Star Wars New Sith Trials III: The War of Three

OOC: A combo brought to you by myself and @Darth_wanderguard

IC: Grand Admiral Lennox Jerod, Cleo and Xander Alexandrou
Location: ISD Repentance, Bedlam system

Left. No, no, right.

The corridors of the Repentance were swarming. It seemed with every direction Cleo turned, the pounding of footsteps and the slap and squeal of blasterfire grew louder. She clutched Xander close against her breast, tightly enough nearly to take the child’s breath in a desperate bid to keep him safe.

Not far away, Lennox would be turning a corner with blaster in hand, en route to the same hangar, only to come face to face with a trio of First Order troopers. Their crosshairs were upon him before he could even think to raise his own blaster.

“Don’t move, Grand Admiral,” one trooper spat.” Jerod’s now well-known tactical brilliance was a weapon that could cut in both directions, it seemed. He was the face of the Imperial navy. The face of the war, even, or among the most well-known of it. And the rumors of his wife and son being present on his flagship had not been a well-kept secret.

“You’re coming with us,” the trooper continued. “You can save us some time and show the way to your family, too. And don’t play any games, we’ll find them either way. Cooperate and they’ll live.”

Finally Cleo found her way to the hangar, and breathed a sigh of relief. The shuttle was there, boarding ramp unfurled, waiting. Maybe Lennox was already on board.

Well this is just peachy….

He knew he would run into trouble at some point, but he seriously did not have time for this.

In the Academy they trained you for close quarters combat with basic martial arts and weapons training, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. Truth be told Lennox was mostly used to barking orders around and using his brain in naval engagements.

Oh well, there is a first time for everything….

He started doing a tactical analysis. Three troopers, not too bad, perhaps a distraction was key here. Hopefully Cleo if she reached the shuttle would realise he was not there and perhaps call for backup. He had left his comlink in his pocket, to reach for it would look suspicious and earn him a shot in the arm. He had left it on so he could communicate with Cleo and Alta so perhaps someone may be able to hear muffled conversation. To drop his blaster would mean surrender, and if there was one thing not to do was to surrender.

Negotiation was also out of the question, that tactic had failed already.

So he was either going to end up victorious, injured or even dead on the floor. He would die for the Imperium and in order to keep his family safe and not hand them over to Snoke perhaps he would die for them too.

He didn't know much about the Force and since he was not Force sensitive it was no use trying to communicate to Xander he was in trouble. Unless the young boy did manage to sense something about the situation and alert Cleo.

“Really” he said to the lead trooper “You’ll guarantee their safety?” he scoffed “Do not take me for a fool. So why don’t we end this charade right now. With or without me you will find them, but the only way you will get them is through me. And you won’t get anywhere near them”

He took a step forward blaster still in hand “Because you won’t be getting off this ship alive and maybe you will die like the puppets of Snoke that you are”

With no hesitation and lightning quickness, the lead trooper trained his aim on the Grand Admiral and fired, sending a blaster bolt square into his right forearm. It was both a warning and a disarming maneuver.

“Last chance, or as soon as we find them it won’t be a nice time for any of you.”

Lovely. Oh well, Plan B then.

He immediately dropped his blaster on the floor, but did not kick it away. The pain shot up his arm and it was excruciating. He was now literally down an arm which could be a problem later and he would definitely need medical attention. He gritted his teeth as the waves of pain shot through him. But he had to continue.

Either because of this he would end up victorious, stunned or in a bloody mess on the floor.

He wasn’t afraid of death, he had seen and done things that would make any normal person flinch. He would die for the Empire, the Empire of the Hand, the Imperium and whatever came next after this war was over. And he still kept that belief.

He stepped forward his arms and hands up slowly kicking the blaster in front of him as he walked towards the troopers. His right forearm still hurt badly but he had to push through the pain.

“It seems you have all the cards then” he said still continuing forward with the blaster still sliding across the floor “But it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Snoke is outgunned and his box of tricks is running out. Either he will die or we all will, and I would rather die than be a Snoke slave”

He stopped in front of the troopers the blaster nest to the toe of his right boot “A shame really, we could have worked together instead of tearing ourselves apart. Never mind”

“Oh, and I think you might want my blaster” ready…he dropped his gaze down ”Here you go”

Ans time felt like it was standing still as he flicked the blaster up into the air as if he was kicking a ball.

As soon as the blaster jumped up he ducked down into a crouch and immediately swept his right leg around in a sweeping low kick, hopefully trying to catch the troopers off balance.

This was where he hoped his martial arts training had paid off.

The lead trooper hit the ground with a thud, caught off guard by the unorthodox attack. More to Lennox’s advantage, the man’s blaster rifle then went off at the most inopportune time possible. There was a reason trigger discipline was emphasized at the academy, and he would surely remember that now as the bolt struck his knee in the unarmored gap between plasteel legplates and greaves. Dropping his rifle, he clutched at his blown kneecap in agony and rolled onto his back.

Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

Yes it was probably foolhardy to attack the troopers, but surrendering would see him handing Cleo and Xander on a plate to Snoke. Plus word would get around to the other troopers that he had attacked and would cause him problems later. He could still end up dead.

Too late now.

As the blaster was beginning it’s flight down Jerod knew he had to be quick. He was right handed but with that out of commission he would have to catch and shoot with his left. He just hoped it was good enough. In his crouched position he caught the blaster in his left hand just before it hit the floor and fired at the trooper on the left hoping his shots rang true and hit something important to either make him fall like his friend in the middle was doing, or at least incapacitate him in some way.

Now it just left the one on the right.

He rose slightly moving his position to face the trooper on the right. Gritting his teeth once again as pain from his right arm was still coursing through him he began to shoot again this time moving forward towards him to shoulder charge him or kick him into the wall to stun him if the shots failed to meet their mark. He knew the other topper could still get shots off if he wasn't distracted enough by what was going on.

Much to Lennox’s sure surprise, he was likely a better shot with his left hand than with his right. What should have been a poorly placed shot or a miss entirely was instead perfectly aimed, and as one trooper already lay writhing with a blown knee, another was killed where he stood by a blaster bolt to the throat.

The third was met with a shoulder tackle, somehow before he could get a retaliatory shot off, and as Lennox came to rest on top of the man after the pair of them had met the ground with force, he would find that this man too had eaten a blaster bolt, and that the wound was fatal. He was already dead, limp.

Lennox was alone in the corridor after successfully dispatching the trip singlehandedly. The only unfortunate detail was that no one would believe the story if he told them.

There was one thing he felt when he landed on top of the trooper.

OW.

His right arm was kindly reminding him that it was still useless and in a rather a large amount of pain. Thank the stars his shots had counted otherwise he would be joining the troopers on the ground.

He winced in pain as he rose, his uniform looking rather rumpled as if he had slept in it. He didn't care though, he had beaten these three, now it was just a matter of chancing it and hoping he got to the shuttle bay before more troops arrived. And to hope he had enough time to comm Alta to start the evacuation.

A shame no-one was there to see it though, nor would they believe his story. He would just have to improvise and say he dealt with a problem.

He looked at the trooper on the ground writhing in agony at shooting himself in the knee. There were two options, let him live and let him comm his friends to go after Jerod, or kill him so Jerod would have a better chance of no troopers knowing he was coming.

Sadly it was option 2.

He looked down at the trooper on the ground and said “I don’t give up, and I don’t surrender” with that he shot the trooper.

And this is why I don’t ant Xander to be like me.

There was no point in walking quickly now.

He bolted for it, hoping that he would reach the shuttle without further mishap.

When Lennox arrived, the shuttle would be already running, boarding ramp unfurled and waiting.

“Lennox!” Cleo exclaimed, running down to meet him and survey the damage. “What happened? What’s happening? Xander is on the ship, come on,” she ushered him gently forward.

On board, Cleo dropped into the pilot seat and prepped the engines to launch.

“Dad?” Xander’s voice was small but audible behind the Grand Admiral. “Are you hurt?”

He let her guide her in the shuttle looking at her with a look that said If I told you you wouldn't believe me.

All he did say was “Ran into a bit of trouble on the way” he indicate his right arm “Unfortunately I did not get away unscathed”

He settled into a seat in the main cabin and looked to Xander ho seemed concerned, his heart swelled a little at him calling him Dad.

“Unfortunately three troopers came to try and make me surrender, if I didn't they would try to hurt you and your mother. I got hurt, but I will be alright. And those troopers won’t be coming after us” he didn't go any further but gave his son a small smile “We will be safe soon” I hope he thought.

He turned to Cleo “Get us off this ship, Lord Haretisch is with the Twilight Sun fleet, head for the flagship. I need to get medical attention and you two need to be safe until this battle ends”

He reached into his pocket and turned his comlink to Alta’s frequency “Captain Alta, begin evacuation. I will be heading to rejoin Lord Haretisch if I can. Good luck”

His hope was that the Repentance was now on course to target and crash into the Eclipse, if not there was a backup plan for all Imperium destroyers and ships to blow the ship to bits as it would be designated as unfriendly. The irony was that he may also be about to kill his old boss.

Shame really.

He would leave the piloting up to Cleo, he wished he had Lieutenant Carrusco with him as he seemed rather good in the piloting department. But Cleo was a competent pilot and he was sure that she would deliver them safely out of there.

“Time to leave”

“Let’s go,” Cleo nodded, and hit the thrusters to carry them out of the hangar.

“Where are we going?” she asked hurriedly. “Is that the ship?” she pointed to the Forgotten a short distance away.

Before Lennox would be able to answer, the viewport would flash a blinding white and the shuttle would be nearly sent tumbling.

The Eclipse had just exploded. When the flash faded, it would be in pieces and spilling its contents like a smashed egg.

“Kriff!” Cleo spat, and swerved the shuttle to try and avoid some of the shower of debris that resulted. The Eclipse had gone off like a grenade and the rapidly expanding debris field was wounding everything in its path. Xander, who wasn’t strapped in, would go flying into a wall and strike his head against it hard enough to draw blood, erupting into wails and sobs.

Blast it!

Lennox immediately moved from his chair tearing his straps off with his good hand and ran to the back of the shuttle where the medpack was situated. Unfortunately with one good arm he probably couldn't do much, he also only had basic medical training. But he would do what he could to stabilise his son.

As he knelt down to minister to him he turned his head towards Celo “Xander’s hurt, comm the Forgotten and tell them that we need medical assistance immediately. Head towards that Hapan Battle Dragon in front of you, the one that looks like two plates stacked on top of each other” he looked down and held Xander in his lap whilst trying to stop the bleeding “I recognise those markings, it’s the same ship I fought in the Hapes Cluster, but don’t worry, it’s a friendly now”

With the Eclipse gone, hopefully the First Order would take the hint and surrender, if not the Imperium and Twilight Sun fleets would finish them off.

Snoke however was probably another matter.

Hopefully Carrusco, if they hadn't evacuated had managed to move the Repentance away from the blast, they probably may not be able to avoid the debris but he hoped they hadn't got in the way.

Otherwise he would have lost not just another bridge crew, but a whole crew themselves.

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard , @Lady Belligerent, @Sinrebirth

 

MD-92S
Bedlam

The Medical Droid, a Model 92 Surgery Series, had been given a lot of extra programming and command functions. Torture and Experimentation were a specialty.

It was aware the Asylum was collapsing, and it had already imprinted on Darth Hades and offered its help. The droid, quirky in how it went about tasks, had several surgical lasers attached to its person. Each pointer finger, a retractable laser that popped out of its forearm to be used. These came in handy as it had followed behind the trail Hades had left, taking out new threats with, what some might have called glee.

MD-92S emerged from the building as it collapsed. It fired the forearm sized canon and made, in essence, a mechanical giggling noise.

"Free of this putrid filth. HEHE! Die, abomination." The laser cut a humanoid shaped and sized creature in half with ease. Blood and ichor spewed forth as the droid came to the end of the ramp of the Shuttle the Sith were boarding.

"Lord Hades. I do believe I serve you now."

The droid looked back as it started firing the laser again.

"DIE! DIE! HMM HMM HAHAHA!"

He walked up the ramp.

"I will miss dissecting things."
​

TAG: @Sinrebirth

 

GM UPDATE 2 OF 3

IC: Darth Haretisch - The Forgotten, Battle of Bedlam Pulsar

(Combo post with @Sinrebirth)

“We’re almost in range, we-“ Darth Haretisch paused in his address to the bridge.

Insipid. Insipid was screaming at him, with desperation enough to cause ripples in the force.

All at once he felt it too. What had been a microscopic presence in the force swelled like a star going supernova, and before he could even turn he knew Snoke was present.

He thought his skeleton might be ripped clean from his skin as he was wrenched upward, but he smacked into the high ceiling of the bridge first, and was only nominally able to cushion his impact as he fell back to the floor. Hel too was sent twisting and sailing through the air until she crashed into a bulkhead, and the entire bridge crew was frozen in place but for terrified eyes.

“Who... what are you?” Haretisch muttered, gently shaking the cobwebs from his head.

“Who, what,” Snoke said, sly. “When, how, perhaps.” He cracked a grin. “Perhaps instead we should ask why, Lord Haretisch - the pale, pained, Heretic of Prophecy.”

Snoke clawed his hand and draped a spectral touch upon the man’s shoulder, tugging him closer. “Surely you recognise the inevitability of this moment? The inexorable march of your aborted destiny, abandoned for a mere daughter?”

A mere daughter.

Haretisch glanced beside to Hel who lay unconscious, slumped against a bulkhead. She stirred, gently, and he felt a surge of confidence. Unconscious - but alive.

His cloaks began to trail along the durasteel floor as he was tugged forward, boots squeaking faintly as he tried to gain whatever traction he could.

But it was only a ruse.

“I make my own destiny.”

All at once he gave himself over, launching fully airborne towards Snoke and calling his lightsaber to his hand in mid-flight, letting it spit forth an azure blade. He closed the distance, snarling, baring blood-soaked teeth.

Snoke huffed in his mechno-chair throne, and raised a mere finger, bodily seizing Haretisch and turning him aside with the Force. There was a flash of memory - or perhaps vision - as he did so, of him doing the exact thing again.

“Oh do you? Without knowing what I want, what I seek to achieve, what I have done - what I will do?”

He had a second finger ready if Haretisch managed to break through his grip. “When I know what you are?”

Haretisch had been swatted like a fly. Flattened. Semi-sprawled on the floor and supporting himself with three limbs, he extinguished his lightsaber, knowing now that physical attacks were pointless. Snoke was powerful - terrifyingly so. But Darth Haretisch felt not terror, only resolve.

“You know nothing,” he responded.

‘What I seek is the ability to traverse realities, to obtain the secrets of the Celestials and mastery over them and the World Between Worlds, much as you and your Sith have in crossing the divide between universes. But the Force resists such efforts unless you have been... Chosen.’

Snoke lowered his form in the walking throne chair, leaning forward, his hand clawed upwards as if in supplication - appealing to Haretisch. ‘Did you never wonder how you came to be at the centre of a hundred thousand year scheme to escape the Well of the Dark Side?’

‘Why you?’ A short chortle. ‘Did you not once ask that? Not even after Insipid anointed you the Craven, did it not occur to you that you were seeking - craving - answers? Validation?’

‘Your place in the cosmos?’

Snoke chuckled more deeply, into full villainous monologuing and enjoying it. Revelation evades the common folk, and those who could peer into the vastness of the truth - the Force - were so often subsumed by it that they could not discover their reason.

‘Think, Darth Haretisch. You stand beside Insipid and Bellorum - one, who skimmed knowledge like a common thief from dozens of Holocrons, and the other, who consumed the power of the ancients, gnawing on artefacts and trinkets to rise in power. But you, my friend - you were drew by tragedy to the Deep Core, to a sole holocron, and attained mastery and power sufficient to stand against an Emperor and Night Herald by mere time dilation. The potential was within you, buried beneath your upbringing and humanity.’

‘The Chosen One was created to right an imbalance in the Force. Anakin Skywalker was tasked with defeating Darth Sidious, but also with containing the Son and Daughter, and, for a time, failed at both. It was his children, who, with him, defeated Sidious and, in your reality, his clones. Chosen Ones, you see. Their children faced their own terrible imbalances - Ben, Jacen, Jaina and Anakin, against Omini, Abeloth, and Darth Krayt. Their children and grandchildren continued that fight against imbalance - Allana, Nat, Kol, Cade, Roan, Marasiah, Ania. A family of Chosen Ones, waging a war against the Tribe, One Sith and Sith Troopers, and Darth Wredd. They succeeded, but the Old Ones returned...’

‘Because the One created to stop their return fell,’ crowed Snoke. ‘Because you, inheritor of the Chosen One Legacy left by Sistros, Adas, Xendor, Revan, the Outlander, Bane and the Skywalkers, were supposed to balance out Him.’

‘It’s how you crossed realities, touching the World Between Worlds and redirecting yourself to this realm - Insipid and Bellorum and the ritual were incidental to that feat. It is through you, and the power that I have gathered, that you will breach the Celestial domain once and for all, and take control of existence. The Force resists the Dark Side, but with sufficient power, with our power, with the power of the Old Ones, we can cross the barrier created by the Celestials and take it all.’

Snoke spat, such was his rasping. ‘Today we shall not just touch that secret, but take it!’

“Join me!” He thundered.

Darth Haretisch reeled, quietly. Gears were turning. He had already betrayed everyone and everything once - but to destroy himself. Now his turn, away from that destruction, had been meant to secure not his own place but instead his daughter’s.

He went to speak, and then hesitated, his jaw rippling as he bit down on his words. Finally he overcame it.

“But... Hel.”

“But what!? You can have a hundred daughters! You can have a hundred Hels!” Snoke grasped. “Create the world you desire for her! All worlds!”

The man, the monster, the Darkness, all that stood here as Snoke upon his mechno-Throne, snarled.

“Become the father that Hel deserves, and rule all with me!”

The Imperator - if that is what he still was - might have considered it. Might have, if the power of the Old Ones hadn’t been something he understood intimately. Perhaps better than any other. Might have, had he believed that Snoke had any propensity to stand by his word. Might have, had he bought a single iota of the notion that he himself was a ‘chosen one’ of any sort.

He didn’t. And if it were true, he would have no need of Snoke.

Darth Haretisch drew his knees under and lifted himself up and onto all fours, one hand still clenching his lightsaber hilt. He briefly considered drawing it again, but the urge was fleeting as he accepted its futility. Instead, he simply spat a pair of teeth and a mouthful of blood and looked up to meet Snoke’s gaze.

“No,” he answered. He was likely signing his own death warrant. And perhaps his daughter’s. But that was unavoidable now.

Then the viewport behind him flashed, and the blackness of space dotted with stars in the background and ships in the fore, turned to pure white. The Forgotten shook to its core with the echoes of a cataclysm taking place not so far away. When the flash faded, the Eclipse was in pieces, spewing its durasteel guts into the vacuum of space. Aryan had done it.

The spell was broken, and the darkness surrounding the planet, the battle which was empowering him, undone. Snoke reeled, barking gutturally at the mechno-chair, which began to back away as if a spider with such speed that Snoke was nearly dislodged.

It was a mere moment, and Snoke uprighted and thrust his hand out - a spasm took his arm, and his face seemed to twist out of shape even more than it had before - and the bolt of lightning caromed off the floor into the ceiling, exploding the same down onto where Haretisch was.

The chair began to rush backwards out of the room, but the darkness in the system was encroaching anew. Snoke gasped, not because there was that new darkness - Typhojem’s darkness - but because, out the viewport, there was something where the Eclipse had been.

Something impossible, a tear, a rip, a hole. The stars had retreated, a blackness was evident, but also a... wire mesh of... lines - corridors, perhaps?

Snoke knew he had to get to it - now. He had to get out.

Haretisch had been prepared to capitalize on the man’s distraction, until the bolt struck full on and tore through him leaving a smoking hole in the white plasteel of his chest plate, and burned, oozing flesh exposed beneath. He yowled, and fell to one knee again, this time his lightsaber clattering to the floor and rolling away. He had suffered worse wounds before. Boiling with rage, he reached a hand out to capture Snoke, and sought to crush him with all his might, wrenching him to and fro like a rabid dog might shake its prey.

“You graceless fool,” he raged, fed and empowered now by the agony of his wounds. “You trifle with powers beyond your ken. You cannot control the Old Ones. You cannot control Him. The Left Handed Lord does not lend his power, he consumes all in his path. You have doomed us all.”

A scream pierced the force then, and from the planet’s surface erupted a cluster of tentacles laden with barbs and suckers and unblinking eyes, writhing and heaving deep into the vacuum of space, trying to grasp for the rift formed of the epicenter of destruction that was the Eclipse’s end.

Typhojem. He was reaching for the gateway by which he could infect all of reality. Every reality.

Snoke snarled. “If your Sith had done their job, I would not have to worry about the Old Ones. Do what you will with Him - the way to the World Between Worlds is open!” He wrestled free of Haretisch’s grip, snarling in pain, before flicking a finger - intending to slam Haretisch’s head into the bulkhead.

“I just needed Him close enough to the surface to let me slip between the planes of existence!” Another flick of his finger. “So that you could enable my dominion of all reality!” A third. “But now I shall delight in erasing you from history first.”

Haretisch was wrenched aside again, bowling over an officer frozen in place, a second time sending him sliding across the floor, and a third finally sending him crashing into a console. He rolled onto his back, coughing up what felt like a piece of a lung, and let loose a hopeless laugh.

“You’ve no idea what you’ve unleashed, do you?” He asked. “You’re going to die and be forgotten with the rest of us. Petulant bickering fools, all. We’ve squandered everything.” He had struggled to his feet now, one arm hanging limp owing to a dislocated shoulder. He reached out with his remaining hand and fired a Mind Shard into Snoke’s neural pathways.

Snoke took the mind shard, gasping, the mechno-chair stumbling backwards and Snoke having to lift his emaciated arm to brace himself. He was retreating, desperately, towards the hangar, and his mind caught up and heard screaming.

It was his own.

Snoke snapped his jaw shut and uprighted himself, one eye lolling, completely beyond his control, so scrambled was his brain. He threw his mind across the electrical pathways of the ship’s hull, exploding the walls on either side of Haretisch and wheeling aside, looking back over his shoulder in abject fear as he attempted to flee.

He may be Craven, but he was also a formidable and incredible opponent.

Stepping raggedly through the shower of sparks which buffeted him from all sides, Darth Haretisch gave chase. He would not allow Snoke his victory, no matter the cost.

——————-

“WHAT THE KRIFF!!” Cleo shouted and banked the shuttle sharply to the right as one of the massive tentacles barely missed in its wild flailing. “Lennox, what in the ungodly hell is going on??”

Lennox would of course have his hands full with Xander, who was still bleeding from the side of his head and barely clinging to consciousness.

As if tentacles the length of a solar system weren’t enough, anyone in orbit with a view of the planet’s surface would see a massive amorphous cloud of black and gray and pale green begin to pour from the roots of the tentacles at the planet’s crust and rush rapidly upward like a swarm of gnats. As the cloud spread into space to envelop the debris field and broken and intact ships all the same, its constituent parts would show themselves to be something far more than insects. Abominations - of every form, no two truly the same.

One such beast would collide and attach itself to Aryan Graul’s viewport. A beast with a thousand mouths and a thousand teeth in each, every mouth shrieking in a different tongue he could not understand, a thousand convulsing tongues flicking dryly at the transparisteel, a thousand fingers scratching and grasping with jagged, brittle claws.

Cleo swerved back to the left, avoiding another tentacle, but sending Lennox and Xander crashing again into the opposite wall.

“Lennox, get him awake! He’s the only one who can save us from this! Just trust me. He’ll be afraid - and that’s what we need! KRIFF!” she cursed again as one of the billions of floating abominations flew by and reached out to grasp a wing, trailing behind the fast-flying vessel and destabilizing it. “GET HIM AWAKE!” she repeated.

Lennox would have to find something in the first aid kit to do the job.

TAG: @HanSolo29, @Jerjerrod-Lennox[/I]

 

IC: Grand Admiral Lennox Jerod
Location: Jerod’s shuttle, Bedlam system

“WHAT THE KRIFF!!” Cleo shouted and banked the shuttle sharply to the right as one of the massive tentacles barely missed in its wild flailing. “Lennox, what in the ungodly hell is going on??”

As Jerod was hastily using antiseptics to try and clean the wound so he could apply a bacta patch to it he could see out of the viewport that tentacles were whipping around out there trying to whack the shuttle from it’s position. He didn't know what had happened (the Sith would probably have a better idea he surmised) but what he did know was either something had happened to the planet or there was a creature out there hat had been unleashed.

Either way he had to rely on Cleo and her flying skills to make sure they weren't killed on impact with one of those things.

“Cleo if I knew, I definitely would have told you!” he snapped back “I’m a little busy right now making sure our son stays alive!”

He knew he shouldn't have snapped back, but to be honest he was exhausted, injured and now had his son to try and stabilize until they could reach the Forgotten. If they got there…

Meanwhile Xander looked like he was floating in and out of consciousness and Lennox was trying to clean the wound as fast as he could especially with only one arm working. And his worry was that if Cleo didn't get to the Forgotten in time Xander would be unconscious and had lost too much blood and Lennox could possibly have an infected arm.

And still no word yet from the Repentance which meant in Lennox’s mind that it had probably been lost. He would have to lament on that later if they survived this tentacle onslaught.

As Jerod nodded satisfied that wound was clean enough to attach a bacta patch Cleo swung the shuttle hard left, obviously to avoid another tentacle but unfortunately sent him and Xander crashing into the other wall. Jerod yelped as his injured arm hit the wall but he had managed to take Xander with him by holding on to him. But the medkits contents spilled out.

As Lennox laid Xander down onto the floor in order to crawl around retrieving the bits he needed Cleo spoke up again.

“Lennox, get him awake! He’s the only one who can save us from this! Just trust me. He’ll be afraid - and that’s what we need! KRIFF!” she cursed again as one of the billions of floating abominations flew by and reached out to grasp a wing, trailing behind the fast-flying vessel and destabilizing it. “GET HIM AWAKE!” she repeated.

He really wanted to snap back with “well why couldn't he have helped us when the Repentance was stuck?” or “I’m working on it!” but he gritted his teeth and carried on, he decided he would have an argument with Cleo later. He finally managed, after some fiddling to get a bacta patch on Xander’s head with some fiddling and hoped that would stop the bleeding at least.

He wished at this moment he had taken the advanced medical course.

No time to dwell on that.

He rummaged through the medkit which he had managed to retrieve most of what had spilled out and managed to find a stimulant. He didn't know whether to use that on Xander, too much of a risk.

Well they may be about to die anyway, so might as well go for it.

He took the cover off the injector and jammed it into Xander hoping the boost would be enough to wake him up or at best enhance his senses.

“Xander if you can hear me” Lennox thought it best to talk to him even though he would rather rest against the wall “We have a something attached to our shuttle, I don’t know what it is but it could eat it’s way into the shuttle or destroy the engines and we could die. Your mother says that you can use your fear to save us” he shook his head at the absurdity of it all.

“Me and your mother need your help. We are proud of you and love you so very much. Help us, and we will be safe”

He narrowed his green eyes at his son staring right into his eyes.

“Unleash your power”

TAG: @Sinrebirth , @Darth_wanderguard , @Lady Belligerent

 

IC: Soliloquy
In the Pool that is the Edge of our Reality

The Greatest of the Old Ones was emerging from the gap between Worlds, beyond Shadows, from the Anti-Force, and from the Dark. Typh was once again ready to get heated and huffing. The feeling was almost palpable. Now that they were once more ensconced inside their Icosahedron, the twenty pyramidal sides shining out, red and purple once more. Although a single one was tinged black with white starry lights.

He only cared for what He had not, the true failing of a Typh as well as its strength. He raged and the blood glowed red, the world turned into a light of his wrath, and they smiled within it all. There was much shaking and action, but was all for naught. He was a baby in an egg, and something had stalled the hatching.

In the blood-ichor that laid below the surface of the planet, spreading deeper and curdling the planet, Mnngal-Mnngal swam back to Abeloth, in Soliloquy’s old body, and Ooru, in Ravenous’s old body. The black-ooze spoke to Soliloquy. Incantation made, symbols left, across the body of Brother. Mnngal-Mnngal of course referred to Typh.

Abeloth coiled a tentacle around the icosahedron Holocron which again held Soliloquy. “So now what, beloved Cousin,” she said, rolling her skin into her gash of a grinning face, and eying the holcoron as the Wookiee-monster that was now Ooru completed their own occupation of the body – both Abeloth and Ooru had all-but completed the process of making these bodies into Avatars. With these, they could escape Typhojem once he was complete, and wreck their own merry havoc across the cosmos – splitting the galaxy between the Old Ones as they toyed with the lives of all mortals.

"Now, we sing. Begin the ritual Mnngal-Mnngal, disperse and let it be. We will chant so that if the eye shifts, we shall be the focus and not you. We will be chanting for you, cousin." It was spoken softly, "Let us sing a song of remembrances. Of remembering. Cement the act that is to be and then we shall be free."

TAG: @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Syren
Bedlam, fleeing the beasts and the Gods - the usual


Right slash. Duck. Sweep the leg. Spin about.

Righting herself back to standing, there was an instantaneous sucker punch to her side then a claw at her hair. A shriek of frustration, a stumble backwards, a hard thrust forward.

Crimson blade met flesh, her nails raked over scales, a black ooze splattered her face from an unknown source.

Repeat.

Or… rather not, no offensive or defensive sequence was near the same to the other, nor even similar. Syren was simply in a constant state of movement, knowing to stop would mean death. She was skilled, incredibly skilled, but the sheer amount of beasts and creatures that were setting upon her, climbing and leaping over one another to get to their prey were beyond anything she could handle for much longer. They were already too close to becoming too much.

Overhead swing, jump back, kick out. Repeat.

They had become a single force, a cresting wave that would come crashing down on them in no time at all. Nevermind that behind her immediate surroundings, the otherworldly body that was currently clamoring to be free of the planetary crust was climbing higher, the quakes and breaking ground sending everything in the vicinity into disarray. Structures crumbled, trees splintered and disintegrated, the Force falling away into a void so dark and cold that Syren found herself pulling away from it, a sensation that would normally cause her pause. There would be none of that now.

She would not give up. Not give in. To the last breath the assassin would maim and kill as many of her attackers as she could… taking them down with her… to hell.

A trickle, like a single drop of cold water at the small of her back was suddenly felt in the midst of her melee, cracking her resolve. She gritted her teeth against it, tried to ignore it, but the feeling only grew. An iciness that was not of this world started at the base of her spine, crawling like tentacles up her bones and spreading out into her veins. Syren felt her body begin to go rigid, her movements becoming sluggish – by her standards – her thoughts addled and distracted. It sent a shock of fear over her focus, something beyond her control taking over everything else. From someplace she couldn’t see, she was knocked clean off her feet and crashed to the ground, blood pooling in her mouth though she didn’t even have a moment to spit it out.

ENOUGH!

With a surge of indignant rage, a snap of fury so violent that it momentarily wiped away whatever had been seeping in over her consciousness, Syren screamed. That sudden, powerful release of her fear called upon the Force in a way that folded it around her for the briefest of moments – gathering. Then, the energies buffering her physical being, she shoved back up to her knees and punched down to the broken earth with both hands, her knuckles hitting the trampled dirt with enough force to make a pair of small craters around them. The resulting burst of kinetic energy shot out on all sides as well as above and below like a thermal detonator, hitting the hoard that was about to pounce on top of her crouched form.

Rather than atomize anything within her own blast radius, the savage wall of darkness tore into the closest with a lethal force, skin peeling from bones, wings snapping and tearing clean of their hosts. Those surviving behind were tossed back like rag dolls, leaving Syren at the epicenter of an extraordinary explosion.

That was the only time she was granted a reprieve long enough to truly examine what was unfolding around her, what was actually taking place outside as well as inside. One look, only one single glance and she understood. With a sickening clarity that seized her with unfathomable dread and maddening familiarity… she saw it.

Him.

She saw, with her own eyes, within the promised safety of her current timeline, her tormentor. Her abuser. Her God.

The Left-Handed Lord. Typhojem. Was here. NOW.

Without hesitation she recalled his voice, a thousand screaming out as one…

‘I will always be with you.’

No…

‘I AM you.’

“NO!!” A wail so unnatural to her, something she hadn’t heard from herself in not long enough a time breached her lips and broke out over the mayhem. Panic gripped her for once, hollowing out all else she had deemed important. True, frozen-in-place panic and she simply stared up at the ghastly sight, the gigantic figure of a celestial body made real, reaching for their universe. Reaching for her.

Beneath her unbreakable terror, there was something else bridging the gap. It wasn’t as familiar, but it was incredibly strong and the entire opposite of what Typhojem imposed on her. It was an offering, a passing of aide. To help, bolster and push.

Get up.

A tear left her eye, slowly falling down her grime-covered cheek. Syren still watched as He continued breaking free of whatever had chained Him before. He was coming…

‘Xia Cass. You cannot hide… from ME...'

Get. UP.

“hurry! Get aboard,” a voice she knew was not her own called assertively from close by. With the tone came the realization of its owner – Bellorum.

Hoth, the Sith, Arach, Haretisch… Aryan. They all came rushing back to fill in where she had been left empty. As did the dark, as did the Force. Almost as if moving against her will, Syren used what remained of her physical strength to stagger back to her feet, stumbling backwards to the shuttle as the creatures surged forward again. She could not unsee the Left-Handed Lord and could not look away, tripping back onto the open ramp just as it began to close. Dazed, she remained as the last view of Him disappeared, only then realizing her cheeks were damp. Several more tears had fallen since the first.

“Take off!” It was Bellorum again, and this time Syren stirred at her command, extinguishing her blades and hurrying to the cockpit as best she could, leaning on the walls for support. Her legs felt as if the had been deprived of bones for the time and the floor beneath her still churned like a stormy sea. The sensation made her feel sweaty and ill, causing her to halt once inside the cockpit.

As soon as she stopped, a warm, soothing substance abruptly wrapped around her wounded leg. She looked down to find Zalen, the little nightsister, administering a bacta patch over the injury there. And then another to a nasty set of scratches on her right shoulder.

“Huh, I didn’t even notice that one,” she remarked casually to her fellow Sith, as if nothing were amiss and they weren’t engulfed in utter chaos. Her legs gave way then, though she was able to brace upon the back of the pilot’s chair to keep from crumpling to her knees. Zalen managed to keep her steady at her side, helping her around to the seat that faced the main controls. It was immediately apparent why.

She was the pilot.

Aryan, thank kriff for you.

She offered a weak nod to the Dark Lady as she presumedly left to check on the others, and Syren turned her eyes forward, back to the unreal scene that bent space and time. Sithspawn were now climbing their ship, scratching at the viewport and snarling at what they clearly hoped would be their next meal. She tried desperately to snap out of it, to feel that ‘fight or flight’ instinct kick into overdrive… but the iciness kept clinging to her like a restraining bolt.

Chimes and alarms began to sing, flashing buttons signifying issues that she had no idea how to deal with. A pleading glance to her left and she saw the pilot droid at the ready. It clicked, then. Takeoff had already been initiated; it was simply waiting on its organic overlord to assume control and take command.

“Punch it,” she whispered weakly, but it was all the droid needed. Syren latched onto the throttle as her co-pilot did, its programming responding by electronically accelerating the ship’s engines at a high rate. The ground beneath broke away finally and a slight lurch later they were hovering. All of sudden a maelstrom in the Force picked up and some thing came up from the depths… oily slick, dark as a starless night. “PUNCH IT,” she repeated in a hoarse shout. Another jolt and they rocketed up and away, into the sky. Any beast still clinging to the hull was swept off by sheer force, her body pressed back into the chair in a way that made her feel as though her stomach had been left behind.

There was no last look at Typhojem, they were above the devastation in mere seconds. That was when she came back to her self, and in good time. Aerial attacks returned from all sides and in all manners - ships and lasers sought to destroy her, but reattuning to the Force kept them all afloat. Her instincts guided them through the mess as she chose not to seek out attacks on her own, but simply to flee, to run away. As the droid beside her kept stock-still, Syren was tossed about in her seat while the shuttle dove, spun, dipped and turned. They were grazed repeatedly, but there was nothing more she could do but keep on, her own brand of wicked determination melting the last of His influence over her.

All that was left was the desire to live.

TAGS: @Lady Belligerent @Darth_wanderguard @Sinrebirth @Snokers @DarthIshyZ @Darth Cocytus @Silvertough @E. L.Knight @HanSolo29

 

Aboard the shuttle Altruist...


The Executor could feel the stick of dried blood coated on his face. The dribbles that had seeped between his lips tasted like iron. One of the Altruist's medics was applying a salve just below his crown. Bo lifted his arm and used the reflective armour like a mirror to get a look at the damage done to his face by the winged monstrosity. There was a deep cut stretching from his left eye across to the right side of his jaw where the claws had torn through his helmet. He grimaced as he stared, feeling fortunate that the beast's talon hadn't found his eye - it had been mere millimetres away from it.

He felt the shuttle shudder, he sighed as the sound of the thrusters coming to life filled the space. He knew little about Syren but she looked like someone who was more than capable of flying a ship. When he lowered his arm he saw his twin across the way, studying him from head to toe wearing an completely unveiled look of concern. Though the pain was unpleasant to say the least, Bo was enjoying what he saw. He thought back to the moments leading up to their rescue; his Sith brother really did give a damn about him, gave more than a damn.

Bo tilted his head back as a fresh stream of blood began to leak out of his nose but kept his eyes trained on Anark. He made a hand gesture to him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Anark bared his teeth in a grin and got up from his chair, swaying a little as he walked towards him. He took Bo's outstretched hand and squeezed it as he knelt down in front of him. Anark slapped his brother's armoured shoulder then tore a piece of fabric from his wrist and pressed it onto Bo's nose. He waved a hand to dismiss the woman treating Bo's various other wounds and continued the work himself.

"We'll have to find you a new blaster when this is all done," Anark said with a snort. Bo pounded a fist against the seat and an expletive escaped him. He had not the presence of mind in the moment after the attack to retrieve his rifle. He loved that rifle, specially made for him at Bellorum's order.

The leak from his nose seemed to have come to a stop. He wiped his face and leaned forward, nodding at the hilt clipped to Anark's waist.

"Maybe I could try my hand at your red sword."

A smirk from Anark.

"She stays with me, brother."

There was a rumble beneath them.

As the shuttle left the ground it was rocked violently from side to side. The quake sent Anark tumbling onto his side. Bo managed to maintain his position by grabbing onto the arms of his seat. When Anark got back onto his feet Bo felt a rush of anxiety surge through his already adrenaline pumped body. Anark was staring out of the viewport donning that look he'd learned to take as a sign that the Sith might be about to have one of his... episodes.

But after a few seconds he knew this was different. Anark stared intently through the glass, cocking his head to one side like a hound bewildered by a new command.

"Kade?" Bo rose out of his seat with a grunt. His stomach clenched as he fought against a pain in his side. The medics were all on their feet. The Executor stole a quick glance out of the viewport and saw the ground beneath the asylum give way, dispersing stray pieces of rubble and terrain into the air. He laid a hand on Anark's shoulder but it was brushed away with a irritated murmur from the Sith as he wandered dreamily over to the viewport, stopping with his palms and face pressed against it. Bo looked for Bellorum but didn't see her. He quickly scanned the space for syringes in the medpacks or even a set of cuffs to restrain his brother if he decided to explode.

He approached the viewport himself but never looked, focusing completely on reading his twin's face. Anark's breathing became heavy. A sheet of sweat had produced quickly on his forehead. He clawed at the fastening of his tunic and undone it at the neck, then tore off his breastplate as though it were shrinking around his chest.

Bo tried once more to calm him.

"We're safe up here. That place was bound to-"

He was cut off abruptly when Anark projectile vomited, creating a great splash-back against the glass.

"Ugh!" Bo wiped frantically at his eyes which he'd been given too little warning to shut.

Anark staggered backwards, never taking his eyes from that spot out the window. He gasped for air and clamped both hands against his ears.

Bo whipped the gunk from his fingers against the seat then craned his neck to look out of the window himself. What he saw knocked his senses. A colossal figure clamering out of the hole where the building had stood, it's gigantic mouth gaping like a black hole.

A medical droid with a variety of utensils attached to it's many limbs rolled up beside Anark.

'Sir, you are becoming hysterical,' came a low pitched mechanical voice, 'please refrain from-' Anark spun around rapidly, kicking the droid to the ground. He let out a blood curdling howl before choking and spluttering again. He grabbed at his own throat with one hand, using the other to keep himself up on his knees. This time it was a jet black sludge that poured from his mouth. Bo was horrified as he split his gaze between the fallen but still functional droid and his brother.

"What the hell is happening to him?" he shouted at nobody in particular.

---

The sound was deafening. Anark was too busy trying to catch a breath to be disgusted by the sight of what he'd brought up. He straightened his back and lifted his head back, retching loudly as the next lot came spewing forth like a fountain up into the air, drenching him when it came back down. He stood up and returned to the viewport as if it were pulling him in, still desperately trying to block his ears with his hands. The sight was so horrible to behold but too enthralling to turn away from. The gaping mouth producing the overpowering noise looked poised to swallow up the entire galaxy.

A tear rolled down Anark's cheek. His head felt like it was caught in a vice.

And he knew now beyond all doubt that He was here.

And all of a sudden... silence. His airway was unblocked, just a sickening burn at the back of his throat remained. Time seemed to stand still and the colour in the Sith's eyes disappeared, they glazed over leaving two small milky pupils. Anark could hear nothing but the sound of his own breaths and Typhojem speaking to him in an ancient language he'd never studied but somehow understood.

The voices that had been in a vicious frenzy before He had taken hold of the Sith had all now entered a sort of self preservation cocoon as another was brought forth from the darkness... and born into the family.

When Anark opened his mouth to whisper he'd reverted back to his own mother-tongue.

"Gol..."

When he emerged from his trance, at the same moment that Syren had evidently pushed the ship full throttle, he became aware of an intense but not unbearable heat surrounding him and a smell of burning fabric.

---

Bo, visibly shaken by all that had just erupted around them moments after they'd supposedly reached some refuge from the battle, walked briskly towards the door he'd seen Bellorum leave through earlier. Just as he reached out to touch the scanner on the door he felt himself leave the ground. He was weightless, spinning slowly in mid air. The woman who'd been tending him before floated past him with a panic stricken face. The medical droid on the floor caved in on itself until it was an unrecognisable pile of scraps.

Trying to move was like trying to swim against a powerful current. The shuttle suddenly shot upwards, sending loose medkits and cups soaring. Bo hit the ground with a thud. When he looked up Anark was still standing upright gazing out of the viewport. He could see that the shuttle was now several thousand feet in the air. He wanted to speak his name but was too afraid. He'd seen Anark produce lightning before, drawing on the Sith Empire's greatest weapon - the Dark Side, and read about it in his studies, but he knew that this was no ordinary sorcery when his Sith brother turned around and stared down at him, garments gone, eyes a blank white, and scarlet lightning dripping from his forearms and hands.

TAG: @Lady Belligerent @QueenSabe7 @Darth Cocytus @DarthIshyZ @Silvertough @E. L.Knight @Darth_wanderguard ​

 

Darth Hades & Morrigan
Altruist

Morrigan moved to start helping those coming aboard the shuttle. Nearly ever single one of them was injured in some way or another.

Morrigan helped Cocytus, administering drugs to calm him. As she did, a medical droid came aboard announcing it now served Hades. It was also having far too much enjoyment killing Sith Spawn. She grabbed the droid and brought it to Cocytus.

"Help him."

"It would appear he is missing an arm. We could use him as a distraction to get away. Toss him down the ramp for the creatures to eat."

"What the kriff?" Morrigan muttered.

"I suppose I can attempt to help him. He has lost a great deal of blood."

The medical droid then ignored Morrigan as he began to cauterize the wound.

Hades was unsure as to what he should do. His wound was aching...no...his entire body was aching. He over exerted himself and now he was paying the price.

Everything was in a haze. He wasn't even sure how long he had been roaming around the Asylum. He looked at each person in turn and felt as if he was in a murky swamp. His head was pounding.

The shuttle suddenly and violently rolled. Hades was taken off his feet and landed awkwardly. he struggled to sit up, but he was on the verge of blacking out.

Morrigan rushed to him, and she was saying something, but her voice was fuzzy.

What is this, he thought....
​

TAG: @Sinrebirth @Lady Belligerent @Darth_wanderguard @Darth Cocytus @Snokers @QueenSabe7 @DarthIshyZ @Silvertough

 

Darth Cocytus

The blade coming without warning, Darth Cocytus shrieked gruntly as his bad arm was suddenly sliced off with a lightsaber. Not exactly the proper tool for for medical amputation, but it didn't hurt as much as the kaminoan thought it would to him. The nerves of his dead arm must have dulled to the point of insensitivity, leaving Cocytus only to feel a deep burn on his cauterized wound. He glanced at where his arm once was and gave a dull look. The arm was dead, having served its purpose, and as long as the kaminoan lives long enough to get a new arm, he would not miss it much.

"You are not one to mock, Master." Cocytus spoke mentally back to Sidious as he boarded the ship, eager to get off this wretched planet and escape Typhogem, "For you have lost more than I have, more than once, due to equal carelessness, and yet here you are..."

Aboard the ship, the one called Morringan was aiding his severely damaged body. Despite the kaminoan's calm demeanor, he was still physically unstable with the drugs to give him aid. Cocytus had half a mind to reach out with the force and crush the medical droid for daring to suggest throwing him out. Luckily, the droid went against that idea and began to further tend to his wounds.

In the meantime, Cocytus needed rest to help with the healing and tending. The kaminoan relaxed himself into a meditative state, focusing on his pain and anger to fuel his connection to the dark side, calling upon the force to help in the aid. All the while, he hoped that the fools driving this ship will get them as far away as possible without bringing further calamity than what has already been.

Tag @Sinrebirth @E. L.Knight

Sent from my SM-J327V using Tapatalk

 

IC: Azeth Drost
Bedlam/ Shuttle Altruist

Blaster fire screeched outwards from the Altruist's loading ramp, off into the writhing horde of monstrosities assembling down below. The bolts themselves seemed to have any effect in the grand scheme of things, a shredded wing here, a buckled joint there, yet Azeth Drost refused to stop firing, in some vain attempt to turn back the tide from which it came.

At some point prior he had slumped his limp arm over one of the extended hydraulics which controlled the opening and closing of the landing ramp for some form of stabilization for his main arm, what little good that did. One by one, individual Sith either made their way up the ramp, or were assisted in some manner by the Sith already inside the shuttle. Drost kept firing outwards.

The once cool metallic grip of his hold-out blaster burned red-hot, an indication of a greatly overheated power pack. With a grimace, Drost awkwardly placed the pistol into the crook of left limp arm's armpit, immediately wincing from the sudden heat. A hand free, he began rummaging throughout the tattered remains of his robes, looking for any semblance of a spare powerpac. Each passing second felt like an eternity, a sweet agony which caught his breath in his throat.

Ah, success, finally! A singular energy cell, with an awkward, fumbling grip, the Miraluka disengaged the overheated power cell with his teeth, spitting it out and slamming home a fresh one. The blaster immediately cooled with a satisfying hiiiish, and Drost was back in action, taking aim and firing into the horde, in some attempt to give the retreating Sith a clear lane, if they realized it or not.

The last Sith stumbled on board, to the bellowing order from further within the shuttle to take off. The loading ramp slowly raised, burdened by the weight of an ever increasing number of Sith-spawn attempting to force it back open. Through some stroke of luck, the ramp fully closed and sealed, signaling a brief respite from the terror outside.

The sound of bellowing drums just behind his ears snapped the world into focus, Drost under the sudden realization he had been holding his breath. The blaster pistol joined the previously discarded sickle on the floor with an unceremonious klang, it having completed its purpose.

His breaths came out labored, the toll of nonstop adrenaline finally becoming clear. A crash seat remained unoccupied, which the exhausted Miraluka quickly took possession of, strapping himself into to the best of his ability.

Azeth's slumped his head backwards into the headrest, taking the moment to finally catch his breath. It was over.. They were safe.. Right?

He weakly gestured at one of the individual's handing out medical supplies, jutting a thumb at his useless dangling left arm. The shuttle's occupants remained foreign to Drost, being only formerly introduced to Emperor Insipid and his former Master, Ravenous. The current whereabouts of both being unknown. Azeth was almost positive of the fate of his former master, a fact which hurt more than he thought it would have. Ravenous was dead, and a rather large part of Azeth felt guilty because of it..

He shook his head, burying his rampant thoughts. Another time Azeth.. Another time. The beast will be mourned later on.. He thought bitterly, trying to focus on each of the shuttle's inhabitant's faces individually, in an attempt to memorize them for later. But.. something was.. incorrect. Azeth "squinted" his view, but no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't focus on anyone. The force itself seemed to refuse his desire, instead seemingly dragged off to some other point outside his view..

Curious..

The shuttle suddenly rocked, a sign of the shuttle breaking atmosphere. Every passing second, Azeth's worldview grew fuzzier the longer he tried focusing on what was instead of him. Confused, he turned his gaze back towards the sealed landing ramp, back towards where the planet Bedlam was, and he was rewarded with a crystal clear view, each pockmark of the ramp shown with blinding detail..

Very curious indeed..

Tag: @Sinrebirth , @Lady Belligerent , @Snokers , @E. L.Knight , @QueenSabe7

 

GM UPDATE 3 OF 3

IC: Darth Haretisch & Cleo Jerod - Battle of Bedlam Pulsar

Darth Haretisch fell to his knees, drawing ragged breaths. Exhausted. Beaten. Flesh bruised, teeth broken, hair pulled out in bloody clumps. He had given chase through what felt the entire length of the ship, spitting and snarling like a mad dog all the while, battering Snoke with mind shard and force lightning and everything in between. And for every blow he gave, he had taken another in equal or greater measure. Now he sat, and watched Snoke’s shuttle leaving the hangar.

He was fading, eyes growing heavy and chest tight with every breath, but was awake long enough to see Snoke’s shuttle be sideswiped by Insipid.

He fell onto his back and laughed, jolts of pain stretching every nerve.

~~~

“Lennnnoxxxxx, HURRRRYYY!!” Cleo shrieked, jerking the shuttle from one side to the other as the situation around them had escalated to all-out frothing madness. It was as though someone had kicked a beehive the size of a planet, and there was no end to the swarm it could produce. Another monster, seeming to consist of naught but hair and teeth and wriggling molesting tentacles, had attached itself now to the opposite wing. The shuttle began to lose speed as they tugged at it, and Cleo gunned the engines until she thought they would explode, audible alarms ringing as they stressed far beyond the margins for which they were designed.

Xander lay bleeding, still unconscious even with the stimulant coursing through his veins.

Until the moment his father’s voice finally broke through.

“Unleash your power.”

The child’s eyes snapped open, his mouth falling agape in silent horror as he felt the hell that had been opened on Bedlam. The child’s force sensitivity - to the dark side, to the twisting nether of Typhojem’s world especially - was enough to drive him irreparably insane.

He began to seize violently then in his father’s arms, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he reached out involuntarily to the beasts attacking the ship... and crushed them. A fine red spray of gore would coat the back half of the ship as the creatures were pulverized to mist by Xander’s awesome power.

The shuttle was freed, and shot forward like a bullet at full speed, shaking violently as it screamed towards The Forgotten. Cleo shouted through clenched teeth as she fought with the controls, trying desperately to keep the ailing out of control ship on course, and slammed the reverse thrusters repeatedly.

The shuttle flipped first to its side, and then went fully inverted, flying blindly backwards towards the hangar, guided only by destiny and the force.

As it would happen, the force would have Lennox Jerod and his house survive, this day at least, and instead of shattering against the hull of the Forgotten it backed into the hangar and met the durasteel floor on its side with a prolonged screech, finally coming to stop beside the wounded Imperator. “Lennox,” he laughed.

“Daddy,” came the sole word from Xander’s chapped lips after he had stopped seizing, as his eyes came back into focus and centered on his father, just before he fell into a deep sleep.

Cleo too was still and limp in the pilot’s seat, and bleeding from a head wound the same as Xander.

But Cleo wasn’t sleeping.

~~~

“I got him!” Razor Five exclaimed as his shot rang true, shaving the otherworldly creature from Aryan’s viewport with an aim that could have threaded a needle. “Prime Minister, you’re all cl-“ Razor Five’s exultation would be cut short, and the transmission would die in mid-sentence.

Typhojem’s patience had grown thin, and while one part of His infinite consciousness bothered with his lesser siblings, and another with the growing rift in spacetime at the core of the dying Eclipse, another portion of Him reached out to swipe a spectral hand across the whole of the system, killing nearly every ship engine and power system and life support system within one hundred million miles.

The Forgotten fell dark and quiet, even the ever-present hum of background engines known by every crewman who had ever set foot on a capital ship turning to silence. And while ships of this size would be relatively safe and suitable for life for a long while even without backup power, the Aryan Grauls of the world would not be so lucky.

As Razor Five’s transmission died, the young pilot was just pivoting his fighter to bank away from the remnants of a destroyed corvette - instead he would silently crash into it and explode in full view of the Prime Minister.

Within moments, the air would begin to grow cold and moist in the darkness of Aryan Graul’s cockpit as he drifted powerlessly. It would take only minutes for his oxygen supply to grow thin.

TAG: @HanSolo29, @Jerjerrod-Lennox

 

Darth Hades & Morrigan
Altruist

Morrigan helped Hades to his feet. She was far stronger than she looked, a lifetime of warriors training making he stronger and faster.

Hades stumbled as he rosebut was able to move. He leaned of Morrigan heavily.

To him it felt as if every thing was in slow motion.

Morrigan was unaffected by the influences of the various forces at play, but she was bone weary and could feel every ache and pain.

As they got to the escape pods, she moved Hades inside.

She'd never been inside an escape pod before, and instantly hated how small it was.

She pushed a button and the door slid shut.

She got Hades secured and then herself. The straps seemed to dig into the deepest bruises, causing her to ache even more.

"Should have grabbed more stims." She muttered.

The pods all launched at once nearly, and instantly theirs began to spiral.

Her stomach lurched as it did and she was glad to have actually not had food that day.

Not that she wanted the food the asylum had. It tasted like mud most of the time, or akk dog food.

Hades stirred against the straps, distance clearing his head.

He realized things were bad, and that they may not survive this afterall.

Would he end up in Hell, again? Would he find a way back to life if he died?

Dying wasn't what scared him, nor was it Typhojem or Abeloth. What scared him was the loss of his family.

He had rarely cared for anyone after Alexia and Jada. He barely remembered his parents, Hades and Angellus had betrayed him.

But these Sith he had fought alongside, he actually had begun to care about them.

That also scared him.
​

TAG: @Lady Belligerent

​

 

IC: Grand Admiral Lennox Jerod
Location: Jerod’s shuttle, Bedlam system

Cleo was yelling again.

And Jerod wished just for one moment she would just be quiet.

He was trying hard not to drop into unconsciousness and it was the adrenaline still coursing through him that he was managing to stay awake. Although at least with Cleo yelling it did keep him focused on trying to make sure he could still tend to his son.

Unfortunately it was difficult when your ex wife was trying to drag your own shuttle away from what was trying to eat it. Or destroy it. It seemed however that something else decided it wanted to join in the fun and attach itself to the other side of the shuttle as Lennox felt his shuttle being dragged down with whatever was aboard. Alarms were now blaring and Jerod hoped that Xander would wake soon. Even though he had jabbed him with the stimulant, Xander was still bleeding even though he had applied a bacta patch and he hadn't woken up.

Lennox leaned back with a sigh and was about to tell Cleo that they had lost….

Until Xander woke up.

And unleashed hell.

Lennox would have no clue what was going on inside his son’s brain, what power he was accessing, what he could sense and feel and whether it was ultimately harming his son. But when you were all about to die sometimes you had to do something that you would probably regret later.

At the moment, so long as he destroyed whatever was holding the ship, it would have to do.

Xander however looked like he was having a fit. Jerod held him as tightly as he could so he didn't go flying out of his grip but not so tight that he was hurting him. He still ha the medkit nearby should he need to knock him out but he hoped he wouldn't have to. Besides if he did try, what was to stop Xander crushing him?

As soon as whatever was there had been disintegrated his shuttle shot forward like an arrow, the Hapan Battle Dragon getting closer at terrifying speed nearly throwing Jerod and Xander backwards this time. The shuttle was out of control and he knew Cleo was doing her best to try and slow it down, if they didn't they would end up crashing spectacularly or splattering themselves against the wall of the hangar.

“Keep trying!” he yelled looking at her face in the viewport full of concentration “I’d rather not have us make a rather explosive entrance!”

It was then that either thanks to Xander or some unseen force that the shuttle decided to act like a spin dryer. First by flying on it’s side and then upside down which caused Jerod and Xander to go flying once again this time Jerod made sure that Xander was nowhere near getting injured again. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Lennox who ended up whacking his back on the ceiling and injured arm once again.

I really need to get off this thing.

As if reading his mind the shuttle ended up back on it’s side again but instead of feeling a fiery explosion there was a loud bang and a screech as the shuttle slid along the floor of the Forgotten and came to a very abrupt stop.

I might have to pay Bellorum for that...

Lennox breathed a big sigh of relief, they had made it. The shuttle would probably be in no condition to fly for a while but at least they were in the ship. He gently laid Xander on the floor as he had to check on Cleo. The fit had stooped and with one final look and a “Daddy” Xander dropped into unconsciousness. He stoked his sons face and smiled “Well done son, you’ve saved us”. This is where at least, his son’s powers could be useful.

As he moved into the cockpit he saw out of the viewport a very bruised, bloodied and injured Lord Haretisch. He looked about as terrible as Lennox felt, but there he was on his back laughing as he saw the shuttle on it’s side and looking like it had been through a battle itself.

He smiled slightly, at least the Imperator found something funny to laugh about.

He started turning to Celo “Well we made it, that was some rather nifty flying. You didn't learn that from-”

His smile dropped.

So did his heart.

“Cleo?” he made his way to the pilots seat, she was slumped over and bleeding from a head wound. Only this one looked a lot worse. He started feeling for a pulse then tried to shake her gently to see if she respond. She didn't and his heart shattered once again.

“Oh no” he moaned and kept repeating over and over as he unstrapped Celo from the pilots seat and gently pulled her into the cabin beside Xander. The time for being stoic was over. He let the tears flow his bright green eyes shining with tears as he laid his deceased ex wife on the floor. And the last things they said to each other were bordering on them nearly having an argument.

He cradled his former lover in his arms still letting the tears flow. He remembered all the good times they had had together, just them two and then with Xander before his job took him away. Now it was all gone, and Xander would now be his responsibility.

And how could you tell a five year old that his mother was dead? And how would Xander react? Hopefully by not crushing the ship to bits.

The galaxy really hates me today. And I think this is called karma….

His grief turned to anger and before he realized he was letting out a roar. And not just any roar it was full of grief, rage and despair. The galaxy had decided to take away what was dear to him. First the Repentance, and now his ex wife. His son would be without a mother, someone who could be what Jerod could not.

Once he had finished yelling his heart out, he was breathing heavily and still tears were coursing down his cheeks. He began to blink them back, he had to ty and be strong for Xander now, look after him and perhaps get out alive.

He set Cleo down and moved towards the cockpit to see if he could open the ramp and get themselves off. Well him and Xander anyway, Celo’s body would have to be retrieved. It was then that the Forgotten's hangar turned dark, Jerod looking around to see if anything in the hangar had disabled the power. He couldn't see anything but he knew that this was bad. He tried the shuttle’s ramp control, no dice. The only other option was the viewport but he didn't really have the strength to try and smash it.

Luckily on ships such as this the life support would last for a while. However unless Xander or Lord Haretisch had something up their sleeves they were about to be swallowed by the darkness. Jerod was never scared of death, but if he was about to die then he would rather do it surrounded by his family. Well his reunited family that had now lost one member.

He sighed and moved back into the cabin, quickly checking on Xander. His pulse was steady but he knew it wouldn't be long before he died from blood loss if the bacta patch didn't do its job.

He moved Xander gently along so he could lay between the two, clasping Cleo’s limp hand and resting his injured arm on Xander’s/ “Well” he said staring at the other side of the shuttle “Looks like it’s just you and me son” he turned slightly to Cleo “Looks like we might be joining you soon, but if we do survive this i’ll look after him and make sure he is trained in the ways of the Force. I know you didn't like it, but it’s the only way”

He turned his head back to staring at the wall and to the dark creatures out there, I hope someone takes you down. Because if we burn, you burn with us.

And i’ll see you in hell.

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard

 

IC: Syren
Bedlam and the space above.

An iciness lingered on Syren's soul, as if it had been splashed lightly by death. Typhojem and his permanent touch upon her would never fully cease, but her experience below, on the now crumbling crust of Bedlam was no more. He may yet end them all, but it would not be without her fighting against whatever fate He had crafted.

Her nails dug into the Altruist’s throttle, accelerating the shuttle to its maximum speed. The hull vibrated and whined under the strain as it finally broke atmo and entered the welcome void of space, though that did not change the fact that they remained in imminent danger, not one single bit. Nothing on the scanners indicated an impending strike or that they had been locked onto by an enemy, but they were violently rocked into a tailspin exactly as if they had been hit square on. This, this wasn’t a wound by any weapon a ship would carry… it was something much more powerful than that.

Syren was smacked sideways, whip-lashed against her seat and systems went wild, some altogether dying – sparks bursting forth from compartment panels and lights going dark. Their vessel was on its way to total annihilation, breaking apart at the seams. The navi computer was scrambled, most of her screens only emitting static, and it took every ounce of the strength she had left to keep them moving. Even the steering controls were no longer accurate…

“Kriff. MEEE,” Syren groaned through clenched teeth as she pulled right with both hands, swooping out of the way of something else set on destroying them.

Peripherally she still managed to sense the enigmatic presence of Bellorum back in the cockpit, rather, how could she not. An obnoxious chime began to beep out repeatedly as the shuttle rumbled after another untimely graze and she glanced at what else was now broken. It was their shields, completely down and leaving them without an ounce of much-needed protection.

“Anything else?” Syren quipped to herself, switching the obnoxious alarm off.

“A couple of well placed hits and we are going to be disabled, if not blown into dust particles,” the Dark Lady acknowledged from some place just behind her. The assassin bit back a smart-ass retort, audibly straining once more to redirect them out of harm’s way.

“Program a short jump that would get us closer to the Forgotten. Put it on a timer and then run for one of the pods. We’ll get the others loaded up. Program all the escape pods to eject within seconds of the jump. Hurry!”

That was all the urging she needed from the former-Empress. They were on borrowed time as it was.

“Locate the destroyer Forgotten on the scanners and program a micro-jump as close as you can get it,” she commanded her co-pilot. The droid responded by repeating back her words in monotone, mechanically issuing the orders through its electronic connections to the grid. It looked to her and offered a nod once all was completed seconds later. “Time set – 2 minutes.”

“Two minutes to jump,” the droid confirmed. Syren manually overrode a few controls to set all escape pods to jettison simultaneously the moment the shuttle emerged from hyperspace, having to program the latter part individually for each.

“Syren!” Bellorum called from deep within the shuttle, somehow heard over the din. “let’s go!”

“Coming!” she shouted, beginning to shove up from her seat though falling back as her leg gave out. She tried again, grabbing the droid’s cold, metal shoulder for support, this time managing to get to standing. Not a moment later Zalen abruptly appeared, grabbing Syren and ushering her forward gently though with great haste. They hobbled through the passenger hold and by discarded bandages and blood stains, even a foul smelling pile of what appeared to be vomit. She turned her nose away and urged herself forward - they were all in worse shape than she initially had time to consider.

As the redheads hurtled around a final corner and into the passage lined with mostly-sealed pods. Syren locked eyes on Ike and then Bellorum, who had remained to wait for the final two Sith. A nod towards them both before Zalen nearly shoved her through the second to last available door. The assassin hit the lip of a seat with her knees, collapsing into it just as the hatch sealed behind her. She turned around, strapping herself down as she noticed a counter clock above the entry, digitally signaling the time left in her two minute deadline.

15… 14... 13… 12…

The ship swung wildly again and she clenched her eyes shut, bracing for an implosion to follow.

None came. Another graze? Surely they couldn’t handle anything more… would they even make it through the jump?

10… 9… 8…

Quickly her eyes searched her tiny pod, panic setting in and she needed to see what she had at her disposal aside from what was on her person. There was another small seat next to her and several minimal controls between. Thrusters, emergency beacon, oxygen read-out…

5… 4…

Across were two medium-sized, clear compartments that she could tell held a pair of oxygen masks and a basic flight suit, mainly to keep warm with, she guessed. Beside it were several smaller ones that were marked – rations, med kit, so on.

2…

1.

A lurch one second to enter hyperspace and another the next to exit. The jump was so quick it took all of a breath or two in length, the counter now flashing in red the number zero. She glanced through the tiny viewport in the hatch, suddenly filled with raging fire and debris. Her eyes widened as a ripple of fear gripped her - were they too late? - but it suddenly became a distant threat. Not a moment too soon, all of the pods shot away from the doomed shuttle at once just as she had programmed, tossed away into the fray like a ball in a game.

It was oppressively warm and silent in her tiny cage, especially after the constant roars and screams of the fight before. All she could hear now was her heavy breathing, coming fast and shallow. As she spun, the Forgotten came and went from view – they were very close, as close as they could be for which she gained a modicum of relief. Beginning to feel a bout of nausea come on, the pod finally activated its auto-thrusters to even itself out, settling in the direction of the star destroyer... of safety. Syren let her head fall back against the seat, releasing the tension in her muscles and removing her hands from the armrests that she had nearly crushed beneath the weight of her grip. She unclipped her harness and reached for the distress beacon, her thoughts immediately bypassing the pain rushing back through her body, now shifting to Aryan.

She knew the chances were slim in all the surrounding mess and while she refused to even consider he might have perished, a new and different panic took over as she closed her eyes to search for him. She felt for his presence – she knew him to be a part of this battle and if he was conscious, if he was alive, Syren would know. His signature had become a part of her own and stood out brighter and stronger than all the rest. Even though he no longer held any sensitivities to the Force, she would know.

Droplets of sweat fell down along her cheeks and the back of her neck while she exhausted herself even further, hunting for any trace of the man she loved, any wisp or trail she might be able to follow…

There.

It was nearby though faint, growing more so even in the instant she had found it.

He was fading, disappearing... dying.

Her eyes flew open and she immediately turned to the minimalist control panel. Syren latched onto Aryan with every single part of her concentration, the Force creating a tangible line between where she currently was and what would be Aryan’s position.

Breath, stay awake, LIVE, she conveyed across the connection not knowing if he would even sense her coming.

The little pod accelerated off from the others, a bit farther out from the Forgotten into seemingly empty space. She couldn’t see him, but the pull to him was true. Before long, an alert came on the small screen by the controls telling her that thruster power was running low, depleting quickly as they were not intended for any sort of use over distance, merely there to buoy its occupants until help arrived. She ignored it.

After what seemed to be an eternity, she physically saw what she felt... the lifeless fighter that held the Prime Minister. Dead or alive, she could no longer be sure.

TAGS: @Lady Belligerent @HanSolo29 @Darth_wanderguard @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Soliloquy
Bedlam

The moment of chanting, of waiting passed, and the blood-ichor swelled. The change was upon and around them and suddenly they were surging forward, and up, through the red liquid to the surface. They were being ripped, or drawn, and Typhojem howled at the pain. A world crying out at a wound that was never expected to be. He had consumed his siblings, some, millennia ago. But now they were taking back solid form at their behest. Soliloquy had turned the Old Ones upon each other, and Typohjem had only just noticed.

It was out, it was free again. It was them again. It had forged bonds and status that none could claim, they were the killer and cousin and ally of Mnngl-Mnngl. They were the ally of Ooru, the untrusted of Abeloth's kin. The un-noticed bane of Typh.

Abeloth had emerged first, alighting upon creatures that crawled the surface, ripping them apart, entangling them and crushing their throats. Ooru took his Wookiee-Sithspawn form and leaped upon the monsters in all their shapes, eating and gnashing his teeth over their broken bodies. The black-liquid Mnngal-Mnngal looped outwards, drawing creatures into its mass and depositing them as zombies. They took their energies and rallied them against Typhojem, causing a storm to fill the worlds atmosphere - wind howling, rain becoming jagged daggers of ice savaging any ship or trooper or monster around Bedlam. From orbit, the world would appear as if it was fighting itself - which it was, for Typhojem was Bedlam, and all he needed to do was detach his component parts and he would be born. Two great wings burst from the surface, and began to sweep, tugging him bit by bit from the planet. His head was nearly free, and one of his arms, his tentacled-chin growling.

They were greatly pleased with themselves as they rolled upon the open ground. They had tasks to do, their works were not yet done. Yet oh what works they had wrought that so few truly knew existed! All of this! All of this and more.

It spun and wove its over burdened spirit through the channels and Force crystals like a fine grain through a sieve, aiming to leave behind the taint of Abeloth trapped with it, but yet separate. Next as it continued to roll upon the open ground it called a two headed winged serpent down to it. Calling it's ride up and away from all of this. Away from the world.

Using the internal ways of a Holocron they focused on powering the mechanisms to float them up and away to meet their flying ride in the air. One of the flock it had made earlier, one of it's own. Where it could shield it's chosen beast and leave these to their battle. Leave to the sky where odd sights glistened and beckoned.

TAG: @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Azeth Drost
Shuttle Altruist

The cramped shuttle bucked and rocked to and fro, results of countless impacts from the battle outside. The crash seat's many straps dug deep into Drost's exposed skin, a discomfort which was much preferable to the alternative. An alternative which was being felt by a number of other individuals who had not had time to strap themselves in before takeoff. At some point, he had applied a bacta patch across his injured shoulder, yet he could not remember when. Was he even the one who did it, or had someone tended to him without him noticing?

His attention was fully devoted to what he was seeing, or rather, what he wasn't seeing. Miraluka perceived their world through the force, a motley collection of differing shades of auras which made up the people around them. Each aura was distinct from another, carrying an individual characteristic which allowed the Miraluka to tell a person apart from another, which was especially important when the group he identified with were all drenched in the dark side of the force. At least, that was how it usually worked. Now, the world wasn't as clear cut. It was as if portions of each individual's auras were being dragged away in thin streaks, back towards the planet Bedlam, dragging away the details of his perception.

With his one good hand, Drost unstrapped himself from his seat and rose to his feet, staring hard at the closed landing ramp, specifically at a viewport nearby.

Why..?

He hobbled over to the viewport, each step bringing more clarity then before. The shuttle buckled again, sending him sprawling against the shuttle wall, the viewport inches away from his nose. At once, he understood. Off in the far distance was Bedlam, or at least, what was left of it, replaced instead by the gaping maw of an impossibility given flesh. A monstrosity which shook Drost to his very core. The force itself seemed to be unwillingly dragged inside, rendering Drost's view around the planet colorless, formless, pointless. Bedlam was dead, killed in the process of birthing a god. His breath caught in his throat, his gaze unable to break free. Even worse, Drost wasn't sure he even wanted to break free. The more he stared at Typhojem, the more his heart slowed. The previous panic which had gripped him was gone, replaced by a peaceful feeling.

Maybe we were wrong to flee.. It would be so much easier if we were to all become one.. So much simp-

Again, the shuttle rocked, slamming Drost's head into the transparisteel of the viewport, jerking him out of the muddled state he was in, if not for but a moment. He groggily shook his head, suddenly aware of the chaos within the shuttle. Everyone was in the middle of being herded towards the Altruist's escape pods, apparently the shuttle had been more damaged than Drost had previously imagined.

A woman, who was clearly in charge looked over at him from the direction of one the escape pods. “Can you make it over here?”

Drost glanced back outside the viewport from a moment, before reluctantly tearing himself away from the wall. "Fortunately, my only limitation as of yet is this." He wiggled his limp left arm, smiling tightly. "I'll follow your lead."

With that, he shambled over to one of the few remaining escape pods, managing to only get knocked off his feet once from the increasingly damaged shuttle. He slipped inside an empty escape pod, immediately strapping himself into one of the seats. The navigation/control panel situated on his right already had a destination reprogrammed, the Destroyer called the Forgotten. Drost smirked at the name, pressing a button which sealed the entranceway to the escape pod and begun the launching sequence.

Even after a thousand years, the Sith still name their ships the same ways, how original.

The pod's engines fired up, pushing Drost back hard into his seat as the craft launched from its tube, off into the dark expanse of space. He had tried to suppress his tumultuous thoughts with mirth, but had failed. His thoughts drifted back towards Bedlam, and the horrors which had just been released upon an unsuspecting galaxy..

Tag: @Sinrebirth , @Lady Belligerent

 

IC: Jwob Sebb, combo with @Sinrebirth
Bedlam

Jwob made his way to the shuttle as best as his injured body could carry him. He wasn’t last, but he certainly wasn’t first. On the way he dispatched may of these dog-things that were plaguing them. Not that it helped, there seemed to be an unlimited number of them seemingly coming out of the air itself.

When he boarded the shuttle, he examined his fellow Sith. They were beaten to a pulp. Limbs worthless or missing. Gashes leaking bodily fluids in their scalps and other vital areas. No one was left unscathed. Everyone was hurt, mentally and physically.

There was fear coming from each of them. Many of Typhojem, naturally, but some of the general defeat they were being handed. Yet there was still resolve among them. There was still purpose. Partly, it appeared, because they had a new enemy in Typhojem and partly because of a new alliance.

It was an exciting time to be a Sith.

In particular he examined the Kaminoan more thoroughly. He was missing a limb, certainly, but he seemed comfortable with it. While it’s possible he may have misjudged Ike and his actions, he still didn’t fully trust the Emperor’s former plaything.

The shuttle took off with Syren at the helm. There was a bit of time to gather himself. Sitting down, he chanced to notice two humans, possibly brothers, having a rather heated discussion. He put it out of his mind and settled into a meditation. Having his body and mind back to square would be important in the days to co… ACK! Disgusting! One of the brothers had just sprayed bile all over the shuttle!

Jwob and others around him moved to the side as much as they could, but there wasn’t much of a place to go. The next time was even worse. The smell in the shuttle was now a mix of rotting flesh and whatever that brother had for breakfast.

He was getting medical attention, now, so Jwob tried to settle down for more meditation. There was no use, though. His concentration shot, he looked out a port at the shrinking planet below. The main problem we had now was Typhojem. A being the Sith had battled before and defeated, albeit barely. He seemed even more powerful in this time, if that was possible.

Jwob set his mind to trying to find a way to defeat him. The only way was for the Sith to work together as they had before. There were many who were already doing so, it seemed. But they would need assistance. Jwob felt helpless, though. He didn’t have a ship any more, and anything physical would just be batted out of the sky as his precious ship, Brehe, had on Mortis.

The notification came down to board escape pods just as Jwob made his decision. The closest being to him… Ike. He’d have to do. He turned to Ike and said, “Long story short: I can transfer my consciousness. I’m going to leave my body. I’m going to take on Typhojem. Take care of my body, please. I’ll need it if I survive.”

Jwob turned and stretched out his consciousness. He was leaving his body to engage in mental battle.

Ike was surprised to see the Ithorian awake, but glad for it. He listened to what he had to say, and nodded. The only way they were going to beat - or even escape - Typhojem was to overwhelm him with distractions. The more they did to him, the better.

“I’ll strap your body into the pod while you’re gone,” Ike said. He gave Serapis’ shoulder a squeeze. “Good luck.”

With that Serapis was gone, bypassing the thousands of monsters creatures filling the system, and the tens of thousands of surviving crew-members of the orbiting, shattered fleets, individuals that were dying by the dozens.

The Ithorian found himself beside Typhojem, on his shoulder, by an ear. He had complete clarity of Typhojem’s body - one arm was free, and his wings were drawing his upper-torso out, but the rest of the Sith God was still not yet defined, a massive ocean of blood-ichor created by the ritual, forming the base from which He had form.

Typhojem was distracted - his siblings were running amok on the surface of Bedlam, taking the fear and power that was His unto themselves. Serapis would grasp that Soliloquy was responsible, somehow, and recognise the body of Ravenous being used by one of the Old God’s.

Jwob stood for a moment contemplating his next move. Stood wasn't really the right word. Being non-corporeal, he didn't have legs. He wouldn't have to figure out how to enter Typhojem's ear, he could go right through.

Chaos surrounded them. Even more than when he'd left. It appeared Soliloquy and Ravenous (but not them, somehow) were attacking Typhojem, too. Time to help out. He entered Typhojem's head.

Jwob had no physical being, so he would need to do things of the mind. He assumed trying to take over Typhojem's body was a non-starter. He started with simple telekinesis. Imagining a blade as best he could he imagined slicing through a part of the brain.

The thrust went through essence, and Typhojem hissed, glancing his massive head to find the threat, his face-tentacles swinging to smack aside the incorporeal-Serapis, like a flea on the mind of the Immoral God.

If a being without a body could smile, he would. Now, let's wreak some havoc! Jwob thought.

He gathered all his negative feelings together, all his hate, all the betrayals over the past weeks, all his anger. He released them as what he hoped would be Force Lightning all around him.

A web of lightning enveloped Typhojem’s face, pockmarking the skin with burn medallions and clawing at his eyes. He snarled, writhing his hand to protect his face, still not understanding that his foe was within his mind's eye, and the wounds were upon his psyche.

The Left Handed Lord was bereft, and unaware that his foe had achieved the tiniest foothold within Him. Yet another cloying and wounding Sith, much like his siblings had been.

This was working! Jwob's destructions paired with Ravenous' and Soliloquy's attacks could give the turn in the battle they needed!

Jwob redoubled his efforts. Slicing here, shocking there. There must be some additional attack he could do. Not having a body could be limiting.

Yet it could also be limiting having a body, as this "Sith God" was finding.

Again, Jwob steeled himself for a major attack. He was going to try to bring the Left-handed Lord to his knees. He envisioned Hux, that red-headed simpering fool. He envisioned this damn war started because of distrust sown by Typhojem, himself. He envisioned that overpowered "boy."

He bundled it all together like some kind of hate bomb an lit the fuse. He was trying to direct the energy into what he thought would be Typhojem's frontal lobe. If successful, he might be able to disrupt motor function so Ravenous and Soliloquy can bring him down.

Abeloth, Mnngal-Mnngal, and Ravenous’s body - used by Ooru, attacking Typhojem’s thrashing form and dominating his armies on the surface of Bedlam. Soliloquy had his mount, and Serapis had his Mind Shard.

It was then that Typhojem figured out that the attack was within his mind, not from outside. The shard was held in his, and Typhojem turned his monstrous head to look at Serapis.

“The broken minded hammerhead.”

He intoned slowly.

Jwob considers his new predicament. He supposed it wasn't expected to be that easy. "Typhojem, you may be a God, but I'm not the one being attacked inside and out." To add punctuation to what he said, he slashed down where the grey matter was before.

Or he would have done.

If he could move.

“Pain is a friend to me, hammerhead. I have died, once. My body cast apart and shaped into planets. For a hundred millennia I have been without shape, eventually trapped in maddening isolation beneath the Well of the Dark Side.”

A baleful, impossibly large eye leaned forward. “I became Hell.”

“Your spirit is nothing to me. Your struggles are nothing.” As he spoke, Serapis would be faintly aware of Typhojem’s body taking damage; of Typhojem just separating his spirit from those parts of flesh that could harm him, and forming new flesh in its place.

“I will accept your last words.”

“Be they ones of fealty, or your death will follow.”

Jwob considered. He was willing to die for this, but there was more he could do. "You had fealty. Past tense. You were the God of the Sith. When any one of us turns to the Sith, we turn to you. It's when you try to supplant us, you become our enemy... and you become weaker for it."

““Wrong choice.”

He shredded Serapis down to his atoms.

It was painful.

Very, very, painful.

But he was dead, at least.

He put Serapis back together, but with half the magnetism that the Ithorian’s atoms needed to remain whole. So he was both in that impossible pain, and alive.

Typhojem absently began to break apart atoms a few thousand at a time. An eyestalk vanished. Then an arm, on the opposite side.

But still alive.

Ithorians had extra organs to humans. Second throat, obviously, but a second set of lungs too.

Not Serapis. His first set of lungs abruptly vanished.

Who was he, now, if he wasn't himself? Not Jwob, not Serapis, not "the Hammerhead" even. The not-Jwob being surmised that Typhojem was allowing him to keep a sense of self to know what he was and what he now was not.

Not-Jwob had experienced pain before, but not like this. This was pain that regularly drove people either insane or into Spice-induced addictions or both. Not-Jwob could have been one of those beings, in another lifetime.

But allowing Not-Jwob to keep his sense of self would allow him to keep his sense of purpose. To delay and distract Typhojem while the Sith mounted their attack.

With the last of his being, he conveyed his defiance of Typhojem. Like screaming loudly, "NO!" His resolve to oppose Typhojem until he could no more.

So Typhojem removed his tongue. But as they were also connected, He sensed the current of a plan to Serapis.

The Old One pulled apart the thought; examined it.

“Ah, yes. A ploy. All the Sith are good for.”

His gaze cast to his siblings running amok, to the isolated Sith and militaries of the First Order, Imperium and Twilight Sun in orbit. Irritants, none of them a threat in their sum. Even Haretisch and Snoke, locked in mortal combat, was fitting - both the Heralds of his resurrection.

His gaze slid back to the immobilised and pained Serapis.

“I think you and I are done. Essence transfer will be useful for me to know. Only twenty have ever mastered it before you, after all. Usually Chosen Ones.”

He began to discard parts of Serapis for Him to hunt the skill. He took his time.

Might as well gain something from this irritant.

Not-Jwob was defying. He was remaining. He was resisting.

He was in pain.

Why? He had no physical body to feel pain. Not any more. His body was on an escape pod somewhere. Up there.

It was being provided to him by Typhojem. The feeling of a body.

He was being dismantled. He was done. Why was he resisting any more? Why was he remaining? A god only has power when those lesser give it to him.

Jwob reached out to Bellorum... to Ike... to the Lorekeeper... to Soliloquy... to Kronos... to Syren... to them all and, finally, said "Goodbye."

Typhojem has removed all sense of Jwob’s self. His sight, his smell, his hearing. He had isolated him, cut at his body at the subatomic level, reduced him to nothing more the sole part of the Ithorian that held essence transfer.

A slither of a soul.

A fragment of a figment of the Sith.

A wisp of nothing and something and anything.

Typhojem could not break that tiniest element. It was so minuscule, so infinitesimal.

It was but a thought.

An idea.

A resolve.

Imbued with all of what Serapis has been, and all that he now was.

Irritable, Typhojem could not breach the defences that the Ithorian had erected around that pointless remnant of a remainder that had been the Sith. He was thwarted, and essence transfer was not His.

Disgusted, Typhojem discarded the atom, and moved on. The distraction was over.

The not-Jwob blew on the cosmic winds. Twisting. Falling. Rising. Drifting.

Tags: @Sinrebirth, @Lady Belligerent, @Mitth_Fisto, @Darth Kronos, @QueenSabe7, everyone.

 

IC: Anark and Bo
The Altruist


"TAKE ME BACK!"

Anark's screamed and thrashed like a helpless animal who'd just glimpsed the slaughterhouse.

The Executor had recoiled in horror when the Sith's pupils returned abruptly and slammed back down into place. Holding his brother back with a forearm, he reached over and yanked a thin curtain from the viewport behind him and began attempting to wrap it around Anark's waist one-handed in an attempt to protect the man's modesty. Bo felt a ghostly ache in his own nether regions when he glanced down at his twin's form.

His clothes just... disintegrated... how?

But there was little time to ponder.

Anark fought against him hard, he and Bellorum.

The enraged Sith thrashed even more violently and tried desperately to squirm from their grip when Zalen approached him from behind.

"LET ME OFF," he bellowed, "LET ME OFF THIS SHIP RIGHT NOW!

His words of protest began to slur within seconds of the needle being jammed into his back end. Then his feet went from under him and he began to slowly slide down the wall, seeing the last residues of lightning on his fingertips dim and die.

He looked dreamily up at Bellorum then settled his focus on Bo.

"Auoooahh... I hate you..."

Anark could only keep his head up for a few seconds before he resigned himself to the potent mixture now filling his veins.

His last thought before he slipped out of consciousness was of Typhojem - of the power he'd felt in those moments with Him; pure, untamed, raw power. A power he struggled to imagine even the Triumvirs ever experiencing.


---


Sparks rained down on The Executor in the hallway, some biting at the tips of his ears. He carried Anark on his back. Anark was a heavy man, even when bereft of his armour and boots. The effort of the weight on his shoulder combined with the pain of his half-tended injuries had a fresh sheet of sweat glistening on his face.

Bellorum ordered him to set Anark down in a pod then get himself into a separate one. He questioned it in his mind but there was no time to argue. Once in the pod Bo let Anark down from his shoulder with more of a clatter than he intended. It was a relief. Once Bellorum had sealed the pod he realised he still had Anark's lightsaber in his hand.

"See you guys on the other side," he heard his Empress shout as he sealed the door to his own escape vessel.

The pod shook violently when it launched but became still only seconds later. Bo undid his seatbelt and had a look out of the tiny window set in the white wall.

The Forgotten could be seen not far off. It was a welcomed sight.

Bo toyed with the lightsaber hilt in his hand, a weapon he felt so unqualified to use, and that irked him, a weapon that promised death to all of it's wielder's enemies. He saw his twin in his mind, but as a boy. They had both come a long way since then. Both had been through their own trials, yes. He clipped the silver hilt onto his utility belt for safekeeping and pushed his hair out of his eyes to watch The Forgotten get closer and closer.


---


In his own pod, Darth Anark was sprawled out on the hard floor drifting towards Bellorum's capital ship.

He did not dream.

TAG: @Lady Belligerent​

 

Combo with the always masterful HanSolo29. Thank you for wrapping up this chapter with me!

IC: Aryan Graul & Syren
Space, above Bedlam

Everything had begun to blur together in those final few moments, taking place at a high rate of speed yet feeling as though time was stretching to impossible lengths.

Syren, glaring through her viewport to see the disabled fighter growing steadily closer, could tell it was clearly dead in the water - all systems were black and it was listing unnaturally. She had no way to scan for life, relying solely on the Force to tell her that Aryan was slipping away and quickly. Too quickly.

LIVE, gods damn you!

In the midst of knowing this, she had somehow managed to maneuver her little escape pod with dwindling thruster support, summoning calm and concentration to match hatch-to-hatch magnetically, sealing both their vessels together without losing pressure on either side. With trembling hands the assassin flung open her side the instant she was permitted, following with hastily ripping through the other end, tearing the fighter’s entry away from its hinges and tossing it backwards into the ship like a discarded toy. Having wisely taken precautions beforehand by pulling on the spare flight suit and holding one of the oxygen masks over her mouth and nose, she was spared the effects of a sudden shift in oxygen levels.

Sticking her head through first, she immediately found him, her eyes obediently following the path shown by the Force. She saw the back of Aryan’s head hanging low to one side, his body still strapped into the pilot’s chair. To her brief relief, she could tell he was covered in a full suit and helmet that would have offered some protection, would have prolonged the inevitable. Long enough for her, that was the uncertainty.

Syren limped forward once she was fully aboard, noting the crystallization on the forward viewport and controls, sweeping her eyes down as she came up beside him to see the same on the inside of his helmet visor. It was easily sensed as well as assumed that he was no longer conscious.

There was not a further thought or consideration before she released him from his harness with a single wave of one hand, the buckles snapping undone at her silent command. With some aid from the Force, she hoisted him from the chair and proceeded to drag his limp form the rest of the short way back. She paused only to re-enter the pod first, pulling him down in after as gently as she could muster and as space allowed. Considering her barely controllable fear, panic, and surprising rage that were clawing to be released, adrenaline was driving her now. It was to the point of making it seem as though she had no injuries or pain, as if she hadn’t just narrowly evaded death several times over, as if she hadn’t once more been forced to flee a monstrous presence that had haunted her for the majority of her life.

All of it was nearly forgotten, her singular focus drawing strength to save the man in her arms.

“Aryan,” she urged aloud while continuing to work, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask. She had placed him into a seat and strapped him down before sealing them in first, allowing the oxygen to normalize second. Once the readout registered the air within the small vessel was breathable, she detached from the broken starfighter and set them adrift, lighting up the emergency beacon immediately after.

Syren tore away her mask and threw it aside, carefully removing his helmet after then discarding it in a similar fashion. “Aryan!” she repeated, this time at a shout now that she had nothing more to distract her, her emotions free to run rampant. Initially she grabbed his shoulders with her hands, shaking him once in hopes that she could simply jar him awake. When that didn’t give her immediate results, she swore profusely, scrambling next for the spare oxygen mask. Locating it swiftly, she pressed it to his face with one hand, the other cradling his head to keep it stable. The walls seemed to press in on her, the temperatures inside rising due to the second life form as well as Syren’s constant movements and stress. Her suit felt heavy and damp, her mouth dry, several lose strands of hair sticking to her cheeks and neck. Still he did not stir.

Try something else, anything…

She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

Aryan, she tried for the third time, though now it was conveyed mentally – through their connection. Their bond, however changed, damaged or nonexistent it may have felt since he was ripped from her the first time, she fought to forge a new one here and now…. Impossible, most likely. But there was not a single damn reason why she should not try.

Another breath to settle, and she began recalling the intimacy and the strength gained by their feelings and the Force, what it felt like to be linked to another so directly yet without a physical touch, how the currents of their shared emotions had brought them closer than she could have ever thought possible… she remembered all of it. The echo of those feelings welled inside her and she poured them into the Force, into him, willing that power to exist again even if just for a single moment.

Wake up.

The voice finally reached Aryan, piercing through the impenetrable fog that had encompassed his mind to establish a connection on some astral plane of his awareness. His muscles involuntarily reacted to this stimuli by contracting of their own accord, sending a tremor throughout his entire body. These spasms continued for several tense seconds before finally dissipating, his hands the only thing left trembling in the aftermath.

Despite the shaking, his fingers occasionally flexed in response to the images and sensations that passed through his mind’s eye, filling him with familiar thoughts and impressions. He knew this somehow, but every time he tried to reach out to make that final link, a door slammed in his face to shut him out. This only exacerbated his overall sense of confusion and agitation.

As a result, the Prime Minister’s body seemed to recoil once again, his right arm starting to become unhinged as if wanting to fend off some unseen foe. It brushed against the thin hose that ran from the oxygen mask to the cylinder that supplied him with the vital element, his hand instinctively curling around this cord in a loose embrace. But before he could pull against the tension to disrupt the flow of oxygen, his hand fell lax as the voice suddenly formed a vivid picture in his mind:

A woman, lithe and strong, with coppery red hair halfway down her back and stormy gray eyes.

He…knew this woman.

He could almost remember…

With a sharp intake of breath that sounded more like a strangled cough, Aryan finally opened his eyes. Things were hazy at first, his blue-gray gaze distant and wandering around the small space as if lost. He did not recognize where he was – did not recognize anything – and that brought on the onset of panic...

Fortunately, that’s when he noticed the woman kneeling over him; the same woman he had just envisioned in his dreams.

A small gasp escaped his lips as Aryan tried to regain focus so that he could look upon her more closely. His eyes moved erratically for a moment, a haunting display that reflected his inner struggle, but with considerable effort, he finally managed to succeed. He allowed himself to simply stare at her, his frame seeming to relax back into the seat with an unnatural calm.

After an undetermined amount of time, his expression appeared to soften, recognition now reflecting in his eyes. Yes, he knew her; he was almost certain of that. She had meant a lot to him...perhaps something more than a simple friendship.

Siren or Syr--

Aryan parted his lips to speak, but all that came forth was a series of incoherent grunts and murmurs.

Syren's eyes had flown open the moment he had begun to stir, breaking their temporary bond and the Force dissipating instantly like a taut wire severed. For fear of harming him further in some unseen way, she did not move him or get closer - she remained very still and observed, save for lowering the mask marginally should he need to speak. What she saw in his expression - lost - chilled her to the bone... what she sensed - incoherence - clenched at her heart and lungs, nearly strangling the breath from her body. What she heard...

There was something very wrong, that was immediately apparent. Something changed about him and his awareness that was unlike anything she had witnessed in him before. This was not an injury she could fix, and it felt as if her heart would tear itself in two.

"Shhh..." Syren managed amidst the noises Aryan was trying to make. Still cradling his head, she looked away for a moment, gathering herself. "You are safe now, you are with me and you are s-safe..." The last word was strained, like telling a bold lie and she felt guilty saying it. He was not safe, not from himself and the damage already done, he need serious medical attention.... Why the kriff have we not been picked up yet?!

Abruptly she dropped the mask into his lap and placed both hands on either side of his face. Her eyes bored into his with an intensity she could not hide. "You are with me. You are safe. Do you understand?"

Despite her proximity and the unexpected touch of her hands upon his flesh, Aryan did not immediately acknowledge her, except for a small shudder that was barely perceptible among the other involuntary movements that now racked his body. He only continued to stare, his eyes narrowing every so often in an attempt to better see her features and to carefully process the words that were issuing from her lips. She sounded concerned, and this caused his chin to tremble slightly.

After another prolonged pause, the words finally began to sink in.

She had mentioned that he was safe, but safe from…what? With furrowed brow, he tried to recall his place in time and the events that had transpired to lead up to this moment, but it remained a blank slate. Once again, the door had slammed down in his face and denied him access to those facets of his memory.

But he had to wonder – did it truly matter? He was with this woman now, and she insisted that he was safe. This woman...

Syren.

Yes, that was her name.

Syren told him he was safe with her...and he trusted her.

No, it was more than that.

Something…something much more. He felt that pull more strongly now, tugging at his heart with that familiar ache...

Did he understand?

Without warning, Aryan jolted as if coming awake from a nightmare, his breath expelling in a heavy rush as he extended his arm toward her – once again, it was the right arm; the left remained immobile at his side, the digits occasionally flinching in a nervous fit. His hand flexed, reaching out for her face in a desperate plea, but he was having some difficulty making contact. His depth perception was not the best and he kept moving off to the side to grope at empty air.

Eventually he managed to grasp a lock of her hair in an awkward gesture, his fingers entwining with the strands and pulling them tight against his fist. He didn’t intend to cause her any pain; he only wanted to hold her...to feel her. To show her that yes, he didunderstand.

A small smile appeared briefly over his features, pulling up one corner of his mouth. Again, he made an effort to speak and to articulate these complex emotions. While he knew what he wished to say, he found himself unable to form those thoughts into words. All he managed was yet another string of senseless babble.

Syren grimaced in anguish. "It's alright, it's alright..." she whispered, grasping his hand in hers as Aryan desperately clung to her hair. If the gesture was meant to be affectionate, it came off as anything but. His arm reaching for the air beside her before finding her, his fingers rough as he tried to hold on to... hold onto what? She didn't have a fragging clue. She couldn't even be sure he truly realized she was here, right here.

She swallowed hard, sucking in a shaky breath as she freed his clenched hand from her fiery locks, securing it down by his side. She then reached up to brush his check a few times, pushing forth again with the Force though this time it would be in a calming manner, lulling him into a light sleep until he could be cared for more properly. She did not want to upset him, though she felt as though she had already.

A few tears had fallen from her eyes and Syren looked away, he didn't need to see her like this. Ridiculous, she thought dryly, realizing he probably wouldn't be able to notice now anyways...

"DAMN IT!" she cried suddenly, landing an impulsive closed-fist punch at the middle console beside her. Sparks sprayed up in a fan and the oxygen readout screen collapsed inward, several controls dying out in response to the damage. The main lighting array flickered once and went black, emergency replacements coming on automatically to cast the entire pod in an ominous red glow. Wrenching her hand back, immediately regretting acting upon her frustrations in such a foolish way, her eyes caught the small device upon her wrist - scraped up and cracked, but still working.

Her comm.

She stood and practically fell into the second open seat, opening a line to the Dark Lord with an investment in them both. "My Lo- kriff it, Haretisch... it's Syren, pod beacon has been activated... you need to get to our location now.. Aryan... it's Aryan... he is... he's not..." she paused to breath, her words having tumbled forward so quickly it had nearly drawn her into hysterics. She clenched her teeth to keep from repeating herself. "Just hurry."

And she cut the message. She was practically panting as she leaned her head back, forced to wait... and wanting nothing more than to tear the world apart.

TAGS: @HanSolo29 @Darth_wanderguard @Lady Belligerent @Sinrebirth