Königreich des Teufels - Demolished Sith Academy (Carida)

[Guest]

As the night passed the Kaalian Sith slept. Sleep however eluded her as a very audible presence woke her up. Jacquelyn expected to see her Master next to her in bed, and even assigned the voice she’d heard to the man. Rather, she felt the voice of her old Master bringing her memory back his last seconds of breath and his last words:

“it was a accident, don’t seek revenge, Jacquelyn.”

 

The aforementioned words of young Jacquelyn’s old aster made her furious. “The spar was a calculated move to kill you for goodness sakes,” came Jacquelyn’s angry words. Pulling her sheets up above her the teen attempted to sleep, but anger consumed her. It was within those same moments that she heard a very audible voice- screaming. The scream subsided seconds after, and it was then she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that the scream came from none other than the Sith Lord, Cephi. It felt as though the scream she heard was driven by a sense of desperation rather than fear.

 

Despite Lord Cephi’s very audible scream, the teen attempted to fall back to sleep. She was after all commanded to do exactly that given the long journey ahead of her and the Sith Lord. As soon as sleep finally overcame the teen she saw a something. It was not a vision, but rather a captured moment akin to a holocron. In it Jacquelyn saw Lord Cephi sitting in a pool of blood while yet unfazed by what appeared to be opened flesh oozing out more blood from his body. Suddenly the scream Jacquelyn heard earlier made sense to her. For the second time in her attempt to sleep, the teen woke up- shaken by what she’d just experienced.

 

A quick look at her chronometer caused her to wake up and dress. Quickly moving, she prepared her bag for the journey ahead and then made her way out of her chamber, looking for the Sith Lord. Now allowing the Force to lead her, the Kaalian Sith walked through several halls before locating her Master. Unbeknownst to her the holocron was dead on. Jacquelyn found her master in a meditation position completely mutilated in a pool of blood.

 

Without thinking twice, she quickly made a turn backwards. She thought about calling in a medical droid to take care of the Cephi, but quickly decided against it. Quickly moving, the teen entered her Master’s room and located a new set of robe. Moving forward, she found the storage area that housed all the medical kits. Jacquelyn was no medic, but was privy in administering first aid. Next, the teen located a pan filled it with hot water, plus antiseptic and then moved back to the room where her was.

 

The sheer smell of burning flesh nearly caused the girl to gag. Kneeling down on her knee, the teen rolled up her sleeve and then began the tedious process of administering first aid. Words escaped the teen as her eyes saw the amount of damage Cephi’s body had endured. The man’s otherwise flawless skin was now covered with marks. His right lung nearly half mutilated. Now calling on the Force, Jacquelyn meticulously removed the sword, several hooks, and over large nail from the Sith Lord’s body. Shortly thereafter she dipped the towel in the pan of hot water and cautiously cleaned every ounce of blood on Cephi’s body- beginning with his head, and working her way down.

 

The entire cleansing process remained the teen of her own dilemma years ago. Her Jedi Master rescued her shortly after a deadly plane crush. Thankfully she lived due to her Jedi Master’s good care. Now even as she worked on the Sith Lord’s wound, she couldn’t help but push aside her time as a Jedi. Cephi’s wounds of curse were self inflicted whereas her’s were purely accidental. Jacquelyn applied bandage over her Master’s wounds, then helped him dress in a clean set of robe.

 

“There, much better,” Jacquelyn finally uttered with a short smile as she proceeded to land a kiss on the man’s cheek. She was more than ready to leave for the journey.

[Cephi]

Cephi's eyes flashed open as a warm feeling rushed to his cheek and he saw his apprentice Jacquelyn hovering over him. He was no longer up in the air, hoisted by the meat hooks he drove into his body the night before, instead he was on the floor, a short bit away from a pool of blood that was under where he had begun his ritual self multilation last night. Logically it seemed he had passed out during his meditation, probably due to extreme blood loss.

 

He looked at the warm and worried look in his lover's eyes and for the first time realized he was in a clean, untorn set of robes. His body didn't feel like the warm wet of blood was upon them, but upon tring to get his body up from the floor he felt the uncomfortable plastic-like feeling of adhesive from bandages throughout his body. She had helped him, though he did not need it, he was meant to endure it, survive it, use it to grow stronger. He appreciate the love she showed him, her loyalty would prove useful, and the more synoymous in the Force they ebcame, the more unstoppable they would become, yet this was something he would have to survive.

 

He got to his feet and began to remove the robes he had been changed into. "I appreciate your concern and care Jacquelyn," he started, his voice calm and collected as it had been after their duel the previous day, "But I was meant to endure this pain. A mark of a Sith Warrior is to be able to be shot, cut, stabbed, and mutilated but still not waiver, still carry on and fight until they cannot fight anymore."

 

The robes were now removed, and his body was bare to Jacquelyn but the Nagai felt no shame at her seeing him. He began to remove his bandages, and with each one a terrible rip echoed and a small drip of blood began to trickle down his body.

 

"Much the same as you are trianing to be a Sith Lord, I am training myself to push my boundaries and become a more powerful Sith. To become a Sith Master is something only few are selected for, but I will become one, and these tests are the only way to do so with my skillset."

 

He threw back on his robes Jacquelyn brought him and smiled at her, not trace of the pain coursing through his body. Once dressed, he leaned in toward Jacquelyn and gave her a quick kiss on her lips. Allowing his eyes to look into her eyes, seeing her worried more clearly than before.

 

"Do not worry about me, I have endured worse, how do you think I got the durasteel bones I have now?" he finished sarcastically with a raised eyebrow.

 

"Go ahead and grab your things at meet me at the ship, Jacquelyn."

 

He waited for her to leave and he grabbed his lightsaber, clipped it to his belt, and walked out of the Academy and stood in front of his beautiful ship awaiting his Apprentice.

[Guest]

Merely minutes upon cleaning up the Nagai’s wounds he was back tearing and ripping apart the bandages. A short thank you followed and then words that the teen was not quite ready to hear, but needed to:

"But I was meant to endure this pain. A mark of a Sith Warrior is to be able to be shot, cut, stabbed, and mutilated but still not waiver, still carry on and fight until they cannot fight anymore."

 

What more can she do at this point save to watch him complete removing the bandages. The female Sith felt numb as she watched her lover bare all right in front of her, and then change back. Meanwhile blood trickled down his body while he proceeded to explain what drove him to mutilate his body. Jacquelyn at the point sympathized with the Sith Lord- though he did not appear to be in pain.

 

A short kissed graced the teen’s lips, and then the Sith Lord spoke again. "Do not worry about me, I have endured worse, how do you think I got the durasteel bones I have now?"

 

“Quite frankly, I’d rather not guess.” Came Jacquelyn’s sincere response. Soon afterwards she made her way to her chamber, collected her belongings and then met her master on the ship- just as she’d been instructed.

[Cephi]

Cephi ushered his apprentice into his ship and escorted her to his co-pilots seat. Within a few moments he had pressed the right menagerie of buttons and toggles that lifted the superb ship into the air, and bolted toward the stars.

 

((continued in Space thread))

[Beck Pilon]

Eight-Seven watched from the viewport of an old Star Destroyer I named Iron Fist. It was a survivor of the very first Empire and was nearing the end of it's life of service. Eight-Seven doubted that it would see another battle after today maneuver. Looking at the Sith Temple in horizon, Eight-Seven smiled underneath his helmet and gave a quick order to his Brigade.

 

"Send the TIE Bomber Squadron, two squadrons of TIE Fighters and one support group of TIE Interceptors to scout the place. If nothing fires at them upon them getting in range, they have full permission to open fire."

 

The Imperial Commando then moved over to a deck officer on the bridge and gave him some orders.

 

"If there is resistance, have our full compliment of Sentinel-class landing crafts peeped and ready to go, along with six AT-AT's."

 

Eight-Seven moved back towards the center of the bridge to watch from the viewport as the senior officer of the Iron Fist came to stand next to him.

 

"I don't think any of this is needed. I'm pretty sure the place has been abandoned. Why not just send a few landing craft in and call the place ours?"

 

Eight-Seven turned and gave a look of disgust at the officer from behind his helmet. He was a man who had sat behind a desk and a useless war ship for far too long. Eight-Seven made a note to remember the mans rank and name.

 

"My orders are to level the place. Therefore, I will level the place. If we fail our assignment, you can tell me you told me so. If not... I'll make sure you're held to a court martial Captain Theondel."

[Beck Pilon]

(( 3-daying this Temple))

 

Eight Seven watched as the probe went in towards the Temple. As the got in range and no turbo lasers shot at them, attempted to stop them, or even hailed them, Eight Seven turned towards Captain Theondel and smiled at him as he spoke his orders.

 

"Give them full support. Warm up the long range turbo lasers, the squadrons have full permission to fire at will. Bring that thing down within five minutes."

 

At the given order, the TIE Interceptors raced forward, opening fire upon the outer walls and spires that were sticking out, striking at any weak point on the structure. The TIEs also swarmed in giving support the the Interceptors, opening fire anywhere they saw fit. As the TIE Bombers arrived, the dropped a full payload over the main point of the Temple in a very well coordinated bombing run. From the deck of the Iron Fist, Eight Seven watched and admired they handiwork done upon the Temple, almost to a point where he thought that the whole thing deserved it's own music done by some famous composer. As the TIE squadrons finished up their runs, and the TIE Bombers ran out of their payloads, emptying their explosive weapons, Eight Seven recalled them back to the ship. Upon the Squadrons getting out of range, Eight Seven gave the orders for the long range turbo lasers to open fire upon the remaining standing points of the Temple. After six minutes and thirty three seconds passed from the first order, the Sith Temple lay in a smoking pile of rock and stones.

 

"Send word to Command, the Sith Temple is no more. Now Captain Theondel, you may go with the compliment of Sentinel-class landing crafts and remove any survivors. My command should be well known for leaving none..."

[Kyrie Eleison]

Kyrie reached out with a gloved hand, placing it on the girl’s shoulder as they walked, letting her fire pass into her, to assuage the rising fear within her. As the Sith Temple came into view, she could feel a rising fear from behind her, even in the ranks of the battle-hardened stormtroopers who now stood at her command. She turned to Kala using the Force to speak into her mind once more

 

“The Order of Exorcists was formed during the first invasion of the Galaxy by Sith Forces before the days of the Republic. Our purpose is to meet the forces of darkness with that of the light, and establish Harmony. We fight the demons and the evil the Sith create head on.”

 

She conjured forth her own memories, fighting the Sith Lord Lockjaw on the steps of Gala’s Praxeum and passed the vision to her apprentice. Her triumph over evil, even in the face of the death of hundreds of hopefuls and Jedi around her. She still bore the scars from the evil she had fought.

 

“We will fight against evil, Kala. Our path is not one of safety like the council on Tython, hiding on a hidden world. We fight to save others from the tangible evil which strikes from the shadows, to prevent others from having to suffer our fate…”

 

The stench of death rose about them as they walked, the smell of the battlescarred Sith temple beginning to work its way into their nostrils. The two squads of stormtroopers fanned out around them, rifles at the ready. It had been some time since their initial attack, but Evil seldom died easily. Kyrie placed her hand around the long hilt of her saber-staff, reaching into the Force to calm and steady herself and her apprentice.

“Be ready Kala…”

[Kala Ianauria]

Kyrie reached out with a gloved hand, placing it on the girl’s shoulder as they walked, letting her fire pass into her, to assuage the rising fear within her. As the Sith Temple came into view, she could feel a rising fear from behind her, even in the ranks of the battle-hardened stormtroopers who now stood at her command. She turned to Kala using the Force to speak into her mind once more.

 

Kyrie’s fire lessoned those cold and dark places created by the insidious bite of fear, cleansing Kala’s soul. As the fire burned away the worst of the darkness, she began to feel lighter. She opened eyes she had never realized had been closed and looked upon the world with a new viewpoint. She started with the Sith Temple and saw the ruin for what it was.

 

Dangerous and unpredictable but without power of its own, dead ground waiting to be reclaimed by the light.

 

She checked that her small blaster remained fully charged and that her spare power packs were easily and ready to be reached a moment’s notice.

 

“The Order of Exorcists was formed during the first invasion of the Galaxy by Sith Forces before the days of the Republic. Our purpose is to meet the forces of darkness with that of the light, and establish Harmony. We fight the demons and the evil the Sith create head on.”

 

When Kyrie spoke of confronting the forces of darkness head on, Kala felt a stirring deep inside her soul that added power to the flame given to her by Kyrie. That stirring, when she centered herself and focussed on it, guided her to a path she’d never considered. It led her to two conclusions, which she needed to think about after the battle. Important ones, she thought, but her scant time with the Jedi order had already taught her patience and the need to know before acting despite her very short sixteen years of life.

 

“Master,” she said to Kyrie, “I came looking for a Master to teach me how to be a Jedi. Yet something in me stirs when you talk of the Exorcists and dealing with darkness head on. I’ve a good feeling about joining your order.”

 

The other conclusion she left unsaid, understanding that one day she would need to return home and deal with her mother and her place in Kuati society.

 

She conjured forth her own memories, fighting the Sith Lord Lockjaw on the steps of Gala’s Praxeum and passed the vision to her apprentice.

 

As Kyrie spoke to her mind, Kala absorbed the images, feeling the battle as if she’d had been there. She felt wonder at Kyrie’s ability, then realized that Kyrie had been speaking to her most of the way from the office where they had met.

 

Verbally, she said to Kyrie, “If we are going to keep speaking like this, maybe you can teach me how to reach your mind as well. It could be useful in a variety of situations.”

 

She well remembered having to stand still at various family functions, dying to gossip with another girl nearby but forced by etiquette to silently endure. That seemed silly at first thought, but she knew that there were deadly serious situations were passing information silently would be a wonderful ability to have.

 

When Kala stopped speaking and focused on her memory of Kyrie’s memory, she noticed a scar on Kyrie’s arm shaped like a stylized comet in flight. Her mind fixed on that pattern and kept it near to the forefront of her consciousness. She felt its importance but did not understand it.

 

The two squads of stormtroopers fanned out around them, rifles at the ready.

 

As the Stormtroopers began to fan out, Kala stepped back so that they had to pass her as they did so. She remembered a rare lesson from her father telling her that simple gestures mean a great deal, especially before something like this. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed that as she touch each Stormtrooper, the fire lit by Kyrie stirred within her flaring briefly.

 

She might have imagined it, but each trooper seemed to straighten a little or look backward a split second before taking up their places. What she didn’t imagine was the feedback that flowed into her fingertips with each touch. Some brought strength, others brought courage, but she mainly noticed that as she did so, her world widened. It was if she was waking up and seeing her small section of the world expand a little at a time. It left a little dazed and confused, eventually resulting in a small stumble as she reached for one trooper who moved just outside of her reach.

 

A quick thinking trooper behind that one reached out and steadied her for the moment it took the dizziness to pass. The prolonged contact with the trooper left her little doubt that something was happening within her, but she had no name for what was happening. What she did know was that the trooper behind her disliked nobles, having seen his father abused by one in his childhood.

 

Her statement about true nobility had shaken him and now he waited to see if her actions matched her words. He actually hoped that it was true.

“So do I,” she whispered, a small sliver of childhood doubt forcing the words from her.

 

Once she found herself emotionally and physically steady, she silently thanked him and rejoined her master. As she stepped up, a stray lock of her hair swung forward into her periphery vision. She stopped for a moment and caught the fringe to look at it.

 

Instead of the normal jet-black color of her hair, the tip of that lock now looked to be a pail blonde, almost an exact imitation of the fire that had wreathed Kyrie’s hand. Kala looked from the lock to Kyrie for moment before tucking the strand back into place and taking a deep breath setting her question aside as best she could.

 

“Shall we begin master?”

[Kyrie Eleison]

Kyrie reached out into the Force, grasping the strands of the connection she was forging with Kala and illuminated them in the physical realm. They appeared as silver strands, not unlike the silken tendrils woven by the arachnids she had seen flitting about and hunting in her cell on Ord Mantell. As they walked she wrapped the strands about them, and the song sprang to life. To Kala a distant verse began to rise into her mind, as if a million voices of yore were filtering through the strands about them.

 

All our visions of sweet tomorrow Is cracking and fading away, hopes of glory are drowned in sorrow, this dissension expels us to yesterday…

 

Kyrie spoke softly as they walked, her peripheral vision picking up the Stormtrooper’s reactions to the rising Song and the appearance of the bond. Her voice wavered, her strength flowing into her lesson instead of into strengthening her tongue

 

“I speak through our b-bond. It is w-weak a-as w-we do not yet f-fully kn-now each other. It is b-based on our u-understanding of each other… I-It is like a s-shared h-heartbeat, a s-song…”

The yawning entrance of the Sith Temple formed in the fading Cardian twilight. Its once grand superstructure was crumbling, exposed rebar showing through fractured permacrete like the bones of a Bantha, half-picked clean of flesh by scavengers. The squad leaders reached into their packs and cracked glowrods, illuminating the fractured doorway with pale yellow light. Kyrie’s voice became a horse whisper, but was strengthened and carried by the Force

“Switch to nightvision, disable glowrods. If we come into contact and we are forced to fight, have light compensation active. If we make contact, light them up. Weapons to stun, harder to block with a lightsaber.., Let’s not make ourselves targets.”

 

Kyrie centered herself, focusing on the songs that began to play about her within the Force. There was eerie silence interrupted by the distant hum of the Stormtrooper’s nightvision HUDs activating. She picked through the songs in the Force, recognizing chills of fear and apprehension coming from her squads, she amplified her apprentice’s reassurance before eliminating the song from her mind. She needed to feel it if any enemies made an approach. With a strong hand, she guided her apprentice behind her as the stepped through the door. She forsook auditory speech, and spoke through The Force instead, adding only silence.

 

“Focus on your heartbeat, find your center and take control of it. Your body is your sacred ground. From that center, expand your circle of control out beyond your physical. Feel my presence in the Force, and find your way in the darkness. Just as Kuati hawkbats fly by night using only their reflexive radar, so shall we.”

Kyrie could hear the same distant voice through The Force she had heard in orbit but much more unmistakable. It was singular in voice, darkly veiled into the background of The Force, dripping with a malice she had not felt since Gala.

 

...Kûsk… Asha… Qyâsik…

 

The voice centered on her as she stepped deeper into the entranceway. It was as if an all seeing eye had turned into her soul. She felt completely exposed within the darkness. It was clinging to her with a thousand hands, tearing at her flesh, treading the paths that the Sith Lord had made upon her flesh and her innocence. A slow hiss escaped her lips as she focused on the eternal flame of the Force, letting it burn away her fear. Into their bond, Kyrie passed a warning of danger to Kala. The Force roiled in her mind, boiling like a hotspring in tarsands. From the darkness about them a deep laugh rolled about them like thunder

 

...Rhak-skuri Exorcists… Esvkerd-shuni...

[Kala Ianauria]

When Kyrie pushed Kala behind her, Kala felt a gauntleted hand grip on her shoulder. She turned to find the trooper whom had steadied her earlier gently guiding her to a position just to the left and behind of Kyrie. He motioned for her to take cover behind the remnants of what had once been a heavily decorated pillar.

 

Once she felt safe, she fell into herself in the manner described by Kyrie. She found that doing so while having the Sith ruins looming above her, her own emotions and those of the Stormtroopers roiling about her made the task harder to complete than it sounded or looked.

 

Still, her time at the Jedi temple had drilled one precept into her mind again and again, “Do or do not, there is not try.”

 

So she kept repeating the exercise, repeatedly searching for that location within herself where peace reigned no matter the exterior chaos. She found that calm as Kyrie began to sing, a she began to weave the threads of the Force.

 

From within that space a song flowed outwards. It was faint as befitted her level of skill but familiar. It was a song that she’d head since she’d first began to appreciate music, from before the lessons with the various tutors through the years, from her earliest toddler memories. It was a song it would take her a lifetime to fully understand and one she would call Kyrie’s Song.

 

It was also the only piece of music whose final form she noted as being completely unfinished.

 

“Come children, gather to the sound

Of the crying child

Cold, Shivering, alone in the night,

Emptied Bellied, gnawed by hunger,

In the Dark, unnamed.

 

Listen for the keening mother,

Her children stolen, her heart in ashes

Worm ridden, her mind torn asunder,

In the Dark, hopeless.

 

See the weeping father,

With tears falling softly, quietly,

Shoulders bowed, hollow eyed

In the Dark, Voiceless.

 

We hear the song of the Light,

Our might we have gathered,

That we may save

Those lost in the night.

 

At that moment standing just inside the ruins of the former Sith temple, though, the song’s words lay years in her future. She remained outwardly still, fascinated by the power she so faintly touched that swept her along and allowed her to feel another expansion of her consciousness.

 

Concentrating, she stayed focused, simply allowing herself to feel the Force, pulsing with sound and life and fire around her

 

She let the song pulse through her, riding the waves of the music outward until she found her masters beat within the music of the Force, caressed that beat, and opened herself to it till their souls ever so slightly beat in near harmony.

 

When they connected, she experienced a brief vision, as if trusting Kyrie with such a simple touch opened a door to a possibility and she glimpsed a woman with hair the color of Kyrie’s fire, around whose neck a chain circled and from which dangled a black pendant crystal pendant. In the center of the pendant lay a single star in much the same pattern as Kala had seen before.

 

Even as Kyrie’s warning came to her, Kala heard something speak to her over the song. A darkness that was only a pale reflection shared through Kyrie’s link, but one that threatened to overwhelm Kala’s fledgling abilities.

 

Reluctantly, she let go of the song and descended into silence, the better to await an attack no matter the form it might take.

[Kyrie Eleison]

Kyrie placed a partially gloved hand on the crumbling entranceway, using the cool physical touch of permacrete interrupt the darkness trying to invade her mind, letting the mental interruption invigorate her. Reaching into their bond, she could hear Kala’s own song defining itself within the Force. The words were hauntingly beautiful, clear and refreshing in the voice of the young woman. The refrains touched upon the Kuati’s past and her eventual future. It gave the Exorcist hope to see another touch The Song within the Force, even Xae had been unwilling to dive into the rhythms of the night.

 

A vision of a woman with hair of silver rose into their bond, seemingly unbidden by Kala, as a small tremor of shock followed the apparition’s rise. Kyrie reached a hand back to the girl to steady her physically

 

“Who is that woman, Kala? Her pendant is famil-”

 

...Snap-hiss...

 

A crimson light overpowered the darkness, protruding through the chest of the stormtrooper on the far right flank. His gurgling cry was cut short as the attacker cut the blade free from the man’s chest. As the armored form fell, the light from the Sith’s lightsaber revealed its form. It was a muscular Nautolan with black tattoos etched into his scarlet flesh. A shout of warning echoed through the Stormtrooper’s helmet comlinks, and a hail of blue fire overwhelmed the Sith in a shower from the weapons of the remaining stormtroopers. Kyrie’s voice echoed through the chamber, reflecting off the stoned walls and tiled floor. She had not sensed his approach, and it frightened her

 

“Weapons active, put down all resistance with extreme prejudice!”

 

Within her chest she could feel the songs of war beginning to rise, much as they had on Gala. Into the Force she passed assurance and strength. From her lips, silver fire wreathed its way about herself and her padawan, a breath of living flame. The room alight with the silver reflection, revealing a dozen shadowed figures. In response to the rising power of the light, the Sith ignited their lightsabers, or raised their weapons. There was six Sith Troopers, armed with blasters and swords, and amongst them stood the lightsaber wielding Sith, who no longer bothered to conceal their presence within The Force. At their head stood a Duros clothed in robes of darkness. His lightsaber was held low in his left hand, while his other hand held a growing storm of lightning. Beside him stood a Twi’lek female who’s double bladed lightsaber showed a lithe form with scant clothing

 

...Krath and Assassins…

 

Kyrie raised her hand, directing her troops upon the Sith Troopers, and passing a suggestion to Kala. She illuminated a red-haired Wookiee, who held a lightsaber in a low guard, his fangs dripping with frothing drool

 

“Destroy the mad-claw… I’ll handle the Masters.”

 

The young Exorcist stepped forward as a hail of blasterfire whirled about them in a storm. She pivoted on one foot, sweeping her body under a hail of flechette rounds, keeping her long-handled lightsaber within her right hand, but unlit. The heat of the Twi’lek’s saber-slash passed a few centimeters from her nose, scorching one of her braids in a flash of fire. The stench of ozone mixed with burning hair filled her nostrils as she rolled beneath the follow-up by the Twi’lek. She rolled into the knees of the Twi’lek, slamming her flaming palm into the girl’s unclothed chest.

 

The pure light of Exorcist’s fire leapt between her fingers as she touched the Twi’lek’s chest at her sternum, the silver light burrowing deep into The Sith’s flesh. Exorcist’s fire was meant to purge corruption, and with its touch, the Sith’s body began to convulse as the burning hole in her chest began to spread, the skin and ribcage dissolving away into ash, revealing the corrupted organs beneath, before they too were consumed by the wildfire. Kyrie stood as the body fell before her, her normally emerald eyes alight with a mix of silvers and yellows.

 

Lightning descended like an electric cage about Kyrie, pain roaring through her mind like a banshee on the winds of Hades. She kept her footing and channeled the lightning into usable energy for her muscles, sending her into an uncontrolled leap towards the Duros from whom the lightning emerged. Her forehead met the thin leather of the nasal bridge and eye sockets of the Duros, fracturing the delicate bone and cartilage structure. His shocked gasp was cut short as she hooked her lightsaber’s handle about his thin neck and shoulder, tossing him sprawling, to be cut down by a bout of blaster fire from his own men.

 

She smiled as she looked to the remaining Sith who began to move to attack her, feeling a slow drip of blood from her forehead. She reached out through the Force to her apprentice, encouraging her in her own combat with the Sith mad-claw. The Sith Voice within the Song was unchanged, and continued its taunting Song

 

...Ava Báèģan Kủrsk Exorcists…

[Kala Ianauria]

The music of the Force changed violently when a Crimson Blade emerged from one of the while armored Troopers. Kala felt his death, felt the blow through the Force. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes as his last thought drifted to her.

 

Kala watched as he said goodbye to a mother trying to hold back her tears, trying to be brave for a son departing their rural homestead. The human arm of his father wrapped around the woman’s shoulder, while a metallic one with the markings of an Imperial design lay limp at his side. His face a mask, the father stood trying to let go his son. Grief warred with pride across the scarred planes of his face.

 

His name had been Charles. His strength mingled with hers, a last, temporary gift to see her through the day.

 

Even as his song faded, she heard a strange note coming from somewhere irritatingly close yet tantalizingly far. An instinct located deep within her core urge her to trust the note, to reach out and grasp the ephemeral sound and bring it close.

 

She did so, yet nothing happened that she could detect

.

The instant ended the moment Kyrie’s Exorcist fire outlined the Wookie. Kala locked eyes with him and saw more than madness reflected in those eyes. A mix of intelligence, sadism, and madness show forth and let her know that this was not an assassin sent to kill her, but a trained and ruthless killer dedicated to causing pain and suffering.

 

Her world narrowed until it just contained the two of them. She fell deep into the Force, deep into the song and sensed the notes from the Wookie. His song felt discordant, causing a dark wound in the otherwise living Force around them. Even as she noted his blight, she felt a joyful, hope filled song rising to resist against his evil. Her experience too short, she did not recognize her own.

 

In keeping with a Credo dating back to the first Dark Side user, he struck first. He lept in a high arch from his position towards Kala, his crimson lightsaber tracing intricate patterns as he sought to clear the way and create a devastating first strike. A strike that had it landed, would have ended her young life by burying her beneath hundreds of kilograms of Wookie muscle and fur.

 

Blindly following the Song, she danced out of its way towards the bright note she’d heard earlier. Again she tried to grab that note, again she failed and she recognized she needed to go and retrieve it for herself. The thought slowed her enough that the Wookie’s offhand claws slashed her across her back, digging deep furrows and creating agonizing pain that dimmed the volume of the Song.

 

Bereft of the Song’s guidance and thinking the Wookie off balance from the attack she turned towards Wookie and launched her own attack. The Wookie, less off balance than she realized, blocked her vibroblade with his bracer. He reached over with the hand holding the lightsaber, gripped the blade, and shattered it.

 

He laughed, spraying spittle across her face.

 

Desperate, she pulled her small blaster and unleased a small barrage of bolts at the maddened creature. The Wookie responded by slicing the weapon in half.

 

Forgetting that she was not alone, Kala felt despair, felt that her life was moments away from ending. Surrendered.

 

The Force’s Song returned louder and clearer than before, carried with it a fire that had not been there before. Again she heard the note from before, only this time it carried a note of fire she had not noticed before. The song propelled her into back flip away from the Wookie, moments before it unleashed a shower of rocks and debris from the Temple floor.

 

She almost leaped clear, except for a splinter from her own sword and a stone caught in the wake of the Wookie’s Force power that pierced her shoulder and cracked against her ribs. Those wounds, plus the ones on her back made the landing a rough one, but she managed to stand back up and found herself facing a glass covered pedestal holding a single lightsaber.

 

Its size identified it either as a double bladed one, or fit for something immense. A note came from the saber, making it seem as familiar as if she’d crafted it herself. Without hesitation, she reached out and took the weapon from the pedestal, not seeing the emblem of a silver star engraved on the opposite side.

 

Both her own physical senses and the Song of the Force told her the small space that contained the lightsaber did not make a place she wanted to fight the Wookie in. Finding the activation studs, she pressed them and heard the snap-hiss of a lightsaber being ignited.

 

The pit glowed with the light that reached towards and reflected from the ruin of the ceiling.

 

Despite her wounds, she jumped out of the pit, the glow of her blade cleansing the shadows from the ruins. A blade glowing the color of an exorcist’s fire.

 

The Wookie stepped back in surprise, witnessing more than a young, inexperienced Padawan rising from the pit and instead thinking it faced a tall, blonde female Jedi of far greater experience. Those with Kala saw the tall blonde woman overlaying Kala’s actual appearance.

 

Over the next few moments, the two traded a succession of blows with neither getting the upper hand.

 

To the experienced troopers, they saw a young, wounded Padawan overcoming the limitations of her experience and her wounds to slowly overcome her savage opponent.

 

Those whom spared a glance at the fight at the right moment saw the Wookie acknowledge it was going to lose. The brute jumped back and gathered Dark Side energy about itself, a last desperate attempt to wring victory and continue living.

 

Kala, charging, caught the dark fire the Wookie unleashed on the blade of her saber . The fire flowed down the blade and into her. Something in her rose up, a pure white fire that burned even brighter, seeking the source of the dark.

 

That white fire left a flame burning deep within her. She felt the worst of her wounds close as the rest left her by way of the blade and arced towards the Wookie.

 

He physically burned at the touch of Kala’s fire. His death did not come quickly, Kala not having any control over the strength of her exorcist’s fire. His remains, including the burned handle of his lightsaber fell to the ground, smoking and stinking of burned flesh, hair and melted electrical components.

 

Kala, limping, walked to stand beside Kyrie. She held her bruised and battered body upright, drawing on the Song of the Force to push away her remaining pain.. She wondered help much she had left and decided it did not matter. She had a job to do.

 

Over her shoulder, she looked at the trooper whose rank tabs indicated he commanded the two squads. Pointing to the deceased Charles, she said, “When the time comes, I’ll write the letter home to his parents. Make them proud.”

 

Turning back to her Master, she said, “Let’s move forward. We both know there’s more out there.”

[Exodus]

• Contours of a cramped ship filled with supplies descended from the moonlit upper atmosphere. The vessel sank into a thick of clouds as black as coals while the spirit of the Caridan wind mauled the rusted durasteel. The old ship shuddered with cold shakes from the crisp climate, but it was the undeniable extension of darkness inside the transport that carried worse horrors.

 

The moon was leaking ivory tears of madness through the shoulders of the registered tradecraft, and the pilot would either drink or drown in the unhinged downpour. Communication channels were a feverish riot with the downfall of the Sith Temple and the appropriation that was sure to follow. A once illustrious fortress burned to bare remains with a smoulder of unfaithful fire that still licked the flesh wounds of the innocent. There were demons beneath those rocks of course, but many bodies of crimeless children were fatally maimed and disfigured to get to them. There existed an evil in all of us, even the ones who claimed otherwise. These places knew that well, places that learned all of the lies, learned that there was no peace, that peace was a lie. There are places that listened with a careful ear while they whispered these sweet deceits to one another and then chased their passions beneath the covers; there was only ever passion, but they would tell you to forsake it entirely. Yet the tale of the Jedi is one told over and over, a hope to escape our true natures. These places know their words, but watch as those same ideals run rampant over broken corpses with their weapons drawn and their words of peace and surrender nowhere to be found. My chains are broken.

 

The trade chariot manoeuvred the cover of dusk and the smog of havoc that lingered in the air as if there was perfect clairvoyance on how to remain unseen and undetected. There wasn’t a single being that could smell, see or feel what had arrived. And once the small ship settled in a fallow location, the man inside would wake to feel his spirit bound to the heartbeats that were scattered across these forests. He touched the side of his face and felt the cold black metal of his mask, and while it just covered from his mouth to his nose, the strange piece of equipment would then unhitch and unfold to cover the entirety of his face. As he tightened a wire across the length of his left arm, he brushed the silks of spider that fashioned his whole physique. The low emission vessel cooled whole and the pistons that reared the ramp released. And lo, as the metal planted itself into the dirt, the evanescent shadow descended from blackened clouds to a broken kingdom and smiled behind a metal face bearing no crown. Their heartbeats were so loud, the excitement of blood and death called to him as if it were a mistress that could no longer deny his touch, the waltz of murder was common to his people. Now, death itself dismounted the old star-traveling steed and aligned his nose to the euphoric aromas. The mud, the rubble, the fear, the fire, he could hear and taste the euphonious pleasantries that each of them sung but, there was another song that caught his attention— He vanished to a chase like a wolf, chasing the moon's ivory tears.

[Kyrie Eleison]

Kyrie’s face alight with a proud smile, watching the hand of her apprentice scorch the darkness from the flesh of the madclaw, taking with it its life. The smile turned to concern as she watched Kala’s shoulders tighten with the pain of her wounds, but her momentary concern was cut off by the dying screams of one of the Sith troopers, his back shattered by a concussive grenade. His scream was wrenchingly human, marked with fear and the sharp pains of splintered bone. WIth a flash of the Rodian Sith’s crimson blade, a sizzling pain echoed through the Song and the man’s agony was cut short. Beside the Rodian, the remaining two Sith raised their blades in defiance to the approaching stormtroopers, their ivory armor reflecting in deep carmine.

 

The two Sith Lords, a Bothan, whose chestnut coat was stained in the running of his blackened blood from a gaping wound to his chest, and a female human, raised their voices in a roar and charged towards the advancing squads of Stormtroopers. In the vanguard, Kyrie dove, withdrawing her longbow from its place on her back, beneath a hail of stunbolts from her squad, their sapphire flame arcing like lightning through the darkened room. The Sith female dropped to her knees, her body overcome by seizures. She cried out in pain, and was silenced as two Stormtroopers added half a dozen bolts into her chest, sprawling across the tiled floor in convulsions.

 

Kyrie rose from her tumble, bringing her knee into the chest of the Bothan, feeling the searing pain as the Sith’s lightsaber skittered across her armored chest, adding a deep furrow to the pale flesh of her abdomen. She hooked the stave of the bow into the leg of the Bothan and tossed him to the floor, where a Stormtrooper put several stun rounds into his feline face. The young Exorcist notched an arrow, its silvered broadhead picking up the glimmering light of the Rodian’s Darkside attack. As the lightning arced into her, Kyrie loosed the arrow through the oncoming storm. As the flesh on her left arm blistered from the lightning, the arrow passed through the elongated lips of the Sith Master, driving the broadhead through his jawline and into the roof of his mouth. Passing through the soft palate, the steel broadhead forced its way through the fatty tissues of the Rodian Brain, bisecting the mesencephalon, where it blinded and paralyzed him, before exiting the back of his skull in a grisly rain of viridescent blood, bone and scalp. The Rodian was tossed back into the crumbling permacrete, where he hung like a mobile over the crib of an infant, a coursing river of jade dripping from his worn boots.

 

Kyrie motioned the medic to treat Kala’s wounds as they inspected the fallen bodies of unconscious or slain Sith. She applied a thick coating of bacta to her injuries before a simple bandage. She deflected the pain into her fire, letting the pain ebb away, leached by the burning flame within her. The young exorcist motioned to Kala,

“You’ve surpassed your own ability with the help of the light. It gifts us at time with incredible strength… But it is fleeting. The voices of evil remain, and grow stronger. The Songs have changed almost imperceptibly...”

 

She trailed off, notching another arrow into her bowstring. The fletching was course on her fingertips, and it brought back memories of the hunts on Tython in which she brought down the avians from which she had made them. She stepped assuredly into the darkness of the next chamber, the light of the glowrods illuminating the crumbling stones. It appeared as a throneroom and banqueting hall, its formally grand ceiling fallen in many places. From the throne, the voice spoke, hollow and deadly

 

“Aừvien… I am Lord of this Sanctuary… I might as well be Dark Lord…”

 

The glowrods revealed a Togorian, massive in form, his dark coat rippling with muscles. He rose to standing, his bare chest painted crimson in the symbols of the Sith. In each hand, he bore a dark handled lightsaber, wicked and fang-like in form.

[Kala Ianauria]

Kala took a moment to catch her breath. Her lungs, shoulder, and back still ached despite the healing from the light side of the Force. As her desperate eased, as she let go of the Force, the full extent of her injuries and exactly what she managed came flooding in. Between the pain, stench of the battlefield and the fact she’d fought and won against a far superior foe the reality of being a barely trained Padawan completely overwhelmed her. She went down to her left knee, her right arm resting on the other and holding her suddenly weary head up.

 

One of the troops with them came over and and gently applied bacta laced bandages to her shoulder after removing the sliver of her sword and the scratches to her back. Both healed enough so that she could stand upright without much difficulty. She knew that she needed time to fully heal but she knew she could go on.

 

There was little help for the weariness that threatened to overcome her. After the bacta took hold and after she caught hold of her emotions, she straightened up and looked around the room.

 

To her mortification, a sudden flurry of hiccups escaped her lips created by the relief of survival.

 

She reached down and picked up two of the sidearms from a fallen trooper.

 

Kala took a moment to center herself in the Force. It took more than a few calming breaths to center herself, to bring herself back to the state which allowed her to access the Force. It was not as easy as it was when doing so at the Temple. She found a more powerful flame at her core, as if her trial and dependence on the light left her slightly stronger with the Force.

 

Looking to Kyrie, she said, “Mine was destroyed and I am not ready to go without one. Is it okay if I keep this lightsaber and these blasters?”

[Exodus]

His extreme forward momentum would have naturally hastened his patterns of breath, but the dark immersion of his viscera was overwhelmingly effective and kept his signature to an imperceptible purr. His mass was a machine of efficient control and power, an exactness and precision not seen in all the realms. His movements blended with the cover of the dark skies as if they were one and the same, but it wasn’t because of the lack of light that he remained invisible—it would be truer to say that the light itself cowered in sight of the man. There would be none, and the dark of the moon would blanket this side of the planet for hours to come. The audible encompass of the Dark Lord was even more impressive; the blades of the broken meadows, the beat of his footsteps and the brush of his raiment produced zero tone or vibration. The assassin seemed to drift inside and out of a corporeality parallel to this one with his swift silence. What could be heard however was the sound of explosions, the sound of blasters and the sound of screams. He drew near to the source, and noticed that the heartbeats fell one after the other. The spill of the force on the battlefield was a leak for the wise to see and the hunter to track. It was all indiscreet and wasteful, but measured with assured destruction.

 

The shadow studied the terrain, terrain he was all too familiar with. The voices of those he hunted were far but he could dissect them with the windfall of the inexhaustible force. It was his carnivorous approach he leaned on; a sensory-adept predator. From his hand, he unfurled his fist and allowed a few small pieces of equipment to roll from his possession. He moved closer now, with a clean trace of the formation of the trespassers. The soil was gouged deep surrounding the temple, or what was left of it. “Turbolasers.” Exodus pressed his hand to the earth and could conceptualize the attack, the metal bark of his mask hid his sadistic smile. Closer, ethereal, and remarkably meticulous was how he premeditated this whole advance. The troupe had entered the collapsed temple regardless of tact, and with their numbers they would be choked for space and maneuverability. Not to mention, they would be further hard-pressed for light. Exodus trailed the unnerved travelers into the scrambled architecture as well and took mental note of the fallen, the accoutrement, and the significance of those who remained, even checking their vitals before passing. While the distraction of battle was ahead, Exodus ransacked the dead. Another overlooked and key expediency.

 

• “Aừvien…”

 

Exodus thundered with acceleration, as the roar of another Sith echoed through the dismantled building, he knew his play was now. The Dark Lord blurred around a felled corner loaded with cobblestones and handled the three items inside his hand. His fingers roughed their interface and then looked up to lay his eyes on what his sense could already feel. He remained out of sight, and laughed inside at how the small and unkempt force focused their draw on a single Togorian. Their deficiency in strategic formations would not change any time soon, for it seemed that the pattern was to push forward and raid the temple in no tempered coordination. They fell in line with a single woman however, and another that trailed with a hard limp. “One teacher, one apprentice. The singers of songs.” Their songs would do nothing to eliminate the dark side taint that was in overabundance within this horrific temple; especially now in the wake of a heavy bombardment that killed innocents and the guilty in one fell swoop, as well as the trail of bodies that these Jedi had left for the Reaper. It would take a much higher concentration of song, or a few that have mastered the side of Light as well as much more time. None of that existed here, their time had run out, and the long tapestries of evil was soaked within the walls and permanent within these soils. The taint would eat at the minds of all here and at their physical bodies with quick erosion. It was in heavy miscalculation that anything but the wielders of the dark stepped foot within these broken walls so soon. It was a surprise that such powerful Sith had fallen with only two stormtroopers to show for it, especially inside of their own home, but Exodus understood that the odds would be rectified shortly.

 

 

• “Aừvien… I am Lord of this Sanctuary… I might as well be Dark Lord…” Exodus listened, closed his eyes, and focused.

[Kyrie Eleison]

Into the veil of the Force, Kyrie’s song slowed in its rhythm, steadying its pace to gather its strength, as an arachnid weaves a web before dropping onto a glimwing. The fire in her heart was a furnace, consuming pain and errant emotions, sharpening her mind like a sword on a whetstone. Each pass on the blade honed her mind, concentrating the song into the bond of master to apprentice.

 

The Exorcist stepped towards the Togorian, passing her hand before her in the fashion of a musician strumming the lyre. Silver flame passed in strands about them, and the web was spun in the Song. The squads of Stormtroopers took up covering positions, equally covering the Sith Master and the rest of the room, their HUD’s scanning for any perceptible movement. Their minds were set in battle, instinct through training ruling over their base emotions, waves of stun set to rise from blaster-rifles like a chorus of paralysis, to wreak havoc on the neurological systems of any that moved.

 

Kyrie twisted her head slightly, eliciting a crack from her neck. She could feel the eyes of the Togorian settle upon her, his jaw dripping with the desire to devour her, to strip her of her dignity, and consume her soul. His song was as monstrous as his form, malevolent in its words as it flowed from his beastial mind.

 

I’ll bring you up... Look into your eyes... As you beg for your life…

 

Kyrie placed her longbow on her back, letting the long handle of her lightsaber find its strength in her grip. Vom Tag started in a low guard, to deal with vicious and careless attackers. Into their bond, the young Exorcist bid Kala to prepare for an assault. Her fire began to spread, each step of her blackened boots leaving a trail of light, eating away the darkness like acid dripped onto flesh. Her voice was soft as she replied to the Sith who considered her prey, the words marked with distaste

 

“Speaker of the voice, beacon of this temple… Perverted Lord, I bid you to leave…”

 

The words soured her lips, and her tongue bid her not continue

 

“We have not slaughtered your people… They lay in sleep unwakeable, but with the hands of careful healers.”

 

The Togorian’s fangs dripped with malice, his spiked tongue running across them as if he could already savour her rent flesh in his maw

 

“You have this chance to leave, to retreat to Korriban with your wounded, to never return. If you do not, I w-”

 

The Togorian made his attack, launching from his haunches in a spring of fury at the mention of retreat. A slight movement of Kyrie’s face betrayed her disappointment.

 

...They never choose to save themselves, Kala, never expect surrender to be from them… Genuine… They choose hate, and thus death...

 

The duelly ignited crimson blades of the Sith crashed past her as she stepped to the side, utilizing the beast's own inertia to avoid his first attack, meant to catch her by surprise. The Stormtroopers held their fire, allowing their Knight the honor of single combat, ready to strike anything that came to interrupt. Kyrie danced away from the beast, circling him out of reach, letting the Song’s flow guide her. She reached into the beast’s darkness, finding his connections to the rage that he embodied and passed her Song into them. He struck at her with vicious passes of his dual blades, driving at her in unpredictable ferocity

 

...Death, it awaits both gods and men… Death, to all men, coming home again…

 

The Togorian roared, brownish drool dripping from his maw, to make their fall onto the stone cobbles. The beast's power was like a tree in autumn, its leaves slowly stripping away by the march into winter. His back was to the darker greater hall and before him was the entrance, lined with stormtroopers behind cover with overlapping fields of fire. The tiled cobbles showed the tracing pattern of Kyrie’s dance in silvered flame

 

“Fight me blade to blade, pitiful Jeedai… I AM THE DARKNESS!”

[Jareth]

As the Raven's engines slowed to sub-light speeds in a low orbit around Carida, Jareth allowed his consciousness to encompass the planet.

 

The terrain, structures, and living things within all began to piece themselves together within his mind.

 

Jareth searched through the void of lower life to find sentience and, as he did, pressed his presence into their minds. Subtly, but enough that anyone skilled would know he was there, and could infer his intent. He wished to re-join the Sith and re-introduce himself to the world of the living.

 

The Sith Master waited patiently for a response. He had slept for decades, days or weeks that it might take someone skilled enough to notice him to arrive were of no concern. He had nothing but time.

[Kala Ianauria]

Kala rose to join her Master in combat against the Togorian, but a friendly hand landed on her shoulder and turned her around. She looked into the eye lenses of the Stormtrooper whom caught her earlier. The man shook his head imperceptibly, an incredible feat considering the movement restrictions of the basic trooper helmet. A second glance told her his helmet wasn't standard and neither was he a mere trooper.

 

She shrugged off his hand and attempted to join her master. With her focus narrowed to finding an opening in the complex combat and vast inexperience, she failed to prevent herself from being tackled to the ground by the same trooper.

 

His weight effectively pinned her to the ground. A growl escaped her throat as she struggled to move him off of her. Despite her combat training, she found herself quickly pinned and then heard his modulated voice in her ear.

 

“You charge in there, you die or worse, get Kyrie killed. Not on my watch.”

 

Kala stopped struggling when the truth of that statement hit her mentally and through the Force. With it came the knowledge that her victory against the Sith Lord was not one of skill but of him being defeated by the environment and his own mistakes.

 

Sighing, she settled down.

 

One of her mother’s lessons bubbled up in her mind, the one about how lower lifeforms such as any enlisted soldier and officers below the rank of Colonel should never touch her. She resisted the urge to tell him the kind of words her mother might have used.

 

“Alright then, trooper, what should I be doing?” Kala asked.

 

“First, you can call Commander Prosdocimi. Second, you need to look past where you found that lightsaber.” His voice reminded her of his experience and her lack. Somehow, even whispering, he made her feel like a child and regret the insult of calling him a mere trooper.

 

Kala looked up from where she was still pinned on the floor and located the pit from which she gotten the lightsaber. Just beyond the pit, a wall had collapsed revealing the statue of a familiar blonde woman whose outstretched hand pointed to something beyond her vision.

 

“Okay" said Kala, “How do you propose we get there, Commander?” Her voice carried with it the apology for her earlier insult to the man's rank.

 

“I’ll let you know when it’s time to move. Now, let me finish getting my troopers set up to make sure no one ambushes Knight Elysion, and let me coordinate with the Commander of the pair of trooper divisions that just arrived with orders from Lady Raven.”

[Raven Nasra]

Imperial Corona class frigates Relentless Viceroy and The Pride of Dakshee engaged their braking thrusters as they rapidly approached the battered Sith Temple. Originally designed for quick engagement against the ever more brave pirates hunting along the Perlemian Trade Route. Both ships had recently returned from an anti-pirate deployment and the blast damage, though hastily repaired, on the port hull of The Pride of Dakshee was apparent upon close inspection. Its captain, a human in his late fifties by the name of Kesper Andripov, followed Imperial doctrine that had been drilled into his head from his academy days nearly forty years prior. The fighter wing spread in dual arcs in front of the frigates, a fighter screen of green painted TIE Defenders that would make any old Rebellion era X-Wing pilot quake in his orange jumpsuit. Kesper missed the old days of constant conflict, though he enjoyed hunting pirates, there was no glory in the sport. No one got medals, or got recognized by the Emperor-no Head of State for killing some worthless pirates. His wrinkled brow furrowed even more and the grey eyebrows covered the glint in his blue eyes. This was his last chance before retirement to make a name for himself. It was all he had left. He wiped his brow with hand that had not too many months before held his wife’s hand as she passed beyond from cancer. Both sons had been lost a decade before in some nameless battle over coruscant.

 

He gripped the command chair’s armrest as the familiar feeling of combat focus came over him. One frigate over, aboard the Relentless Viceroy, head of state Raven Zinthos stood next to Captain Evan Vergori, as the ship made sensor contact with the old Sith base. They had flown over the old Serpent Order base a few minutes before and Raven had marked it for destruction as well. Any trace of the Sith would have to be wiped off Carida before the Bastion Project could begin.

“Head of State,” Captain Vregori began, “We are coming into range of Königreich des Teufels in a few seconds. We are beginning a full sensor sweep to search for any Sith vessels that may be in the area. Nothing will get past us this time my lady.” Raven began to answer but was interrupted by the officer of the Sensor station a few meters away.

 

“Captain, we have deep space contacts enroute to Carida from the Route.”

 

Raven could feel her blood turn to ice. The captain sat down swiftly in the command chair, with a few terse orders the fleet was spacebound. The fighter wings swept up at a steep angle followed by the single bomber wing, their pilots gripping their control yolks with a mixture of fear and nervous excitement. The leader of the 189th starfighter command, Beth Andromina, wished desperately that she could wipe the sudden sweat from her flaxen brow. Looking to her wingmen she gulped back a nervous cough and brought her TIE Defender into the center of the starfighter formation.The two frigates followed suite and within a few minutes were emerging from the stratosphere, their sensors pinging away for whatever had passed the deep space buoys.

[Exodus]

• The Fall of Königreich des Teufels

 

The walls began to buckle under the stress of the collapsed temple. The crippling of the infrastructure caused permanent unease and a certain instability even beyond the immediate perimeter. Debris and lampblack fell in excess from the cracked ceilings while slapping off of white stormtrooper armour, punching into crushed floor patterns, and dispersing into thick clouds that plagued visual acuity. The environment was alive, and Exodus listened as it spoke volumes to him. The degradation in the integrity of the structure, the suffocated and poorly lit chamber, and the wide-range of obstructions on the surface level; it was a language on the battlefield that many chose to brush aside, but in all things battle, he was a master linguist. It served him well to make note that his enemies left themselves bare to the threat of troubled physical conditions, and rather looked to set up for an ambush. The Force sprawled the world before him like a charted map for him to dissect, and as his concentration hardened, the force unearthed an abundance of options for him to play with. His reach and dictation of dark side nature was unprecedented amidst the sentients here, and he exercised his potency entirely. He could feel the troopers start to align themselves at last, “Irony.” Exodus inched closer from his den of shadow and counted the elements that laid before him. What drew his attention was the dance between the Jedi and the Sith Master. It was an awkward watch, and was riddled with inaccuracies unbefitting an elite commander of the Dark side. “His mouth claims what his power cannot. Yet, his power is underestimated as a Master of our art. There must be more to this..”

 

• Of the several items earlier disposed was a personal beacon that triggered in the meanwhile. The device was purposed and programmed with an encrypted signal and message that hailed a particular chieftain within his ranks. “It is time.”

 

The Dark King Exodus stood to his full height and gripped the weight of the ceiling as if it were with his bare hands. He was a hawk to his prey from above, and it was on this perch he marshaled a precision of the force that scattered across the weakened and battered points of the infrastructure. The commotion of the battle was an undeniable distraction that blended with the seismic activity of the entire foundation. The quakes were easily attributed to the reckless rampage of the Sith Togorian. The beast roared with madness and his every swing carried a fierce wind. It would be in the nature of another Dark Lord to loudly announce their arrival, but Exodus was a different beast altogether and would let his cold and brutish nature be felt instead. The feigned innocence of the Jedi had to come to an end, and vengeance was here to break them. “Your hunt ends now.” An expression of the Force came thereafter, high above the clouds there was another Sith that called out, and to Exodus it would now seem that his brothers were slowly resurfacing. A brief telepathic link to his energies was enough to show him the destination, and the destruction itself could be felt if he paid attention.

 

Just then, a lone stormtrooper tackled and completely pinned the other woman to the floor. An opening. Exodus reacted with brute instinct, he yanked his arms downwards and unleashed a measure of power that was still suctioned to the ceiling; it was a manifestation of telekinesis that rocked the chambers to it’s core and immediately leveled the crownwork of the temple. The unbridling of his power caused monolithic formations of stone that was still stubbornly wedged together but loosened from the prior assault, to fall apart in a foul shower of descending death. Absurd metric tonnes of rock unexpectedly slammed into the surface, carving into the arrangement of stormtroopers below. The cramped spaces made it unworkable to find contingent evasive maneuvers, especially due to the high variations of footage that was dropping at random all over the military personnel. What was more was that the true Dark Lord micromanaged the sway and direction of the falls as best as he could in the tiny window of time that was allowed; he only needed to pull one and watch the rest tumble like dominoes. The sound of stormtroopers being squished into piles of stringy flesh was a sweet melody buried inside of the chaos, a tune much more delightful than the ones these Jedi sang. Some of them burst their innards all over the massive boulders that fatally christened the traitors, but Exodus spent no time dallying over the details. The Assassin was on the move. The instant pulverization of the battlefield raised severe earthquake-level panic, screams belted loudly for all to hear, and the two that were locked in combat could not possibly ignore the squeamish cries. Visibility fell to it’s lowest, the absence of light and the emergence of destruction blanketed the battlefield. The hard compression on the explosive equipment attached to certain stormtroopers, like the concussion grenade that shredded the Sith from before, now sounded off with the shallowest of echoes, desecrating their surroundings completely and vanishing the girlish screams of their injured allies for good.

 

Exodus had leapt from his perch amidst the start of the chaos and plowed a blade into the sliver of space between the commander's’ helmet and plate armor. With Zveris, Exodus pushed and forced the blade through the back of the commander's neck. The blade peeled out of his laryngeal prominence, severing his larynx on the way, and exited the front flesh of his neck. His body spasmed hard and fell limp immediately after, and the weight of his pin on the woman more than doubled. Still, the blade carried the thick of his windpipe, slowly widening the wound and spilling wads of vital fluid down the length of the Massassi blade like a drainage pipe. The red ooze and cartilages from inside of his throat leaked and wetted her face whole. “Let me help you two get cozy. Commander Prosdocimi, or as you insultingly declared, Trooper—Can’t seem to find the words.” Exodus held his rendition of Djem So with keen observation of the ruined world around him. The ceremonial blade in his right hand leveled inches away from the eye of the woman, through the throat of the trooper, and the left wielded an infamous lightsaber not yet lit but imposingly steadied. If another decided to interrupt her ultimatum, his next move would be final.

 

 

• “I give you the same choice, child. Surrender, or die.”

[AVATAR Kain]

((Quick arrival coordinated beforehand))

 

Five ships dropped out of hyperspace like John and Andon dropping through Coruscant, close to the planet and on a high vector to intercept an aggressive position over the temple. Immediately warning klaxons sounded, warning of proximity to other ships already in the vicinity. Kain looked up from his command chair to the ensign crewing the tactical station.

 

"Sir, reading transponders of several ships already in position. They read as Imperial."

 

Kain grinned wickedly, Jensen's face almost looking inhuman as his features distorted around the smile. Their own ships didn't yet have transponder codes set to identify by name or affiliation, which would momentarily work to his advantage. "Encrypt fleet comms with frequency hop program Kain-1. Take up an offensive formation, Nova cruisers up front, Mon Cal in the rear. Ready all weapons with priority to the ion cannons, I want them ready to fire on a hair trigger. Open communications with the Imperial flagship."

 

The comms officer nodded, doing as ordered, then indicated that auditory communications were open.

 

"Imperial fleet, this is Ava'torr Caine of the...Righteous Fury. We are mercenaries, having been assembled by an Admiral Jensen to come render aid. Imperial comm traffic was monitored, and this location was marked as high importance for reinforcements. Intelligence has suggested that a large Sith fleet has been amassed and is likely en route, we've been sent for backup."

 

Kain silently gave the order to mute the comms, and sent a short encrypted message to the two starfighters to jump back to hyperspace and remain a distance from the planet until further instructions were sent. "Have our Nova cruisers initially pepper this Pride of Dakshee frigate with their main turbolaser banks, but ensure their priority is focused on eliminating their bombers with their point-defense cannons. Should any survive the first pass, have the right cruiser come about to re-engage. Ignore their snubfighters, they are of minimal threat to our ships. As to our own Mon Cal, I want all available ion cannon and missile batteries to fire on the Dakshee. They will be the first to fall to us today."

 

Instructions were sent out to the other ships, giving enough time for confusion to set in from Kain's claim that they were a friendly mercenary fleet, but he knew the ruse wouldn't last long. He sat back in the captain's chair, and narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the tactical readouts arrayed in front of his chair. Slowly, he began to integrate into the comm systems in his chair, eliminating the need for his middleman comms officer. It would allow for more efficient coordination, but only barely.

 

Execute

 

"Open fire."

[Kyrie Eleison]

The bestial rage of the Togorian burned into the song with a cadence of death, marked with a flaming echo that reverberated through the Temple’s aura. It was a strong message within the Force, but within the young Exorcist’s mind it saddened her. The beast’s rage was powerful, but its strength lay upon a foundation of wretchedness. It was the music of the damned and the hopeless, consumed by the anger and iniquity of a soul looking upon the Phlegethon.

 

Kyrie twisted away from another rushing attack, a mix of dual strikes born from the perversion of Jar’Kai. The warmth from the crimson blades washed past her as she stepped away from his pass, leaving a bright trail of silver flame in her path. Each bootprint blazed in silver flame, eating away the corruption left behind by the Sith, as she traced her pattern. Within the twilight constructed from glowrods and holy flame, she could see the heaving muscles from the beast’s panting breaths, frothing drool marking each exhalation. She answered his call with a bitter smile, her blade still unlit, the scars marking her face playing from pale to red, catching the dim light.

 

“I would not choose your d-dea-”

 

Her voice caught faltering on her lips. A great surge of darkness passed through the song, a melody of unbridled power striking towards the sky with strength she had never seen matched, even in her dreamwalks upon Gala. The tide of darkness did not find its origin within the web she had woven about her opponent. The crashing of boulders pulled from the crumbling ceiling descended about her duel. A chorus of anguish greeted her in wave, each death marked by terror and a cacophony of sound. Kyrie hailed each death in the song with cold realization, dismissing them before they could overwhelm the defenses of her mind. Into her flames she passed her grief, and the rising tide of frustration and anger.

 

From the brink of death may you pass…

 

The young Exorcist stepped around a falling pillar towards her opponent for the first time. Her footsteps were heavy and determined, passing towards the beast who was for the moment distracted. It would not do to have this beastial dstraction while a bigger threat made its attack. Into her left hand she doubly slipped a broad-headed arrow from her quiver, its tip glittering as it was bound in the song. As a harsh blanket of dust and crumbled permacrete descended upon them, the Exorcist struck.

 

To Purgatory’s fire you have come at last…

 

With her unlit lightsaber, she swept the feet of the beast, catching its hamstring with the hooked handle. The handle was a meter’s length and made of unyielding ebony, which drove the beast’s legs from beneath it. With a flick of her wrist, Kyrie drove the steely points of the quarrels through the deep muscles of the clavicular heads of the pectoralis majors on both sides of the beast’s broad chest. The arrow’s bites were deep, severing tendon from bone, driving into the radial nerve and arteries beneath. The beast roared in deep agony, before it was replaced by the silence of fear.

 

Into the Song she could feel the pain from Commander Prosdocimi as he was slain. His pain was harsh, with edge only a blade could bring. Echoing with it came a call from Kala within their bond, a cry of primal fear. She passed her voice through the Force into the Togorian’s mind as he lay cowering

 

Upon you comes a choice… Continue to fight, exsanguinate then die in hellfire… Or surrender and await evacuation…

 

About them, the pattern from her footsteps glowed through the darkened storm of dust. The five stormtroopers that had survived retained their positions. Towards the struggle of death Kyrie turned, observing with smoldering eyes of silver flame the new opponent who had trapped her apprentice. Ten meters separated them, and highlighted by downcast glowrods was the form of an armored man, with long ashen hair that was interminable amongst his dark cloaks. She passed the rest of her quiver about her in a storm of steel, each coated in Exorcist’s fire. Kyrie’s voice echoed into the song through gritted teeth, highlighted with the wrath of the righteous. She held her lightsaber unlit in the form of Ochs. The onyx beads of her rosary reflected the pale light about them as it hung from her scarred wrist.

 

“The cowardice of striking an apprentice is unbecoming a Sith…”

[Kala Ianauria]

To Kala’s surprise, instead of being angry with the Captain’s presumption, she found herself emotionally warming to him. Here was someone who nurtured and developed others, passing on hard won wisdom without seeking higher status so that those younger and less experienced than him could be spared the same lessons. The thought of having him and a squad of troopers picked by his hand assigned to him flitted across her consciousness.

 

Only to be terminated and immediately purged by an explosion of Darkside energy. A blue-giant star’s weight of discordant sound and nightmare notes, painful in the intensity of its suffering and tragedy that fountained upward and clung to the temple’s remaining ceiling like black viscous oil alive with the souls of the damned. Instead of the rage and anger she’d been told to expect with all usage of the Darkside, this felt cold as a cryovolcano of liquid nitrogen.

 

She began to shout a warning, only to have her voice stolen from her when the first massive pieces of the falling ceiling crashed to the Temple’s floor. Her ears rang under the assault hammered into her skull and body by the falling masonry and sheer number of concussion grenades and being triggered at the same time. It soon failed all together, leaving only behind a wave of deafening ringing in the silence created by her hearing’s failure.

 

Between the ground quakes created by the falling masonry and the rolling tides of sound and energy created by the concussion grenades, she and the Captain were physically lifted from the ground. Somehow, she rolled while suspended in mid-air so that she now faced his blank eyed helmet a microsecond before crashing back to the rubble filled floor.

 

Her back screamed in agony from the sudden impact and due to a large piece of rubble that bruised her lower back when she landed on it along with the combined weight of her Captain and his gear.

 

Assaulted on multiple fronts by agony and suffering, her senses attempted to drown themselves in a sea of viscous gray in order to save her sanity.

 

Despite that valiant attempt, Kala saw with perfect clarity the moment the Sith’s blade punched its bloody way out of her Captain’s neck in an explosion of blood and viscera. She felt the blood spry her face and onto her chest to be absorbed by her clothing until its saturation point. The rest pooled against her skin, simultaneously slimy and sticky. She felt the brief warmth of body temperature blood and it’s just as sudden cooling when deprived of the body’s heat.

 

She felt the moment of his death in the Force. Her eyes, so finely focused on that protruding blade point, saw the last bubbles of his final breath bubble through the ruins of his neck. Her body, pinned beneath his weight, managed to feel his final, fluttering and rattling breath through her ichor covered clothes and his combat armor.

 

His weight increased as that vital life spark that made him her Captain, left. His body became a dead husk of rapidly cooling meat that pinned all but her head and arms to the ground. She felt his final passing in the Force, the emptiness left behind in heart.

 

A watery gray cloud passed over her vision that accompanied the silent ringing in her ears. She wanted to let go, to descend through the watery gray and into the darkness that waited beyond but she felt her senses perversely waking up.

 

The new awareness that flooded her mind and restarted her senses came from a single drip of blood and viscera from the Sith’s sword point. The tiny drip contained a neutron stars weight, brought with it the reality of her dead friend and her helplessness.

 

Another drip.

 

The tang of fresh blood and smell of spilled viscera flooded her nasal passages. With it came the reminder of her blood soaked that clothing that clung to her skin and the unabsorbed blood pooling around her. A burning odor from detonated explosives followed, bringing force a tickling sensation in the back of her throat.

 

Another drip.

 

A feeling of utter helpless washed over her in a tide of utter despair as the reality of her friend’s dead weight and her helplessness punch through and reaches into her befuddled mind. She draws the first breath in several long moments seeking a release in a mindless scream, to pour forth the grief and agony of her battered mind, body and soul…

 

Another drip.

 

Directly into her mouth, followed by a tide of fresh blood and viscera that surged forth from one last gasp by her Captain’s body to preserve a life already fled. The cool viscera and the warmth of his blood stream over her tongue into the back of her throat. Her chest heaves upward despite the weight pinning her down as her lungs and throat seek to expel the vile stream from within. The steam surges in reverse, spraying outward along with the contents of her stomach directly onto the lower portions of the Sith’s apparel.

 

Another drip.

 

Another breath, this one clear of anything vile, yet it brings her to complete mental clarity. She feels the notes of the Force change, weaving a harmony of loss and suffering, as she fixed a gaze of anger and hatred upon the face of the Sith, vowing to make his suffering legendary for the death of her friend.

Edited March 31, 2017 by Guest

[Raven Nasra]

Raven gripped the railing overlooking the command deck aboard the Relentless Viceroy as the five ships dropped out of hyperspace. As they did not immediately open fire, Raven turned puzzled towards the wizened old fleet captain. He held up his hand to silence any question from her and began to bark commands to the ensigns of shields and gunnery. Raven stopped her question as the comm officer tapped the line through to her data console.

 

"Imperial fleet, this is Ava'torr Caine of the...Righteous Fury. We are mercenaries, having been assembled by an Admiral Jensen to come render aid. Imperial comm traffic was monitored, and this location was marked as high importance for reinforcements. Intelligence has suggested that a large Sith fleet has been amassed and is likely en route, we've been sent for backup."

The Imperial Remnant must be truly falling on hard times to be hiring mercenaries. She didn’t trust it for a second and when the two starfighters jumped back into hyperspace, she could feel a sinking feeling overcome her gut. She locked eyes with Vergori. Her purple eyes shared a silent fear with his grey eyes. The tac officer designated the two unnamed Hapan Nova Class frigates as Nova One and Nova Two as their transponders showed nothing in Imperial registries. Raven keyed her comm to the Righteous Fury, “Ava’torr Caine, this is the Imperial Head of State, please remain where you are and power down weapon systems until your orders are verified.” She cut the comm transmission and then ordered imperial comm frequencies scrambled in an effort to forestall further transmissions from being monitored.

 

Raven’s lip curled as she scanned the potential combat landscape. The Imperial capital ships were outnumbered, but at the moment they maintained starfighter superiority. They had no forewarning from Admiral Jensen about these reinforcements, and attempts to hail him were fruitless. The order went out to Imperial ships to raise shields and power turbolaser banks but to not engage unless fired upon. The mood on both capital ships were tense as the tactical officer plotted intercept courses and relayed them to starfighter and bomber squadrons. The fighters fell back in unison to cover the scimitars as the bombers turned to fall back into the cover of the Pride of Dakshee’s shadow. Sensor officers began to report energy flares from the enemy ships and with a flash the Pride of Dakshee took a combined hit from the turbolasers of the Two Nova Cruisers. The light aboard the bridge of the Relentless Viceroy took a red hue as the allied ship, less than a kilometer away, took the hit across her shields. A few missiles exploded against the forward shields and in the millisecond it took the shields to regain their strength two turbolaser strikes and a single missile exploded against the forward hull of the Pride of Dakshee. The hull bubbled white hot and vented the forward observer station and three sleeping quarters into the cold vacuum of space. 12 sleeping crewmembers experienced explosive decompression for the first and last time of their lives. Their soon frozen corpses reentering the atmosphere in a slow decaying orbit in a brief lightshow that would be stunning for any citizen looking up at the right moment. The Sith had drawn first blood.

 

Before Raven could open her mouth to bark an order, the loud churning of return fire stopped her words in her throat. Both Imperial Frigates concentrated their return fire on the the nearest Nova class cruiser. All of the ten turbolasers aboard each of the Corona Frigates cycled away at Nova One as the two Imperial frigates began to approach towards the optimum range of several kilometers as was imperial doctrine. The starfighter and bomber wings dodged in and out of the frigate’s cover before making a dash in a long arc towards the Mon Cal. They were ordered to keep at maximum engageable distance from the heavily armed Novas and all the pilots began their trained defense juking as they moved as fast as their formations and Ion engines would carry them. For the moment they were outside engageable range of their fierce complement of missiles, but they were closing fast guided by the tactical officers on the Relentless Viceroy.

 

The fight would be very bloody.

 

((1))

[Exodus]

• ALONG CAME THE SPIDER
  (Story Arc)

 

 

“Oh? Silly me. By the way you handled yourself in combat, I had assumed you were the apprentice. Do forgive me.”

 

 

He did not turn to face the woman that called out teasingly, but the smooth seduction of his voice emphasized the polish of his returned mockery. His knavish demeanor was just the face of a far more sinister powerhouse riddled within him, but a deep-rooted discipline refrained that exposure. He chose instead to fix his stare inside the soul of the woman who laid with her face drowned in skin and blood. He searched out the fullness of her agony with inquisitive eyes; fast-probing, and analyzing all of her dread with the expressions painted all over her face. Every muscle movement or spasm, every emotion, the way in which she stared hopelessly and then with anger, Exodus savored every second of it. Her distress fell from her like tender meat dripping from bone, and it more than whet his appetite. Exodus relocated the clutch of the weapon in his left hand from a full fingered grip, and held the weapon instead between his thumb and his index. The rest of his phalanges were freed up by this switch, which meant half of his crushgaunt was too, and therefore that was the part of his hand that now clutched at the skull of the Commander while his right-hand balanced the Massassi blade inside of his throat. As Exodus controlled the shape of the dead man’s skull with his left, he summoned the might of the dark side and shot it from the crest of his left shoulder like a piston that then barreled out of his wrist and into that very same hand. The power that was funneled from his own mind was pure adrenaline when displaced into the skull of the Commander. The psionic delivery of it could wake the dead, and it did.

 

The dead Commander shot his eyes wide open as the thrust of dark force from Exodus slammed into his cerebral network, possessing the whole entanglement of his mind. The dark fuel that poured from the powerful reservoir of Malacoda Syn sunk itself deep and assimilated the the brain of the commanding officer. Prosdocimi’s eyes twitched uncontrollably and twisted from their natural colour in an instant, and then inflamed with the villainous red of the Dark Side. In that very moment, a piercing cry from his torn throat stifled out into the open air. A dark power wielded by the King of the Sith drained unconditional cognition from the mind of the Commander, depleting what was left of his brain, and rotting it into a dry prune. Exodus stripped him of everything he hid inside, conceptually peeling back the layers, and only taking mere moments to do so. He devoured it all. The painful scream was loudly deafening, but not to the ears, rather to the conscientiousness of all who looked on. The raw colour of his eyes spun like a tempest, and then quickly burnt out to an egg-white reflection, empty and dead once more. He was of no further use, and Exodus casually pushed him off of his blade to show that.

 

 

• “Your approximation of what is becoming of a Sith, and what the Sith really are, are vastly different Jedi. I am the approximation. I am the Sith. And of me, you know nothing.”

 

The mixture of monotone and madness in his announcement was illustrated with a fiercely slow and bellowing voice, one that could daunt the very blood in their veins and send chills down their spines— if Jedi did indeed carry them still. Amidst the thick veil of the environment, Exodus noticed that the other Darksider had arrived at last. He was herculean in his spirit of power, but exactly how strong was to be seen. Exodus acknowledged him with a simple nod, and half-turned to summarize the approach of the one known as Kyrie Eleison. Her soft face carried with it a deep wound that was rooted in a tale unaware to him, but what she carried held a far darker tale at that. There was a signature embedded in the item around her neck, and a familiar one at that. “Those odds are impossible..”

 

Exodus’ shoulder-length mane remained coolly draped across his raven-black ensemble of cloaks while the alloy mask veiled most of his own facial features. The viridescent touch of his gaze could still be seen however, and slight exposure of his darkened skin was the only reveal. The one known as Kala Ianauria, or so the mind of Prosdocimi told Exodus her name was, suffered under the weight of his threat. She was wise to remain still and surrender where she lay. She seemed to know better than to come between a predator and his kill. Emotions ran her completely, as with most sentients, their triggers were simple. Unexpectedly however, the woman squirmed with discomfort before she vomited onto his lower-halved dressings, which he then instinctively stepped back a couple of feet. The mess was almost infantile, and it covered the three of them that held such dangerous proximity; Jedi Apprentice, Dark Lord, and a dead Commander of the Imperial Remnant—it was their only common ground now. “..Are you done?” Exodus asked with rare light-heartedness, as if it were funny to him. Then, he actually laughed. The echo of his dark voice trickled passed the modulation of his face-mask, sounding half demon and half man simultaneously. “You know you don’t belong here, Kala? You are far too weak to meddle with my kin and you could never cleanse these hands with your boring lullabies. What you need, is a bib." He poured out an ounce of truth that he knew she should hear, and Exodus' very existence was showcase enough to spell out perfectly clear that she was on the wrong side of the Force. "But, I do have a better gift for you..”

 

 

• “.. I have a gift for you all.”

 

Exodus lifted and leveled both of his arms, outstretched from his sides. He understood the stormtroopers still dallied in the dark, but he was assured of his capabilities in this hellhole. At once, tiny pieces of steel carefully floated from a small compartment buried inside of his vestments. On his left, the small pieces of steel danced and weaved in the middle of the air, it seemed as if the pieces were putting themselves together in an appropriate sequence. It looked as if it were a puzzle. Suddenly, the right side echoed the actions of the left, and another string of small metals poured from a compartment on his opposite side. Right before Exodus, and in the middle of the deep dark of the temple, two separate Relics were piecing themselves together. The left Relic completed itself first, and as the last piece attached itself, it took the shape of a Holocron that radiated with a brilliant blue. “I present to you Jedi, Il-Andon Rorik, you may find this useful.” His voice churned with an evil hue as he knew there was a measure of semblance to that name in this room; the rosary was evidence enough. The same Holocron that burned blue, seemed to trickle with small strains of red as it floated for the audience to witness. He passed the item towards Kyrie through telekinesis, but it would not activate in hostile environment.

 

The second Relic took a little extra time to come to fruition, but once it did, it beamed with the heaviest shade of blood-red that any sentient had ever laid their eyes on. The triangular holocron-esque object started to whirr with a noise similar to the Iron on Arachnakorr, but none here would know that sound besides Exodus. The whirr of the object was captivating, and the brightness did not let up. The radiance of the relic cast shadows into all corners of the temple, shadows that seemed to literally dance all around them. The broken walls carried these shadows, the crushed floor patterns too. The fallen bodies and the destruction that Exodus had rained down was more visible now, and it was a grotesque scene. The shapeshifting holocron twisted itself while it sat suspended, regardless of the world around it. Exodus explained nothing of this, but he smiled behind that mask. The holocron lowered itself and swept itself onto the floor before him, there was an immediate but hard-to-notice reaction.

 

 

• • The world of Carida rumbled slowly.

[Kyrie Eleison]

The young Exorcist’s face distorted in a grim frown at the appearance of yet another Sith. She widened her stance, letting her pattern of steel divide into two paths to encompass the possible attacks of the interloper. The Sith’s words rose from about her like smoke carried upon the winds, harsh and haunting.

 

“I present to you Jedi, Il-Andon Rorik, you may find this useful.”

 

The mention of her master’s name caused a chill to form upon her flesh. The rosary’s weight became noticeable, its ebony form answering the call of its namesake. The shining sapphire of the Sith’s gift was stained with tendrils of crimson enveloped the beacon as it was guided by invisible hands towards her. It’s song echoed a harmony of deep history, desecrated by the talons of evil. She enveloped it in silver-lined tendrils, it’s call echoing in the song, drawing her to it. To her, a voice rose within her consciousness, deeply familiar but distant, as if spoken through a locked door

 

...Elesion, daughter of The Fallen, You call Me Teacher, and you say well, for so I am...

 

The young exorcist grasped the beacon within her palm, letting its silvered form caress her flesh with its coolness. It felt foreign and corrupt, but its sensation was addictive. Within the Force, her own harmony changed, reflecting a moment upon the past Il-Andon had touched with his words. The faint song bore a child’s reflection, desecrated in innocence, clinging desperately to years long past. Her scars bore witness to her horrors, reflected into The Force as a shield, forged in the flames of the exorcist

 

..I was just a kid placed before a firing line, I was just a child when my momma died, and my daddy wouldn't ever make it home…

 

Kyrie placed the relic on her belt, keeping it woven in her flames to destroy any darkness that would desire to strike her from it. Her words came forth with power as the temple rolled beneath her feet, its song changing once more.

 

“Daimōn… Shadow Spinner...”

 

Her words paused as another distant rumble rose beneath them. Her pattern burned on in silvered flame about her, its intensity feeding upon the darkness that moved about them. The sins it consumed upon the bloodstained cobbles, were like straw and wood upon it, feeding into the Holy Fire she bore within her

 

“Leave my apprentice unharmed… If it your wickedness desires release, fight me instead… If we are not to do battle, what do you desire?”

[AVATAR Kain]

A single starfighter of custom design popped back in-system near the planet, but far from the actual combat taking place. Instead, it approached the planet at a shallow angle, hoping to slip under and past the large battle unfurling in the confusion of everything. An encrypted comm was sent to Exodus, notifying him of its arrival.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

((1))

 

The game was afoot. Kain didn't know who commanded the enemy fleet, but they were definitely seasoned. An inexperienced commander might have done something different, leaving an opening, some small foothold for him to take advantage of, even though they were clearly outgunned. Even now, the Nova cruiser the enemy had already tagged as Nova two fired its engines, turning to engage the scattered starfighters as best it could, but the starfighters were mostly out of range, and what few pot shots the nova managed to send out at the spry fighters and bombers didn't hit their marks. For the time being, though, Kain was satisfied still having Nova two in pursuit. Eventually, they would form up somehow, and then Nova two would be in a prime position to engage.

 

For now, however, the more immediate threats to Nova one and the Mon Cal were the capitol ships, the Dakshee just now coming into range of the Mon Cal's ion cannons. On the bridge of the Mon Cal, Kain barked orders with a smooth commanding tone. "Helm, bring us forward, half engines, I want those Ion cannons pounding their frigate until they find themselves back in the stone age." Just outside the bridge windows, Nova one caught an unlucky shot behind its bridge section in the 'stem' of the ship, just rear of the deployed armor fin-like shields the Nova class was known for. For a moment, lights on the ship flickered before backups kicked in.

 

"Comms, tell them to reroute power to their starboard shield emitters, that's where the next volley will likely aim for. When the Dakshee's shields collapse, all ships target their weapons emplacements. Ops, have our rear missile launchers reconfigure the concussion missiles for range burst, if those starfighters come after us I'd rather have some protection than none at all." Kain knew full well it was an ineffective anti-starfighter measure, but if the squadrons made a pass at his ship, he'd prefer to blind them and then have Nova two cleave them to bits. His ship would likely take considerable damage, but it would neutralize the threat, more or less.

 

It was a glorious day to send meat bags to their deaths.

[Raven Nasra]

Turbolasers churned away in their bloody duties as round after high powered round lanced towards Nova One from both the Imperial frigates. Raven’s purple eyes deftly searched the tactical layout as she watched The Pride of Dakshee’s shield numbers lurch towards zero level as every lancing burst of blue and red converged on the hounded frigate. She was fighting valiantly, but without bereavement, Raven knew that the frigate would get the worst of this fight. She turned to Captain Vergori and with a terse exchange of words, they decided their next tactical maneuver. Aboard The Pride of Dakshee, the command crew was sweating and nervous as the shield officer counted off the falling numbers.

 

“48 Percent and falling captain.”

 

Kesper Andripov ordered reduced power to engines in an effort to feed power to shields. Though bolstered, the Ion was having its effect. Soon shields were at critical levels, and turbolaser blasts and even micrometeor blasts from orbiting debris were beginning to find their way into the hull of the illustrious imperial frigate. At five percent the shields finally failed. He grimaced as the turbolaser blasts peppered the hull and forward batteries. Three turbolaser emplacements were blasted into the hull, scattering life and segmented shards of hull into the voids of space. As the deck crew scrambled to restore shields to The Pride of Dakshee, the Relentless Viceroy pulled out ahead of the beleaguered vessel and turned, partially covering the wounded ship with her still full shield bank. This cut imperial fire by half as the damaged vessel attempted to restore some semblance of power to the forward shields. Meanwhile the Relentless Viceroy continued to pour turbolaser fire into Nova One. Aiming for any perceived weakness in the vessels shields, in an attempt to overwhelm them and blow through the hull underneath.

 

The fighter wings took that moment to pull out from the cover of the frigates and streaked out in a widely dispersed cloud towards the Mon Cal Cruiser, the bombers trailing in their wake. Arming to engage the flagship of the Sith fleet with flurries of missiles and strafing runs. It was risky but necessary maneuver, an attempt to pull fire off the Dakshee long enough for recovery, and an opportunity to do serious damage to the Mon Cal. Pilots across the widely dispersed wings of fighters and bombers kicked their engines into overdrive and whispered silent prayers. Wing commander Andromina touched a picture of her girlfriend as she hit the joystick controls. Hoping and praying that this would only be a temporary delay in their life together, but knowing, deep inside, that it would likely all end in a single gout of fluttering flame. They had trained since the end of the Old Empire for a day like this. This battle, Raven knew, would define the new Remnant.

 

((2))

[AVATAR Kain]

((2))

 

The battle was going poorly, on the lower end of Kain's battle outcome estimates. To their credit, for having been coddled by peacetime for so long, the Imperials fought with practiced tactics and precision movements. But they were also only mortal. They thought in predictable patterns, their true weakness was their survival instinct, a trait inherent in any biological organism. It prevented them from comprehending a whole spectrum of possible courses of action, a fractal infinity of potential that was locked away out of the fear of death. Nova one was a decent ship, it had performed admirably, but as small explosions rocked its hull, Kain was well aware that the ship had lost most of its combat capability, the knife had dulled. Half of its weapon emplacements were inoperable, its shields had failed, life support was out on three of the lower decks. But even a dull knife could be used as a blunt instrument.

 

Kain knew what needed to happen, though the bridge crew was a fresh batch of mercenaries who didn't quite know him, what he was, and what he considered acceptable. He would sacrifice them all without a moment's hesitation, and had they known that they likely wouldn't have signed on in the first place. Wirelessly, silently, he accessed the comms through his internal antennas, piggybacking an encrypted signal to Nova one.

 

>exe[backdoorprotocol2217b517h(commandprompt)]
>>>backdoor protocols active, enter passcode
>'worldbreaker'
>>>passcode accepted
>>>enter command
>helm/eng.thrust(100)/hdg(080,147)
>comms/deactivate.timeseconds(30)
>powersys/reroute.all(eng)
>>>WARNING: REROUTE LIFE SUPPORT? CONFIRM Y/N
>y
>>>rerouting power
>lockout commandprompt
>>>lockout engaged, set passcode
>'haveaniceday'

 

The engines fired on Nova one, thrusting with maximum output, the ship angling dead straight for the Viceroy. After a few seconds, the comm channels lit up, the bridge crew of the cruiser attempting to tell Kain's flagship it had lost control of the ship, something was happening, something...for a moment, Kain wondered what the last thing they would think, having just enough time to realize at the end of their lives what had happened, not enough time to tell anyone. And then, the comms went silent as all remaining energy was shunted to the engines. The comms ensign spoke up as the feed went dead, appraising Kain of a situation he already knew about and was actively controlling.

 

"Sir, it appears Nova one is suffering a cataclysmic computer failure, they have lost control of the vessel...it appears they are on a collision course with the Viceroy."

 

"Shame. They will die today for the glory of the Sith. Focus on your battle tasks-"

 

"SIR!"

 

The tactical officer yelled as the first missiles began to rock the MC40a, the bomber squadron's initial salvos impacting heavily on the ships's particle shields. Everyone, even Kain, has been so focused on Nova one that even the tactical officer hadn't noticed the starfighters begin their sweep inwards toward the ship, masking twenty plus scimitar bombers behind them. The TIE Defenders weren't much of a threat to the cruiser, their combined laser cannons not powerful enough to really drop the shields of the larger ship significantly, but the bombers behind them represented a significant threat. Nova two, on the far side of the Mon Cal from the fighters, had just come about, and was trying to join the fray as fast as it could, but it would come into range almost as the bombers were upon the Mon Cal. On the bridge, Kain yelled orders, irritated that the sacks of flesh could be distracted so easily.

 

"Fire both missile launchers, distance detonations! Break up the formations, clear room for Nova two to engage, all guns, fire at the fighters! Fire! Fire, damn yo-"

 

Which was about the time that the first of the thermal detonators carved into his ship.

 

Concussion missiles were one thing, but what the scimitar assault bomber carried was much deadlier, and was meant primarily for planetary bombing, but worked almost as effectively on capital ships. Possibly even more so, considering that hull breaches and explosive decompressions caused significant secondary damage and casualties. All it took was a flicker of the MC40's shields for the first two high velocity thermal detonators to get through, the bomber devices a little differently tuned than their hand grenade analogs. The radius of a thermal detonator a bomber carried was much larger, the chance of causing significant damage much higher.

 

Upon impact with the hull, the thermals detonated, atomizing solid matter in a spherical radius. Of course, two gaping holes in the hull provided an instantaneous secondary explosion from an explosive decompression, knocking out a myriad of power systems...including the remaining shields. There is no sound in space, as there is no medium to carry vibrations, but if there were sounds, the cacophonous death rattle of the Mon Cal cruiser would have been magnificent, crewmen being sucked out into eternal darkness, or flash cooked alive in the high heat of an internal explosion. The ship itself survived complete annihilation from the first salvo, but only barely, as Nova two finally reached an effective firing range and began unloading its point defense cannons into the bomber formation specifically, which would make short work of them if they weren't chased off.

 

The last thermal detonator was a lucky one, as it managed to clip a corner of the bridge. Kain only avoided being sucked out into space by being able to hang onto the captain's chair with superhuman strength. His entire bridge crew was gone, his ship crippled in one fell swoop. Most systems had been damaged beyond function in the attack, but the bridge still had power, so that was something to work with. His ship had lost a lot of crew, but some weapons emplacements still functioned.

 

Execute

 

Kain knew what he needed to do. Dragging himself to a nearby console, he interfaced with the ship's computer, beginning to integrate himself into the computer systems. He would need the last of his ship's strength if he were still to remain victorious. He could relay commands manually to the crew, he could act as the brain of the vessel. With what he had planned, he would need to.