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Tarrian Skywalker

Chandrila

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((Ship estimations are based on the WBS archives. If the force estimate is too much I can downgrade it.))

 

“This is going to be a rough one,” Slaughter muttered to himself, staring over the shoulders of a bridge officer at sensor readouts. One Fane of Storms-class Frigate, one of those damned Neo Kandosii-class Star Destroyers… and something new. Something… big. The fleet’s visual scanners had yet to map the hull of the ship, but its mass and power output were comparable to the Star Dreadnoughts that the Empire favored as its command ships. Undoubtedly this design bristled with just as many weapons as those monsters, and would be just as difficult to defeat.

 

And was just as much of a waste of resources. 

 

"No ground fires reported, sir," his executive officer, a giant Twi'lek, shouted across the bridge.

 

"Carry on the descent to Chandrila, see if we can draw off some of those Basilisks." Kalidor's supporting corvettes began trying for missile locks on the encroaching starfighters. At the extreme range of their concussion missile batteries, the threat would be minimal, but it would at least distract those heavy fighters from the more immediately threat of Misericordia.


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Hanna City....

 

It used to a wonderous city of politics and education, overlooking the Silver Sea and the sitting Arena of Chandrilan House. Sure, like any capital on any world, it may have held a small handful of villainous subjects, but far less than any world that Mythos knew of. He had always found Chandrila to be a planet of tranquility and serenity for the most part, where crime was nearly nonexistent. In truth, it kinda made his stomach churn just to think of it. But the system here worked, and had since the original formation of the Republic, and likely the only one who had. 

 

But now, it swarmed with destruction and malicious intent, most of its inhabitants laying dead upon its streets and the rest likely captive or converted. In one aspect, Mythos held a sincere respect for the Mandalorians and their wars of honor and simplicity. But at the same time, this visage he gazed upon, spoke no honor nor symbolism. This was downright war and they had invaded a planet with little to do with the bigger scheme they sought. As a medic bandaged his leg, Mythos waited for the right moment, his forces beginning to surround the large city more and more by the moment. This battle may be won, but the cost for booths sides were too great to ever truly be called a victory. And the saddest truth was that the fight had only passed the first stage. Now came the urban warfare, where meeting an enemy face to face was as likely as meeting the Dark Lord himself upon this battlefield.

 

Once he was ready, he drew his rifle, refilling the emptied gas cartridge with a fresh one. There were many leaders this day across the entire taskforce, the plans laid out by the higher ups with intent to do far less damage as possible to regain control. But these Mandalorians knew better and the damage was far greater, countless forms littering the city's walls and entrances as warnings to those who dared to oppose or deny conversion. And yet, he dared with all his heart. With a shove up, placing pressure upon his wounded leg despite the pain, he continued. He would free this city even if it cost him his life.

 

And with that, Mythos and the others began their assualt upon Hanna City. Only time would tell if it was worth saving now....


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As they approached the city, Krexis was the first of the Nudono to notice the other legion in the distance. They seemed to be preparing for another assault. Turning to his chieftain Krexis got his attention and pointed to one of the many units ready to breach the city, Vox simply nodded and shifted his gaze to the rest of the five soldiers. Each one had scratches, grazes of burns and dents in their armors. It was clear, as they were quickly inspecting their weapons that they had no hesitation. Even Romulus, who wasn't much of a fighter, was ready, loaded with grenades and plenty of clips for his Mauler. The rest of the pack had what they had, mostly they had no usage for their close quarters weapons until now and they still had quite a few strings for their Puncture Rifles to last them a bit. 

"Chaox," Vox called called to his 1st Lieutenant, "We're about to head into city warfare. I need Varsus and Krexis to set up on a vantage point. was rest of us will be taking the streets with the others." 

Chaox gave an incredulous glance to Vox and replied, "Sir... are you sure of that? I assumed when we were getting to this point it'd be wise to stay together." 

Vox nodded, "Indeed it is, but we have a sniper who only has a Spiker and only two clips to it, one of them already in use. He hasn't been able to use his Ripper mostly, we don't know what the enemy has ahead and even if he can't give us a full picture, Krexis can certainly give us an idea and take out enemies ahead. Varsus is his cover and backup" Vox clearly wanted the explanation, even though that wasn't what Chaox wanted it was still logical. Krexis was a hunter, preferring long range than close quarters granted he was certainly skilled in martial combat, he has never been surpassed in recon. 

The Lieutenant simply grunted and nodded, keeping to his wits as he stood ready for further instructions. Krexis had a look of relief on his face, his helmet off so he can tend to the patch of blackened scales. The white Trandoshan shook his head, thinking to himself how long it would take for that to shed. But matters were more important than that, and the albino knew it. Vox turned his head to Krexis and said, "I need you and Varsus to get to a vantage point. I know you heard what I said a moment ago, but I need to know what's ahead of us." 

"Yeah yeah." Krexis said already reloading his long rifle. 

It seemed everyone else was ready for the assault. The rebellion comrades prepared to charge and as they began to move into the city the War Pack would allow themselves to move into the center of the legion. Flowing with them now, the Trandoshans followed in with the numbers of soldiers, mentally ready for the escalation.

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Urban warfare was alot different than fighting upon an open battlefield. Where he could once see his enemy many yards ahead, he now hid in wait as did the enemy. Block by block, both hiding the shadows and behind cover, the Mandalorians and the Alliance moved secretively about, every now and then the sound of blaster fire or explosions rippling throughout Hannah City as one or the other managed to find themselves unlucky enough to be spotted. Mythos hated this aspect. It felt cowardly. But war was war, and the only victor would be found through luck and determination no matter the landscape.

 

Mythos licked at his wound through the bandage, the taste of his blood upon his tongue bitter and the pain in leg slowly subsiding despite the roughness of his leathered tongue. The small group, like so many spread throughout the city had found themselves briefly hunkered down for a breather as they watched for unlucky patrols or other allies as they made their way toward the final target. A snap rang through Mythos's senstive hearing, his ears twitching in its direction as he honed in on the sound of a unmanned gun being stepped upon before silence fell behind it. Letting his breath out slowly, the Shistavanen rose his massive form up and as he stepped out from around the corner, brought the gun's scope up to eye level and took aim.

 

More shots resounded as he laid down heavy fire, his men moving to the next point, two hit as they moved, forcing their forms to be dragged behind cover as the rest laid down fire into the opposing unit. And then silence once again, the two medics assigned having the roughest days of all as they took shelter with the wounded. Just a few more blocks and their target would be in view. Mythos gazed at the wounded, one terminal and the other merely grazed. There was sadness in his eyes as his gaze fell upon the terminal one, the distant sounds of shells exploding in the distance. He sighed and nodded to the medic who removed the tags from around the marine's neck. Another casualty in a baseless war. As the breath left him, they moved on. Just a few more blocks.

 

And just a few more blocks indeed. Horrific scenes of Citizens, Mandalorians, Converts, and Alliance filling the streets in near genocide. It was almost picturesque of the history holos, of both war and religion and the many routes it took and intertwined. But as Mythos gazed upon the Chandrilan House, his eyes spoke of not wanting to fight no more forever despite his mind knowing the next battle was just around the corner if he even survived this one. Such was the constant conflict amidst the Galaxy, and had been that way for thousands of millennia. Shifting his gaze around, he began to see the other units finally converging upon the final target as well, his keen sight and smell giving away their positions to him as the subtle breezes shifted. Some still remained in battle, that much could be heard. But there was enough here for the final push. Stepping out of the shadows, the others followed as well. The Mandalorians had fought well this day, but their leader and his company sat just inside, outnumbered and surrounded. It was just one final fight to end this. 

 

Stepping up the stairs, Mythos sighed, and placed his large foot squarely into the door, causing the doors to swing wide as his rifle fell to his forward. This was the final push indeed.


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As the soldiers began to enter the great city they noticed a befallen silence. The Trandoshans became extremely wary of the situation at hand and kept their wits about them, allowing the many soldiers to take lead and fall behind them. The two Shield Brothers took point of the Nudono squadron in case enemy fire did indeed come from ahead. Thus far, the eery quiet was... not surprising to Vox, as he knew they had become the prey for the moment. 

 

Krexis and Varsus rushed through one of the taller buildings closest to the edge of the city, staying within the section of buildings whilst straying away from the platoons of soldiers far ahead of them. No one was in the building, surprisingly, but that quickly changed as the pair saw a sniper aiming out of the window, and connected to another building was a bridge filled ten with enemy soldiers ready to take out the incoming Rebellious army. Immediately, the two went to work, Krexis sneaking behind the sniper, a crunch of rubble caused the man to immediately turn with rifle aimed but his head immediately lopped off by the bladed end of the Trandoshans weapon, fast and quiet. Varsus was swift to ready several grenades: two Spike Grenade and two Incendiary Grenades. Each of them taking the grenades and activating them. 

 

Like fireworks, the two threw the grenades onto the midsection of the bridge where the turrets were, all four projectiles spitting mess of fire and spikes, all four projectiles causing screams of pain as men were impaled by spikes and or burned alive. The sudden explosions causes immediate gunfire from the enemy to the Rebellion units, the bridge itself lit ablaze as energy cannisters for the heavy turret blew up from the intense heat. The two recon soldiers made their way to the top, easily picking off soldiers who had no real areas besides desks and furniture to hide behind. 

 

As the explosion sounded the area, Vox and co. took cover from the heavy gunfire from ahead, Rebellion soldiers quick to react and fire back. The battle itself only lasted for several minutes, however as an enemy soldier came with a heavy blaster from the side of the building their head exploded within a second. The sniper did his job, and the entirety of the group pushed forward. On and off were grenades booming and weapons crackling, a body fell here and there, mostly the enemies but some allies.

 

The massive group of Rebels were split apart into various squadrons, the firefight in an urban area far from over. The remainder, enough numbers, fought their way to the citadel nearly fifty feet from an entrance. They weren't met without conflict. Laserfire cracked upon the shields, heavy weapons used against the opposing Rebellion.

 

As soon as it started however the men ahead were blown to pieces by missiles, quickly taking them out. With no hesitation, the Nudono Chieftain bashed the door on his side inward. He was ready for what may come, unfortunately Krexis and Varsus missing this part of the action. However knowing they were fighting well, Vox kept to the task at hand. 

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The clanking of durasteel rolled past Mythos from behind, the Shistavanen closing his eyes briefly as the flash bangs ignited, blinded fire finding aim above his head. Opening his eyes as the flash dissipated, Mythos let his rifle open its volley once again, stepping into the Chandrilan House in their final wave against the Mandalorian final defenses. The City was all but won, leaving this final task to be the most gruesome. Stepping into the ground floor's center and gazing up, anger buckled in the pit of his stomach as he gazed upon the strung up form forms that made the House Council.

 

"Cut them down." Mythos ordered, taking to the stairs of the spiraling tower. "Let them rest in peace knowing that we are here to liberate what remain of their people."

 

Atop the spiraling tower sat the House Council Chamber, the likely place of the Mandalorian Commander and his men, as well as the House Chamber's head Councilman, a last ditch prisoner should they have made it this far. And Mythos was intent on doing just that. Wrapping his rifle across his shoulders and to his rear, Mythos crouched to all fours, and charged up the spiral stairs, a blooded glaze over his eyes as he sought to end this before any more blood was shed upon this nearly peaceful planet.

 

"Die Rebel Scum" Mythos heard as crimson bolts lashed out at his form, singeing his fur as he dove behind the duracrete and brought his rifle up to meet the opposition, the men behind him doing the same as they caught up to him. Moments passed, the staircase riddled with crimson and emerald bolts lashing out in both directions before a single smoke grenade draped their forms behind the veil of a thick screen, the Shistavanen taking this moment to attack, his clawed hands and fearsome bite ripping apart the men he encountered, the blooded glaze only thickening.

 

And then silence rang true as the veil of smoke cleared, the enormous Shistavanen standing tall at the top of the stairs, licking clean the blood upon his fur and gaunleted hands before he reached forward to open the Council Chambers and reveal the Mandalorian's within. His gaze locked eyes quickly with the Mandalorian Commander, and as the man reached for his weapon, the others standing around the room's center doing the same, the holdout pistols hidden beneath his coat brandished quicker as he dropped the Commander with two shots to the face, his eyes steaming with blood as his pistols found aim at his Lieutenant and the others just as Mythos's men reached the top.

 

Raising their hands and tossing their weapons aside, Mythos lowered his and stepped forward toward the cowering Councilor laying sprawled in the center. "You're safe." Mythos's gruesome tone voiced as his men began to cuff the remaining Mandalorians, Mythos turning toward the Mandalorian Lieutenant. "Order the remaining to stand down and retreat. Enough blood has been shed and the living can leave. You have my word." With a nod, the Lieutenant issued the stand down and retreat orders as cuffs were placed upon him and his hands bound, his own gaze glaring at Mythos from behind the T-Visor he proudly wore. Before he was taken out, he voiced. "You were a worthy advisory Shistavanen. Kad Ha'rangir is pleased."

 

Mythos gazed down upon the Commander's lifeless form and replied. "Only Cowards kill the innocent." With that, Mythos tapped his comm to those above in the Fleet. "Hannah City is free, Chandrila is free."


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Every time that Slaughter had come to blows with the Mandalorians, his forces had been on the defensive. They were buying time--buying lives--and sometimes the bargain that they struck was scarcely even worth the expenditure of men and materiel. The Mandalorians had become accustomed to watching the Galactic Alliance flee before their forces--had come to expect their foes to make the pragmatic choice and withdraw. They had yet to meet with the pitiless face of the Republic’s wrath.

 

Seemingly expecting the same tactical choices, the advance screen of Bes’uliik charged into an equal force of X-Wings. As with Coruscant, the Basilisk fighters dispersed into a throng of fireteams that strafed and juked with their maneuvering thrusters, whereas the Rebel fighters favored their traditional wing-pairs. While those unpredictable lateral movements made the Mandalorian fighters exceptionally deadly in a dogfight, they diverted power from their primary thrusters and rendered them vulnerable to flanking fire. While the Mon Calamari Cruiser and Imperial counterpart had been approaching the Mandalorians from the front and enveloping the Fane of Storms-class Frigate in turbolaser and ion fire, the corvettes in Slaughter’s task force had skirted around the engagement and poured fire from the side. As steady platforms that bristled with laser cannons and missile launchers, the supporting fire from the corvettes rapidly whittled away at the numbers of the Mandalorian fighters.

 

“Comms, hail Misericordia and ask them to limit their fire to ion--nevermind.” Even staring through the tiny slits that passed for a canopy on a Majestic-class Cruiser, the glaring flash of secondary explosions aboard the beleaguered frigate forced the veteran soldier to turn away. That was just in time to miss the effects of a long-range barrage from the remaining Neo-Kandosii-class Destroyer and the Mandalorian flagship. Hundreds of turbolasers opened up on Stalwart Guidance, stripping away its shields and peeling away armor plating. But Calamari engineering was built to withstand a mauling with dignity, and its backup generators restored its shields just in time to a barrage from the Neo-Kandosii-class that arrived seconds later. 

 

Still, even Slaughter, in spite of years of personal experience of the fortitude of Calamari ships, had to wonder how long Stalwart Guidance could withstand the attention of a Star Dreadnought.

 

“That will have to be enough, conn. Take us in to engage that Star Dreadnought, flanking speed.” The view of starfield swung about and a dull, bassy rumble teased at the bottom range of the stout man’s hearing as the heavy cruiser’s sublights approached their engineering limits. Kalidor would be in close range within minutes. With any luck, the Mandalorian forces planetside would force their gunners to at least hesitate before opening fire with Chandrila in the vector.

 

A transmission from the Alliance’s marines, however, quashed those plans. “Hannah City is free, Chandrila is free.” 

 

Slaughter gesticulated madly to have his communications officers respond to Marshall Howlster’s transmission. “Marshall, Slaughter. What is the status of the Mandalorian resistance? Mopping up, or have they surrendered? Can your squad’s presence be spared?”


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No luck on the support from planetside: taking down the Star Dreadnaught was going to need to be carried out by the fleet. Between the heavy support from the flanking corvettes and a fighter complement that had learned to compensate for the unusual tactics deployed by the Mandalorians, their Basilisk fighters were being whittled away at an alarming pace. The new tactics, though lacking in subtlety, were effective: each attack was led by a flight of A-Wings that scattered as many concussion missiles as possible in a few seconds. The warhead were dodged easily enough by the juking Mandalorians, but that forced them to expend valuable engine power and rendered them vulnerable to the flurry of X-Wings and E-Wings that pounced on their opponents. Distracting and flanking the Mandalorian fighters with multiple waves of threats, rather than a single crashing below of numerous weapons systems, was more effective.

 

Though exceptionally deadly in one-on-one fights, the Bes’uliik fighters fared poorly when beset upon from multiple angles.

 

But it was the surviving Neo-Kandosii-class and Star Dreadnaught that made Slaughter worry. Misericordia and Stalwart Guidance were in the process of mauling the smaller vessel and portions of the Mandalorian capital ship were falling dark when struck by ion fire, but the second barrage from the Mandalorian fleet ravaged the armor of the Mon Calamari cruiser. Turbolaser cannons were blasted free of their mounts when lucky shots struck magazines, and fires began to blaze as dozens of pinpricks before the external compartments were sealed or expended their supply of oxygen.

 

As with at Dark Sun Station, Misericordia offered herself as a shield to protect the other ships in the fleet. Before the next salvo was disgorged from the Mandalorian command ship, the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer placed herself between the brutalized Mon Calamari cruiser and her tormentors, causing the fire to land on a set of fresh shields. Her return barrage was no less fierce, and between the pounding from her turbolasers and the starfighters that were beginning to break through the Mandalorian screen, the surviving Neo-Kandosii-class was overwhelmed and took an ion barrage that dimmed her engines.

 

Slaughter’s element, fortunately, had only taken token fire from the Star Dreadnaught--a Medusa-class, as the IFF transponders were calling it. The vast majority of her batteries were focused on the more imminent threat of a Mon Calamari cruiser and an Imperial Star Destroyer, but the Mandalorians had forgotten that even these smaller corvettes and frigates that he commanded could bite--and unlike those mighty capital ships, they could maneuver akin to a heavy starfighter. At full flank, diverting all power to engines, the DP20 Corvettes and Warrior-class Frigates blasted forward: two kilometers, fifteen hundred meters, one thousand, seven hundred, five hundred… and they still held fire. It was only at two hundred meters from the surface of the gargantuan warship that the ships broke their loose formation and scattered, racing all over the ship’s hull in an enormous approximation of Trench Run Disease. Much of the Star Dreadnaught’s fire was ineffective--the corvettes were nearly as fast as a heavy starfighter, and they packed many times more firepower. Kalidor, for her part, was able to slip to the rear of the vessel and hounded its engine compartments with ion fire.

 

More importantly, the airspace above the Medusa-class Star Dreadnaught was now dominated by six corvettes, It was effectively an arena devoid of enemy starfighter activity, and the Taffy 82’s starfighters riddled the formerly pristine surface of the command ship with missiles and torpedos. But these ships were infamously hardy--nearly impossible to outright destroy. Even hounded by a half-dozen corvettes from point-blank range, hundreds of starfighters, and a stubborn Heavy Cruiser that seemed to believe that a steady stream of ion fire could disable the many-kilometer-long command ship, it still boasted enough firepower to defeat the entire Rebel fleet on its own.

 

Unless, of course, it could be decapitated.


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The next three minutes were a case study in how not to deploy a Star Dreadnaught. The prodigious size of the vessels may have rendered the Medusa-class nearly impossible to destroy outright, but it was also the cause of its downfall--the steel behemoth required support and local air superiority to be effective. Its turbolasers and point-defense turrets were simply insufficient to cover the entire bulk of the multikilometer-long capital ship from a combined assault of starfighters and corvettes. Racing along the superstructure surrounding the bridge, Slaughter’s corvettes and starfighters blasted away at sensor arrays, fire control towers, and the weapons themselves. The overwhelming bulk of the Star Dreadnaught’s firepower gradually fell silent… or inaccurate and outright ineffective, no longer capable of unleashing the crashing volleys that had mauled Misericordia and Stalwart Guidance.

 

“That’ll do, XO. Time to cripple this monster. Signal Strill--”

 

Strill is disabled, sir. Took a hit to the sublights.”

 

“Damn. Uh, Bloodhound and Chir’daki. We’ll hit the primary hangar and bridge at the same time. On my mark, we’ll pop out of their engines and draw fire from their ventral guns.”

 

“Aye. Standing by.”

 

For the next fifteen seconds, Kalidor continued to hammer away at the engines of the Star Dreadnaught. Sublight clusters blew apart under the turbolaser fire and azure lightning arced between maneuvering thrusters, effectively kneecapping the steel behemoth and stripping what little maneuverability a ship of her class enjoyed. At this same moment, however, Hesperidium took a volley to her ventral sublight clusters and the Nebulon-B Escort Frigate began to veer towards the dorsal surface of the Mandalorian ship. Escape pods began to jettison from the sides of the crippled ship, but it was too late--the bottom of its command pod began to scrap along the hull of the Mandalorian capital ship, cleaving apart everything in its path. Completely out of control, Hesperidium crashed into the ship and exploded violently, the debris from the cataclysm pulverizing several square kilometers of the Star Dreadnaught.

 

“Mark.”

 

At that moment, the floor dropped from under Slaughter’s boots as Kalidor popped out from the engine cluster. More than a hundred turbolaser batteries and several missile launchers immediately engaged the Heavy Cruiser--the antimissile octets vaporized most of the missiles, but nothing could stop the turbolasers from plowing through the birdlike cruiser’s shields and rending away most of her bow weaponry. Slaughter winced as he felt the rumble of turbolaser magazines erupting in flame just forward of the bridge--but tempting the aft-facing weaponry of the Star Dreadnought had allowed one of his DP20 Frigates to slip through the barrage penetrate its primary ventral hangar. Bloodhound fired at will from within the ship, and a terrible garland of explosions began to blow apart exterior armor plates from within.

 

A similar scene transpired at the dorsal surface of the Star Dreadnaught. Chir’daki, one of the speedy little Warrior-class Corvettes that was attached to Slaughter’s squadron, raced through the ravine that had been bulldozed by the ruin of the Hesperidium. She and a squadron of X-Wing escorts managed to penetrate the fearsome necklace of turbolaser and laser cannons that ringed the command bridge… and they laid waste to it with a combination of proton torpedoes, and vermillion laser fire. Within seconds, the few armor-clad individuals who were not vented into space had been rendered to a sort of pulpy ash by the combined energy of hundreds of laser blasts.

 

Slaughter nodded in appreciation as the external running lights and turbolasers over vast sectors of the ship were extinguished. Sensors read that local power planets all over the ship were beginning to overload or were shut down seemingly at random. At this point, several sectors had even lost life-support. “Bloodhound, solid hit. Secondary explosions all over the ship. She’s beginning to go dark. Now, comms, can you please find someone alive who can surrender this monster to us, or am I going to need to take ‘er apart piece by piece?”

 

_____

 

Hours later, the surrender was complete. The Rebel Alliance would take command of the Star Dreadnaught Medusa. Slaughter had no idea how the Alliance could possibly restore the steel behemoth to fighting condition, and he suspected that the ship would never fight again. It would probably be hauled by tugboats to the breaking yards to be stripped for scrap and spare parts. A fitting end to this piratical band of murderers, he decided. The old soldier was exhausted from the casualty numbers, however--Hesperidium was lost outright, and Strill and Incisor likely would not be combat-worthy for weeks. Hundreds of casualties aboard Misericordia and Stalwart Guidance--the crew of that Imperial Star Destroyer seemed to relish the hard knocks of war. Kalidor would need to spend at least a week in drydock from that single unaimed volley at point-blank range. And Bloodhound would need to be completely repainted. There was not a square centimeter of hull that had not been dented or scratched by debris or scorched by the fireballed that ensued from her rampage within the guts of Medusa.

 

“Yeoman, when Bloodhound and Chir’daki are refitted, please inform their crews that they are authorized to paint half a Medusa Star Dreadnaught on their hulls. XO, you have the bridge." Slaughter badly wanted to just sit down, read casualty reports, and try to figure out how the Rebel Alliance was going to absorb the costs of this victory--a pyrrhic victory, at best.

 

“Uh, sir--we’ve a signal from Hanna City. Local mayor--or magistrate--survivors of the planetside government would like to meet with you. They specifically asked for senior-most command, and--”

 

“And I have a couple years on Alekseyev…”

 

“Aye, sir. Priorities are aid distribution, repairing local infrastructure, and sounds like a state dinner tomorrow night.”

 

Slaughter just nodded. Making his way to his private shuttle bay, the stocky old soldier braced himself to face the horrors of war....


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"Marshall, Slaughter. What is the status of the Mandalorian resistance? Mopping up, or have they surrendered? Can your squad’s presence be spared?”

 

 

Mythos heard the familiar voice cross the comms, but his body froze, his form unable to move, unable to speak, simply as if time halted for him in outward appearance with only his gaze able to shift. His men looked upon him curiously, waiting for him to respond until they saw the look of horror in his eyes and knew something was amiss. Almost as if he looked into the abyss and found himself to be claimed by it. Or he had been a victim of a micro-stroke before their very eyes.

 

But for Mythos, it was a deeper horror than any of them could imagine. For Mythos, it was utter possession, his mind on the very of breaking as his eyes rolled into the back of his head after gazing upon the souls of those the Sith had placed to haunt him and the souls it collected after with each battle he partook in. And now, as his exhaustion took complete hold of his psyche, it shattered and the voices screamed deep in his soul until he collapsed before all, fading into the abyss that Nyrys had laid within him, a prison of the mind.

 

As Mythos collapsed, his men filed in rank to aid the Marshal, but found there was nothing physically wrong with him. Smelling salts could not resurrect him, nor could adrenaline awaken him. He simply fell deep into a comatose state as the medics arrived. Lt. Ronson and his men quickly rushed the large Shistavanen to a shuttle, calling ahead to the fleet for a medical team to remain on standby for their arrival.

 

But for Mythos, locked away in his mind filled with horrifying nightmares and wraiths, there felt no escape.

Edited by Mythos

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