Terra

As the humid air of Dxun whirled about the Basilisk, Terra could feel a tremor reverberate through Hades. After millenia, the old beast was finally tasting freedom. A warmth began to creep up her legs where they were maglocked into the superstructure of the metallic hide. It was a pleasurable feeling, the gentle caress of liquid, and with it came a deep feeling of hallowed spirituality. Bloodborne Madness. Terra’s eyes flashed and the world collapsed, the broken souls grabbing onto her mind and dragging her into spirit. Their touch was warm, not the rasping cold she was used to with the undead. Her eyes burned from tears that were not hers Angel come and save me. Angel, come and help me. I’m afraid. She was laying in a coursing river of blood. Sticky. It carried with it the weight of lives destroyed. It felt as though she was being strangled by its flow. A wicked hand drew her by her flaxen hair from the depths. Terra sputtered meekly and tried to clear her eyes from the obscuring flood of crimson. A voice with a strange accent crawled through her mind Did you ever apologize for the thousands of lives you destroyed and terrorized? The young assassin spat out a mouthful of blood and definitely answered Never. They were destined for shaping, for change. Or to end. They were mine to do with as I pleased. You spun a web of destruction that was formless. Useless. I gained credits. I gained fame. The voice laughed and wrenched her hair towards it. It was a powerful looking creature, all teeth and violence. It stood at the front of an army of contorted beasts. A pit formed in her stomach, a ball of ice that began to turn her blood cold. What good are those when the machines of commerce have fallen silent… A sneer When all those that speak your name are dead? Armoured hands grabbed her shoulders, wrestling her away from the advancing horde. Terra was dragged to her feet and she observed an endless line of warriors. All dressed in beskar’gam with shining T-visors. Mandalore! Let’s kill them all. We must not let Crucible Fall! Terra blinked away the vision and turned to Tros as Hades began to take them into the upper atmosphere, setting the navicomputer towards their new base. “We go to Qat Chrystac to start our Crusade. We have a galaxy to save.”

Kote. Glory of war. An eternal legacy. Another mouthful of blood dampened the scarred earth, seeping into the dying moss and leaving a trail of acrid smoke. Her mind was as scattered as the voices that echoed from Hades. A disjointed chorus of contradicting answers. …Leave my mind if you will not add to its strength. The great Basilisk shuddered beside her, its beskar’gam plating grinding in a shower of blue sparks. The chorus began to unify, screams of pain rushing through her mind. Her own eyes began to shift colors, the AI interfering with her control. The world began to shift between the wavelengths that could be seen under the half-light of Onderon’s star. A singular voice emerged, that of a young girl. She was disconnecting herself from the chorus and filtered herself through the holoprojector on the Basilisks’s shuddering arm. We find honour in victory, not in farming. The conquest of worlds. Terra grasped the mans larger hands with her own. Her hands were small in his, but they were equally rough from years of work. She looked into his eyes, and matched his passion with her own “Kote, we can find together in war. It will be our crucible” She motioned for him to follow. Hades opened his back, allowing them to bind with him. They would be Basilisk riders, the first in generations. She closed her mind as she considered her promise And what happens when the war ends?

...Mandalore the Heartless… Her new name pounded was spoken and in her chest in her heart echoed its agreement. Terra possessed a heart of flesh, but it was devoid of love and kindness, or any emotions that made her weak. Emotions and cares had been driven from her over the years, each in their turn being broken and trampled. She had been a slave to her heart, to her honour, and it had made her weak. The cool caress of jungle air brushed across her face, rousing her mind from its stupor. Nausea burned through her guts, bringing forth bile and blood. The effects of the radiation was getting worse. She would need medical treatment soon, or her guts would be irreversibly harmed. I will not die here amongst the plundered graves of the weak. A voice spoke behind her, unfamiliar but laced with emotion. She concentrated on the words, but she felt as though she was hearing them from across a rushing river, the pounding of her heart driving away her concentration. Terra turned, looking over the man, holding his helmet in a deathgrip. Emotion stained his complexion with a mix of rage and heartbreak. She became acutely aware of her bloodied appearance. Her voice was weak as she spoke “I… Killed many on Mandalore…” She brought an ungloved hand to her face, her trembling, pale fingers brushing the crusty blood into dust, smearing a crimson stain across her youthful face. Her eyes were not as wild as they had been then, she was in more control over her emotions then she had been on Mandalore, but the thoughts of that time stirred her wild spirit. She squinted, her sharp blue eyes changing their shade to glowing vermillion, the irises shaping from humanoid to bestial. She could feel Hades arising “I was the fire for the crucible. I showed what the Mandalorians under Fett would become if they were purified…” She breathed in a gasping breath, fighting against her swollen throat. She spat a mouthful of boiling blood onto the grass beside her, watching the steam rise, the lively grass curling and dying as it touched her corruption. Colour drained to ashen rot, and she looked upon the older mandalorian with a smile. “They became stagnant hypocrites, devoid of their precious honour. I robbed them of that… I exposed their weakness. ” She extended her arms towards him, her bloodied palm upwards. It was a greeting of nonviolence, her weapons discarded. Her bestial eyes flashed in recognition “Your lover fought for a weak king, one that would never bring true strength to us.” Terra emphasized the final word, her tone shifting to show that she did not consider the man an enemy. She considered him an equal. She no longer thought of those that fought under Fett as ones that needed extermination. They needed to be shown that there was an alternative to weakness. She knew not of love, but she knew it could divide or unite. The young assassin raised her head, exposing her throat. Her dark veins were visible, barely buried beneath translucent skin. “I cannot give him back to you, but if you desire a bloodprice, you may take of my flesh.” Static screamed through the jungle and beasts began to scramble, avians taking to flight in fright. The static melded with the uproar of an awakened jungle, becoming a song of horror. The great basilisk ripped through the boughs, landing in a jet of earth and shattered foliage. Its armoured skeleton reflected the horror of the entire war on Dxun, its very spirit that of death unleashed. Its skull was adorned in the symbols of the ancient clans who had sacrificed themselves in its creation. Sunken eyes mimicked those of its mistress, glowing crimson with deadly intent. From static formed the voices of countless dead, the voice of Hades embodied in fear. .̻̖̤͈͓̻̬̐́.̰̮͍̩̫̳͕ͪ̎͆ͯͦ̾.͉̪̂̄̽͛͌H̗̳̑͂̂ͤ̓ͩe̦͚̠ͮͦ̃l͓͚͇̠̣̥̰ͨ̇̓̌̽̃͊li̪̘͈̐͂s̲̺̙h̗̪͚͉͎̝̽̎ͪ̇̾ ̉̒ͪ̽h̲̮̣̤̖̳̱ͬͫa͉̳̙̼͌͋̏ṱ͇͊̒̓e̘̰ ͚̹̻̣͚̫̄c̟̞̮̔͋̉̄̍õ͂ͫn͇̫̝̥̳̏̐̾̚s͛ͪ̔̔̽u̼͎͙ͨ͐̅m̠͎̤̖̞̼̏e̜̙͎͔̲ͥ̾͐̚ͅs͔͖͕̦̉ͩ̋̚ ͇͂̔̎̒o̮̮̦̳̣̭̬ͧ̈̽̒̒ȗ̞̼̼̹͓͍̓̒̚r̜͗̚ ͪͪ̈̊̈́͊p̦̣̄̈̆e͍̝̖̥͔̜͍ͣͫo̻̍͂̒̿̊ͣp̳̜ͣ̀ͭl̗͙̽ȅ̺̗̼̫̝͚̙͒̂̽̋̒.̭̝̦͙ ͚̼͖̦ͤ̔́̄͗ͅẂ̭̟̱͙̞̮͓e̯͕ͣ̋ ̬̭̲̋͐̒d̮̹̱̦͇̽ͥ̎ë̱̔s͎͖̠̫̅ͪ̍ï̝̰̩ͬr̹͖̋ě͓̦̫ͯͧ ͎̯̠͔̫̥͉̾̊̈̏t̺̗͓͔̖̝h͔̹̲̜̪ͫ̌ͯ͋̑͆e͑ ͔̲̺̘̯̹̭̈́̾̓̈́̉̚g̠̯̰̻̪r̜̖͕̦̗ͣa̜ͤͧͬ͒ͯ͆̎c͙̣̭̋ͥ̃e̻͍̖̦ ̭̼ͭͥ̒͗̌̎o̖͇̪͉̤̓̾͒̆́fͤ̋͊̉ͩ͛ ̮͙̥̖̗̙͉͗v̦̫̉̽̔̒͌ͯi͕̞̻͔c̺̭͙̮̖ͨ̒t̼̼ͭͯͨͪͯ̈́o̙̙̟r͓̘̥͆ͦ̎i͈̰̍͊̉ͣ̏o͍͔̠͔͒ͯͅuͭsͮͦ̎ͥ̚ ̱͖̯̒͆̂̾ͪ͂͋w̠͓̣̤̙͕ͅa͈͗̐ͭͤͨr̩͎̖͉̙͉ͮͧ̄̒̔̒,̬̲͎͍͎͍̻̇ͪͮ̑͑ ̦̠͚̓̒a̦̫ͯ̃ ̝ͮ̄͑ͮu̒̀̽́̋ͬn̼͌ͧͪ̚i̱͚͎̮͋ͤͭt̘̼͈̫̺̙̼ͧ͑y͚͙̐ ̥̟̥̻̍̇̏ͅṇ͔̹̺ŏ̩̜͌̊̈́̃̅t̳̝̜̥̹̟͑ͧ͆̐́ͧͅ ̠̗̬̱̯͈ͬ͋̍̽ͪͨͅf̳̃͑o̥ͤ̍u͂n̲͎̦̞̾d̺̺̳͉̜͈̗͆ ̪̩̳͗̓i̳̖̲̔ͨ̋̆n̳̅ͥ̌̏̉ ̫͚̠̻̖̩̼t̖̺͐h͇̲̻ͧe̳̞͚͈̫͂̈́ͥ ̏̓ͯ̈́͋͆̇w͋̒ͥ̂̈́̈ͩe͎̺̹̰̒́ͅa̰͌k̮͈̙̬̫͖̝̊n̜̗͔̦̥̥͉e͙̣̣ͧ̈́͂ͥͫs͓͓̙̲̙͇ͩͤͯ͑ͧ̌̊sͫ͌̿ ͙̝̀̓o̝͉̪̜͙̗̒ͫͦ̇ͫf̱̯̪ͬ̅͊̾ͣ ̮̼̞͍̺̎̃i̗̳̠š̂ͦ̌̐o̗̰̥̤̰ͧ̽̈́̀ͦͪl̦̰̱̟͚̭̪̽͗ǎ̩̀͆̔ṯ̭̥̤͔͚ͬí̦̱͕̯̓̃ͯͨ̅̈́ȍ͉̙̼̜̙͕͇n̼͗͂̓̆…̪̭͔̊̓̈́ ̞͍͓̟̖ͮ̅̏ͭͯ͐ͮ A bitter taste was on her tongue, a broiling rage of war.

T̞̼͎̝̝͇͔͈͑͑ͯ̃̀̋̚ḥ͓̯̲͍̺̺͙̖̑e̱̺̟͉̗̙͍̾̓ͭ̽͌̈ͅͅ ̞̲͚̣͙̍̅A̦̩̚r̫͗̏̽̌ͨ̽a̬̞̩̝͎̞̿̑ͨs̫̮̼̯̯̱͐u̳͈͛ṷ̀͋̽̐m͙̫̤ͭͮͣͯͫ̚?̻͕̝̫̞̪͍̲̯̆ͮ̒ͣ́ ̯̜͙̳̺͈͓̝̐̔̑̅̿ͮ̈̊ Dispassionate static poured about her. T͚͚̳̱̪͉͐̃ͭ̽̂̓ͨͅh͋̃͏̹͎e̶͈̗̼͐ĩ̭̃̐̇̿̆͠r̭̘̲̻̩̯̹̎͐̃ͨ͢ ̼̬̓̽̒̒̐w̜ͪ̒ͫ̂̃e̟͙͓̝̩͞a̶̞͛̿͆k̨̓́n̪͉͔̗̑̍͊͒̆̏͠ͅe͈̹̫͇͓̯͜s̪̲̮ͩͣ͟s̯̲ͬ̾͠ ̬̑ͧi͖̱͍̪ͪş̠̲̫͚ͩ̓̑̐͊̌ͫͅ ̞̝̤̀ͣͬ̿w̤̗͍̄̊̉̍͋ͧ̋ȟ̼̗̹͕̜͛ͫ́ͦ̽͟ȃ͕̥͖̜͚̮̆̊ṫ̷͚͚͊ͩ̽ͩ̈ͅ ͒̄͑͏̭̩͓̞b͕̐̃͌ͭ͒̈́̓r̦̠͕ͭ̆́o͏̙͔̺u͓̟̰͖ͧͥ̄̄g̯̭͓͚̏̄̋h͍͉̙̳̱͇ͤͪ͆ͧt͙̙̻̰̱̭̞͆͛͗̑ ̷͈̝̩͖̟̔͗o͓͙̒̎̾͠u̳̻͙̮̘̗̓ͪ͊͘r̖̳̘̤̣̓ ̰̪̥̯͍̣ͭ̋̌̅ͫ̍͠ͅg̾ͯ͏̲̮̹͔lͩ̅͋̾ͦ̿o̗̥̣̖͕̞̹͟ṛ̢̫̱̘̱̖͒͗̀ͯͯ̃io̖̮̲͈ͪ̊̌̔̌̌͊u̩̤̼̦̜͚̟̕s͓̟̭͓̝ ̣̭̝̜͕͛̋ͅc̝̥̺͙̓̄͢ͅr͙͍̲̰͇͍̜u̱͓̼̟̗ͧ͐s̪̣̙̣͕͕a̷͇͓̾̈́̽͊̏̊ͥd̷̫͉̖ḙ̡̫͒̚ ̪̦͖̻͉̘̣̀tͭ̐͛͒̓҉ŏ̲̗͢ͅ ͉̳̺̳͉̟ͨ͠ͅa̴͒̃̔ ̡͇̩̜͗͊ͮ̂̚g̤̖ͬ̌̉r̛̗̟͍̦̥̞ͦ́ͣi̺̳̺̗̝̾͌͌́̽͗n̦̝͖͎͔ͅd̺̜̱̼̺͉͙ͮ̿̀į͔̺͉̞ͤ͐ṅ͓̮̑̓̓͟g̤̺̦͖ ̳͕̦͍͔̏̀́̽̒͡ḥ͍̖̒́̎͒ͥ̽á̻l̙̰ͤ͑̄̄̒ͤ͞t̻̩̖̭̬͔ͧͣ̅͌̆͢ͅ…̨̙͖͚̦͂͆͆ͭ͌ Terra’s body spasmed involuntarily as the static began to roar about her. Her skin felt aflame, bursting and twisting with the crescendos of disjointed noise. She could feel the presence closer than even her own, impressing on her mind. It flowed over her like the breath of a beast, whispering of darkness across her flesh. She reached out with her feable, gravely voice “The Arasuum desired only honour, they did not consider the whole hologram. They…” She took a slow breath as the weight on her began to increase “Didn’t look to victory… They were unwilling to compromise their honour for the better glory of conquest” The noise around her faded, each particle of static voice passing into emptiness. A bitter coughing came from her own mind, the gutteral tongue of a humanoid. She could hear the rattling of death on the voice as it spoke ...I am Indomitable. My victories cannot be undone... Terra reached out with her mocking mind. Her voice was disembodied, and carried her Echani accent The Jetti played you a fool, as they played your successor. Your path was weakness through morality The coughing became more vocal, ringing with the wetness of lifeblood. His voice carried judgment and dismissal Your people died in weakness The young assassin smiled cruelly, her cracked lips twisting to reveal metallic teeth The Taung are long dead, but my people flourish. Your people follow an honour-bound fool. A charlatan that has bound the Mando’ade to his weakness. That is your legacy. Weakness A shattering blow knocked the young assassin across the room, breaking the vision, and opening her eyes. All she could see was falling stars and the fields of war. Her victims on Manda’yaim cried for vengeance that had escaped them. The children she had put to the sword to drive her opponent into weakness. Terra had died that day, but she had robbed her opponent of honour, which was a victory that would haunt her enemy forever. The Arasuum Mandalorians had tossed away their children without pause or consideration. Without care or consideration. After the thrill of the hunt, such illfated actions had turned and tainted the whole contract with bitterness. Clans had been lost, their future uprooted. She had left a lasting scar on every opponent she had faced. The grinding of twisting metal echoed over her and the static returned, dragging her from her own mind. .̛.D͏o ͡you ćons̷i̡d̵e͘r ̡yo͝ur͏s̕el͞f̷ o̕ur͜ l̵èa͝de͟r, o̷ne͏ ̵wh҉o͝ h͢as͠ alw̡a̶y̶s͟ ̵b͠e̕e҉n ̶a҉ ͡slave? Terra winced, the contortion causing pain .̝̰̰̬͓͖̬͈ͯͯͣ̽͛̈́.̮͚̣͔͉͙̺̲̯̖̣̪͖̬̽̑̍̽͊ͥ̓̊̚.͎͉̣̪̘̈͐̌̽̆̚O͈̮̱͈̙͉̙̹̊̆͂͌ͨ͆̆̒ͧ̊͂͂ͮ̒̒̐̓ủ͓̼͇̹̤̟͍͓̞̼̯̫̻ͩ̈̏͑r̼̘͓̣̙̪͍͔̹̭̦̞͎̳͍̙̞ͣ͆̀̈̉ͪ̊̌͊ͫ̓ ̯͇̯̦̥̣̥̩̱̪̪͊̃́̏̓̄ͭ͑̊͒̄̚M̠͇͙͇̠͇͍̞̤̬̓͑̆̐͌̋͋ͯ̏̊̑ͦͩ̿ͫ̃a̳̯̫͈̹͉̮̼̞ͭ̾̓͋̄ͯ̑̊̇̚̚ͅń̩̪̹̺̗̫͙͍̩̺͚̫̣̠͕̼͚̄ͤ̋̄͛ͅd̥͕͉̥̉̆̂̑ͦ̃̅́̏ͣ͆̅̔̔ͤ̄̏̋a̖̼̜̞ͣ̎̑̅ͧͪͫ̀̾̉͂͑̏ͥl̦̦̝̳̓̊̓̃ͮ͛ͬ̐̔o͙̤͖͕͙̱̮̯͇̼̝̬̜̮̪ͮ̐͌̋̆̏ͭ̋͋͒̐r̹̩̱̭̟̱̟̩̹̭̯̫̓͒̾̃ͣ̅̿̚ͅé̤̼̱̬̖ͯ͆̎̒̊ͣ̓̑ͫ͋͐̾̀͆̋ͨ̿ͅ?̺̞̮͕̱̗̞̘̗̈̈ͩ̈̂ ̞̤̲̺̹̗͓͙̬͍̱̱̥̩͖͚ͣ̆̆̍ͅͅ She struggled to draw breath, stopping when she could feel the stabbing of broken ribs. The breath became a cough, which made the pain far worse. Terra had wanted power and respect among the clans, but Fett had long denied it. He had led their people into obscurity and uselessness. Do I want to be Mandalore? Terra could feel the rush of victory, the thrill of a crusade. The glory of victory over the weak. The greatest soldiers in the galaxy needed to be guided. Needed to be shaped. They were only weak farmers, following a feeble leader. The Mandalorians echoed their leaders, and all they were now were decrepit mongrels, unworthy to even fight the Jedi. .̞̩͚̥͕̥̘̦̂̈́̅ͫͨ̎.̗͕̭̜̈̑̒̉̔.͇̎̾͊̏͋͆W̪̬̺͛i͖̘͔̐̊ͣ̈́̌͋ͯ̍ͅl̝̹̙̻͖̓̃̓ͩ̃l̘̪͎ͫ̐̏̓̄̉ͨ̉̄ ̰̤̎̅̽ͭy͎̱͙͙̠̲̌̆ͬ̆o̙̤̻̪ͦ̆̀ṷ͎̩͚͍̳̠͚̟̂ͩͣ̊̉̔ͪ̚ ̠̗͓̬̦͉̈̎͌b͇̮̲͙̪̫̖͆̾ṟ͈̙͚̏̎͐̆ͣi̲͔͙͙̠̞̰̼̽̍̾͂n̞͉̩͔̙̊ͬͨ̊̌̚g̙̥̳̱ͣ̋̍ ̗͈̭̠͓̗͉̘̊̐̃̌̃u̠̞̞̱̪̳̟̼̬ͨs̤͔͒̎ͯ̎͐͐ͫ̓͆ ̝̼̟̭̗̰͒̑̍̆̄ṡ͍̫̙̙ͩ̎͛ͅt̝̲͇̤ͨ̀͆ͫ̚ṟ̗͉̪͖̓̓͊̑̚e̦̪̳̭͇͉ͮ̏ͯ͐͐̉̚n̙͈̠͎̳͌͊ͤ̔͐g̯̫̺̉͂͐̋t̙͚͚̞̔̐̽̓ͩh̦͈͗̋̉?̝̮̗͍́̋ Blood from her throat began to gag her, choking away her breath. Crimson bubbles whet her lips, dripping down her scarred cheeks. Her fingers curled into fists as she struggled to live. Struggled to fight the call of death. Oh yes. I would lead our people into the glory of conquest once again. The static laughing faded into a low growl. T̩̦̗ͯ̑ͦ̌̾͐͋ͮͥh͖̙̫̆ͮͦͤͬe̫̿͆n̪̱͙̣̤ͣ̈ͣͥ̔̓͑͆ ͎̘͔̳̪̜̜͆̿̑I̤̫̤͔̭̱ͨ̓̇̏͆ͪ̚ͅ ̜̟ͬͩ͊͒͌ͩͨ̚ṣ͇̰̔ͪ͋͑̆̊e̟̻̙͊ͭ̌͌̆͗̍r̪̺͎͖̲̻͉͗̀ͩ͋̑̂̂ͯ͂v̩̗̭̯̝̭̍̅e̻͎̖͙̥͔̗͌ͭ̔ͪ̿ͫͦ̿̈́ ̝̍ͦ̿ͧ͑̆ͧy̪̤͙̒̐ͫ̌ō͉̗ͣͮ̈́ͧ̓͆u̟̩̫͓͛̆̑ͩͭ̈́̉r̗̮͖̖̹̘̈́ͤ͒̅ ͈̻̟̜̰ͯẅ͉̲̞́ͪ̎ͭ̌̂ͣi̬̫̹̭͔͐͆ͩͪ́͋̚l͈̬̬̼̱͕̦̟ͥͩ͆l̤̖͚̰̳͇̼̺ͫͯͬ̿͛͆ͣ…̤͉̌ͮ̂ The tone became serious and disjointed, as if a thousand voices were speaking at once M̮̼̫̠̮̍̍ͬ̑̅̽͗͛̄̂ͯ̒ͩͯ̂ͭ̈́ͯa̹͔̮̖͙͉͍̫͉̰͚̥̦͉̯̳͖͍͌̈́͑ͧͪ̉͌̎̈́͋̀ͦ̋̊̐́̐ͅn̮̠͕̫̫͒ͧ̔̽ͭͪ̚d͈͓͓̻͚̳͉̪͉͉̪ͫ̌ͪ͒̓ͤͮ́a̙̠̟̟͗ͥ͐ͭ͐ͦͭ̓ͨ̑̄̾ͣͯͯͩ̽l̟̱͖̫͔̬̝̬̗̩̤͚͔̰͖̫̱̉̽̅̄̈̉͒ͅo̭̟̝̠͚̲̍̓̆ͤͦ̾͒̈̓͌̐̍̇ͤ̿̏̉̒̚ȑ̩̤̩̘̣̻̬̜̳̟̣͎̣̬̱ͩ̀ͩ͛̍ͫ̈́̄̇͐͗̿ͯͪͅe͚̭̜̮̯̹̩͓͇̩̺̜̣͈̳̝ͥ̊͊̃ ̥̩̹̻̠̥̑̆̅͊̈͐͋ͩ̓ͫ̋ͧ͗̎ͦ̏t͈̩͚̭̗̙̼̮͎̤̻̠͔̒ͬ̓̔͐ͪͮ̑̇h̪͙̣͓͔͎͍͔͈̜̖͚͉̦̝͈̼̪̎͑̓̓̎̈́ͩ͛ͩ̿̆̓̚ͅe̱̜̖̲̰̭̩̥̮̺̘͔̹̯̹̙̻͗͛͆͑̆ͦ͒͋ ͚͍̮͚͈̮̌͂ͦ̎͑͗ͤ͆̑̀ͬ͋̊͗ͭͭH͉͖̭̰͇͂̉̍͛̾͌͗̔̎̎̈͋͋̾̎̽̂̚ẽ͈̰̫̘͓̠̙̜͙̼͎̓̓̀̒̄̐̈ͩͩ̆̌a͍̯̳͖̼̞̲̪̙͖̭̼̲̪̍̀ͤ͌̓̄̍̿ͬ́ͫ̊̀̀̇̇ͅr͚͚̘̯̲̭͎͖͔̱̲̥̪̂ͯ̿̌̅ṭ̘̗͔̓̔̔̈ͮ̽ͫͮ̄̊̎͋͌̓̚l͓͇̮͔͉͓̖̣͌ͪ̉̏ͤͦͨ̓͗̏ͭ̒ͬͬ̊͒̐͋̚ȇ̬̰̞͙͕̠͓̖͎͎͚͖̯̼̻̖̰̱̍͐ͪ̈́̉̂̂ͥͨ̓̇̊́ͥ͗s͓̻̳̻͚͈̪͖̖̟̻͓͕̗̣̩ͩ͗̿̍͆̍̆ͮ̄̂ͧͅs̰̯̹̖̺̻̠̫̤̹̫̤̼͕̬̥͚̔̒͐͂̏ Life began to rush back into her, driving away the darkeness

A buzzing resounded in her ears, echoed in the pounding of her heart. All there was was darkness and the acrid spice of ozone in her nose. She could barely muster a breath through the haze of her consciousness. She attempted a feeble, stuttering breath, but it caught in her throat in a rasping, wet cough. As feeling began to slowly return, the young assassin could feel frothy drool ringing her mouth. The spice of ozone was replaced by the sickly smell of vomit, and Terra began to realize she had emptied her stomach into the interior of her buy’ce. She triggered the emergency seal and the helmet slid off to clatter on the metallic floor. The dusty air felt fresh as it caressed her dripping face, and Terra slowly sat up, letting the caked vomit slip from her to her armoured chest. Her long braid of flaxen hair was clumped and ragged. Another wave of nausea took her, but there was nothing left to empty. All she could manage was painful dry heaves as she clung to the broken ground. A few drops of frothy blood painted the darkened plating. Her heaving moans echoed in the silence. Radiation sickness. Kriff. Terra sat a moment, the pounding of her heart in her skull driving off her sense of balance. She felt as though she was trapped upon the seas of Kamino, driftwood tossed amongst the cresting waves. Where is that metallic demon? From her utility belt, she brought out her glowlamp, and dropped it meekly onto the ground beside her. It clattered about, rolling into a set of discarded armour before activating. Its light began to strobe and falter almost immediately, a consequence of radiation damage, but its illumination showed the yawning entrance to another chamber. It was once a blast door, but now it was all but shattered, twisted metallic shards and broken beams. The broken permecrete and twisting metal appeared like an ancient skeleton, left to rot over the centuries, picked clean by the carrion and insects of the jungle Terra stumbled towards the broken stone and unrooted steal, retrieving her glowlamp. She felt a disembodied pull upon her mind, like she was a Bandarin, being driven by the streaming winds of her homeworld of Anteon. IT felt of promise and payment, and she knew it was not of her own mind. False Gods. With trembling fingers, she felt the broken permecrete. She would let this feeling pass, she would not be given to something not of her own mind. Terra had been down the road of servitude and bondage before with Ason Antilles, and she had no intention of repeating that mistake. The lichen and slime mold was soft and wet under her fingertips, it felt of dirt and simplicity. It was real. What was in her mind was not. Panic began to form again within her, adrenaline turning her blood to fast flowing ice. A primal feeling bid her to rush into the dark and embrace safety. Terra laid her face against the moist stone, letting the coolness touch her heated cheek. She could feel her blush beginning to subside. The young assassin laid back against the stones and emptied her canteen across her face, tasting the purified water as it flowed in a river across her skin. The water broke the haunting feeling and sound began to return to her ears in a rush. Static began to pour in about her, echoing off the damaged walls, distorted by the acoustics. It was laughing ...I’m not your pawn. I’m not as weak as the Arasuum Mandalorians you are used to...

The voice chilled the young assassin’s blood. She could feel the ice seize in her stomach and begin to sink, spreading its chill throughout her body with tendrils of infectious fear. Its effect on her was not unlike that of the pull of the darkside, the heat and rawness of bloodlust, but this feeling was its inverse. It begged her to make a choice, to run and hide, to flee and never return, or to face it head on and take it onto herself. The static continued to rush through her head, matching the pounding heartbeat that rocked her body. Terra pressed herself to rise, but her body felt like it was held down by the weight of a Bantha, her joints screamed as if filled with sand and molten lead. All she could do was gasp through metallic teeth, sucking in wind to deflated lungs, but there was no respite to the burning in her chest. A grinding rush of sound echoed through the hallway, raising the dust into clouds and causing the shattered armour to rattle around her. Gedet'ye… Let me breath… Y͙̩̬̦o̼̮̙̣u͟ ͓̥̤̝͚̗̣s̢̹̫̣̬p̪͕̀ę͖͔á̟̬͔̻̲͖k̫̩̪̝̩͔̺ ͙̱̕o͏u̬̭̞̫r̫̦̟ ̨͖̰͚l͔͙̹̝̰a̬̝̹̘̗̥͉͠n̤̜͎̖̥͓͚͢g̡̟̣̜u̙a͖̺̙g͔̣̻̞ͅe̬͓,̼̦̺̹̘ͅ ͕̪̮͡b͇͎͈͉ṳ͠t̛ p̹̯̤̺̖̝̘o͚̗i͕̠̱̲͓̞s̗̖͍̫̮̖̗o̵̟n͓e̜͔d ͈w͈͎̙͙ͅi͠t͎̮͍̣̤͔̘h̶̗̹̫͔͍ ̱b͝r͚̭̮͍͔͞o̵̠k̶e͚͙̭̝̰͝n̠̟ ̰̦t̩̩̙͉͍̱̕o̳̠͈̟͢n̤̭̺g҉̼̦u̖̭͔̯e̱̹͢.̡͈̗̪̻ ̵Y̟̜o̤̹̖͍̤̘̝u̧̜̗͉̹͖͙̱ ̬̜̫̲̥o̟̼̩̲͞ͅf̗̬͓͙̣ͅfe̴̲̣̲n̩̟̦̻d̺̰̮̞͖͇ ͏̮̩̳̲̫ḭ͙t̻͕̩͎̖̯͠ͅ ̢͈̣̻̦ẉ̷̤͉̲̮̙i͉͍̘̜t͎h̸̼̟̼̩̣ ̢̯̳̦̜͖̥̰t̨̫̙h̤̗̀ͅe͉̟̣̻͚͜ ̼̱͇̪̖f҉̥͈̯̦u͢s͎̣͔̙ͅi̭̣̲̱̲o̷͎̰̥̟̟̝n̴͍͔̝͈ ̳̲̤̥̰͍o̵̮f̹͢ ҉w̥̩̲͇̜e̥̜̼a̲͘k̫n̨͓és͜s̼̮ ̧w̠̪͞i̺͔̜̝t͇̭h̢̻͈̫̖̖ ͏̰̪̩̫s͚̻̺t̛̮̥̥̲͎̣ͅr͏̫̩͕e̹̣̦̞̖n̦̩͙g̭̗̮t̨̤h̝̙͙͉ͅ.͓̬̩͈̤̭ ̨̯̭̦̤̣̺ The young assassin concentrated everything into the motion of her arm, and it began to tremble, but not rise. The faltering fingers cradled her disruptor pistol, but without control she was liable to shoot herself. Horror began to overtake the fear, and the trembling stopped completely. Hu’tuun, you fight without honor… Ḧ̖̯̏ọ̠̎͋ͧͩͣ̈́͂n̿̌̋ͫ̍ͩ̋o͈r̮̖̯͖̰̂̈̀?̰̹̝͕̹ ̪͓̭̲̮̒́͊ͭ̈́ͤẂ͖͉̋h͇́̋a͕͇̠̲͓͍͌̓̎ͭt̤̱̩̗͔͔̳̍̔̈́͋ ̦͇̺̦̺̹d̖͈͔͇o ̰̮ͮ͒͆̇y͕̦̫̹ͦ̽͌̄̀̾̂ȯ̻͉̱͙̣̍ͦ̐̏̏ǘ͓̹ ̜̗͉̞̱͋ͦ̍̾ͨ͗kn͖̞͙̹̯̮͂͋o̐̾̌̀ͫw͒ ͎̩̪̟̙͖ͅo̗̬͛̆̚f̝̯͖̦̟̗͒̊ͤ͋̎̚ ̹̯̬̭͇̞̗͒̄͋ͭ̓̚h̼̳ͩ͌ͬ͐̌̾̑ỏ̪̺̜̥̰̼͆ͥͭͧͬ̌n̰̏̑̔̏ͨ̍̉o̰͕̤̼̫̳̗ͬr͓̝̟̺͇̲̓̓̃ͪ?͕̱̝̼̺̭̥ͣͯͤ́ ̎ͭ̄͂Y͓̖̗͉̍̒̈́ͮo͍͇̥̪̟̞u̻̩̘̟ͥ̀̇͂̈́̚ ̣̰͕͈͚̬̆̈́̉ͬ̅ͦͮm͍̮̭̪̭̘͕̀a̳̗͙̭̖͋̂ͮ͋ͧs̩̖̎ͥ̂̽̄s̭̙̐̇̾a̪̜̼͕̩̾ͪ̍c͎͚̫̱̩̬ͨ͌r̠͖͛̑ͣ̊ͨ̐̑eͪ̿ͦͩ̃̚d̮̐̊ͭ̂ ̳̺̺̱͇̎ͪ͒c̙̝͕͕̖̔͒̈̓ͯ̐̈ͅͅi̓̊ͥ̿͒̿v̤͙͎͈ͨ͋i̬̣͚͓̇ͣl͖̮̦̗i̖̹̖͌a̤̘̰̲̱ͦͧ̂̊n̰̫ṡ̬̠̣͕͓ͦͮͨ̌ͯ,̺̣̗ͩ̔ ͍̜̱ͫ͗ͮ̾̅̽̾y̳̦̬̾̐̔ͦ́ö͙́ͩụ̟̪̤ͫ̾ͮ ͖̬̹͔͗ͅp̩̥̭̹̜̫̭̉̽͛͗ͨo͉̖̺̣̝̗͓͑̌͂̐l̙̼̮̘̮̺̺̾̿ͫͪ̓ͤͦl͍͕̰̬̠̤̱̆̾ȕ̖̬͈͕̜ț͎̝͈̞̊ͬ̐̀͛ē̘̻̪͖̥̪͖ͤd͙̓ͥ O̬̳̳̱̲̦̔͒ͤU̟̞̹̜̥R̜̗͎̜̪̳͚̋̄͗̌ ̱̰̄ͦͯh̦̘̤͔̙̰̜̍̑o̩͓̖̹͇̟͆̎̔l̜̝̬͍̔́̒̀̍̆̽ÿ̻̹̻̬̭̳̺ͥ̓ ̣̮͍̩̭̂ͅw̹̥̩̞̺͋ͮͬͯ̆ͪͅo͍͇̫̎̒̉͋r͔̺̤̫ͨ̓̔̏ͥͥl͖̲̰̰̮ͅͅd͖̝̳͚͚̘ͭ.̹̂̃͆.̲̌.̟̰̗̪͉̞̣̑ Y̯͇̥̼̪̟̐ͯ͐̈́̆o͕̦̖͌̔͑ͦ̐̀̏̾u͈͉͔̬͎̬̰̽̾ ̣͉͚̗͈̳͕̿a̹̻̝̭͖ͮͣ̌͌̐ͭ̍̍r̲̝͚͕̾̏̔ͭ̒ͅê͕̬͙̮̞̭̠͈̽͊͒ͮͥͨ̍ ̭̩͓̏̀͂ͤ̈ͥ̿m̞̪̪̫̜̬̆̐̃̚̚o̤̰̱͉̝̲̿̅̉͛ͮͣ̾̔r͖̪̠͙̪̮̲ͥ͋͊̇ͪê͎͍̺̎̀̿ͣ ̳̻͉̒ͩͥͦͬ̾l͚͇̤̭̤̣̐̋̓͋̾̔̐ͩͅị̦̟̩͙̪ͮ͂̍͐̀̈̍̈́̏k̙͎ͤ̔ͯ̈͗͂e̺ͣ̍ ͈̦͊ͩu̬͆̑̽s͔̼̖̻͇̝͒̈́͑ͅ ̲̹̣̱͍ͩͪͨͬẗ̲̰̥̭͖̩̹́̔̓̄ͭ̊͋̇h͖̼͓̞ͭͩȇ͚̘̝̳͚̟͛n͙̟̱͈̼̊ͨ̋͂ͯͭ̿ͦ ̥̺͕̪͋̃͊̂y̦̠̘̬̰̯̘͓ͪ̐ő̭̠̹͙̹̑̀͛̓̚u͖̙ͨ̈̈ ̠͚̱͎̌́ͯͯͅk̩̮̠ͭ̌ͥ̔̚n͓̤̋ͣ̏̋̏̚ŏ͔̰̯̤͕ͯw̱͕͑̎ͩ̈̂͌̉̚.̳̮̭ͧ̽̊̊ͬ̓̅̚ Terra closed her electronic eyes, the azure light fading about her. She was honourless, she cried for honour only to drive others to its weakness. It had always been a trap, every duel every battle. Speak of honour and stab them in the back. It had always been her way. D͇̲̥̺̳̈ͧͩ̽͟ͅe̫ͥͭ̏͐c̳̼̰̫̠̳̐ë́ͮ̉҉̟͕̯̪͎̗̝i̞͈͗ͤ͟v̥̘̺͌͗ͣ̓e̩͋̿̏͛͛ͨͅr̯̬͓̮͚͍ͪ̈ͭ͗ͭ̒…̔ͯ͗̃̔͑͏̹͉ ̴͈̩͗̅ͨ̈́ͫ̚B̓̽r̷̰̣͕͇͕͐o̸͎̳̻̳͑͐͋̉̄́̚ḵͥͦͭͨ́̕ẹ̢̩̖̲͙̭͔n̸̰̦̓ͣͩ̾̔ͬͦ ̧̐̒g̢̰̮͙̗ͬ̎͒̓ī̖̚r̜̥̮͓̦̃̃ͯͣͫ̉ͅl̛͖̞̄̉ͨͭ,͓͈ ̪͚͌ͩ̎̈̚͘tͫͥ̍̆͏͎̝h̸̑̃̒͆̋e̫͔͚̮̯̤̋̓̌̚͟ ̖̠̟̜B̹̟̝̜͐̏̈͋͝l̠͈̳̙̚͜ȧ̲̣͕̖̻̩̘ͨ̀̾̀c͕̙̼̥̪̗ͣͯͦ͋͋͂ͫ͡k͍̫̻ͫͨ̕ẇ̝̣͐ͨ̓r̢̖͇̯̈̽̒ͨͣͪ͐ȁ̦̬̥̦̯ͥ̒i̢t̸̥͖͍̏ͮh̴̞̭̗̖̘:̷͔͑́̊̔ ̖̭̦̘̳͊͆ͮ̌̓̄́ P̻á̦͉͎͖̹̩̺͒͂ͬ̂͂͡wn̫̤̜ͦͥͥ͞ ̸̠̙͖̏͛̑o̥͉̦̥ͩ͑ͯf̏̐͗ ͔̯̟̈́͞t̗̻̫̝̖͙̥͒ͭ̑̓͟h͂̆ͧͪ̒̉͌͞e̢̫̼͍̬̱̘̔ͥͨ ̺͎͎͚͈͙̿S̫͟ȋ̞̖̤̰̀ͥt̒h̷̓̐ͦ̑̑̚.̰͔̯̝̩ She dove deeper into her own mind, bringing herself into the joys she found. Away from the horrors of weakness and into the strength she found from culling. She embodied strength, not weakness. A smile formed on her frozen face. Warmth was coming back. She spoke, but not through her mind “I am death embodied, a pariah. My sins were great enough to cause even the force to flee before me.” ̹̟̬̣̩̱̅ͬͭ.̩̊͂ͦ̋̌ͬ̀.ͤ͊̔̋͐̋ͣ.͚̝̝́̒̓ͮ̔ͧͅS̠̬̳̖̰͍̩ͪͮ̾ͬ̀͛̑ì̥̹̹͑n̦̭̱͓͒͆͐ͮṣ̣̖͕̈ͦ̔͋ ̞͔ͦ̍d̥͉̋͛̂o̠̠̮̹ͩ ͙͎͍͇̞̖ͩ͑̄̌ͅn̏̉ͩ̾̎͋͗o҉̪̣̠t̞̗̩̿ ̹̦̘ͬ̐ṁ͓͖̟͍̞̫̊͊̈̐̀a̬̝̎̂̂́̚̚ͅk̼͖̦̟̆̊ͧ̑̅͡ḛ͎̾ͫ̒̋͋ ͙̝̘͈̤̯͇͛̅̄͋̔́y͖̿ͤͨͣ͐̉ȯ͇̼̭̮̑͋̇ͬ̚ư͕̱͖̻͙ͥ ̖͕̦̦ͨ̋͐̈͌s̺̞͖͈̲̜͗̐͡ț̲̫͇̗̍͆̒̄ͨ̔ͮͅr͕̣̼͖̩͒̑̾̽ͦ̽̃ǒ̮̜̬͆ͫ͞n̉̄͏̺͕̙̺̭g̰̹̹͈͈ͭ̈́.͈̖̹͍͖̻̻͑ͪ͢ ͉̈́ͭ͝ “They make me effective.” A laugh of grinding steel washed over her, and she rose to her knees. She felt so heavy. .̥͎̘̖͔̱̝̝̺̞̤͕̥͚͂͒̀ͧͅ.͕̭̠̖̦̻̦̫̗̯̦͕͔̼̹̙͓ͨͥ̔͂̒ͫͭ̏̋͑̈̎͑̈́ͤͭ̄ͅ.̳̥̣͚̫̠̏ͨ̋C̭̱̤͈͓̦̱͈̪̝̹͙̘̰̗͔̩̩ͧ͆ͯ͆̅ͭ̈̀̏o̲͙͇̟͂̐ͥ̑̀͂̅ͭ̔́͗ͭ̇͌m̳̬͖̫̻̰̞͎̪̞̤̣̰͉̗̼̻̭͂̊͒̀ê̯͇̟̻͖ͮ̑̆̽͌̅͗ͧ̚̚ ̼̦͙̗̩͕ͨ̔̍̏͒ͦ̌̔ͮ̾ͯͭ̂̀ͦ̅ͤ̅̚t͎̪̹̳̲͓̫̫̝̩̪͋̓͐́̂̌̃̓ͣͬͫ̓͂ͧ̃ͮͧͭő͕͙͍͉̻̞̫͉̠̥̏͛̊͋ͅ ̤̺̤̠͓͙̪͈̹̯̱̪̗͔̻́̄͛͐̈ͤ̈́̅͊̆́ͯ̆ͪͥ̔ͫ̿m̲͚̬̗̳͇͓͚̼ͥ̃̀̓ͅe̘̟͕̟̳͙̙̰͙̯̘̦̾͂̏̀͊͗,̥͇̖̭̱̰̜̬̩͖̤̜ͦ̓ͧͧͤ̑̏̔͛ͯͧͪͪͩ̿ͅ ̱̖̹͔̪͖̭͚̓̄ͭ͊͆̆ͅs̬̪͇͎̩͉̹̞̪̯͛ͮͨ̆̀̔͗̅ͦ̆̿ͨ͆ͫī̠̜̥̯̯̯͇̹̦̹͚ͯ̉̓ͨ͒͗ͥ͑̋͊ͮ̑̎n̩̣̫̺͙͎̘̠̯͚̩̜̖̼̥ͧ͊ͦ͒̅̌͊͗͛̓̓ͣ̑n̹͍̺͖̰̺̤̼̭̰̼͕̘̣̜̥̫̰ͮ̇̽͐̈́ͦ̀̂e̲̖͎̠͋̍ͤ̆ͪ̾͋̅͆r̻̥͈̜̎ͧͥ̂̈͗ͫ͌ͨ…͓̜̻̻͓̮̱̠̣̝̐̏̆́̓ͭ̔̌̈́ͤ̒̀ Stumbling steps brought her into a cavernous antichamber, each footfall causing echoes in the new silence.She broke a glowrod and tossed it to the center, her throw faulty from weakness. As the rod rolled across the tiling and activated, it illuminated a machine of beskar steel. It lay in darkness, surrounded by broken armour. The Basilisk at the heart of the mountain. Terra slipped a powerhook from her back and approached the darkened beast. Her footfalls were uneven, her balance reeling like a spice addict. The closer she got, the more nauseas she felt. Bile rose in her throat as she attached the beast to her batterypack. ...Radiation Warning. Radiation Warning… With trembling fingers she activated the pack, and an electrical discharge threw her across the chamber like a ragdoll. She landed in a painful heap, loudly scattering armour in all directions. The whir of machinery caused her to raise her head. The readings on her UI were off the charts for gamma radiation, blinding her sensor readouts. . Kriff. From the cloud of obscuring radiation came a metallic shrieking. Her helmet’s UI stuttured and fractured, before terminating completely, leaving her in darkness. Double Kriff.

The acrid smell of burning jungle followed Terra through the darkened undergrowth as she walked, seeping in through her environmental scrubbers. The scent was clinging to her clothes like the clawing hands of the damned from the beguiling waters of the Styx, a memorial to her earlier slaughter. The jungle was oppressively dark, even through the night vision filters that came over the UI of her buy’ce. Every step she took echoed in her ears, the sounds of the wilderness amplified through her helmet, a precaution against the predators of Dxun. She moved slowly, leaving no trail in her path due to her light weight and flexibility. Every hundred yards she placed a camouflaged sensor, to allow her to find her way back to her ship. Her topographical map showed the area around her was heavily scarred from the ancient battles of the Mandalorian Crusade. Terra could hear the quiet whispering of the old gods in the back of her mind, speaking in the ancient Taung of the deeds of her people. “The Valley of the Immortals… Our catacombs. Our Dxun Tomb. We are buried here in our faithful thousands…” The young assassin smiled, her pale lips twisting over her metallic, sharpened teeth. What gifts are buried here? What can I steal from the afterlife? Terra moved her way around the dips and crags hidden by the jungle, sites of long overgrown bombing sites that had fractured the land. The Republic had sieged the Mandalorians for almost a year before the defenders had fled. More ordinance had been used in this battle then in half the wars that had ravished the galaxy. A small green light on her UI blinked steadily, showing her proximity to the supposed entrance to the Catacombs. She had picked up the information on Nar Shaddaa, tearing the location from the minds of two archeologists who had been giving a presentation on ancient warsites. She had left them dead, but they had given her a crude map to what they had found: the entrance to an ancient base. The latest groundquake o Dxun had shifted the jungle, opening up an ancient waterway that had been used by the Mandalorians to supply their command post. Terra stepped over a line of felled and twisted trees, coming to the edge of a yawning canyon. The jungle had been ripped away, leaving only brokenness and churning ground. Working her way down the sheared and slippery granite, the young assassin finally reached ground once more. She splashed down into a cold river, and began to work her way against the current to the river’s mouth, marked by shattered stone and freshly fallen trees. It was far darker than the jungle, and deafeningly quiet. No more shifting of trees or chittering nightlife. The silence of a grave. The spirits were oppressive there, and Terra could feel their chilling weight about her limbs as she inched har way up the granite, slickened by moss and slime-molds. It smelled no longer of organic rot, like the jungle had, but of stale air and dust. From the tunnel's entrance, she came to a larger room, filled with an ancient purification lab, the consoles and readouts jumbled and scattered about by millenia of groundquakes. Her UI showed no power readings, which wasn’t a surprise. She was glad she had brought a remote battery pack instead of a jetpack, it could be useful for powering up blast doors and ancient systems if she needed them. From the water purifier, she came to a hallway cluttered with cots, only springs left, the material having rotted away over the thousands of years. Will anything worth salvaging be left? “Beskar does not rot. Our machines may be ancient, but they were made true.” Terra rolled her electronic eyes, their emerald glow shifting to azure as she shifted the wavelengths of light she was taking it. As normal colour faded to ultraviolet, symbols and ancient stains lit up the walls, marking what she hoped were bloodstains. The language of the symbols spoke of a diary, written in lifeblood With Mandalore the Ultimate missing, we have lost our hope. All that is left is the voice. She walked on, boots scraping up clumps of dust The voice speaks of a final battle, we prepare The assassin’s pace increased as she moved through the halls, towards the main command center. The voice of the gods began to fade in her mind “The voice of the false god...” I wonder if this false god can be sold? The hallway became littered with scattered armour, ancient Mandalorian Crusader patterns, the leather bindings having rotted away to leave them all disjointed. Scattered amongst bone dust and Republic blast armour, she took quick note of the sides. There were far more Republic dead. A shriek of static fully amplified into her ears caused her to jump, terror turning her blood to ice. Terra flattened herself against the wall, slipping a disrupter pistol from her holster. A small alarm told her of her increased breathing and heart rate, but the shrieking static continued. It did not fade as she cut the audio, but it became clearer. It was a question. .̤̙͕.̺̳͠.̜̲̞̦̫̘̱W͙͈̳͙͢H͓̺͜O̯͉̱͠ ̗̤A̘̱͕̻̻͈̼͟R̦̱̘͟E̶ ̬̝͖Y͚͕O̦̟̰̭͠U̵͖ͅ?̨

As the nimble starfighter, Fractura Cordis, shifted into realspace, Terra was met by a cacophony of alarms. She had exited hyperspace at the edge of a vast minefield that enveloped the twin planets of Onderon and Dxun, hidden from long range sensors by lines of buoys. As each mine was marked in crimson on her viewfinder, the system seemed to become entangled in a colourful nebula, blown by the solar winds. A vast web of death with only one way in or out. “Personal Starfighter, Fractura Cordis, please come to the civilian entry corridor for armed escort.” The Assassin glanced down at her comlink as the snarling voice of a Sith control officer issued forth from it. He certainly didn’t sound human. The purity standards of the Sith seemed to have fallen by the wayside with the loss of the Titans like Lord Ar-Pharazon or Darth Aschezet. Putting aside her disgust, she answered with a quick affirmative and sent along her licensure for sanctioned termination on Sith worlds, stamped by the grand worm Sheog himself. “You are cleared from escort, Blackwraith. Safe travels on Dxun, hunter.” With a few clicks on her navicomputer she set the ship in motion once again, slinging the starfighter around the vast minefield and through the approach lane that had been made available. It was a deathtrap, lined with Golan platforms and capital ships. They certainly were outdoing themselves to keep up security. She noticed a few XJs following her at distance, and the sensor package picked up a tentative torpedo lock. They weren’t taking any chances. The Sith must be making this a capital world. Terra followed her broadcasted route to perfection, and set her starfighter into automated landing mode for the uninhabited moon. She allowed the starfighter to select its own clearing from the several the topographical map showed, and began to prepare for her own mission. She had much to find and much to do. ...Landing zone compromised… Terra’s eyes snapped to the consul and she yanked the control yoke to send the ship higher into the dark cloudbank. It was late evening for the jungle moon, and her landing lights had not yet activated. Pale fingertips tapped on the viewfinder, selecting a sensor alignment to reveal what the ship had not yet shown her. Computing: A small complex of disguised buildings, a shantytown covered in camo-netting. Long-range scanning disrupters. Refugees of the Sith Occupation. Terra sent an information readout to the Sith Fleet, with a query on current operations on Dxun “Blackwraith, we have no outposts on that hemisphere. Feel free to take out the trash I guess.” The Assassin rolled her eyes at the flamboyant nature, using her fingertips to scroll through the weapon-settings on her starfighter. She selected concussion missiles and began to calculate the ranges and population density. A panicked voice chirped into her ear as she ran the numbers “Unknown starfighter, please land and treat with us. My name is Navin Cordus, leader of our humble refugee camp.” Terra raised an eyebrow at the man’s fear as she continued her calculations. She selected a firing pattern of four concussion missiles, detonation patterns for half a kilometer above the surface. “We are in need of basic supplies, pilot, and we will pay handsomely for any you can smuggle to us!” Terra closed her eyes and sent an invoice to the Sith fleet for six concussion missiles, and began to record the targeting vector. She powered up the weapon system and waited for a response on the comlink “PILOT! Wait! We have women and children here!” Depressing the triggers on the control yoke, she sent the missiles screaming towards the settlement, raising the volume of her comlink as she did “NO PLEASE!” The viewscreen flashed as the system muted the blinding eruption of light that came as the clearing erupted in dazzling energy. Selecting her turbolasers, she lanced the glowing area with virescent columns of energy. She could see the jungle burning, backlighting the voluminous billows of smoke that roiled from the destroyed facility and flash-burned trees. Terra made several passes over the jungle, capturing footage and scanning for movement. All that was found was the fleeing beasts of the jungle, running from the carnage. Only static rumbled across the comlink, garbled by the radiation from the concussion missiles As the starfighter began its landing sequence, far from the former position, she watched the currency transaction roll across her viewscreen. The Sith had transferred funds from one of their multiple shell companies, in neutral currency based out of the outer rim. They had thrown in a bonus for the footage that would be used for morale documentaries for the troops. It’s nice to be paid.

The reptile’s sharp and clawed scales dug into the pale flesh of her arm, leaving ridged lines of pink where abrasions had formed. She had no love of Trandoshans, but they were a useful, if not easily manipulated bunch of cold blooded killers. She nodded at his hissed words, her blonde plait bouncing on her shoulder as she walked with him. With a wry smile, the former assassin snapped a sloppy salute to Saint as he gave her orders. ...A servant of my brother, more blood for his throne… Terra gritted her teeth at the idea of carrying out orders from anyone, but she knew it was for the greater good. A stronghold on the Inner Rim would be an apt tool for creating echoes with which to manipulate the galaxy, especially one with such an storied history for their people. “Right away. We’ll get it done.” With a nod to the Trandoshan, she made her way to her ship, and departed from the devastating world, to a world more suited for her tastes.

Charlatan… With her eyes gleaming a metallic emerald, the former deathwatch assassin moved her way through the heat and inhospitality of the new world. A new world for their people, the Crusaders reborn, far from the machinations of Arasuum’s corruption of sloth. She breathed in the ferverant air, letting it scorch her lungs. She exhaled with a smile, the dirstant reflection of the lava-fields in her eyes “Gorram beautiful. Home.” A fizzling pop on her datapad indicated an oncoming radioactive storm, and so she made her way back to her compatriots, letting the sultry air give her steps strength. She nudged the awakened girl with the tip of her boot, giving a small wink to the Trandoshan “Glad you’re awake ad'ika” She didn’t particularly care the woman surpassed her own years by more than enough to make the statement awkward.

Terra stepped back, placing two rounds from her assault rifle through the center of mass of the Wookiee Lifegaurd, his yowling battlecry making him a target as he began a maddened charge. His powerful legs stumbled but he kept coming, his powerful arms slamming into her, driving her to the permacrete. Its rough surface was unforgiving and the breath left her lungs in a rush or pain, her vision exploding into colours. The colours transformed into something far more vibrant as her chest seized, trying desperately to fight against the spasming to draw breath. She saw banners fading into smoke, the glory of death and the life that fed upon it. She writhed beneath the Wookiee but she no longer felt his weight, or the tearing of her flesh beneath his fangs. A galaxy in flames and from it ashes, the birth of new life. An echo was forming, a scream from slaughtered souls. It came from something within her, something that had been burned from her soul in her youth. The echo formed into words, a deep reverberation of shadow of the warfare she had brought to so many. ...Did you think your deeds would go unseen? ...Did you think I would not see your waste, your unworthiness? ...You are no child of mine! No… No… No… I am your CHILD! Did I not bathe myself in blood for you? I did everything for you, I died for you, fighting those gorram Arasuum Mando’a! ...You fought only for yourself, fed on death for no one’s benefit but your own. You are not chosen like your bretheren. ...You shall die a weak and broken thing Pain roared through her as the Wookiee’s fangs skidded across her collarbone, tearing through pale flesh in a frenzy of rage. Her electronic eyes opened but saw nothing, and a weak scream faded from her lips, masked by the buy’ce. ...My brother has cast you aside, hasn’t he? A new voice bubbled through the pain as Terra could feel blood beginning to pool within her throat. This one held an evil tone, the haughtiness and self righteousness was gone, replaced by cruelty. ...You see your own echo, the screams that pour through the rifted places. Where planets have fallen and died. Where death walks, fueled by massacre and quietus. Do you not see it? The colours formed into a sea of blood, and walking on its surface a form of shadow. It stooped, a hand cupped to drink and the ashen face was her own. ...That is my brother’s dream, Kad Ha’rangir’s grand fantasy! You a slave to blood once more. I see a far better fate than that of a pawn in his grand crusade of blood. The scene pulled back, the crimson sea turning to the woven threads upon a loom. The grand crusade of nightmares played out under a weavers hand. A daydream that captured the whole galaxy in its delusion. The spinner’s hand passed again, pale but strong. She would be no slave to death and blood, but the enslaver. She had a wry smile upon her face. Hod Ha’ran. ...You know my name, but do you know my character? You are the agent of fortune, leading the charade, the masked man behind the curtain, weaving the fate of the galaxy, profiting from your brother’s zealotry. ...Help this crusade. Form your echoes and direct them, we can both use the death that awaits. You’ve walked through death before, walk through it again. Be reborn and take upon my servant Hades. He awaits you on Dxun. Three rounds from her rifle ended the Wookiee’s rage and she rose from beneath the corpse, her umber armour stained with a mix of both of their blood. Vision slowly returned as she stumbled, her legs weak and trembling. The clap of the lizard’s heavy hand upon her armoured shoulder almost caused her to fall again. She bit back a cough of blood as she sprinted after the Trandoshan to the side of a crumpled mass of blue and orange armour. Terra slipped her medpack and helmet off, her sulphur eyes slowly fading to an averous emerald.

Terra adjusted the formfitting Beskar’gam as she slipped into the assault shuttle alongside the mercenaries. She had bid Delta goodbye, and for now she would be clanless once more. From behind her HUD, she observed the mercenaries beside her, all of them Mandalorian Supercommandos, trained to be deadly. She let out a small sigh as she settled into the jumpseat, nodding to the others, recognizing the patterns and colours of other clanless We are all Kyr'tsad. Her HUD flipped through the assault plan for the shield generator for the Wookiee capital, her greysteel eyes taking in the dossiers for each of the squadmates. There were twenty of them tasked with the mission, and all of them had combat experience in one form or another. She had the greatest number of confirmed kills, but that mattered little in squad tactics. The assassin caressed the handle of her flechette rifle, letting the leather bindings find their grip on her gloves. It would never match the efficiency of her lost revolvers, but it would still shred a Wookiee into fractured, lifeless flesh. A hunger settled into her stomach, gnawing at the protein based meal she had consumed back onboard The Marie. She recognized it as the unity of Sheog’s battlemind, and returned its hunger with a smile. The more death they fed the connection, the stronger it would unify them. The Mad Wyrm had a talent for such things, and she could feel her muscles yearn for combat, and her attention focusing on her task. A ravenous wave crested over her vision, and she watched each of her teammates modify their posture in their seats. She could almost taste the deaths to come ...Udesii Terra, don’t let it overcome your mind, your own sense of self… As the shuttle detached itself from the Sith and Black Sun Fleet, she opened up her voice comms to the squad. She slammed her knuckles into the jumpseat in a rhythm familiar to any Kyr'tsad. The Rage of the Shadow Warriors, a song as old as the culture itself, and one sung throughout the millennia before every war. Her voice was filled with an undertone of nerves as she started the first verse “Taung sa rang broka Mando'ade ka'rta…” The rest of the squad picked up the song, pounding the metallic plating and sounding the chant, each voice unique, but blending together in a chorus. The song faded with the thrill of adrenaline, the voices gone, but the heartbeat in her ears pounded its rhythm as the shuttle slipped through the atmosphere. The ride was far from smooth, the forests of Kashyyyk sending up a variety of air currents that buffeted them as the they flew. The pilot’s young voice chirped in her ears “High Speed, Low Drag. Get ready to drop boys and girls. Ryachukchuk or whatever those furrballs call it is coming up, and I’d rather not kill us by slamming into a shield.” The tops of the trees flew past as the cargoramp lowered. Terra stood, adjusting her jetpack, checking the fuel supply and structural integrity. She had no interest on exploding on takeoff. Her HUD showed a glowing arrow above the shield generator, signifying the squad’s objective. She held her breath and jumped alongside the others. Gravity grasped at her lithe form as she fell through the atmosphere, the viridescent treetops coming towards her in a rush. The squad activated their jetpacks in unison, with a quick burst to modify direction, but not enough to release an energy signature for the Wookiees to discover them. Terra slipped a silenced slugthrower from her holster as they descended They angled their fall towards a treelined path, with a pair of wookiees upon it who were carrying several bags. One of them had a kit snuggled into her arms according to the heat signatures. She compensated for their descent pattern and let loose two shots from the silenced weapon. The subsonic slugs punched holes through the optical ridge of the Wookiee couple, entering the skull at a weakspot, but without enough velocity to punch out the skull. The bullets ricocheted around the skulls like it was the ball in a game of Chin-Bret. The two bodies fell, and she let off another shot as they approached, catching the awakening kit in the center of mass. That bullet emptied out the internal organs, which, along with the bullet splattered into the Wroshyr tree that held up the path. A few splinters fell to the path alongside the lifeless bodies, and the squad landed together. Terra looked at the streams of crimson blood that gushed from the Wookiee’s faces, their expressions frozen forever mid conversation. Bits of juvenile furr clung to the wooden railing. She nodded to the rest of them and they set off down the path towards the Shield generator, keeping to the shadows. The crunch of bark under their boots was a muffled echoe in the still morning air. Through her buy’ce, Terra could smell the spiced sap of the scarred Wroshyrs that lined the shield generator, the ever encroaching forest in an eternal war against the machines and their beastly masters. The lithe assassin kept her pistol unholstered at the prepared position, but allowed her compatriots to terminate the gaurds with their quickfire. She watched the twitching bodies fall and braced her armoured frame against the permecrete wall as the breaching charge was set and detonated. The scattering rounds of blasterfire rang through the air and she winced as she saw the Trandoshan fall. She had no fondness for the Reptilian creatures or their religion, but she slipped beside him as he rose. With a gloved hand she investigated the scaled leg of the lizard-man, Borsk, if her memory served her right. The scales were ripped away by the singing heat of the blaster, but it seemed largely superficial. All the same, she slapped a bacta-bandage over the wound after a quick spray from the antiseptic wand. Trandoshans had regenerative properties, but she did not desire to let him die from an infection on a hostile world. She gave the beast a nod, indicating he could return to action, “Scorekeeper has your favour, Borsk.” She slipped beyond the doorway with the rest of the team, her attention returning to the battle at hand. They were met by a sharp turn ahead into the facility, and a team of Wookiees was hastily assembling a Mark II canon to defend it. She placed a few shots into the nearest wookiee with her pistol but he failed to fall. She snarled out a recommendation “Saint, let’s hit them with something with a more substantial firepower!”

Terra was ready for the jump, whenever it happened. If combat were to follow, she would follow her instincts and kill what came up. She had packed a medical kit for treatment of any injuries. She would assist as she could on the assault on the shield generator

Being dressed by adolescent hands was a feeling Terra had not experienced since the days of being a bodyguard of Lord Ar-Pharazon. The multi-plated armour of beskar was the colour of half-rotten Krazar-fruit, a deep ochre with crimson striping breaking the battleworn plates of their drab nature. The colours of Justice and Honour in the culture of its people. Her eyes studied the battlescars as the Twi’leks prepared it. Justice and Honour. How Ironic. The glovelike underarmour clung to her skin as it was pulled across her lithe frame, and was uncomfortably warm as it began to prevent her skin from breathing. As it was attached to the environmental suite on the helmet, it began to cool swiftly, to reach equilibrium with the balmy temperatures of the bridge. Terra kept the Buy’ce off as she stepped from the changing room, adjusting herself to the lightweight armour. She was missing musculature she had developed over the years, but she had no doubt her body would adjust. The Jetpack felt massive on her back, the oversized module utilized by the previous owner had an enlarged missile for extra damage. She had read of the Kal’Koran demise, men thinking themselves godlike as most Mandalorians did, meeting the wrath of Black Sun. Dying in a simple hyperdrive malfunction due to improper coordinate input. Godlike indeed. Terra felt the gentle tap of leather as the kama adjusted as she walked. With her blonde hair in a plait down her back, she joined Delta at the holoprojecter, to stand silently during the planning, and to offer input if needed. Her greysteel eyes flicked over the battleplans as she kept the buy'ce in the crook of her armoured arm.

Terra slipped towards the main control room of The Marie, feeling metal’s cold caress upon her bare feet. There was a mix of freedom and nakedness that came with her unarmoured state. The ripped tunics barely concealed her lithe frame, and gave her the appearance of a waif, instead of the accoutrements of an assassin and warchief of the Deathwatch. She looked up at the guards that kept the doors to the control room barricaded for the safety of the command staff, and stepped through them. A crushgaunt tossed her down the hallway, where she sprawled against a bulkhead, before falling to the decking. She let out a low hiss as she glared lightsabers at the guards, former WingGuard off Bespin. A rising tide of rage passed through her gut, her mouth turning sour. She clenched her jaw and rose to her feet, brushing the wrinkles from her tattered tunic “No whores while Delta has business. Especially dressed like that.” The other guard leered at her, a derisive sneer contorting his bearded face “Today is Twi’lek Tuesday, not Beggar Sunday. Either grow some brain tentacles or get out.” The WingGuard leaned to the other, with a coarse whisper “Think the urchin is… Um.” “No no Fasbe, we check all their datacards. They are always of age” “I meant pregnant.” Terra rolled her greysteel eyes, and spoke slowly through grinding teeth “Agent Terra, Piccolo's Titan Protocol, Authorization Code… 88EVE32.” The locked door behind them whooshed open, and an old jingle began to play to announce her arrival. Terra sighed and pushed through them, to the bridge of the Marie. The azure glow of the holomap display drew her eyes to the armoured figure of her oldest friend. He leaned over the map, reading a stream of tactical data, dressed in ebony armour reminescent of the clone commando he once was, highlighted in crimson. Her small voice was barely audible over the various chatter of the bridge crew “Kayal would have loved to see this array of power.” She wondered if her would even recognize her, a shadow of her former self. Emaciated and lean, dirty and unarmoured. Scarred and tattooed no longer. “Good to see you old friend.”

The hum of nerves coalesced with the pounding of her heart as Terra stepped through the vast passenger ship, The Avastian Jewl. On bare feet and without armour, the journey was vastly different than any other time she had traipsed amongst the bourgeoisie and aristocrats within the shipping business. There was no parting of the crowd to let her through, or hushed words of fear. Now there was only the disdain of the patrician upon a beggar. In a former life, she may have ended the humiliation in a bloodbath, but now she had more to gain and to lose. She slipped past a crowd of Ithorians, listening to their rippling voices, to the debate they were holding on climate change and the ill smells upon the slightly moving air from the oxygen scrubbers, and ran into a squad of mercenaries that made a perimeter around a noble. A quick knee aimed at her chest sent her sprawling, and she turned it into a somersault with the momentum. From the HUD, she could see they were armed with scatterguns and sonic weaponry, all things effective against her in her current state of affairs. Unarmed there was no reason to fight. Terra skirted the group, allowing them to pass before darting into a turbolift to the lower levels of the ship. As they descended, the smell of rotting sweat began to invade her nose. “Girl, if you need credits, I can put that pretty mouth of yours to good work!” Terra turned to look at the other occupants of the turbolift, a group of university-aged males, who were undoubtedly slumming amongst the downtrodden as part of their fraternity pledge. She looked over the finely dressed speaker from the group, a sandy-haired portly man, and took an involuntary step back as he began to unbuckle his trousers. The turbolift’s decking felt cool upon her feet. His mates cheered him on with inane words of encouragement. She cleared her throat and flashed them a smile, showing her sharpened fangs of darkmetal. The doors of the turbolift rushed open and she stepped out, leaving the men confused and wary. The ship shuddered under her feet, and she could feel the ship’s hyperdrives powering down through the decking. It was far too early for such an end to the trip, they had at least another day of hyperspace travel to endure. The young woman sped up her footsteps, picking her way across the grimy decking, avoiding the excrement and trash that had been piled up in the hallways by the crewmembers and vagabonds. As she passed a viewscreen, she saw the reflected glow of sandy Tatooine, and an all too familiar sight, the Corevette, The Marie. “…Passengers of The Avastian Jewel, we have made an emergency stop at the planet of Tatooine to deal with an attempted mutiny. However, it would appear we have gotten pulled into the range of a pirate fleet, please stand by for further orders.” As screams of panic and the rush of boots began to fill the halls, Terra slipped a credit chit into the nearby holocall center. She accepted the charges and methodically typed in the number of Delta’s comlink “Before you vape this passenger liner, let me get off first. Dock up on…” She scanned the vessel-map that was beside the holocenter, squinting her robotic eyes to see past the lines of graphitti “Deck 223-A.”

((Great duel, a pleasure. Pity about the hands-based-weapons only agreement )) The grasping tentacle of the Houjix takes Moltar... The young assassin watched as her whipping strike found its mark, taking away the hand of her opponent, dropping her to her knees. Before her, twitching like an exposed seafish, lay the severed hand. Spurts of blood bubbling from the palm. She could almost taste it, feel the warmth of it spreading upon her tongue. Terra changed from a defensive stance and began to advance at a sprint, feeling the adrenaline pump through her limbs, speeding her heart. Her footspeed was almost instantly at full tilt, ten meters per second. She was hungry to repay the pain that coursed through her. She would strip the woman of her armour and feast of her flesh. She was only two meters away, a distance that could be covered in a heartbeat. Her fingers clutched the lightsaber before her, as the other hand flipped the garrot on a followup. As he opponent rolled from her kneeling stance, utilizing her blade as a pivoting point, Terra altered her own advance, turning with the next step upon the ball of her booted foot to head off the tangential roll. She could feel the soil compact under the tread of her boots, the decaying earth of decades of rotting leaves. The young assassin could almost taste the lifeblood’s spray upon her lips, and her throat ached for satisfaction. A sudden veshok was the safety the woman found, before the demon could chase her down. There was no safety from evil, not on this planet. Ason's voice slithered across her thoughts All of hell shall sing as you are unleashed… The Mandalorian’s reappearance an instant later, weaponless but for a sphere born in her remaining hand. Its silvered gleam reflected in the firelight, pronouncing its curves and unmistakable form. A grenade. The woman pitched it as Terra took another long stride across the forest floor, her boot mixing her prey’s blood into the thirsty ash. The grenade sailed over her head as she passed another step, bringing the distance to one meter. Half the original distance was gone. She disabled her thermal imaging on her HUD, not desiring to be overwhelmed by whatever explosion was to come. ...Dishonourable duelists these Mandalorians… A boiling wavelike explosion rippled behind her. The glop grenade had made its impact four meters behind, and its aerosol jets had ignited in the flames. The adhesive was less than flammable, but with its dispersion system spouting flames, it became boiling strands of rippling foam. It expanded quickly, and before it came a wave of smoke and a blossom of heat. She would almost be cloaked by it, the wave of fire, heat, and smoke, adding to the already smoke-filled air. The chorus of hellsong, the voices of all her victims was at her back. It burned. Each sting of pain, bringing with it a cry of death. Infants smothered. Soldiers shot down. Lives of the innocent taken. One face singled from the horde. A blond head, eyes of ice, shattered by the sting of a thousand flechettes. His cry of vengeance ran along her spine, ripping through her defenses. A man shot down in a cantina, his former blade now her own. The blade’s ignition added nothing to its weight. It screamed into her consciousness with the corruption of silvered light, tainted with red lightning. As easy to use as a feather-light beskad. The gyroscopic effects of a lightsaber handle had been difficult to get used to, under the training of Lord Ar-Pharazon, and she had almost killed herself several times before she got used to it. His hands on hers as he guided her steps, whispering grand tales of conquest over hundreds of Darth Mauls. She had followed his every whim, bending herself until she had become unrecognizable. She had done everything to please his desires, to become a warrior bound to his insanity, and like all the others, he had abandoned her. The hours in training now bore its fruition as she kept the blade to waist height , compensating for her opponent’s height. The Golden God’s voice came unbidden to mind Trying to please those that will never be pleased? Why? Gold is fleeting, Gold is fickle, Gold is fun… Agony tore away her memories, liquid flame searing its way through the flesh on her back, flowing around her plating to bite into the flesh around it. The feelings of lecherous caress were driven away. Every neve screamed, her body freezing mid-stride as the flaming wave began to ensnare her. A burning branch of Veshoke drove its way through her lower back, propelled by the projected blast. It rammed through her external oblique, reaching the tender organs beneath. Her momentum ripped the adhesive from her boiling flesh before it could set, exposing raw muscle beneath. Terra’s flesh melted away and dripped down her back. Blood bubbled from her lips as she could feel something tear inside of her as her front foot landed. All Terra could see now was the body of her opponent. All she could desire was the Mandalorian’s death. It was the only thing that stopped her from collapsing into the embrace of pain that was consuming her. All she could do was shriek as she channeled everything she had left into her attack Die… Die… Die… She swung the handle of her lightsaber as she made her own tumble off her momentum, freed from the expanding cloud of superheated liquid as it followed her. Only one arm would answer her call for death. She aimed the blade at her disarmed opponent, to strike across her unarmoured waist, across her weapon’s belt, an execution of Sai Tok, transitioning into Mou Kei as she passed behind her disarmed opponent where she stood beside the Veshok. A few flicks of the wrist and it would all be at an end, perhaps even before the blast wave took her. Her footspeed would carry her past The Mandalorian in her tumble, and an unarmed and dishonourable opponent was easy prey, even for a wounded predator. She would be taken out before she could recover her castaway sword. It would all be over in an instant, grenade’s toss, explosion, strike. ((3))

Ng’ok takes… Terra anticipated the bite of flesh upon her vibroblade, but there was no vindication to her desire. There was no caress of serrating steel upon tender organs, or cracking of splintering bone. Instead there was only the skittering snap of the blade’s reflection on the unforgiving plating of impenetrable Mandalorian steel. The handle of her vibrosword bucked as the blade broke away halfway down its tang, leaving a shuddering husk of twisted metal and cortosis-weave writhing like a serpent in her hand as the vibrating stabilizers failed. Outplayed. Too hasty. The blow from her opponent bit deep into the jetpack, its tip driving into the nutrient-cage of the ysalamiri that Terra bore instead of a missile. The beast’s distressed death-cry set off alarms on her HUD in sparkling ruby. The young assassin was thankful that the weapon her opponent yielded bore so many disadvantages, such as the lack of vibration, or its feather-like weight. Without the weight of a weapon, the wielder could only rely on their own strength to penetrate armor, and without a vibrating edge, the ability for it to penetrate deep was proportional only to the strength of her opponent and the angle of attack. Nonetheless, a jetpack was a fickle thing, and as the Ysalamiri died, the jetpack sent the young assassin sprawling into the flames of a burning Veshok two meters away as it exploded. A shower of shrapnel serrated her shoulders, driving burning meteorites of fuel-fed embers into pale flesh. ...You thought you could keep The Sanguine Prince at bay with the primitive yammerings of a fragile lizard? The impact of the ground sent a wave of clarity through her mind and reverberated through her lithe frame. The fruitless endeavours of the ysalamiri to keep the Sith corruption of her mind at bay were all for not. Sanity, for a demon, was like an eggshell beneath the hoof of a Ronto, hardly durable. Yearning for the break. Enraptured with the anticipation of release from the bonds of rationality. ...You will never be free from us… The liberation came with the retreating lifeforce of the ysalamiri and for a moment the beatings of their hearts matched. The paddling of broken oars to combat the maelstrom’s pull to Hades. It left her in a rush, with the exhalation of her breath as she landed in repose amongst the burning cradle of snapping Veshok limbs. A crywithin her mind called her attention to the gift of the Golden God, formed from the unity of death and blood into a handle with a storied past. With inhalation came more than the spiced odour of the burning Veshok that even the helmet’s environmental scrubbers could not hold at bay. The demon within was fully unchained You are forever damned… The heaving of her next breath was filtered through with laughter that rushed through the crackling of the flames to fall on the ears of the assembled Mandalorians. Her armour was stained with flaming pitch, smeared upon her by the Veshok’s embrace. From her scorched back came waves of pain that seared through her upper neck. Crimson eyes fell upon her feast and the primal urges of a predator set in. Gloved fingers cradled the weighted and hooked handle of her razor-wire garrote, while its twin hung loosely as the fall on a whip. Her other hand cradled the cylindrical trophy of her most exquisite murder. She jumped forward from the flames into a sideformed stance, letting her arm flick across her body in a horizontal direction towards her opponent. It was as if she was once again home on Aaeton, under the caress of a summer’s breeze, her hand loosely holding a glacially smoothed rock, to send it skipping across the azure mirror of Lake Tercus. A whip’s crack of razor wire and sharpened hook would pass by the throat of her opponent in a lightning quick arc that would ensnare her unarmoured neck, to cut through underweave, flesh, sinew and bone to detach head from neck. Her front arm was outstretched to parry any blow with gauntlet or spiked armguard, her fingers gripping her weapon in the way The Golden God had instructed. ((2))

“What kind of glit-biting accent is that?” Terra spat the words in a mockingly nasally tone, bringing her vibrowsword to level at the woman’s armoured chest, where she stood in the cover of the trees. The canopy of the ancient forest was marred by blazing flame, outlining the woman in the light of thousands of years of growth crumbling to ash. Even the environmental scrubbers could not fully insulate the young assassin to the spiced scent of the burning veshoks. It made her mouth water, and the coppery taste of blood bloomed within her mind, driving all other emotions and thoughts before it like the winds of a hurricane. The fiery canopy was a duplicate of the flames that enveloped her mind. The rumblings of wrath bellowing through her, hollowing her of all feeling but that of a bloodlust that gripped her heart like a vice. Her muscles were seized in preparation, winding themselves like the springs on an ancient chronometer. A ferocity was growing its fires raging across her peripheral nervous system, while her brain turned to the cold calculations of battle. Unyielding rage would do little to bring this opponent to heel. It was an emotion best used for the beating of children or the ravaging of the weak. Now was the time for the wintry manipulations of a psychopath. The duel before her was nothing more than a game of Dejarik, with slightly higher stakes. A phantom in burgundy appeared in the corner of her eye which bore a devilish grin. Its palpable lust enveloped her with its lecherous fingers, and each breath through her lips brought a sudden heat to her chest. The bathing in blood, the loss of her innocence to the sanguine demon. His words echoing in her ear, her breath mingling with his. Jedi, your saber won't help you out Morals and robe are worthless here I've taken you in a rout Forever my souvenir Bloodied bile came unbidden to her mouth, a mix of metallic regret and soured despair. She was bound eternally to death, and there was no escaping it. With crimson eyes glaring through her muted T-visor, the young assassin calculated the distances, analyzing the background, and identified a young veshok sapling, two meters to the rear and to the right of her opponent. The muscles of her calves relaxed, and the jetpack adjusted its nozzles to her commands. As the gauntlet landed between them, she was ready for her first move in the Dejarik game. The demon's lessons were branded in her flesh Savrip takes Strider The young asssassin drove the tip of her vibroblade into the dirt, showering a spray of the dried dust towards her opponent’s right, while activating her jetpack in a short burst of intense energy. Terra leapt with it, letting the rocket’s propulsion drag her body into an arrow, that would fly past the woman’s left. Division of attention, then destruction The leatherbound grip of her vibrosword hummed in the rhythm of her heartbeat, marching out a dirge, unsped by adrenaline, and as calm as her mind. She bore the weapon with two hands, angling the blade across her center of gravity. Terra’s strike would carry the full weight of her body and the acceleration of the jetpack across the tang of the vibroblade, and help her turn in midair. If her aim were true, the humming blade would pass between the gap of the woman’s chestpiece and weapon’s belt, taking with it organs and life before dissecting out her lower back. The young assassin would pass with a very low target profile, to the embrace of the supple branches of the young veshok, where she could flip her turn and finish off her opponent. ((1))

The blasterbolt hit Terra’s beskar’gam greave, fusing the metal into slag, and applying a kinetic thrust that sent her onto her back, by kicking the leg from beneath her. It had missed the lightly armoured part of her knee by centimeters. As the young assassin lost her footing she activated her jetpack’s thrusters, letting herself spin in the air and land back on her feet a few meters towards the assembled Mandalorians. She landed with a column of dust from the blowback from her jetpack, and as it rose about her, so did her rage. ...Shooting me like a gorram Akk. Terra leapt to her side, keeping the dust as a small shield against the sniper. She arose again, keeping her back to the woodline, trying to angle herself so she would not be outflanked by snipers or the ravaging hordes of child-killers. Her comlink crackled, confirming the Greyjoy’s retreat, all but for the pair of snipers in the cliffs above, who illuminated the area on her HUD as to where the blast had come. Her own gravelly voice was amplified by the speakers on her buy’ce, preceded by inhuman laughter. She stirred her foot in the dirt like an awkward teenager “You killed them... Sounds like us Greyjoys would be right at home amongst so many baby-killers.” She kicked up the tattered remains of a chubby babyarm, letting it arc lazily towards the area where the sniper had been last. It trailed drips of blackened blood that stained its small clenched fingers. The young assassin wished it had been the head, but she doubted the infant’s softened fontenelles would have sustained the blast from the Mandalorian onslot. “From the looks of it you have already abandoned the third tenet of the Resol'nare…” Terra swept her arm out across the crimson-stained sand, churned with ash and tattered corpses. The shattered forms of children lay in husks, torn, disembowled, and dismembered by the actions of the Protectors. She swept out her vibrosword in a slow sweep, letting its tip dance across the bloodied sand as she began to sing in the mocking voice of a child. It was the same nursery rhym they had sung as she had trussed them up for the sacrifice. “Ba'jur, beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor— An vencuyan mhi…”

The shot dug into the plating on her collarbone, sending white hot shards of superheated metal into the flesh around it. Had she not been wearing the underarmour Ar-Pharazon had made for her, the wound would have been fatal. The blast sent her spinning into the harsh-barked embrace of a Veshok, where she made impact in a clatter of armour and curses. A metallic voice droned through the ringing in her ears “Sniper at your… Hmm maybe too late?” The young assain’s eyes narrowed as she rasped through the pain, her voice carrying bitterness and a rising anger “Kriffing light it up you di’kut!” The HUD link of the Greyjoys alight the targeting zone in a sphere of red. The shot had been traced and calculated by the Twin’s AI, which had spotted the armoured Mandolarian Commando, taking into account both views from the Twin’s visors, in their hiding place in the cliffs above. “Such harsh language…” The whistle of a grenade passed over her head, signalling Shen’s response to the sniper: Three plasma grenades in short succession in an overlapping spread. The rattle of heavy weapons erupted from the treeline as Harjav and the lovers began to lay down fire towards the sniper’s position, cutting down a number of supercommandos in the area. The Galeks and Veshoks turned to splinters, and the ground began to churn with their weapons. “Ahem… Jetpacker above you…” The young assassin dove back towards the circle, and her captive children, letting her momentum transfer her into a crouched firing angle to have an optimum strike at the airborn target. It was an armoured male, much akin to the other supercommandos (Caen), and her HUD marked the ridges between his armoured plates as an optimum area to place a three-round burst of armour-piercing slugs. “Die you fu-” The concussive blast of all of her traps, and so much more tossed her like a ragdoll back into the same Veshok as before, where she felt a wave of flame carry her through the boughs and branches. Her buy’ce knocked into the trunk and she fell to the burning forest floor in a heap. The hiss of blood pounding in her ears brought her attention back, as a second wave of flame rolled over her armoured body. This one burned, even through the environmental protections. She scrambled forwards in primal desperation “Well those plasma mines sure had an effect…” Harjav’s voice answered the Twin’s AI, with his typical wry mirth. “Those kids sure got blown to hell. By their OWN people. Such moral and upstanding supersoldiers...” Terra stood shakily, her muscles screaming from the adrenaline fueled dash. She reached her armoured hand down to her feet and hauled a coughing Mandalorian from the flames. It was the flyboy from before, and they locked eyes through their T-visors. “Thanks vode, that fire was damn hot!” Terra nodded and looked to the expanse of mandalorians that were rising from the blast. She was set apart from them, and still in view from the sniper if she yet lived. A rain of child-gore was beginning to drift in ribbons and showers of boiling blood about them. She could either fight, or try to blend in and escape. Almost before her thoughts had finished, she could feel her vibroblade dig through the underarmour of the flyboy’s lower back. ...Damn it… The blade chewed through his flesh, rending muscle before skipping off the pelvic girdle. The vibroblade wasn’t on, and the serrated edge cut deep into the bone before she ripped it upwards, dissecting his left kidney and the abdominal aorta. The breath was driven from his lungs in a sharp scream that echoed from his activated comlink to his squadmates. The blade stopped as it caught on his spine and she placed a boot into his back, sending him sprawling into the fading flames as she ripped the blade from his back. She shrugged to the crowd of Mandalorians as the man thrashed on the ground before her. Harjav’s voice echoed over her comlink, but all she could see was more blood to drown the fires in her own mind. “Good kriffing gods Terra what the $%#@!”

“Kriffing Suicidal idiots… What is this a tenpenny holoreel? Sith brainwashing…” Cruel, crimson eyes passed over the legions of the weak, judging each in their path to doom. Blackened armour glittered under the sunlight that filtered through the treetops in mangled beams of pale yellow. Her countenance was dripping with the corruption of the Sith, a far stronger power than that which warped the minds of the suicidal imbeciles. Terra had never been one to feel the pull and the will of the Force, and she felt better for it. She was no one’s pawn, least of all these cultists. Her squad was apprehensive, their comlinks filled with observations of troop movement and the crumbling resolve of the Cultist forces. Resorting to suicidal attacks was a sign of desperation, and one she would have no part in. The twins upon the upper cliffs, well concealed, called out the slow and methodical advance of countless clans through the treeline. Terra placed her hand upon her weapon, letting the caress of the assault rifle steady her unease. In the center of the ritual site, the stakes that held the children were fully exposed to the sights and sounds of war. Each child struggled against their bonds, straining to free themselves so they could join the fight, to defend their homeworld and their people. With each pull of the neck, each strain of their muscles, their bonds tightened. Their childish cries of help became yelps of pitiful agony, bonds cutting into skin, drawing blood, cutting away breath. A young, sandy-haired boy of seven pulled against his bondage with all his young strength and childish endurance. The tightening bonds were unnoticed as he strained to join the fight, to make his elderly buir proud. For every story told over a bowl of Regeran Soup, for every conquest, he fought. His ears could not hear the screams of his older sister, for him to stop. The noose was tightening and his stubbornness and pride would be his executioner. Panic set in when he could no longer breath, the garrot cutting through skin and squeezing shut his lungs. Desperation only worsened it, his arms straining against the bonds, fingers grasping where they were trapped to let oxygen into his lungs. A straining heave of his chest, his intercostal muscles and the diaphragm fighting each other to force air in, to no avail. It only grew tighter. His face turned from bright red to darker shades of violet. His tongue began to swell, and his eyes ran red with bursting vessels. He slumped into convulsions, strangled by his misplaced will to fight. His body hung limp in its bonds, another victim to the war. Terra’s squad moved back from the chaos of the fighting, the Greyjoys having no desire to die to friendly grenades. Terra herself moved along the border of the sandscape that made up the ritual site, the stakes in the center a monument to the destruction about her. She felt half awake in a dream of death. “Jetpacker di’kut flying south of you…” Terra listened to the droll sarcasm of Arna and Longkra’s AI, and held her position. The Mandalorian (Caen Fuller) would most likely land behind the cultist lines, where the Greyjoys could kill him at their leisure. At the very least he would see the children and draw the rest into the killing field. The young assassin focused on the nearby waves of Mandalorians, preparing herself to spring in on any unsuspecting commandos.

The young assassin passed through the night, feeling the rain patter on her armour, its cold fingers seeping through her synthweave underarmour to cool her skin and make her shiver. Each drip of rain made its own tune as it caressed her beskar’gam, beating with the rhythm of the storm. The hands of the storm had erased the blood upon her skin before she had reclaimed her armour, taking with it her sins and cares. She had honoured the Great Shadow Father with the deaths of the Mandalorian squads, the dar’manda who dishonoured the true paths. ...Your skin is beautiful… Its taste exquisite… A lump arose in Terra’s throat, and with it came a wave of frustration and confusion. She felt dirty, and unworthy. Her fingers clenched in their gloves, hands shaking, lusting for a throat to grab. Her stomach turned, acid rising in her throat, its sting rasping upon the cuts and the sores as it rose like a tide. She swallowed it back as an explosion of adrenaline coursed its fire through her veins. Her lithe muscles began to spasm as she walked and she leaned heavily on the edge of the woodline. Her voice came as a raspy whisper, her hands tearing at the ironbark “Was I not enough for you?” Blood surged in her mouth, and her fingers dug beneath the grooves of the woody bark and she tore a section from the enormous tree, exposing its white flesh. Terra ripped the buy’ce from her head, with its built in Force-Mask, and pressed her face against the phloem. The young assassin breathed in the spiced odour of evergreen sap, and let it settle as a cloud about her as her body trembled. ...In your erosion of innocence, my own delight… The viscous resin began to coat her lips as she sunk her teeth deep into the flesh, desperation for control an overwhelming storm about her. It tasted of spices, and the nostalgia of childhood, a hand grasping at the nailed edges of an oaken box as it was lowered into the ground. Tears and terror. The words formed in her head as she dug into the wooden flesh “I was your servant…” A visage of crimson, came about her with strong arms. Caressing, lecherous hands stole across her flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps and waves of nausea. ...You are my slave… Terra shuddered and ripped herself from the embrace of the tree, wiping her face of its sweat and sap. She placed her ebony buy’ce back over her head, letting her long plait of blonde hair trail down her shoulder. She set off towards the rendezvous through the woodline, her head spinning “I will set this world on fire for you…” The phantoms in her mind laughed ...Fill the valleys with blood, and we will be in unity… ------------ The young assassin passed through the sensor screen that lined the forest, a mixture of LFIs and FSTs set up with a sensor camouflage that transmitted to the auxiliary command, and was copied to her HUD. She could see small indications of where there had been weapons emplacements and barracks, but they were long gone now. It was five kilometers into deep forest, before she came to the ridgelined crest indicated to her in her briefing. It was an ancient crater, made millennium ago by the falling of a iron and uranium composed meteorite. It had left a scar upon the forest half a mile (800 meters) in diameter. Its ancient ridge was marred from thousands of years of weatherpatterns, and the movement of glaciers. From the Kelita-side of the crater, the descent was a gradual gradient that didn’t strain her knees. The far sides of the crater were clifflines of granite, at their most highest on the opposite side sixty meters, that created a funnel from her entrance point. The crater was covered in weatherworn oak, that stretched into the middle, where nothing grew but a patch of gnarled groundcover.. The fifty meter patch of groundcover at the center of the forest was a medley of mineral sand, goethite aggregate, trinitite, and small boulders of limestone. In the very center of this moonscape, sat the remaining children, tied to stakes of corroded rebar. About them was the painted design of a pentagram in blackened sand. The body of Vessa’Xa Cadera lay in a heap to the side, in a puddle of blood that was half washed away by the rain. Bits of her skull, hair, and brains lay about the sandy patch like the casteoff waste of a reckless glutton. “About time you got here Blackwraith. Stay away from the kids, the lovers boobytrapped them with with LX-4’s and HX2s” Harjav’s voice in her ear drew her eyes to the treeline, where the grizzled mercenary and several oddly-clothed cultists stood. According to her HUD, reports from the rest of her squad began to pop up across the map. Shen was to her far right, set back in the woodline with his heavy weaponry. The traps would be not proximity aware, but would be remotely triggered by the disguised detonators. Even through the half meter of mineralsand where they were buried, the fout LX-4s, surrounding thr children, would be able to detonated by any of her squadmates with their HUD’s connected to the hardwired detonator that lay nestled in the treeline. Even the cultists would be unaware of their existence, her plans were hers alone. As for the HX2s, each child concealed their signatures with their bodies. Three sensor baffles were attached to the children’s stakes, which made sure any airship wouldn’t be able to find them, or their traps. Terra nodded and slipped into the treeline, acknowledging her squadmates as they made their locations known. Aoarn and Bas’ar were on the leftmost ridgeline, hidden amongst the boulders. Arna and Longkra had their antimaterial rifle set up back from the ridgeline, with concealment being their greatest concern. The twins had nestled themselves in two sets of trees twenty meters from the edge of the cliff, where their overwatch would set up a shot between two boulders. It shrunk their firing zone to only the center patch with an added twenty meters to its diameter. Arna played spotter for her sister, armed with a spotting scope on her disruptor rifle. Their AI fed their thoughts into Terra’s helmet “Once these aruetiise are done with their ritual, can we kill them?” Terra smiled beneath her helmet, checking her ammunition for her slugthrowing rifle. Her voice carried a note of mirth “We have no intentions for these cultists to summon some Sith demon, or kill us all. If they get uppity, slit their throats.” The young assassin sent word to Hawke that their positions were set up, and to wire the funds agreed upon by Ab’ki to her account.

The mud, cold and sticky beneath her bare feet, splashed in gouts of brown and black, matching the spray of lifeblood from the assassin’s vibrosword. She could feel the cool raindrops falling upon her bare skin, causing goosebumps to form, and involuntary shivering to begin. She would need to heat up swiftly. A smile cracked through her dour complexion as she passed the tip of her vibroblade through the thigh of a commando in jade and blue armour. Terra applied pressure to the crude handle, letting the silvered blade work as she dove between his legs. She could feel the blade skip on the man’s femur as it chewed through the Vastus Medialis, Sartorius, and the Gracilis before it bisected the femoral artery. Her surprise attack had thrown the Mandalorian Commandos into disarray, and they began a hasty retreat towards the treeline. As the man fell into the bog behind her with a satisfying splash, Terra tossed her vibroblade towards the back of a running Commando, as he turned to check on his squadmates. The blade drove through the fuel line, and caused a spark off the armoured plating. As the Commando turned, his jetpack erupted into a fireball, sending him sprawling into his partner, who took the blow hard into the marsh. Kicking up mud with each stride, the Echani demon sprinted for the fallen pair, taking a second to identify that they wore matching armour of black and red. ...Perhaps they will leave behind a few children to carry the scars of their deaths… The smaller of the two scrambled from beneath the flames of the other and began to try and douse them with the kama she tore from her waist. Her movements were filled with panic “Buir!... Buir!” Terra leaped onto the back of the woman, using her momentum to toss the commando onto her face. Barely containing her laughter, the assassin ripped the helmet from the woman’s head, exposing raven hair in a tight bun. Terra dragged the woman’s blaster pistol from its holster as the commando struggled to turn to fight, or to ignite her own jetpack. The struggling stopped as Terra pressed the barrel of the blaster to the woman’s head with an icy kiss. A few shots kicked up gouts of water about her as the rest of the commandos began to lay down suppressive fire. A scream began from the burning man, muted by the seal of his helmet, but not by his comlink. Terra could hear it echo from the castaway helmet at her side. “The young shall fall and the old will stand and watch their legacy die…” She pulled the trigger, sending a energy-intense blast through the woman’s skull. Smoking ash began to pour from the woman’s slacked jaw as Terra made another tumble, returning towards her first several victims. She cut down a commando with her blasterfire as he tried to outflank her, her shot passing through the light plating protecting his throat, sending him into the mud. Most of the remaining commandos were now in the treeline, although greatly reduced in number. Terra picked up the helmet of their fallen commander Rahg, and faced it towards her. She aimed the blasterpistol towards the woods as she maneuvered herself to a position of better cover She could see her own reflection in the flickering T-visor of the helmet. Her hair was matted with blood, her eyes a smoldering sulphuric yellow, holding their own bestial glow in the reflected light. Terra’s face contorted in a wicked smile, showing sharpened and crimson-stained teeth. Her voice was gravelly and acidic, marked with the growling undertone of an uncaged beast. The words of Mando'a came swiftly to mind “You Dar’Manda are all the same. Too weak to even save your own ade..." She could hear the sharp bark of orders across the helmet’s comlink, and she tuned her ears to them, as she pointed the helmet to the body of Rahg, and to where her blade was beginning to go to work. The wicked blade began to dissect flesh as she dug her fingernails behind the knife. Her fingernails were dirty and crusted with rotten blood. She embedded the knife into the fallen man’s neck as if it were a cutting board and ripped at the hem of skin. Terra’s smile widened and she opened her mouth, letting her stained tongue lick across the T-visor, leaving a trail of blood on the reflective glass. She held up the detached face of Rahg, and smiled again to the camera, before dropping the helmet into the mud, where it would play towards the woodline, across the horde of smoking bodies. From the trees, the assassin could see a large Mandalorian, armour a palette of red, blues and grey. He was surrounded by four other commandos, but what caught her eye was the small handprint on his left breast. She called out to them with a welcoming and mocking tone “Come and collect your faceless dead, lest dar'yaim claim them…” The lead raised his blaster rifle at her in the darkness, and the assassin performed a tumble through the mud as a blast of hot energy scorched over her back. She rose from her roll and snapped a shot at the group, smashing a blast through a smallish woman to the man’s left. She gripped at the smoking hole in between her beskar’gam plating and fell into the forest with a crash of snapping branches. Terra’s tone turned acidic “You have cost another parent the hope of their child’s return. Your mark names you a father, or'dinii... Was he?” She slipped into the darkness, and fired a shot into Rahg’s faceless corpse “Were they all? Who will mourn all you’ve let die?”

Death followed the heavy rain as it began to fall onto the marshes in fast, cool droplets spurred from the dark clouds of a typhoon. Their armour absorbing the blaster bolts of the Ionblast company, and the dropping Mandalorian Commandos laid them to waste. The squad they landed upon were cut down in a hail of precise and concentrated fire, lances of crimson consuming life with the cold methodicalness of experienced shock troops. Collected with their beskar’gam dripping with mud, their comlinks were ablaze with killcounts and casualty reports “Oya, Ves’rad, two on your left.” A pair of rounds from the Commando’s blaster rifle dropped the olive drabbed militiamen into the swelling bog. Rahg’s eyes scanned his HUD as he watched his men and women pick apart their opponents with meticulous efficiency. The approaching squads were fully exposed without cover, and their abortive attack was thwarted. “Rhys, looks like they are surrendering… Well the one that is left I guess. Their akaanir is gone.” The two squads provided sweeping firing angles as the remaining olive-armoured man made approach, clutching a smoking blaster-wound to his stomach. The Mandalorians took cover best they could from counter-attack if there were any survivors. Their knees and boots sunk into the mud and peat, the black silt sticking to their armour like a hundred clutching hands. Beneath his buy’ce, Rhag watched the fire-haired man stumble towards them as his squads began to sweep the area for survivors. The man stuttered a plea “M-my name is Tez’Roda… L-leader of the Ionblasts…” Rhys snorted a retort, grabbing the man’s uniform by the collar and tossing him into the mud before them. Rockets of the dark sediment splattered Rahg’s armour from the man’s rough landing. Rhys motioned about them to the smoking corpses “Don’t you mean former alor'ad, di'kut?” The veteran of the Clone Wars ‘ words were less a question, and more a cool statement of fact. A whimpering cry drew the attention of the commandos as they made their sweep of the area. Whispers of horror flew across their comlinks as they witnessed what they had assumed to be a simple mound, was one of flesh. The bodies of farmers and innocents. As Rahg’s eyes looked over the tangled limbs and disembowled bodies, sound became mute and a ringing replaced it. It’s like Jabiim all over again… He was taken into the void of memory for a moment, and the whistle of blasterfire overtook him. The crunch of boots on sand, the whir of servomotors as battledroids cut through their lines. The smell of burning flesh. He still wasn’t able to eat baked Caerven Cakes as the smell reminded him of the burning. The burning. The screams. The girl who died in his arms as he begged her to cling to life for just a bit more ca'nara. The medilift had come too late for most all of them. The voice of lieutenant Ki’Darva came through the fog of the tinnitus and thoughts of horror. “Haar'chak! Rhag… It’s a girl. She’s kadala really badly.” Rahg’s horror turned to rage as the commandos carried a whimpering girl towards him, her tangled blonde hair amess and matted in blood. Her clothing was almost nonexistent rags, torn to reveal blood and bruises. Blood dripped from her shuddering form. “You chakaar…” His fist grabbed the man’s fiery hair as he yanked him from the mud. Instead of the flesh of a terrified face, all he saw was the glistening armour of a battle droid. His fist connected with the droid as he smashed it again and again. Knuckles crushed bone. Blow after blow. “You” A crunch and a whimper “Kriffing” More give on the punch, wet gasping “Separatists” Rhys yanked Rahg off the pulp of a man, and the body fell to the peat in a lifeless splash. He looked down at his armoured knuckles, and the oil from the battle droid changed into steaming blood. He shrugged Rhys’ hand from his shoulder and shuddered, feeling the frigid rush of adrenaline. “My… Name is Vessa’Xa of… Clan Cadera” The squads of commandos were on immediate alert as the voice crackled all around them. The voice was terrified and disembodied for only a moment. A hologram sprung up from each of the bodies of the dead Ionblasts, including the from the recently deceased Tez’Roda. It carried the lifesize image of a small girl in a damp and clinging nightshirt, a mess of tousled braids running down her shoulders. She was shivering, and her face was petrified in horror. Ad’nor Cadera beside Rahg put a gloved hand to the mouth of her buy’ce as if to stifle a gasp. This is the ad’ika she brags so much about… The girl continued between cries “I… am… I don't want to say this!” Her face twisted in determination before an armoured knee entered the hologram and slammed into her jaw. The voice that followed was cruel and feminine “You will say it or the infant dies...” The girl’s face began to leak a stream of blood from her lip and broken nose. Rahg could see Rhys’ shoulders set at the words of the woman. His words were of fierce defiance as the squad continued to do their sweep, transfixed in horror “Demagolka…” The girl began to speak again, spitting out a mouthful of blood “I am… ten years old. I call… Kandor Fett, Mirdala… Ad’Goran… And Tresha Ad’Nort…” Tears began to drip down the girl’s cheeks, to mix with the blood in swirling rivulets. “I call them… Dar’Manda…” The other voice returned with a cruel laugh “Fair enough.” A shot filled the feed’s audio with an eruption of static and the girl’s face caved in from a slug. It hollowed out her mouth and exited below her skull, blowing chunks of braided hair offscreen. She collapsed, shuddering to the ground with wheezing coughs of blood. A cry of horror arose from his ranks, and Ad’nor Cadera fell to her knees with a cry of rage and the helpless horror of a mother who would never again hold her ad’ika. The sour sting of vomit clung to the back of his throat and Rahg removed his helmet to get fresh air. The air that greeted him clung to his nostrils with the stench of decomposing flesh. He emptied his dinner into the bog and closed his eyes against the horror. This evil had to be put to an end. He stood slowly, the raindrops cooling his overheated skin, washing away his sweat and mixing with his own tears of anger. At least we rescued one… He turned towards where Ki’Darva held the girl to find himself face to face with a demon. A vibroblade chewed through his throat, but he didn’t feel the pain. His eyes were wide as he looked into unblinking eyes marked with crimson and sulphur. They held no emotion other than the hunger of a beast. He had seen those eyes only once before, and they had haunted the nightmares of his childhood. As blood began to bubble from his throat he thought of The Great Shadow Crusade, and the nightmares that had been spawned from the holoreels into his mind as a child. He didn’t feel his knees hit the soft and clinging mud. He saw Ki’Darva’s mangled body twitching in the rain. He saw Ad’nor Cadera’s limp form fall beside him with smoke rising from three holes in her chest. He couldn’t hear Rhys screaming through the comlink in his helmet as his hands let it fall. The sound of jetpacks as a retreat was called washed over him and gravity began to pull upon him. He felt heavier than he ever had. The blazing ignition of a lightsaber and the screams of agony didn’t filter through as the world began to dim. The world was being replaced by light and It was truly beautiful. All he could hear was laughter, and all he felt was the embrace of love. Cyare... Life had left him before his bearded face fell into the mud.