Star Wars OPEN New Sith Trials: Dark Reach: Episode I: An Order Remade

OOC: Fun with @greyjedi125 and @Sinrebirth

IC Hunger and Hate
Time for Reckoning

Hunger felt the Terminus breakup and the seeming disappearance of Wapoe. He hissed through his teeth, he would deal with that situation later. Slowly he stalked down the hallway, blocking a blaster bolt or edged weapon from troops that rushed him, the Force pulsing as he moved, slamming the bodies against walls. A simple phrase pulsed out from him, filled with malice and the knowledge that Death stalked the Resurgent, ’Face us, Hux, face us and accept your fate. No ship will remove you from our judgement.’

He came upon another hasty barricade in the corridor, in the distance beyond he could see the red armor of Hux’s guard. Sighing at the men willing to sacrifice themselves for this man who was proving more and more his cowardice he lifted one blade, a blast of Lightning shot from the tip, slicing the barricade to ribbons. Lowering his blade he sent another wave of energy before him, slamming the debris into the troops firing from behind it. A smile touched his lips at the blaster marks on his armor and the smoking holes in his cloak, ’They never learn.’

He sensed Hate in the distance, knew his brother in arms approached as well. He reached out and inquired, ’As one?’

The systematic decimation of stormtroopers wrought by the unbridled fury of Lord Hate could be construed as ‘savage artistry’ by some cynical spectator, who’d find himself subsequently cut down right after making the pronouncement. Fueled by the very pulse of conflict, the zabrak Sith Lord tirelessly ascended level after level, slaying all who stood in his way, without mercy and without remorse. They could not know, or understand, that for a being who had engaged both Luke Skywalker and Sian Kronos in Mortal Combat, mere stormtroopers were hardly a challenge, even in their present numbers.

Frankly, he had lost count of those who fell to his blade, all that mattered was the mission.

So much so, that even sensing the loss of the Terminus did not slow him down, did not cause him to hesitate, or falter for even a second. In fact, the event served to increase his seemingly endless reserves of vehemence. Manticore would become the very agent of their Retribution against the First Order. Their service to the Sith would not be without purpose.

At last, Manticore found himself on the same level as Lord Hunger. At once, he cast an appreciative glance at the Anzati’s handy work. Not too shabby or much different from the trail of destruction he’d left in his wake. He needn’t look back as the acrid smell of smoke and death, along the sounds of explosions and the roar of fire heralded his arrival.

It was tragic when one perished in ignorance, but such could not be helped at this time. Too much was at stake and greater fates hung in the balance. Manticore kept his confrontation with the riot geared troopers brief, as he simply caused them to burst in flames at a glance.

Once they had been dispatched, he spared a glance towards Bernael, whom he acknowledged with a slow and respectful nod. Manticore’s eyes seemed ablaze as he gauged the Crimson Praetorian Guard. The zabrak allowed himself a predatory smile as he rolled his shoulder and neck. These were reputed to be well trained combatants and worthy warriors, which were presumably skilled in the Martial Arts. Manticore wondered at that, seeing their weapons as more-than-just a bit cumbersome.

Manticore was ready. He did not look to Lord Hunger. He did not need to. The zabrak simply twirled his weapon in hand as he answered through the Force.

As one.

Hunger approached the Red Guard, slowly, as he sensed that they were more than what they appeared. He’d scoffed initially that they appeared no more than a ceremonial guard but as he approached he watched as they shifted into combat stances and their seemingly unwieldy staffs spun as though they were matchsticks, in their hands.

His talons extended, on feet and hands, and he shook himself out from the previous combat, boosting slightly, no need to use up all his energy on this fight, but just to give an extra edge. To test how well protected or ready the Guard was he sent a shaft of lightning at the two closest. A small smile touched his face as they deflected a portion of it with their polearms and the remainder splashed against their armor, making them take a step back but recovering quickly.

He sped up his pace, almost to a normal running one, no need to give away that he was faster, stronger, and more agile. As he came within a pair of steps one of the two tossed his staff to another further behind and drew a pair of long daggers. Hunger swept one saber through the space where the legs of the nearest stood. His smile broadened as that Guard leapt over his saber, swinging his polearm down toward Hunger’s chest.

Ducking around the sweep of the blade, Hunger swung his other saber in a diagonal from the shoulder to hip of the second Guard. A chuckle escaped him as that guard caught his saber in the X of his daggers as he crossed them by his shoulder. He heard the squeal of his saber glancing off the armor even still. Spinning and pulling his saber from the block he aimed another sweeping slash at the joint of the knee in this Guards armor. As his head whipped around to judge the correct angle for the sweep, he saw Lord Hate engaging his first foes at the other end of the narrow space.

Unlike Lord Hunger, Manticore did not reduce his already enhanced combat proficiency, for he had a plan. Hux was a fool. Even if he had somehow managed to invade Yag’Dhul, did he think the New Republic would simply allow him to stage a siege of the planet? The man was too enamored of his seizable toys and understood nothing, that much was clear.

Lord Hate lunged at two of the Red armored guards and engaged them, his saber flashing as he began a deadly dance with them. He parried and blocked their strikes, time and time again as he took note of how they coordinated to take him down. He evaded their attempts to hack-off his limbs and noted how they interfered for each other when he countered with a deadly ripostes. These two seemed to have trained together, or so he surmised.

Inwardly, he was pleased that Bernael was also faring exceedingly well. Manticore wanted Hux to experience the feeling of crushing failure and defeat before he met his end, knowing that nothing he did here would succeed.

The dance between Manticore and the two guards became frenzied, even as the zabrak found out that their armor was resistant to lightsaber blades, but not to the force. Slowly, Manticore began to increase the temperature inside their armor, burning up the oxygen they needed to breathe and remain proficient. These armored guard fought well indeed. Their training was solid. The zabrak Sith Lord was satisfied with what he was shown.

“Join us.” He rasped as they fought on, clearly determined in their warrior ways. “Hux is a fool on a fool's errand. The culling has begun. Stand strong with us, do not let your hard won prowess be for nothing.”

Manticore would prefer to take these warriors alive, but death would come if they refused. He had no doubt they could sense this. Lord Hate did not ‘need’ these men, he merely wished to acquire them for a greater purpose, thus he was in perfect accordance with whatever ‘judgement’ Lord Hunger brought upon the ones he faced.

Hux and his Fleet of Fools was the mission, after all.

There was a pause in the tableau as the Guards absorbed his words, though it was broken by the airlock cycling over and Hux tumbling through. The Guards looked to each other, and then were abruptly grabbed by the throat in the Force and slammed into the wall on either side of the entrance to the hangar.

They dropped to the floor, unconscious but not dead -

A dark chuckle floated through from the hangar.

Manticore's fiery eyes simply observed as the Red Guards were flung like rag dolls against the ship's bulkheads, then crumpled to the unforgiving floor, unconscious. The zabrak Sith Lord narrowed his eyes and snarled, largely ignoring Hux when he tumbled out through the doors. Aside from Lord Hunger, Manticore had not sensed another force sensitive of worth during his assault, so this was an unexpected development. Neither did he recognize the dark chuckle that floated around them. No matter, this was the nature of all conflict and he would meet it as a Sith would.

Sparing but the briefest glance towards Bernael, Manticore readied his body, his mind and his weapon to meet this unexpected adversary.

Hunger paused as his foes were whipped away from him. Scanning the corridor he observed that every Red Guard present had been slammed against the walls and were lying unconscious on the floor. Hux too seemed to have been thrown back through the airlock.

The laugh that followed seemed eerily familiar. He rolled his shoulders, gathered his power, drinking in a soul as he did. He stepped forward a pace, to where he could see into the hangar, to a degree, without being in sight of whoever may be inside. ”Could it possibly be….”



TAGS: @greyjedi125, @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Supreme Leader Snoke
Aboard the Resurgent, the faltering ship

The Supreme Leader of the First Order grinned to himself about the old truisms that exist. Those ones about doing things yourself. Distracted by Serapis, he had simply arrived 'late' to Yag'Dhul, only to find his fleet ambushed by the New Republic... and two Sith.

Interesting.

Snoke had taken his Meditation Sphere to the hull of the Resurgent, connecting with Hux even as he fled the attack, a two-man assault which had decimated the ships crew. Maddening, but amusing. The Terminus had exploded as he arrived, and the Givin frigates were even now pulling back. Space was nimbused with escape pods, but Snoke paid them no heed.

He needed his General, and it was high time the Sith knew their place.

With the correct airlock confirmed by the Pretorian Guard, who Snoke had a mental link with, he stepped down from the Sphere, keeping his connection with the ship both firm and strong. There was another shuttle evident; the new model Upsilon-class command shuttle. Many of the First Order assets were prototypes in some shape or manner, but they were distinctly different from the late Empire's model to be unique.

Snoke was no different.

"Lord Manticore," he crowed. "You look considerably better as a wall ornament than."

He was of course referring to Manticore's time in carbonite as a piece of the maze on Bedlam, an entwined Force conduit that Snoke had drawn upon to force wider the holes in the reality wall there. In the galaxy the Sith had originated from four ancient Gods had once dwelled on Bedlam, and their actions there had weakened the divide between realities; it had made a perfect place to reach for Typhojem and manipulate him into bestowing power upon his form. No longer did Snoke need to conspire as Dr Shadow, supplying quiet support to each faction of the War of Three, but instead he existed in his full malevolence, having abandoned Bedlam in the very Meditation Sphere that Soliloquy had discovered in the Unknown Regions - a powerful artefact constructed of ancient Eternal technology from their original galaxy.

With a clawed hand, he gestured for them to begin their attack. He knew not personally the Anzati, but he didn't care; either.

They would be dead, and done for it.

In the Force there was the slightest unfurling.

Be ready.

It was Wapoe's voice.

Seemingly he had survived the destruction of the Terminus.

TAG: @greyjedi125, @darthbernael (combo)
---
IC: Taun We
Kamino, Prime Ministers office

Questions, but actually - advice. Taun We blinked, and she could see what she had not initially believed to be true; Cocytus had not lied - he truly did intend to offer a partnership. It wasn't just a thinly veiled proposition concealing threat. While yes, Cocytus could kill her at any time, he needed her. She blinked again, in realisation.

That gave her power; importance, even, in his Grand Design.

She could get behind that.

"I would recommend sending a message to the Banking Clan, in-fact," Taun We said. "They are suits, nothing more or less. Their credits give them power in the Empire as it remains, and indeed they bankroll the New Republic more and more with each passing day. Kamino has no need for credits, not when we stand outside the mainstream galaxy - we craft a new order, and our clones will be our currency." The guards seemed almost entranced by her words, even though they were merely here to protect.

"Kill them, my Lord, and we need not deal with them ever again."

Taun We savoured her words for a moment.

"Kamino will be the capital of an Imperial Confederation; we should meet the Imperials here, and offer them each a free personal clone as their payment, moulded to their preference and pleasure." Another idea seized upon her, and she almost smiled at her brilliance. "The Centrists are indeed a political faction; we should invite the leader of their party - Ormes Apolin - to join us here."

She seemed to be elated by the possibility of real change. Taun We paused. "Perhaps we should discuss this in a more private setting, Lord Cocytus? I have some more intimate proposals to make, at that." It was a sudden change of tune, but Taun We wanted to solidify their... partnership, it was the exact word. Now Cocytus had shown her how much he needed her, and that it hadn't been mere convenience that saw him assist her in her assent to power, she wanted more.

The guards shifted uneasily, mind you.

There was an incongruity forming in the Force though; somewhere, somewhen, on Kamino, at that, a decision seemed to have been made by someone.

Styx?

TAG: @Darth Cocytus
---
IC: Ducha Galney
Speaking to a Noble

The Ducha Galney seemed flustered, surprised by the sudden Court intrigue. He had expected another Sith incursion, and instead he had this. The man who spoke to him was completely versed in Hapan politics, and it was impossible to discount what Iudex had said as true. Galnet was ill-placed to cross swords at a Court which was reeling from the death of Ni'Korish and the seeming madness of Ta'a Chume. There was a collective panic among them, as they desperately sought to avoid death-by-droid.

With all that in mind, Galney balked.

"Of course, my friend. You are more than welcome to land - and at the Palace, at that. I am sure Court will be gathering soon enough. There has been an assassination attempt on the monarch again, as one would expect a new monarch to be subject to, and ordinarily the Queen Mother requests the Court convene so she can bestow her favour on those who supported her." Galney had a darker thought, of course. And purge those who were not sufficiently supportive.

Insipid had stepped away from Renn, Serapis and Helinith, telling them to restock and recharge in the minutes they had. "Well done, Lord Iudex," he said, as the comm line was cut. "In the meantime we have regrouped with my team." He had let them know that a new recruit, the Falleen Iudex, whose Sith faction had been crushed by the real Acolytes of the Beyond, was with them, and was to be trusted until they had reason not to do so. His word was final on that point, after all.

"We shall be seeing the Queen Mother ourselves, though we will have a fight of it." A smile, genuine, fluttered across his lips. "I look forward to seeing you in action."

In short order the automated shuttle took them down to the damaged hangar bay that Renn, Serapis and Helinith had just departed. Insipid grinned at them as the ramp dropped. "Yes, we're back. But this time? We'll do it my way. You have all done very well, my friends, my family," he regarded the Falleen, the Neti and the two humans.

When the ramp dropped, the self-same Hapan aide that had greeting Renn and Helinith looked in growing panic at them. "But, but -"

"Thank you," Insipid said, glacially calm. He flicked a hand, blowing what few cameras would see him step down into the hangar.

"Thank you?" The Hapan repeated, confused.

Insipid flexed a finger, and snapped the mans neck. "For your life."

Alarms rang out swiftly enough, and they would hear the stomping of the Super Battle Droids that had threatened them before, indeed, among them now were Hapan guards, dozens of them converging from across the Royal Palace; beyond the hangar, through the adjoining corridor and doors Leia had cut apart, was the Courtyard where the droid army had previously surrounded and drove them out. Insipid led them to the Courtyard edge, and eyed Renn, Helinith and Iudex. "Blow through, we don't need to worry about escape. We are taking Hapes."

Insipid looked to Serapis. He used to be an Ithorian, and so in theory was more attuned to nature than humans would be. Notwithstanding that he had a Neti, Insipid wanted to see Serapis in action, being as it wasn't all too long ago that he'd been in a droid. "You should be able to sense Secciah, no? Find her, please, and direct her. I expect she is in the Royal Bunker getting a dressing down."

Indeed, she was, with her two daughters, the Queen Mother, and her son, Isolder.

"Destroy or kill anything in the path that Serapis sets for us," Insipid said, softly. "And remember the holocams. It would not do for my face - the face of the Kuati Senator - to be broadcast." Suiting action to words, he lifted his cloak hood, leaving his nose and chin evident.

Super Battle Droids poured into the Courtyard, with the Palace proper behind them.

"Precede me, my Sith."

TAG: @DarthIshyZ, @darthbernael, @darthhelinith, @Silvertough
---
IC: Shimmer
Explume Minor

"Dead and gone. All but, all but." Soliloquy had softly echoed back to her, his voice nearly cooing as he took control of the craft with the Force; Shimmer let him. Nudging her to rest back in her seat, he continued to speak. "Ever hear of Alashanians? Their world was scorched to an ember yet through divine intervention they were saved, and their beasts were saved though their world burned. Living as such they built where only they could in a world destroyed. The built down. Eventually they built and waged war and lost the favor that was their salvation before, but when all life is stripped away and you yet live. You have two choices, fly to the stars or to burrow down. Growing up in this I chose the stars when the chance came, others?"

Here he smiled as his skin began to turn black and blotchy, which Shimmer had difficulty interpreting but she opted for it to be an amused reaction.

"Others are more stubborn. Too stubborn. Go see that we have no stowaways and finish your contemplation of what boon you wish to ask of me before I go. Your time is nearly up. We are about to land."

Shimmer blinked; she wasn't coming with him? She nodded, and rushed to check for stowaways, thrusting her Force perceptions into every nook and cranny of the ship; she found none, but even then she performed a full scan too, because why do one when you can do both and earn absolute certainty.

Nothing.

With that done, she headed back to the cockpit as they came to land. Peering out the viewport, she could see a man, or what she presumed was a Croke portraying a man, and looked back to Soliloquy. "Master? Am I not to accompany you... is it too dangerous to do so?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, I had to ask," Shimmer said, quickly. "That's not my last question. My last one is..." Her eyes darted around as she thought.

"Is it possible that parts of your universe have fallen into ours? Especially here, in the Unknown Regions? If this is your Explume Minor, are other parts of the Unknown Regions also from your reality? Could someone have leapt across the divide in the dying moments of your time?"

TAG: @Mitth_Fisto
---
IC: Ike Kya
Taris, above, dancing

The Force was his ally, and a powerful one at that.

When it came to the lifestream that connected and bound them all, Ike wasn't particularly spiritual about his ability to access it.

It was a matter of fact point, and he didn't use to seek greater understanding of the cosmos, or to project a cunning design into the galaxy. No. It was just part of him, and was a simple extension of what he did and could do. Right now, it was keeping him from dying, as it gave him hints and nudges about what to dodge and avoid between the two fleets - one exultant, one dying - and he was absently wishing he'd spent more time contemplating and getting to know his place in it.

He suspected, though he didn't know, he'd be having an easier time of this not dying aspect of his life if he had a better grasp of the Force.

If he survived this - big if - he would take some time to muse on it more. At a spa. With Bellorum. And his own masseuse. Or two.

Focusing, he skimmed the surface of a ship belching crew and atmosphere as a trio of fighters chased him. Ike used his repulsorlifts to bounce himself up off the hull, cut his drives, and blew the three ships apart as they passed beneath him. The push sent him flying towards another ship, so he inverted, using the Force to manage the G-forces and his stomach, and landed aboard the underside of a Ren warship, using his sensors to scan for any ships that were looking in the direction of Plo and the others.

When he found a target, he gunned forward, hoping Syren had picked up Anark so they could get the hell out of here.

At this point he didn't care about whatever their mission was on the surface now.

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard, @Lady Belligerent (mentioned), @QueenSabe7 (mentioned), @Snokers (mentioned)

 

IC Renn Turon
Location: Frack, back to Hapes, for the third time

As Helinith leapt from his shoulder Renn shifted. Insipid desired destruction and carnage and so he would get it. If any Hapan had seen the footage from their initial foray, from the ship that had taken them initially, they would blanch at what shape he shifted into. He heard his Craziness’ yell as he moved and the massive four armed gorilla shape roared it’s response, fangs glistening as the mouth clomped shut and a broad smile crossed the face.



He knuckled his way forward and, as he passed the body of their greeter, he grabbed it by an ankle with one of his lower arms and began swinging it into the masses of droids in his path. The other lower arm ripped the limbs from the torso, throwing pieces of them at cameras as they came into sight, knocking them askance or destroying them outright. He leapt, swinging the corpse in a circle, smashing droids off of their feet and into each other.

He touched the Force for a moment to guide his descent and turned his fall to land in a large concentration of the droids. His arms whipped out and the free hands grabbed droids and added them to his arsenal of destruction. Spinning in a circle, he whipped all four arms around, decimating the gathered droids nearby. Stepping out in the cardinal points as he swung he opened the circle of destruction around him, grunting in laughter as blaster bolts flew by, singing the white fur of this form.

A backhand with the arm holding the corpse and it disintegrated after more abuse than a body was designed for as it crushed the photoreceptors of the droid he’d aimed it at. He flung the crushed droids from his hands, taking out the remaining cameras in view and tumbling them into the paths of reinforcements that were rushing forward. In the moment that he released the droids he shifted back to the ‘Sith’ Renn, drawing a pair of sabers.



The blades snapped into life and he felt Helinith touching his presence in the Force and he smiled. Cutting his way through the droids he ensured that he was close to her, even as she did the same. She was Insipid’s saber, slashing from the front, cutting a swath through the droids the Hapans had sent to destroy them, and he was Insipid’s broadsword, supporting and destroying all those that filtered past the sweeping cuts of her advance. He kept his eye on Serapis’ advance so that he could nudge his Craziness in the direction they needed to go to follow the Lord to reach Secciah.

TAGS: @darthhelinith, @DarthIshyZ, @Silvertough, @Sinrebirth

 

IC Renn
Following the little ‘wife’

Renn giggled then laughed outright in delight at the display Helinith put on. When she pouted and showed her disappointment, he giggled again. As she took off after Serapis he scanned the corpses for a moment, little tendril of limbs absently stripping any little baubles he found, something shiny there would put a smile on her face, later.

He followed in her wake, not bothering now to take trinkets or scan rooms, the really good stuff would be where the royals were so they had to get there. Any twitching bodies they had left behind he dispatched, doing as he had when facing the earlier Matriarch and sucking their energy into himself, supercharging himself.

As reinforcements came in behind to cut them off he turned, keeping himself close to his Craziness’s presence as he backed down hallways, fighting a rearguard action. The Hapans were crowding closely trying to overwhelm them but they were merely men and women, not even Force users.

While he fought he extended himself in the Force, crippling their ability to attack as he steadily drained any being in range, save Insipid, Helinith, Iudex, or Serapis. His smile was dark as he watched the Hapans begin to turn gaunt, listless, even as they swung their swords or fired their blasters. In the distance he could see frightened troops being pushed forward to test the width of the field of his draining while commanders argued over how many they could sacrifice to prevent the Sith from reaching the Royal family.

He kept a weather eye on the distant commanders as they seemed to come to a decision and the troops parted. The sounds of heavy droid footsteps reached him and he knew they’d made the smart move. He could not use his draining on the metal bodies, so they would not waste troops. But this was where all the energy he’d drained would begin to come in handy. He focused, ceasing his attempts to drain and erected a shield that covered himself and the others behind him.

A pair of limbs grew under those holding his sabers and as he backed up he scooped up a pair of heavy assault blasters from heavy Hapan troops. He targeted the unshielded droids first, aiming for photoreceptors and joints to limbs. The shielded battle droids continued their unceasing march while he did so and he switched focus partially to take out support limbs on droids near them to cause them to fall in the paths of those battle droids, making them clamber over and around the bodies.

A fifth limb grew reaching to his equipment belt, ’Great, only 6 thermal detonators left. Ah well I’ll do what I must.’ he thought. One by one he took them and instead of targeting the droids he began targeting support columns and walls, calling over his shoulder, ”Guys, we’re going to need another way back, unless you all have a metric ton more thermal detonators.”

TAGS: @darthhelinith @DarthIshyZ @Sinrebirth @Silvertough

OOC: Edit as I'd forgotten Iudex was with us, sorry

 

OOC: Ohhh yes, fun with @Sinrebirth and @greyjedi125

IC Hunger and Hate
Round 3 of the Big Bads, so to speak

It wasn’t who Hunger had originally thought it might have been but, given the sense of Force presence roiling off of the being, Snoke was just as bad, if not worse, in this instance. Curiously, Hunger felt energy related to his cousin as a base for the power that Snoke wielded. This roused the essence of his Father and the contempt that existed due to his cousin’s nature surged through him, as did more of his Father’s energy.

His eyes blazed as two obsidian gems, darkness dripping through them when he heard the faint call of Wapoe. ’Still don’t trust him, but he didn’t run, good.’ he thought to himself as he readied himself. Seeing the slight gesture from Snoke he knew the man wanted them to attack and expected that he would easily overwhelm them.

Hunger smiled, Snoke was powerful, yes, but both Hate and he had already faced a Skywalker and the artificially grown twins, even if Snoke may have had a hand in creating the second group. At this point, no matter the outcome of previous battles Hate may have had with this creature, things had changed. Confident but wary, Hunger began his advance. His sabers leapt from his hands and sheathed themselves as Lightning gathered in one palm and pure darkness in the other.

The darkness leapt forth first, spreading out in filaments of energy, intent on wrapping around whatever defense Snoke had enacted for himself. The lightning continued to growl and hiss in his palm, waiting for Snoke’s reaction and breaching his own defenses, which the darkness would reveal in the pinprick holes in it’s fabric that their foe opened to retaliate. He kept an eye on Hate, ready to whip the darkness back if the other decided a frontal assault was his option.

Snoke lifted a finger on his left hand and the filaments diverted, looking to instead impale Manticore, and simply released a bolt of lightning into the floor with his right - it erupted into the metal and reflected up, a terrible swift action that would, on impact, send Bernael and Manticore flying.

The man before them wasn't just adept; he was powerful.

All of Skywalker's strength and none of his compunctions about fair play.

Here, Snoke intended to educate, if not kill them.

Manticore counted on Bernael's innate familiarity with him. Hunger and Hate thus far had worked well together, and Manticore despised Snoke on a level that was on par with his hate for his former Master.

In a blink of an eye, Manticore became an explosion of motion as he sped forth faster than any eye could follow. The Zabrak had not been afraid of Typhojem, thus it stood to reason that he certainly was not afraid of Snoke. Even within that split second, he'd felt the gnarled man's powerful Force attack, as power attempted to gut him and lightning strove two slow him, but Manticore had been expecting this. The zabrak sith Lord fashioned his assault from experience, as he used his knowledge of the force to dissipate any force power Snoke threw at him. He'd fully expected the wizened powerhouse to initiate his attack with a volley of Force. Snoke usually left Lightsaber combat to others, so Manticore's ploy was to exploit that fact from the onset.

The zabrak had swung with all his might at Snoke's neck, as he had every intention to sever the creature's head from his body, so much so that the strike was enhanced by the force, to such a degree that it would even slice the bulkhead behind them.

Nevertheless, Manticore knew he'd executed his intended strike, and yet still, he felt himself being thrown backward by Snoke's powerful assault. Immediately, Lord Hate arrested his rate of motion and twisted his boy to land in a crouch. He didn't even look down as a stinging sensation and wetness in his abdomen informed him that he'd been wounded. Hate snarled, focusing only on his wish to destroy the creature before him, even as he prepared to coordinate a second pass with Lord Hunger.

If he died here, so be it. He was willing to do so, to at least wound and weaken this abomination, if it meant that Bernael or even Insipid would rid the galaxy of the insufferable blight that was Snoke.

Snoke smirked at Manticore. He fought like a warrior, when the dark side merely played with lightsabers. It was not their preference nor calling; not truly - not to Snoke. He lifted a hand and flared his fingers, an invisible wavefront reaching out for Manticore with the intention of popping his blood-vessels.

All of them.

Whereas Snoke mastered expedience and simple movements to maximize the use of the Force, amused that the diverted attack had wounded Manticore. This Zabrak was a powerhouse. He slid an eye to glance at Bernael, a feathered eyebrow arching in enquiry.

"My boys, you do well! Yes! The power! The panache!"

The man's taunts, if it could even be called a man, fell on deaf ears.

Even with his knowledge of the Force defusing incoming assaults he expected from Snoke, such defenses would not negate them. Underneath his skin, blood vessels and capillaries did burst, but to a lesser degree than they should have. Still, the experience, though excruciating, would not stop Lord Hate. For the moment, he was blinded by blood filling his eyes, rendered mute as he tasted his own blood, his body spasming in response; but his Hate for Snoke knew no bounds. Manticore was utterly disinclined to 'entertain' the creature who sought to dominate them by sheer force of will. Every breath he took was a declaration of his defiance.

Like Snoke, he did not need to gesture either to utilize the Force.

Though he was unable to move momentarily, Manticore would be able to project his searing hate. In an instant, Manticore commanded the force to engulf his adversary in a column of roaring fire, a blazing tornado to immolate Snoke from within and consume him without.

As the threads of Darkness were bent back, Hunger snapped them off, let them die on the vine, so to speak. His lightning roared back toward him and he leaned into it, letting the armor absorb most of it and smiled at the scent of charred flesh. Pain was only another way of giving the body a focus for the energy of battle.

He sensed as Hate began to try to burn Snoke from the inside and he took a cue from his brother in arms. His eyes flashed and suddenly a ring of flames roared to life around Snoke, bearing inward toward the man. He knew that Hate could still attack through them, had seen the zabrak do something similar before.

As the flames roared, he had to slow the advice of his Father’s essence, as the energy it was feeding him, should he have used it, would have melted the walls and ripped a hole through the Resurgent. He could see that the flames were already melting the steel of the deck though, such was their strength.

Reaching into the folds of his cloak he retrieved several daggers, inscribed with runes that kept their flight from being influenced by the Force and whipped them in arcs that would take them through the lightest heat of the flames, at their foe. Leaping to the side of the corridor, his talons sunk into the metal and he rapidly scurried up the wall to have a better line of sight. As he reached that point he let loose a second flight of daggers, trying to both attack and distract Snoke from Hate’s own attacks.

Snoke grinned, fluttering a finger to dispel the efforts of Manticore, but it required effort and he had to stagger as he looked to Bernael's attack. As he did, he reached for the floor and ripped a floor-plate up to catch the first throw of daggers, which embed themselves through, and he glanced to follow Bernael's rush and angled the plate again, which promptly shattered, but all four daggers clattered to the floor, some damaged.

This left Snoke entirely exposed to Manticore - but the Sphere sitting behind Snoke, accepting Hux, simply fashioned a physical cannon and shot a cannonball at him was Snoke's mind moved faster than his form. A metal chain unraveled from the Ship and whipped at Bernael, controlled both remotely and via the Force that the Ship could summon.

It was becoming quite the fight, but a series of clangs echoed across the hull - their crew had arrived in escape pods aboard the Resurgent!

Manticore was back in the moment as he pushed past all physical impediments through Force Rage and seamlessly rejoined Bernael in his efforts against Snoke.

It did not matter why the foul creature had appeared before them, all that mattered was finally riding the galaxy of him.

With a powerful and Hate-filled exertion of the Force, Manticore grabbed hold of three Red Guard Glaives and telekinetically shot them forth at relativistic speeds for varying effects.

The first one was meant to impale Snoke and pin him against a wall, an effort he fully intended to pressure him with, should he defend against it.

The second weapon was sent to intercept the whipping chains meant for Lord Hunger, in similar fashion to a lightsaber being used to intercept sith lightning.

The third was meant to end Hux’s miserable existence once and for all.

Even as he did this, Manticore became aware that the First Order Flagship was being boarded by allied forces. If capturing the Resurgent served a useful purpose, then they could have it, as long as they did not interfere with the present conflict. To that end, the zabrak growled menacingly, all the while pouring more power into his attack.

Hunger’s saber snapped up, slicing through the chain as it whipped at him before it was violently thrown away from him, courtesy of Hate. He tipped his saber in a salute to Hate and returned to the battle. Seeing another glaive headed for Snoke, he sent a wave of energy after it, timing the push so that it would impact after the glaive did and push it slightly deeper into Snoke, pinning him further to the wall.

He glanced over to the ship as he heard the metallic clangs of the escape pods connecting with the hull. With the loss of their ship, if those were the Kuati, the Resurgent would be a good secondary ship to take into action. He recognized the craft that Snoke was using and reached out his mind, trying to disable the hold that Snoke had over it and turn it to their side. He knew the strength of Snoke’s mind and presence now but when the essences of Architects went against one another it became a matter of will.

Outside the now mental battlefield he gathered up the shards of daggers from where they lay strewn around the hangar, with a touch of power and spun them into a whirlwind around Snoke, randomly tossing slivers of them at their foe. He had to keep Snoke’s mind focused on them and not on what he was doing with Ship. His wall of flame was diminishing as he focused on other attacks so he stepped forward, saber snapping up absently to deflect bolts from Ship as it fought back against them, still under Snoke’s influence, for now.

Snoke stepped back again and again, flicking fingers to deflect the glaives, and then, with his great Force potential, return them at Bernael. Refocusing on Bernael allowed him to rip more of the bulkheads free to defend himself, and then direct them all to surround the Zabrak as his free hand reached for Bernael throat and tugged him forward - a sharp and short yank intending to slam him into the flow.

Through it all the Ship remained resolutely at his command, expanding it's defenses to protect Hux and then to amplify Snoke's already incredible power - as the flow fed into him, he squeezed both his hands and crushed Manticore in the gathering metal and sought to break all the bones in Bernael's body - he pinned them both in place - even while keeping at bay the flame.

As he did, laughing and laughing and laughing, the entire ship shook from his exertions. In the Force they would sense that he was reaching for every structural connecting point in the Destroyer, every divot, every screw, every crew member that was retreating and every one advancing.

Wapoe watched them all fall, clutching their throats, emerging from an escape pod near the bridge. He was unaffected by virtue of his cloak, and shook his head slightly.

"Well this is going well." He quickly began running to the point of the ship the damage was flowing from.

With Snoke welded to the Ship, his powers were almost absolute.

They should have been dead already - but they were, somehow, still alive.

For how long, though?

Hate knew what needed to be done. He felt and knew that they were greater than Snoke, not as individuals, but perhaps together...

That's why Snoke was here, why he was drawn to this place. Snoke was afraid. Afraid of the only Force that could truly challenge his Power. The Power of the True Sith.

There was no doubt in his mind or hesitation.They had to become one. Hunger and Hate. To become The Slayer.

He had once been part of a seal and a key. A part of Mortis. It was time to use what remained of that terrible Power -power not unlike the Twin children of Kronos.

Manticore reached to Bernael through the Force and issued a command- even as Snoke turned his focus on unbinding the entire ship.

Take my Essence, ALL of my Hate, only thus will ALL our Chains be Broken, OUR WILL is singular. We will know NO LIMITS. DESTROY HIM!! DO IT!!!

Manticore opened himself to the Azanti. His HATE for Snoke was complete; it knew no bounds, none whatsoever. He wished for this creature to be obliterated from existence with every fiber of his being. The zabrak's blazing vehemence just needed a greater vessel to properly and unequivocally convey that message. What better instrument than his brother-in-arms? It needed to be done. No matter the cost.

Hunger’s eyes blazed as he strove against Snoke, mind to mind with Ship, fighting it’s attachment to Snoke, as he felt himself lifted and the stresses put upon his body. He laughed, a short dark sound as the glaives flew toward him and Snoke drew him closer. And then POWER flowed into him. He felt Hate pouring it all into him and things burst.

The final walls between himself and his Father’s essence melted and he was no longer an Anzati bolstered by his long association with the Balance mixed with that essence of an Architect but a merger of both. And still the power flowed in. His first act was to stop, cold, the pressure being exerted against him. He bowed his head for a moment and when it raised one eye behind the mask was the same as those that sat in Hate’s eyes, blazing just as fiercely in its redness as Hunger’s black one exuded darkness. The top of his hood seemed raised as though the horns of a zabrak tented it.

Throwing back his head he roared, the sound making the walls reverberate as deeply as the shaking Snoke was doing by trying to rend the ship into its components. As his roar faded unnatural silence took its place. His dual color eyes flashed and the glaives shuddered to a stop millimeters from them. They splintered and joined the suddenly viciously slashing tornado of slivers from the daggers, slicing in random arcs in and out of its funnel.

The silence was suddenly overlaid with, at the same time, the absolute zero of space and the heat of a blue ultra-giant star. The focus of the temperatures was directly in the space that Snoke occupied. Hunger could feel Ship trying to batter him with its weaponry but wrapped in the power he didn’t even notice the attack, it simply fading away as it came close to his form. He lifted an arm and the razor talons shone in the competing temperatures as he descended to the decking.

As his feet touched the floor the shaking of the ship ceased, for the moment. He strode forward, slowly and deliberately, the flames rising and filling the space, save for where Hate stood. They too mimicked the temperatures. The blue looked the coolest but were the same temperature as the surface of those same stars, the red looked the warmest but would snap limbs with the cold of the merest touch. But none touched him.

He walked forward, until he stood directly in front of Snoke. In a hollow ethereal voice, ”You have siphoned the essence of my cousin/nephew and are a shade of that powerful being. I recognize that but you are not the end all, be all, of this galaxy, there are things far older than you and you have fully awoken one, shade.” One razor talon traced down the gold filaments of the jacket Snoke wore as he spoke.

He snorted dismissively, mind leaping out and rendering the entire crews of the remaining First Order ships unconscious before returning. ”Begone shade of my family, begone and we will allow you to depart. Stay and you will be rent in turn. Or do you truly need encouragement?” he pondered. A nod, ”So be it.”

Even as the temperatures raged, the fires blazed, a crushing, soul rending, bone pulverizing darkness descended upon the portion of the hangar in which he and Snoke stood.

The two of them were finished, Snoke crowed. Manticore's despair as he turned to the Anzati was the sweetest and headiest of wines - but then energy flowed from one to the other, and an unlocking occurred. Snoke grinned; he knew of the Anzati connection to the Old One of Death. That all of His creations were nothing more than fonts of his power.

Perhaps, if they were in their timeline, the effect would have been all the more terrifying, Snoke reflected, but here, and now - this was succulent enough. The power, comparable to any phenomenon he had met in his time. Snoke withdrew from the Star Destroyer he held in the palm of his hand, drew deep on the powers which amplified his when entwined with the Sphere, stepped back to the ramp as he held the furnace between him and his demise.

The creature - the shadow of a God - of an Architect - it whispered through Bernael, and Snoke sneered as he lifted his hands, skin flaying and his face sagging ever more, his eyes turning golden from blue, his mouth askance. Attention would be drawn to the ring on his hand, which glowed golden, the black stone burning away as its connection to other, darker places was too drained away.

Snoke stank of death, of decay, and of his undoing. He stumbled on to the ramp, collapsing with his hands outstretched, the ramp which carried him into the Sphere, and, as it sealed, was blown clear out of the hangar, aflame but quickly put out by the vacuum of space -

Leaving Bernael - a hollowed out, completely spiritually drained, blackened husk of a corpse - alive, but on the very cusp of death - a void into which life was drawn, and Manticore's own soul seemed poised to fall into, for he had poured himself into that connection, into that bond -

Darkness consumed them both, entirely, utterly, their vision vanishing -

Through a room alight with flame that melted durasteel, and liquefied the ceiling in great dollops of black - Wapoe rushed to them, blowing out the fire with a blast of the Force and placing a hand on the necks of their burned out shells, and willed them to live. In spite of himself, they needed these two to live.

To survive.

"LIVE!"

Wapoe screamed, his gloves melting away and revealing a pair of human hands - his robes smouldered, but did not give way, and the man dropped to the floor.

I swore I would never be a bystander again.

There was a memory imparted, of a man watching a dipyramid in the depths as energies flowed from it and the world it orbited died, of the Force screaming with the demise of billions -

Then the memory vanished, as Wapoe broke the connection.

And they lived, breathing, just about.

Hunger felt himself collapse, felt his essence diminishing until the grey of almost nothingness took him. In the timeless moments before Wapoe reached Hate and himself he stood, a featureless plain stretching out in what remained of his consciousness. As he faced what was to come, which for him was truly the end, no Force to merge with, simply to cease, a vision floated into sight before him.

’Flesh of my flesh, child of myself, Snoke is not entirely correct, he forgets that Celestials and we exist across all the timelines, both singularly and all at once. Your use of my power has called my own remaining fragment in this timeline to you. Keep it hidden, keep it safe, reveal it to none until the moment you must call on power from this timeline. Now…’

"LIVE!"

Hunger drew in a shuddering breath, feeling the pain racing through him, tying him back to the plain of the living. He looked up at Wapoe, the being beginning to swim into focus as his eyes adjusted. Behind his mask, a smile touched the corner of his mouth. In a voice that only carried to Wapoe, both from weakness and to not reveal more than needed, ”Hello old friend, old enemy, you are the same regardless of timeline. But thank you.”

He attempted to sit up but the remaining weakness kept him recumbent. However he felt the surviving crew of the Terminus moving around the Resurgent, and a curious thing, the energy that Snoke had fed him that had turned him into a black hole sucking in energy and essences of all around him was still present, could be focused if consciously directed. He consciously kept the Hunger from touching Hate and ‘Wapoe’ but did let it otherwise flow. Slowly his body adjusted and he realized that the Hunger was, in part, a vital part of his essence now, beyond the hunger of his kind.

Turning his head, his eyes saw Hate was also mostly incapacitated. He released whatever dregs of power that remained of what Hate had shared with him, returning them to his brother in arms. Looking back to Wapoe, ”So we traded ships and got a really nice one, should it not fall apart, so the mission continues. Wake me up when we get there.” and then laid back down and closed his eyes, letting the subtle flow of energy continue to flow into him as he did.

Dreaming, Nar Shaddaa, Slums

Silent, he opened the door and entered the room, making not a sound. Ever so slowly, he removed his boots, then proceeded to move methodically through the small room, making sure not to bump the furniture. The smell of food being cooked filled his nostrils. A welcoming scent that made him smile.

“You need to do better than that.” Her voice came to him as she spoke from the kitchen.

“Wha…?” He was detected? Impossible! She wasn’t even looking his way.

“Welcome home Declan. You’re a day early.”

She turned and ran to him, he rushed forward and embraced her. “Imzadi. How I’ve missed you.”

“We both missed you, terribly. Isn’t that right, Kas’im?”

She’d brought the child into the kitchen as she cooked. The tot smiled brightly, and lifted his arms now that he saw his father. He could always sense when his Dad was in the house. Always.

Declan obliged and smoothly lifted the child with his powerful bronze arms. His long raven hair spilling as he did so. The child squealed happily.

“You’re not due 'till tomorrow. Is everything alright?”

She’d turn to continue preparing the meal and spoke in light tones. But he knew her, just as she knew him. He could hear the hint of concern in her voice.

“I finished early. Had some extra time….” He said as he smiled at the tot who was reaching for his horns.

“Then report in early. You’re the one who keeps telling me how exacting you ‘Boss’ can be.”

“He’ll just give me another assignment.” He countered with a light scoff, then kissed the child, who only squealed louder. “Besides, he doesn’t know I’m here, he doesn’t know about us.”

“Then don’t risk it. You know I want you to stay, but I want you to Live even more, Declan.”

Imzadi turned and stepped in to kiss him, filling him with a singular joy, one that transcended anything else he ever knew.

“Let’s not cause him any anguish. Go! Then hurry back to me my love. Go. Live Declan. Live.”

LIVE!

Manticore’s body had remained immobile and unresponsive for some time, the zabrak having spent all his energy, all his hate, funneled into his brother-in-arms. He would not remember his dream.

He would vaguely become aware of Wapoe and Bernael's efforts to restore him to life. In an instant, his body would heave as he took a breath, and a world of searing pain would overtake his senses, informing him of the extensive damage he body received, thanks to Snoke.

Pain. That was Hate’s reality. His constant reminder that he was, for all intents and purposes, alive.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @greyjedi125

 

IC: Darth Insipid
Murder quest on Hapes, Royal Palace

"Negative. All hostiles have been eliminated. What's our next move?"

There had been a growing tide of enemies, but inevitably, murderously, the enemies thinned out. Insipid didn't really do a great deal, letting them do so. Indeed, he found a table at the edge of one of the courtyards that included an abandoned teapot. With his cloak hood up, he settled in and enjoyed the same as they did the wet and metal work; and indeed the collapse of parts of the Palace as they went. The spectacle of Renn, Helinith, Serapis and Iudex was sufficiently entertaining, and when he was done, he swept after Serapis.

"Is anyone else alive?"

Insipid shook his head. "They've pulled back to the bunker."

In short order, they were there, notwithstanding Helinith turning it into a race; there was the one elevator, and though it was not powered, Insipid simply moved it with his telekinesis and forced open the doors. There was a small courtyard in this part of the Palace, but the doors were five times taller than himself, and indeed the pins holding them in place immense.

His hand shot forward and his lightsaber shot out his sleeve, igniting as it went and rebounding off the metal. Insipid gestured it back to his palm, deactivating the blade. The hilt slid back up his sleeve, and simply gestured with his hand, concentrating as he pushed the doors inward, meter thick metal sheering and the wall rather than the door splitting, the double doors falling inward with a massive and loud crash.

There were a half a dozen armoured guards present, who promptly rushed forward with an impossible speed; Insipid sensed cybernetic enhancements, and indeed they seemed enclosed in their suits, which included small repulsors on their feet and their 'fingers' were flechette weapons, shooting streams of metal rather than energy weapons that could be deflected - indeed, they also were pouring a noxious gas into the area.

Insipid simply touched off the floor with a tap, soaring up into the air and letting them go before him; the six split to send three after Renn, and one each after Iudex, Helinith and Serapis. Seems the Queen Mother definitely wants to repay the Neti, he thought, absently. When Insipid landed, he looked into the bunker, and could see them all.

Ta'a, Isolder, Secciah, and her two young daughters.

"Kill everyone apart from the Prince," Insipid said, without emotion.

TAG: @DarthIshyZ, @darthhelinith, @Silvertough, @darthbernael
---
IC: Styx
Kamino

The apprentice of Darth Cocytus quietly seethed to herself as she left Taun We and Cocytus to their tryst. Styx could see how fascinated with her Master the Prime Minister was, and how she coveted his future spawn. It was obvious, and while Cocytus would deal with it, he needed Taun We more than he needed Styx.

On Moraband he had seen how adept he was, and how powerful she could become; but it would take time, and she had no patience for it. She had an alternate to pursue, and so she would. Bane be damned, she could see that Styx was mere accessory to her master, not a true equal or potential successor - speaking the Rule of Two one moment and then pursuing Essence Transfer the other.

Told to defer to a politician? Styx seethed at the rebuke, reminded of the violence that her master had inflicted upon her. By the time Cocytus had tracked her down, she was keying their ship to lift off, the ramp up. She would find a true Master. She had a name, and a place, and she would take it.

TAG: @Darth Cocytus
---
IC: Wapoe
Aboard the Resurgent, Battle of Yag'Dhul

As the meditation sphere flew off, the Force surged and the crews of the First Order fleet that had been impacted by Bernael - which was not nearly as many crewers as he had intended - awoke at Snoke's command. He was laughing to himself, even as his skin continued to melt, his face sagging and his ability to stand from the throne that the Sphere had fashioned lessening.

What fun!

That sentiment flooded the Force, impacting upon the bodies of Manticore and Bernael, even as Snoke issued his command to the First Order fleet. "Jump onward as was originally intended; rendezvous point Omega."

Hux leaned over the Supreme Leader. "Are you, alright, Master?"

Snoke continued to chuckle. "Of course I am, my friend. This going very well."

The First Order fleet launched into hyperspace, leaving behind the Resurgent, a wealth of wrecked fighters and light cruisers, as well as the broken Terminus. The Givin flotilla, bloodied but mostly intact, retreated to Yag'Dhul, sending scouts to the debris field. Wapoe, for his part, promptly ordered the survivors to sort through the First Order crewers still alive - most of which were happy to not be executed - and take the bridge on. The essential systems were placed in their control, and the two Sith Lords transferred to bacta tanks.

But that wouldn't be enough.

It would be hours before the Resurgent's shields were repaired and the damage sealed, but for now it headed to the edge of the system. A few hours later, the Home One and a New Republic task force arrived and began combing through the wreckage. But the crew of the Resurgent had managed a micro-jump out-system so were, for now, safe.

The damage to the two Sith?

That would take a lot longer to recover.

Wapoe simply sat in the medical bay, pouring over the blackened or cut or bloodied items in the possession of the two Sith Lords before they had been stripped and placed in the tanks - in-fact, some of their attire had needed to be peeled off their skin, as it had fused to it.

For now, he waited until they woke, keeping a vigil over them and taking stock of their losses today.

At least Snoke was just as crippled - if not more, by today.

TAG: @greyjedi125, @darthbernael
---
IC: Mother
Rakatan Station, Unknown Regions

She had waited millennia for someone to come who was Chosen. The Twins had come first, but they were unstable - mentally and genetically, and Mother knew she could not bequeath her role upon them. It was ancient history that the Rakata had tired to create their own Mother to count Abeloth in their wars against the servants of the Celestials - the Kwa, Gree and Killiks. It was not well known history, but it was history.

This Leda, though, she was perfect. She was powerful, in possession of her faculties, and she had a touch of destiny to her.

Mother would be born, and she would deal with 'Father Snoke' and then her Daughter and Son would rule by her side.

With this power they could claim Mortis, and become.

Sian and Merel led Leda into the depths of the incomplete station, describing biotechnology, reproduction factories, and the schematics of the Galactic Empire that they could mass-produce, and indeed the battle droid armies they could spawn. They told her about the droid army they had sold to Hapes, about the orders from new, shadowed companies that allowed New Republic corporations to act in the former Imperial territories, the experimental designs of the First Order that they intended to reverse-engineer.

Eventually they led her to a chamber, and explained that this was where the power of the Star Forge could be passed on; that the other chambers they had passed, which included all manner of Force sensitive that was being used as a living battery - much like Snoke had with his carbonite batteries on Bedlam. Mad, bad ideas don't fall far from the proverbial apple tree, no?

Leda would hear that voice in her mind, and be reminded of her Master; the black-cloak from her murky past - the man who had named her.

But there it was, and Merel smiled, invitingly, alluringly. "Once you step in here, you will find your true role, at last."

Sian looked concerned still, but had clearly managed to rein in his madness, which would otherwise have spilled over into a murderous tantrum. But it was a close thing...

The chamber was perfectly sized to her, almost conforming as she was led into the room.

It was ready for her.

TAG: @QueenSabe7
---
IC: Shimmer
Explume Minor

"I said to ask a boon and you ask philosophy?" Soliloquy chuckled as he stood and made to embrace her, the first real physical sign of affection he had ever given her, and Shimmer could not help but stiffen in his grip, only reaching for him belatedly. "Um, yeah, good point," she said sheepishly.

"Ah my darling Shimmer, what am I to do with you?" Kissing at her hair he backed away to the ramp, and Shimmer felt heat rise in her cheeks; a fatherly sensation passed between the two of them and she found that she was deeply grateful for it.

"Yes. No. Maybe. We Croke are not native to either your progenitors universe or to your own which is this one. Our creation was rather beyond it, and some might even call this an existential question on how multiples of a universe that is manufactured can have us in them or even have some of the oddly high level issues in multiplicity at all! As for if this is my Explume Minor, well I am about to find that out for myself and the status of the veil here. And no, it is not safe for you outside this ship and possibly not even inside it. If you must fly away wait for my call, and make sure it is me you let back in. Last thing we need is to worry whether you home to a colony of lugubra hatchlings just because someone is feeling peckish over me murdering a score or twelve on our way down."

Shimmer nodded at all of that. All smart, logical, and quintessentially what made the most sense; a stark contrast to the emotional moment that had occurred only a moment ago but she appreciated the versatility of the Master. Soliloquy seemed to have more to say, and she realised the logical aside was to keep his emotions in check.

"How do I look? Just a touch rotting and slimy I hope," he said as he added a hint of ooze coming out of the rapidly connection web of cracks, and Shimmer would have winced at the gooey act if she wasn't so amused - and touched. "Gotta make a good impression on my possible mate or murderer! Right, I am being silly. Clutching will do that to you you know."

He stepped down the ramp and didn't look back, and Shimmer made sure to watch him; the first being she had ever met who cared about her, and indeed, cared enough about her to not show his own fear.

"Master!" Shimmer shouted after him. "You've got this! Knock the slime off them!"

She hoped the sentiment worked, and Shimmer promptly shut the ramp up and booted up the full sensor suite to watch both the battle and the planet itself. Shimmer was determined to look out for her Master as much as possible.

--

As Soliloquy entered the inevitable entrance to the underground network, he was greeted by a form that would be one he recognised as belonging to the only famous Croke in existence; for fame was not something that the species was known for.



"I thought it appropriate to appear as a form you would recognise, after all," spoke the Croke, clearly having taken the form and applied the same solid-vision Force projection that their species specialised in - to be Force sensitive as well was to take this to another level entirely, as Soliloquy had mastered. "Your father would be proud of you, after all."

TAG: @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC Renn
Ta’a doesn’t seem pleased with me

"Kill everyone apart from the Prince," Insipid said, without emotion.

Renn grinned, pulsed a ’Let’s have some fun!’ to Helenith, then skated to the side, drawing his foes away from the others. In less than a second the stoic facade he wore was gone and a roaring terentatek was standing in his place. Rumbling forward through the gas the thick hide seemingly shrugged off the projectiles, although he knew he’d need to let himself heal later.

In his new form he charged the three guards that had been sent his way. Grabbing one with one over large arm and clawed hand, he strained against the repulsors as the guard attempted to squeeze free of his grasp. A grunting cough as he overcame the armor and the guard flew past the Royals to impact with a thud against the far wall, sliding down it before he came back to his feet.

He barreled into the second, grappling the man and armor, trying to keep the slug throwers from accidentally aiming at the others, his Craziness especially. The fingers interlaced with the fingers of the suit and the maw of his form closed over the helmeted head of the guard. Closing it, he felt the crunch of armor and some pain as teeth sheared while biting, but he was not ready to die against such a foe. His clawed hands closed as well, puncturing the suits and between the impending decapitation and the hands of the suit nearly being sheared off the buzzing screech of the cybernetic Hapan was music to his ears.

The third grabbed the terentatek form and punched fingers into the side, firing at point blank range. Renn felt the projectiles sear through his flesh and he shook the massive head, ripping the helmet of the second free of the armor, head still inside. As that body collapsed, almost bonelessly to the floor, oil, blood, and other fluids seeping out he released his grasp on the corpse and his entire form shifted again, turning without moving, now directly facing the last guard while the first staggered back toward them.

One hand punched downward, severing the gauntleted hand of the guard where it still stuck into his body, the other shifting even as he punched, into an almost razor sharp point. It punched clean through the chest of the guard and lifted, sweeping back and forth, up and down as it battered the guard against the floor, walls, and ceiling. As pieces began to flake off, limbs to fall, he retracted the arm and the guard fell with a clatter, at his feet.

Spinning around he faced the slightly concussed guard staggering toward him. Spitting out the head of the second, a craggy smile as it impacted the chest of the first guard he felt the floor shudder as he raced toward the hapless guard. Several steps before the guard he shifted once more, becoming a very fluid, agile, and most importantly stretchy form. He hit the guard and as the Hapan tried to peel him from his armor he wrapped himself around the form. The two of them toppled to the floor as Renn completely covered the armor and Hapan inside in his flesh. He slowly began squeezing inward, satisfying crunches and squeals of servos echoing around the room. He could feel more shots coming from the gauntlets, the projectiles causing gushes of his ‘blood’ to spurt forth each time they exited.

Soon even that ceased and he slowly unwrapped himself, slithering across the floor until he shifted back to the ‘dark’ form, close to Helinith, multiple wounds crisscrossing his body but the remains of the three guards dotting the floor. He held himself erect, the pain there but kept distant as there were still the royals to deal with. ”A little too crunchy for my taste, think you have the right idea with some nice soft candy, my Craziness.”

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @DarthIshyZ, @darthhelinith, @Silvertough

 

OOC: Yes, Lore galore with @Sinrebirth

IC Hunger
Repair and recovery

The Resurgent flew along and Wapoe waited as they healed but in the bacta tanks, at least in the one containing Bernael, now even more true to the title Emperor Insipid had given him, more Hunger, was not as peaceful as the gently rising bubbles inside seemed to indicate. Energy continued to flow into him, before he’d fallen into the healing sleep he’d ensured that that Hunger did not fully drain the crew that had returned, but merely siphoned small amounts to assist the tank in it’s healing of his physical form.

As the energy flowed and the tank worked the charred and burned skin flaked and was slowly being replaced by healthy skin, muscles regrew, knit together, strengthened. The new energy granted by the essence of his Father from this timeline had its own thoughts on his regeneration and it touched the joined essence of he and his Father from his original timeline, opening the mindscape and ‘standing’ before Hunger, ’In my eons of wait I have long pondered what must be done should one of my children take up my mantle. You have the shell that will hold me, us, but you must be strengthened.’

While it spoke it touched upon the physical, rebuilding the mental web, resheathing muscles and organs, rebuilding the skeleton so that all could withstand the strain of being conjoined with the Gods. In that time, Hunger gazed upon it, in his mind, and then he felt other presences gathering, touching his mindscape. ’Father, it seems you are not alone, that you revealing yourself here has gained the attention of others.’

The belief was accurate; into this realm Typhojem had nearly, inexorably, inevitably, crossed over. At Bedlam he had sought to cross the divide between realities - between worlds - an arrival of which would have been an epitaph for the entire galaxy. In that twilight moment He had reached across, revealing that he had consumed much of his siblings and elders.

Indeed, those lesser elements had conspired with Soliloquy to damage Him, though Typhojem had inevitably snuffed them out with a mild exertion - one of a dozen distractions which had enabled the Sith to prevent the Left Handed Lord destroying them all.

However, those deaths had left shades in the Force here; for in Death all realities were one.

Untethered, unmoored, and unsubstantial, these lamenting remnants had no point to convalesce around, until here and now.

Bernael had tapped into the creative energies that birthed his species, as well as dozens other monstrous forms; Hutts, Vagaari, Rakata and more besides, all shaped by the Architects a hundred millennia ago, all containing a flicker of a connection to the monstrous experimenter that had created them from his own flesh.

The Father of the Anzati was an ancient deity known as Cold Danda Sine, and flocking upon his emergence - a moment cultivated across the millennia of Bernael's existence - were the broken slithers of a soul that embodied the other Old Ones; Ooru, El-Shuddem, Abeloth... even the recently wounded Mnggal-Mnggal, oily and betrayed and devastated by another encounter with it's Croke nemesis.

They didn't speak so much as hover, pressing, caressing, twisting, around Bernael in his mindscape, seeking purchase and a way to become corporeal - to exist again.

As he stood on the plain, facing the second of his Father’s essences to have joined him, he began to recognize those that approached. His lip twitched, sensing that his many wide and varied cousins, aunt, and uncles, their fragments were trying to see purchase within him. He was aware that the power they represented would allow his own power to grow, but that they would also try to twist them to their own designs.

’They come to be reborn but can their power be tapped without allowing them to corrupt my, our purpose, Father?’

The shape before him turned, amusement seemed to seep from it as its gaze crossed those gathered, ’My sister and brothers can be made to see that giving you power will further their own purposes without corrupting you to their purpose instead of mine, but their offspring, we would have to merge as you have with my essence from your timeline to safely siphon them. And that time is not yet.’

Hunger considered, deciding upon what course would be most effective. ’Then I will follow your advice, Father, allow them their attempts to seduce while knowing they do so, but let you convince what remains of my aunt and uncles to further the plan. Perhaps good vessels can be found along the way to allow the fragments to be reborn, much as you remade my kind, at the dawn.’

Give us your essence so we may be something again...

... take heart, you are not alone...

... apart, a part, apart, a part, part, part, part...

... combined, our revenge will be complete upon the Sith...

The voices were mere echoes in the night, almost indecipherable in their differences. They were circling him, girdling him, corroding him, to weaken the line between them and him and him and them.

Hunger, the combination of Cold Danda Sine and Bernael looked upon the gathered fragments, sought one out. Reaching out with the power of the Father, touching the essence of the Father in this timeline they touched upon the crazed mind of El-Shuddem. ’To borrow the Prime Universe language our son, Mnggal-Mnggal, used at his birth,

Tilotny, silentium tuum, filios, aut pulsus a mea praesentia, tempore in omni.

Facere et ut vigent iterum a latere meo.1

The presence, even of the differing timeline Sine flooded the space around Hunger, announcing his presence. While the essence from this timeline stood and waited, without fully revealing himself, the mere presence of the Trickster God caused many of the hissing sibilants and pressures to fade.

A girlish chuckle. You do not make a shape of reality. You bore, and plan, and scheme. What is dead may one day live, but in Death I lived forever, in my children and my Daughter. I curse you, as you cursed me, with the voices of torment, for ever more.

Indeed, a grip seized upon Bernael, and though none of the whispers had any purchase on his reality, they would, he knew, persist - for time, indeed.

’Even in her fragmentation, my dear sister is arrogant, willful, does not see the way back from the depths of her depravity. But time will tell and we shall see what power her curse has. For now, take the power that is freely given, without recompense, and be reinvigorated.’ The shape before Hunger moved closer, merging with him, slipping into the recesses of his mind, the Sine of this timeline, hiding himself from outside view until it was time to be revealed.

In the bacta tank, Hunger began to stir. His movements caused a fine layer of the dead and destroyed flesh and skin to flow away from his body, revealing the last workings of the healing process. Curiously, the brands upon his cheeks were not the only ones that now adorned him. Two distinct female faces, curves and planes of them similar, as of a mother and daughter, adorned each upper arm and on one side of his ribs a twisted, dark, monstrosity, seeming to endlessly flow.







Even as he healed, it could be seen from the outside that changes were being wrought upon his flesh. He was now slightly taller, his skin had taken on a more grey cast, and his musculature, while still formed to one accustomed to the hunt and silent kills, was slightly bulkier. The Force whispered around him, in a low cacophony of voices, smaller shriller ones vying for attention against deeper ones, and even more smaller ones seemed to join in as the time passed, as though he had become a magnet for such.

Finally, shuddering slightly, his eyes opened, the deep black of them now included flecks of various colors, swirling around the centers. They slowly came into focus, panning the room until they lit upon Wapoe. A thought drifted from the bacta tank, in an odd cadence, as though several voices were trying to say the words at once, ’I must admit, these are faster than the healing sleep, old friend. But I am not a fish and would rather be on my feet.’

TAGS: @Sinrebirth, @greyjedi125, @Mitth_Fisto (Mentioned)

1Tilotny, silence your children, or driven out from my presence, in any time
Do so and you may thrive again by my side.