for Shiro, the Force swirling around his Master in a cold vortex as his body heated against it's own wrath. He feasted upon the moment, taking in the nutrients like a parasite to quell his thirst. He had never known such power, and yet, at the same time, it came with great exhaustion. His form felt wrecked, the pain nearly unbearable, and he barely stood upon his own two feet. And yet, with Hayley, he felt rested, exhilarated even as her power flowed around them. He could feel his energy returning, siphoning back into his form from upon her own, rejuvenated. And as she touched his latest of wounds, he boiled in beautiful agony, rejoicing in the pain that flowed through him. He grinned. “I will torture him, you must feed off those emotions to survive this storm. Bind the power of your rage into your flesh, harden it against that which is to come.” He nodded in response, his chaotic gaze shifting from the one he left alive to her, and then back again. He could feel the storm bearing down upon them, the wind alone threatening to sweep him off his feet as the lightning littered the beach with explosions of scorched earth. And a part of him wondered if he could do what she asked. Until now, he had fed off his own rage, his own anger to sustain him, but it had become animalistic, overwhelming to the part that he was losing control. And a portion of him still feared losing control, losing himself to this power. But by now, the storm had grew. What once was his advantage now became his turmoil. The waves and rain were cutting to his form, the wind reveling in it's own wrath as it swept in from the sea. Thunderous explosions and lightning flashes were bearing down so closely that he could feel the static charge in the air around him just before each strike. Shiro closed his eyes, letting the moment surround him. "Peace is a lie, There is only passion..." Shiro muttered under his breath as he felt the air around him begin to start clinging, like a pull upon his skin, hair, and cloth as he stood there. He could feel the man's horror, his urgency to live, his desperation to run. And in that moment, Shiro accepted his own fate. With an exhale, he focused his rage and anger, letting it boil within himself. He could feel the heat in the pit of his stomach begin to flow through his veins. And upon his exhale, the coldness of the air penetrating his lungs and cooling his form, he felt his skin tense and sturdy its self for what was to follow. "Through Passion, I gain strength..."
  8. Shiro could feel the death, the destruction, the power, the justification, the rage and wrath all around him, seeping into his soul as he gazed upon the remaining four. It was tantalizing, empowering, euphoric to feel and embrace. And at his back was a storm brewing, the thunderous clap of lightning erupting and striking the surf, spraying his form with salt, water, blood, and sand as it echoed about. The time had come. The moment was upon him. He could feel it tugging at his soul, his roots upon this soil deeper than any bloodline. And in that moment, he reacted. It was a symphony of a perfect storm, the darkness that laid in the soil of this world echoing the cries of the storm that raged. The wind bellowed his coming, and the lightning illuminated his strikes upon the unsuspecting. Shirtless, his bronzed form topped the hill as the four at the camp cheered his arrival, thankful their commander had returned. But horror soon filled their faces as the blade whizzed past his form and struck one in the throat, piercing bone and flesh almost completely through. Stooping down mid stride, Shiro grasped at his second blade, readying his aim as the remaining three made the realization and brought up their arms against him, his grin turning cold as it disappaited. Crimson bolts matched thunderous booms as the rain began to fall heavily, saturating the soil like the blood that would be spilt this day, including Shiro's own as one landed near his ribs. Pain flickered through his thoughts as rage boiled heavily within him, dulled only by the heat of the moment and his determination to kill. Blood seeped from the freshly cauterized wound as the burning sensation faded away into his soul, the swirling of crimson and gold intensifying with wrath. It was their day to die, not his. Shiro slide beneath the second, his hand moving quickly with the first slash to the right calf before turning its focus to the left, and finally as Shiro rose, the blade found its resting place at the base of the neck before Shiro grasped the gun and spun the body before him as a shield, returning fire as the winded air rushed about them, his gaze hazed by rain and quickly returning exhaustion. He needed to end this quickly, or he would fall back into the powerless world he was raised from. As he fought against his exhaustion, he kept his focus as his empowerment, feeling the world that beckoned his heart, eating at the emotions of fear and desperation. His sight threatened to fade, but he closed one eye to sturdy his aim, flipping the gun's switch from burst to full load, and unleashing its fury along with his own. Crimson bolts danced amidst the rain as the storm intensified its torrent, laying claim to the first of the final targets. But as the final death befell the target, the other took off in an attempt to escape, the moment of the battle subsiding as Shiro leaned his head down and took a bite out of the flesh that was his shield, tearing meat, muscle, and blood in an almost animalistic nature, the taste of the blood focusing his vision just enough to begin the chase. Shiro grinned, the moment he had been pleading for arriving. The funny thing about retreating in such a manner was that you didn't focus your fire, fear taking hold and your only desire being to survive. He had seen it too many times on the field of battle and in the Arena. It was the most enjoyable moment where you realize that your opponent is doomed. But as he closed the gap and tackled the soldier, beating upon him like a crazed animal, his Master's last words echoed through his mind. "But...Bring one to me alive for the next lesson.” Bruised and defeated, weapons thrown to the side, Shiro struggled for the stun cuffs upon his belt and managed to restrain the Private just as his energy gave almost completely out. Struggling to his feet along with the man, Shiro would begin the long walk back to his Master, only one left alive as the calm of the storm began to settle in around them.
  9. “If the force commands, do it, but do not slay without reflecting on the reason…” Shiro nodded in acceptance, his gaze following her as she went to inspect his handy work and revel in his moment. He knelt before her, watching as the life forces of the two slowly left their forms, their blood streaming across the sands and mixing with the tides as they crashed and sprayed behind them. Oddly, he felt his strength returning, the pain still vibrant, but the tiredness subsiding, and he wondered upon the reasoning. “Pain, suffering, terror. Those passions feed our darkness, let those victories add to your strength. Take within yourself such things, let it nourish you.” "Yes Master." Shiro replied in response, his mind preoccupied with the meanings of her words, the feeling of rejuvenation rolling across his form like the steam of a refresher as he gazed upon the handy work that laid around him, two to the left and two before him, feeling what could only be called an echo of their deaths rolling across his memories. He felt their weakness, their selfishness and greed, their useless caring for their fellow men, their fear of the Sith. He held no need for such things around him. Even as a Soldier, he knew this. His memory rolled back to the Battle of Coruscant, their feebleness to face what laid within the prison ship of the Republic, their reluctance. And he remembered meeting his Master, the Elusive One and the power she held at her will. This was their crime, and he was their punishment. Such weaknesses could only end up getting one, if not all of them killed, and as such, a cleansing was needed. And it would be his hand to cleanse them of it. It would be a Purge, a purification that the Force demanded, and Shiro felt that he was the mere instrument called upon. It had been laying in the back of his mind since he fell into the brackened water. And now the moment was drawing upon him. His gaze shifted to the fellow soldier, blood still pouring through his fingers as he attempted to stop its flow from the shallow cut he inflicted. Shiro's temper flared at the notice of life still remaining within him even as the other feel into death beside him. This would not do. His calling would be answered, and it would be a swift purging of the remaining ones. “Cast it out like a net. Capture this knife as if it were a fish, and draw it to you.” Her words echoed in his mind as his wrath grew at such insolence, and Shiro closed his eyes. He could hear the slowing of the soldier's heart beat, feel the echo of his panic and his urge to live. Shiro took a slow deep breath, focusing on his will to purge, and when his eyes opened, he drew his arm upon the man he gazed. And it was in that moment, he felt it. He felt the man's throat within his hand, even though nearly a meter separated them and the man's hands were over the wound. He tightened his fist, feeling the pressure of his squeeze as his focus grew and the man struggled against it with eyes wide open. And as he closed the fist completely, he felt the snapping of the man's neck within his hand just as the man fell forward to meet his comrade in death. It was that moment, as Shiro withdrew his hand and gazed upon it, that he knew the power within him was real. And from that power, he felt what his Master called nourishment as he felt the life of his former comrade enter his own. Standing up, Shiro walked past his Master and looked over the dunes toward the others. It was time to finish this so that she could finish the ritual she came for. "Let their deaths end their weakness, and from it, let us find strength."
  10. The two could only look on with stifled voices and horrored eyes as their forms were drug before Shiro's blooded form, the swirling of crimson and gold glowing against the statically charge air igniting around them horrifying in its wake, freezing them in fear as the grin only widened. Thoughts entered their minds, fear sweeping at their hearts as the blade hovered before them and between. It was almost tantalizing for Shiro to witness, to behold such a look. But the pain, the enfueled rage that had grasped at his heart was more. “What would you do unto them? What does the Force command?” An euphoric shiver crossed his mind at the thought, the possibilities that he could endure unto them at the sound of her words. But he still had yet to gain the power, to control it, to focus it into his will. He could still hear the banter, the chanting of his past nibbling at the back of his mind, distracting and calming, as he realized his truth nature, that he was truly a murderer by different names, the outcome the same no matter which path he chose to walk. And it this moment, it felt right. It felt like freedom, a taste he had longed for so long. And so he let his resistance go, feeling the rage and wrath within flow freely. The pain subsided and dulled, his stature once again able to move with its ebb and flow, and he stood. His gaze shifted down toward the Troopers under his command with malicious intent as his remaining arm twitched before grasping at the beings throat tightly, his enjoyment in the horror of both as they gazed back. The being gazed back as he felt his breath begin to slow against Shiro's grip, the panic in his eyes growing as his face began to heat from the cut of blood flow and shifted toward his comrade. His comrade could only look back in horror and then to Shiro as if pleading, not for his comrade, but himself who was likely next. Shiro chuckled beneath his own breath, the selfish simplicity of one's own self preservation over another, a sight he knew all too well, a sight he saw when he slew his first. And it was in that moment, he knew. "Focus" The voice echoed within his mind as his gaze shifted from the onlooker toward the blade, its origins unknown and yet its clarity familiar. Was this his wrath? Was this his power? Shiro closed his eyes. He felt the fear, the horror, the blood that was beginning to be coughed up by the one he was strangling and held back by his clenched hand. But more importantly, he felt the darkened blade, its will intensified by that of the Force as it called to its mind. And when Shiro opened his eyes, he grinned maniacally as the hovering blade slit the throat of the onlooker and he crushed the throat of the one he grasped. It was in that moment of their end, their gazes connecting as they drowned in their own blood simultaneously, that Shiro enjoyed the most. He could tasted their remorse, smell their selfishness disappaite in their final breaths, and watch as their forms fell upon the brackened beach and turned the waves red with their lives. But more importantly, he could feel the power within growing as his rage turned toward the rest. Four had fallen and four remained. With a snorting chuckle, he answered his Master. "Slay them all. Leave no one alive to witness what we've found here, and let their blood finish what you began." When Shiro turned to face her, his blood boiled red with his Wrath. There was no place for selfishness and greed in the path she offered, no place for the weak.
  11. "...And Conquer it. Shiro could feel the power flowing through him, beastial in nature, wild and untamed. It wrecked his thoughts and concentration, his body reveling in its euphoric. He felt possessed, able to see, but unable to move as wave upon wave of the power shivered up his form. And then it subsided, the pain returning along with a hint of his weakness as he slouched just to hold his form sturdy. By now the others, having heard his roar, could be heard rustling to his location, his gaze shifting briefly to the corpses of Dunstan and Saldana. Yet, his sinister grin remained, his thoughts afloat upon the sacrifices needed for the power he had felt. "Murderer, Muderer, Murderer" Shiro could hear the chanting voices through his mind, echoes of times long past and possible futures as the Elusive One held the blooded blade before him, urging him to continue, to follow the path she was presenting, and the power that came with it. A part of him wanted to flee, to not face the consequences of the actions he had took. But the other knew his truth, wanting to accept the path laid before him, and the spoils that came with it. "Take the Storm..." Her words edge him forward, Shiro feeling a shift within him. Fear was not of his personality, he held no purpose to run. With what she was offering him, he could overcome anything that stood in his way, and bind them to him. He was a soldier, and yet something more... much more. This world, it called to his heart and beckoned him. And he would hear it out. “Cast it out like a net. Capture this knife as if it were a fish, and draw it to you.” Shiro heard her words and understood. He opened himself up to his rage, feeling his body warm again against the coldness around him, his gaze shifting from her scars and knowing the pain he would inevitably endure. Knowing this only enraged him more, his wrath echoing of her own wounds and those who marked her so. But instead of focusing it upon himself, he turned it outward, the boot steps growing closer and louder as he angled for the blade, his focus only blurred by his rage. "What happens here, stays here." His gaze shot toward the first of those to arrive, but the blade did not follow. The two privates looked on in horror and dismay as their eyes shifted between the corpses and Shiro sitting there bathed in their blood. His rage bellowed within him, his intent not willed into existence as the blade toppled from her finger.
  12. “Feel that rage within you… Take it into yourself. Hold it to you like an ember and give it life.” Shiro's steadied into a fixation upon her own, his face flushing with anger and rage as he kicked against the sand, his fingers gripping at it like a wild animal. The pain, it was crippling, consuming his will even as he fought to bend it and shape it in his own. And as the pain intensified, so did his rage, his wrath. “Take it into yourself. Make it a fire. Make it a wildfire.” His exhaustion, the loss of blood, the pain, it all fought against his will to rise. And yet, his will, his rage, his determination fought with him. Every few breaths he held were spewed in the moment that he forced himself to breath out as he fought against his own body to surpass its self. To go beyond its limits and push even farther. And then it came. Just as the waves crashing around them, tearing to erode the shore line, like the rain that poured down upon them threatening to sink them, like his mind echoing to burst under the pressure of his fight, it came. Not like an ember, not like a wildfire, but like a storm inside his soul and in his heart. When darkness threatened to overtake him, to perish his consciousness like before, Shiro felt the spark. And rage fueled it. Wrath spoke it. And his mind became clear like the eye of a storm. With a loud roar that echoed through the Force its self, Shiro lifted his form from upon her lap and cloth, pushing his body past its limits and beyond. A new found strength rushed into his pores, numbing the pain to a subtle dull. And before he knew it, he sat before her, his crimson and golden eyes gazing behind a sinister grin. "Become a Storm..."
  13. "...Chaos is a Ladder" Shiro gazed in her eyes, the swirling of crimson and gold meeting her own in a moment of silence. There within, was such depth, such loss, that Shiro felt swept away by it, carried to another plane of existence by it, seduced by promises and disappointments. "If Chaos is a ladder...." Shiro questioned himself in silence, his thoughts turning to her words as the cool waters ran across his sweating form, almost tantalizing against the soreness of his form. "Am I meant to climb it?" Shiro's good arm reached up and touched his missing one with his finger tips, the stinging pain from touch and movement causing his whole form to flinch and ache, but he continued exploring the seered flesh nonetheless. "What sacrifices would it incur?" It mattered not. Shiro's gaze stayed fixated on Hayley's, even as she voice her concerns of his rage and what would happen after his war, a small chuckle erupting from his lips. This Galaxy, the Jedi, the Sith, Imperials and the Republic Rebels, even here on Cathar where the wounds of wars from millennia ago still fester, had taught him anything, was that there always a war to fight. Whether it be within one's self or thousands of beliefs, it was always one to be fought. Violence begets violence. "War is eternal..." Shiro spoke with a cough, the young humanoid attempting to pick himself up from her lap, only still finding himself too weak to move. Slamming his fist into the surf and sand, his eyes boiled like the temper within as he tried again. "And so shall my rage be. A foundation is only as good as the bones sacrificed to build it, and Shiro held firmly in his beliefs. His rage would fuel him, empower him from this day forward even if he was only meant to be a soldier, his loss of limb would not be in vain. He would rise from these ashes of surf and sand on his own, for what had not killed him would only make him stronger. And with each attempt, his anger would only grow more, empowering his determination and resolve. The Force will set him free.
  14. Shiro laid there quietly as his words settled in his mind, the realization that he had made as he described his past stinging as he thought upon it. It felt right. But how? Why? Sure he was a soldier and such was his duty. But this way beyond duty. It was almost enjoyment. Even as the rolling surf flowed beneath him and Hayley, it was almost calming and relaxing to understand, the warmth of the blood just as the warmth of the sea still fresh upon his senses. Was he truly such a primordial beast? Finding enjoyment in innocent slaughter of random victims? He could not tell. Only that even as the imprinted faces of Dunstan and Saldana crossed his memory, he felt no true remorse. And what he did feel, the shock and the horror, felt false. Almost as if it was simple reaction disguising truth. A lie that he made himself believe. So what was the truth he hid from himself? Her words broke him from his questions, their tone emotionless as she questioned. Anger quickly boiled inside himself as she patronized him. If not his past or this forsaken world, would he have committed such acts? What did she expect of him? What did she see in him that he could not? Had exhaustion not overcome him so, placing him at her mercy, then he surely would have corrected her. But he was limp in his stature, his form unable to move, even the subtlest movements causing him to wreck with pain. And when she touched his cauterized shoulder with the blade, the forcefulness of her tone drowned out by the pain, the truth revealed its self. Pain, Hate, Anger, Vengence, War, Murder. Everything flowed through his mind in that moment. The pain of his father's berating, the hate toward those who shunned them. The anger he carried for years within, festering like an open wound. The vengence he sought when his family were cast aside and their lives ended like trash, a blight ridden for those Shiro slew in the end, and the war that followed in his life even before he became a soldier. It all led to this singular moment in his life. And as Shiro's form convulsed intensely within Hayley's arms, Shiro saw the truth. He could sense the blood around him seeping into sea and sand. He could sense the lifeless forms of Dunstan and Saldana laying at his feet. He could feel the planet's hunger for more, its passion toward him unwavered by his own, but by that which he had spilt. And more importantly, he could feel his own mind shift. No longer did he care what an Armegedon was, only who he was. And before him stood a figure, a wrathful spirit with a devilish grin. His eyes shot open, his lungs gasping for air. His gaze shifted to Hayley with a weakened grin. He felt warm despite the coldness around him, laying there with truth in hand. Such power, such potential. He had held a taste, and desired more. His past may have shaped him, may have created him. But like the being he envisioned, the one who walked this world before him, his destiny was his to forge. "You ask what my rage desired?" The cockiness apparent through his weakened tone. "Order through Chaos, War."
  15. Shiro's eyes widened with the realization at what he had done, Dunstan and Saldana laying before him, their dying gazes set upon his own as they gasped for air through the thick blood bubbling up through their necks. Horror filled his mind as he could only sit there, watching their faces drain of their life, both attempting to reach out to him for help despite what he had done, his own still outstretched with the blade in hand. That's when he felt her, the Elusive one, embrace his form with her own, warm and inviting as she disarmed him. Shiro tried to yell out for a medic, but the words just fumbled like waves from his mouth as exhaustion took hold his form and he fell back into her lap, his gaze shifting to the sky as the memories of Dunstan and Saldana's lifeless faces ingrained themselves into his memory. "....Apprentice...." It was her words that brought his mind back and quelled the turmoil he was feeling, seeing her out reached hand and reaching out his own to touch hers as his gaze shifted up to set its sight upon her face, confused still by what had happened, but eerily comforted by her. Her touch was as cold as steel, fragile and yet firm. And her gaze was empty, yet assured. Shiro had never noticed it before. And as she spoke, he found himself drawn by her words, like Death's knock at one's end. And so Shiro closed his eyes, unsure how to meditate, but still needed her words if only to feel this moment of comfort longer as he embraced what he truly was, the echoing voices ringing through his head from his first time to now. Murderer. "I feel anger." He started out saying, the memories of his homeworld and what led to his arrest. The memories of his enslavement and being forced to fight simply to survive. This world, and what it brought out in him, the proof evident in the corpses laying at his feet. "I avenged my family's demise and was branded a murderer. I escaped custody and was sold a slave. I fought to win my freedom and was made a Soldier. And now this world has twisted me and I killed those under my command and will likely be called a Traitor. I feel enraged, and it feels right."
  16. It was like a dream that had befallen him, surrounded by darkness as he fell into its bottomless abyss. The voice echoed as he fell, his grasping only finding air to grasp at in all directions. He parted his lips, but nothing came from them. "Among the First, Remain the Last" His mind felt foggy, his thoughts disoriented, fear swelling inside him. And then there was pain, his gaze falling on a blurred vision of the Intrusive One's face, anger embroiled in her gaze. She wanted him to speak, to tell her what the Force said. But like in the darkness, words were unable to be spoken, only the escaping of air. Weakly he reached for Dunstan's hand, but felt another kick connect his ribs, sending him off the ground and back down hard. Laying in the blooded mud, part of him prayed for release, the other building like fire in his soul. And when the girl reeled him to his feet, for a moment he thought he felt it. The darkness, it was quiet and peaceful, endless and voided. A smile crossed his lips as he felt the pain disappear and for a moment, he was blissful. The fear washed away, and he embraced the eternal fall with open arms. "Walk in the darkness as I have, and know truth." Shiro's eyes blazed open as pain riddled his shoulder, the feeling of the Elusive One's hand entering his flesh freely as words were whispered. "No." Shiro shrieked weakly in a vague response to their words. "The mission... it.... must... go...." Darkness overtook him once more, the ever pulling of its bottomless abyss seductive and embracing. The mission, the truths he had to find, his lineage, the first and last. He had to continue. He had to know. In darkness there was truth. In their powers, he was able to see. This place, this planet, it called to him, it woke his soul. It ignited his passion. "Wake up fool" These words protruded his unconsciousness, waking him from the abyss that threatened to imprison him as pain wracked his body. Saliva spewed from his mouth as he grabbed at his shoulder and sat up with a roar from the pit of his stomach, rage and wrath filling his gaze at the two who knelt before him, and before thought could pass his mind, slit their throats with the blade from his boot.
  17. Saldana made an approachable movement as the Sith smack Shiro upside his face, but Dunstan quickly grabbed her and pull her back just as Shiro's hand rose and motioned her to stay put as blood drizzled down his face from the gash that painted his white crimson. He smirked as the taste of metallic mixed in with his saliva, the Intrusive One boasting in her own weakness. Such was her nature, as he was beginning to see, power inherited, not gained. The Elusive One, however, was a kinship. Her power was fought for, gained by developing, powerful. He could feel her pain radiating through her eyes as well as his own through mere glimpses of contact. And he knew it. The Intrusive One would never accept him, he knew this. But perhaps the Elusive One, perhaps she would be the one to show him the way, show him the path he is destined to walk. A chill crossed his spine as he considered this, the redness of his blood blinding his right eye with a fiery sting. He felt his form begin to wrench against its will as memories of the past flooded back to his mind, and as he attempted to stand in a panic, he felt something grip his buried hand with hatred and malice. And so, he fell into the darkened abyss, the sands of time rolling backwards, his presence salt upon the wound. And in darkness, he saw the truth of it. A world of fire, cries echoing of its pain immense, so strong that it could be heard across the stars. And him, the silver haired ancestor stood before him, gazing upon it, feeling the hauntings of the past as if he had stood there during it. Anger tore at his heart and rage filled his lungs. Darkness crept into his mind, and became his soul, his green gaze turning golden as the past swept him away. And then he gazed back, toward Shiro, with a knowing smirk upon his face as the gaping maw of the darkness consumed him. He was the First Disciple. "Walk in the Darkness as I have, and know the truth of our lineage. You are among the first, and remain as the last, binded by that solemn truth." A voice echoed before the sands of time rolled back to the present, Shiro's gaze meeting the darkened sand just a mere breath before the maw of the sands took his right arm from its socket and his form fell backwards into a pool of his own blood, Saldana and Dunstan rushing to his side to pull him away. His vision fought against the darkness as he felt their touch, but the voice and its truth remained echoing in his mind. He was meant to feel this pain, to know it with all his being. To understand that through sacrifices, could he gain the power he possessed, the same pain he seen in the Elusive One's own gaze. It was the law of the Force. Something had to be given for something to be gained. Equivalent Exchange
  18. There was a coldness to his gaze as he stared across the blackened water, as if his mind was lost upon its torrential current, swirling across each liquid vortex in a dance of depth and understanding. And within his eyes, the gold and crimson that formed within spoke across millennia of truth, for he had saw it all in a singular glimpse. His ancestors, his bloodline, it settled upon him like a haunting reality, and he could feel it tearing at his soul. Peace was indeed a lie. So what was the truth? His stomach wrenched, causing Shiro to lunge forward into a crawl as the waters of the river rushed forth in return. Arching his back with heavy heave, each one grew drier than the last, until he saw his reflection in the darkened water through his glossed gaze. This place had changed him, made him realize that reality was not what it seemed, made him question everything. And he saw this change in his reflection, felt it in his heart, and his memory returned to his training. "Peace is a lie, there is only War. Through War, I gain Truth. Through Truth, I Rise." Shiro spoke openly, remembering the Mantra of his Battalion, believing it at first to be a play on the Sith Imperial Code. But as he wiped away the drool and snot from his face in the reflection, he knew better. It was the truth of the Galaxy, and now it was bored into his soul. "Through my Rising, I see the Horizon. I am born of the Master of Truth. I am the Blooded Drexl." Rising from the puddle Shiro left in his wake, he began his trek upstream quickly. He sought the Sith that had brought him here, questions swelling his mind as much as precieved answers. Dunstan and Saldana met him as he cleared the foliage, but stepped back when his determined gaze met their worry as he strode by. He could not understand why, but he felt himself pulled toward where the Intrusive One had disappeared to, the river's mouth where truths were to be spoken. And when he arrived, Shiro said not a word a first, simply looking upon them through his swirling crimson and golden gaze before he dropped to one knee and planted his fist within the mud, lowering his gaze as he bowed to his betters. He was beginning to see the truth in their ways, and in the ways of the soldier, a combination of humility and strength, they the key to his rising from the ashes of his former. Like the Drexl, he had been wild and untamed. But the Blooded Drexl was a different beast altogether, focused and wise. His path had been laid and the seed of this place planted. His head still bowed with his gaze looking upon the mud, his fist buried beneath, he felt the drawl of this place pulling at him like a piece of a forgotten puzzle. Dunstan and Saldana stood in the distance, overlooking Shiro's actions but unable to hear as he spoke to both of the Sith before him. "I am the Blooded Drexl, and your command is my will."
  19. Madness.... The Sister of the Intrusive One spoke of it, her words a mere echo in his mind as he fought against the tides of darkness that attempted to snuff away his conciousness, water still rattling in his lungs as he laid on his side and coughed harder, trying to throw up what remained as his mind searched the memory for answers. And yet, none was found. He felt the lips of Saldana press against his own, felt compressions upon his chest as she and Dunstan had rushed to his side in an attempt to aid his near drowning experience, and yet, as his lungs finally filled fully with air and his conciousness began to return from the fade, he felt a tight grip pull him back in even as Dunstan and Saldana attempted to reach for his frightened grasp. Only this time, as he laid beneath the waves of this murky grave, he had begun to feel his death calling, a part of him accepting it with undo resentment, a art having to come to terms with the possibility that he would not survive, unaware of the events surrounding him. And the other half, the spirit of life within him begged to question why? Why so easily? Why so peacefully? Why lay down without a fight? Shiro laid there floating beneath the murk, feeling its presence, its power, edging him to give up and become a silent part of its story. And yet, another story reached through to finish its tale, the memories, the emotions, the truth remained here even after its owner left. And as Shiro's heart began to slow, the water attempting to reclaiming him, a voice entered his head. "Every Warrior has a tale, and in their tale, a universal truth." The man from before stood before the Jedi Council, an unknown face reaching up to cut the braided silver lock from his hair and placing it within his hand as he ignited what appeared to be a blue bladed cross guard lightsaber in his other as one of council members spoke a welcoming recognition of the man's obtaining the rank of Jedi Knight, calling the man Leonis Armegedon. Shiro convulses, realizing the man's name like a distant memory, but also their shared last name. And yet, the story does not end there, Shiro unsure of what is going on or how long he has been imprisoned by the brackened river as it flashes forward through countless battles spanning numerous worlds, some Shiro recognized, others he didn't. And with each new addition, Shiro could feel this kindred spirit asking the same questions, feeling the same emotions, that no matter what, there was always another battle to fight, another war to give into, another life to take. And Shiro watches this Armegedon grow, feels his emotions sway, a kindred spirit seeping into his pores like destiny. Then they return to this world, emotionless soldiers until they see this barren land. Shiro watches as each of these being look toward one another in masses, anger filling their hearts until the visage before them holds up once again the Mandalorian Helm and cheers rerun rampant as the semblance of her death to protect the few fill their veins with fire. And in that moment, Shiro feels the fire within himself burning, his skin boiling amidst the murky fluid enveloping his form, his eyes opening to reveal crimson and gold within. And in that moment, Shiro yells, the water and the presence around him rippling with it's own darkness just moments before the darkness of unconsciousness takes him, leaving a whispering tale in a single sentence. "Peace is a lie..." Moments later, Shiro awakens on the shore, something within changed as he sits up and wraps his arms around him warm legs, the coldness no longer lingering, as his crimson and gold gaze stares toward the brackened water alone.
  20. "I cannot." Shiro replied to Dunstan, shrugging his comrade's hand from upon his shoulders as he watched the intrusive one depart, his gaze fixated on the elusive one and the stream she delved in, the familiarity almost toxic to breath as he gripped tight his hands upon the Z-6 he carried so heavily in his hands. Familiar, yet unknown, like a distant memory that did not belong. "I can't explain it, but this place, this pilgrimage, it feels all too familiar. And yet, it is not my own, almost like a dream I was once told but cannot remember who." Dunstan looked at Shiro weirdly, then shifted his gaze at the two Sith before it began to click within his own mind. He said not a word, but nodded with understanding at Shiro when Shiro glanced his way. Dunstan felt there was something special about Shiro, and now it was beginning to slowly make sense. He may not have been Sith, but Shiro possessed their ability whether he was trained or not. It was the only logical conclusion that made sense of his actions, his words, and his luck back at Coruscant. With that, Dunstan turned toward Saldana and the others. Shiro noticed, but left things unspoken as Dunstan began his departure. But as his gaze shifted back to Hayley, she was nowhere in sight. Adrenaline kicked in, and before he knew it, Shiro had dove head first into the darkened water without thought in search of the elusive one. The water was dark, too dark to see, and at this depth, its aura was overpowering. It clawed at his soul, threatening to tear it to shreds, the pressure of the planet's forgotten past grasping at his form, his glowing crimson eyes providing only an illuminated sight. He had been a fool to dive in without thought, his mind wracked with confusion and despair, his form crippled by the darkness that flowed forth from it. It wanted his life, wanted his future, and it was overpowering. And yet, amidst it all, there was a sense of purpose flowing with it, a glimmer of sight amidst its currents that flowed back in time to days of old when a warrior of his lineage walked a very similar path, the silver haired being with glowing green eyes gazing across the same scene as others surrounded him. At the forefront stood a man who's face was obscured, holding a Mandalorian Mask high into the air as the mixed emotions of sorrow and determination swelled with each of the imprinted souls. But for the silver haired man that linked to Shiro, disgust filled his heart as he gazed back in his own memories at his Orders not to follow his commander. There was defiance in his heart at this and a sense of pride swelled within him as he returned to the presence and he watched the man before him adorn the Mandalorian Mask in memory of what had happened here. And in unison, they all dropped to one knee, a pledge of fealty placed in their hearts this day though it was never spoken. Their reason? The Cathar's massacre. And it filled Shiro with its presence. Almost instinctively, Shiro went to grasp at the man's shoulder, attempting to turn him around and to gaze upon his face in full, to know the bearer of this dream, of this memory. But as he grasped the shoulder, feeling the cloth in his hand, he felt his own grabbed and his formed pulled forth from the river with @Fieldgreyin his own. Coughing the muck that had filled his lungs and throat, Shiro's mind remained as confused as it did beneath the waters. Who did he see? What did he see? Why? Climbing onto the bank and gasping for air, his crimson eyes darted about, unsure of what he had just witnessed and what it was he experienced. Shivering despite the blanket he felt wrapped around his form, this place had began to take ahold of him.
  21. This world, it held a bitter darkness to it. Shiro could feel it, taste it, smell it. It almost as if it pulled at his soul. And it waned as of it wanted to swallow him whole. Shiro and Dunstan took point as the group traveled forward, Dunstan seemingly unaffected by the planet's call as Shiro noted. But Shiro remained on guard, ever steady as each step of his foot pressed down into the sands, almost as if he was walking in the steps of another. And follow he did, even as the lifeless void presented its self to them all, his knowledge of this world, this place, unknowing. Shiro had never been one to back down from a challenge, but even this place, the feeling it gave him, told all his senses not to tread. Yet tread he did. If not for himself, for the sake of his men, even as the pain this place carried called to him in echoes of days past, his glowing crimson eyes darting about. Adun-Levennia... This is what they called this place, the darkness running his blood ice cold even as he drew near and first set his gaze upon it. His gaze darted between the two, these Sith and their grave artifacts, digging into pasts forgotten. He heard the tales, but never truly pictured it. The intrusive one knew of it. The elusive one delved in it. And Shiro feared it. An unholy trinity had converged upon it, and through them, awoke it. Swaying his mind away from it, Shiro ordered his men to begin setting up camp, he and Dunstan remaining among the two Sith as Saldana remained with the squad, her gaze carefully watching over the two in secret. But something here drew Shiro's mind, called upon it like a siren's song, and it made him uneased and yet unable to look away. Dunstan saw this and placed his hand upon Shiro's shoulder, bringing the Armegedian back to reality. "Come. Let's leave them to it."
  22. Valhalla Model: Centurion Class Battlecruiser Class: Battlecruiser/Capital Ship Length: 1,200 Meters Crew: 7,400 Troops: 600 Armament: Medium Turbolasers(6) Heavy Ion Cannon Batteries(6) Light Point-Defense Laser Cannon Batteries(6) Tractor Beam Batteries(3) Description: Still encrusted with the clay soil of Dxun and the fossilized bones of Dxun's infamous predator, the Drexl, the 11th Battalion 7th Imperial Marines have claimed the massive ship not only as their home, but as their presence in the overall Sith Fleet with the recommission Battlecruiser, using updated hardware and requiring less man power while providing an hardened stance to their "Truth of War" motto. History: Once entombed on the jungle moon of Dxun during the Battle of Onderon during the Mandalorian Wars, it sat the millennia that followed as a testament and memory of the old ways until a group of Sith Marines located and rebirthed the massive Captial Ship as their own symbol. Despite the years it sat as no more than a shrine, due to the clay soil and harsh elements that Dxun presented, its entirety was well preserved with little restoration needed. Recomissioned as the Base of Operations of the Onderonian 11th Battalion 7th Imperial Marines, also known as the Knights of the Blooded Drexl or House of the Rising Gaze, the Battlecruiser stands as a living Temple and Testament to their creed of Truth through War.
  23. 11th Battalion 7th Imperial Marines "Knights of the Blooded Drexl" Motto "Peace is a lie, there is only War." Through War, I gain Truth." "Through Truth, I rise." "Through my rising, I see the Horizon." "I am born of the Master of Truth." "I am born of the Blooded Drexl." Valhalla Valhalla was a Centurion Class Battlecruiser once forged in the fires of the Mandalorian Wars, but sat abandoned and entombed by the earth it crashed down upon for the last few millennia. Recomissioned for the 11th Battalion 7th Marines, it rose anew, the Imperial Marines breathing new life to the ancient beast. A spearhead for the Knights of the Blooded Drexl, it serves not only as their mobile home, but also as a testament to their "truth through war" philosophy, rising from the ashes of old just as they have. Standard Issued Gear Armor - Modified Sith Armor with vacuum sealed armorweave, rebreathers, magnetic boots, and personal shield. Allows for combat both on the ground and in open space. Weapons - Infantry specialists are equipped with E-11 Blaster Rifles, Imperial Issued Vibro-dagger, and KD-30 Dissuader. Heavy Infantry variate with either a Z-6 Rotory Blaster Cannon or Heavy Assault Blaster Rifle. Tactic Specialists are equipped with both an E-5s Sniper Rifle and DC-17m with an assortment of explosives from Grenades to Mines. Medic Specialists are only equipped with an E-11 Blaster Rifle and Imperial issued Vibro-dagger along with an assortment of Medical Supplies. Specialized Equipment - Outside of their modified armor, Infantry and Heavy Infantry Specialists possess a modified HUD unit within their helm with infrared and night vision readouts and automatic targeting systems. Tactic Specialists have a separate HUD that charts elemental and atmospheric readouts. And Medic Specialists have a HUD capable of reading vitals and X-ray scanning.
  24. Shiro's gaze averted in a semi-horrified look as the Sith mentioned his true last name, something even his comrades knew nothing about. For in the Imperial Marines, he was Shiro Seven of Odik II, and that was who he intended to remain. Turning his gaze away, he smirked toward Dunstan and Saldana, as he finished gathering his things. Within moments, he felt their rocketed decent, the other Sith imposing a horror filled plummet that mimicked the entrance of the Mandalorians of old, likely to intimidate and inspire fear. And as they touched down, Shiro exited the ship with very few words as he passed the first @Telperiën Ar-Pharazon. "I am Shiro Seven of Odik II. That is all that needs to be known..." His words were not expressed in defiance, but of informance. He withheld his true name but for only a sole purpose. And if this one was that observant, then he wondered how much longer he could keep up the ruse. With his words spoken, he disembarked behind the second with Dustan, Saldana, and the others in tow, the group fanning our at the forefront to gain the advantage should the locals grow intrigued. Two scouts were sent out while the rest remained to set up camp. But his mind echoed of the two Sith, the first's knowledge of who he was and what words she questioned, and the second's elusiveness to his own. What were their true goals here?
  25. Shiro's gaze only shifted for a moment as it met the other's arrival before it shifted back to the Sith he aided on the prison ship. Taking another sip, he silently tore open his rations and ate them as they were, stale, crumbly, and bland. But he wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction in this moment. With a hard gulp to swallow, he licked the access from his teeth as he turned toward the newcomer. "My anger is reserved for another." He spoke, his crimson eyes glaring at both as it shifted between them. "But do not worry. Your transgressions will not be forgotten." With that Shiro turned back to his meal and was about to take another bite when the klaxons erupted their familiar sounds, and Shiro shoveled his meal down and quickly flushed it with the Stimcaf as he stood and exited the commons, tossing its empty contents in the bin as he did. It wouldn't take him long to return to his group. "Dunstan, status report." Shiro barked, Dunstan recognizing Shiro's disdained look and rushing to his feet. "Not completely field ready, but I'm good to go, sir! Shiro glanced a brief glare, seeing the bacta patch being removed and his boot placed back on as he stood. With a grin that both knew all too well, he nodded. "Good. Gather the men. We've arrived to whatever hell hole these priestesses have brought us to."
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