The loaf – golden grain flour from the Omwat plains, grown in the side garden and ground himself, rosemary, olive, and jiǔcéngtǎ from their time with the Nouso in Kasiya – was just coming out of the oven, golden and wafting with fresh scent. Two spreads sat ready in their separate serving dishes, one chill and thick, like a hummus, though as he’d warned their other guest, it was made of blended raw meats and cream cheese and laden thickly with seeds and spices, and was very much not for her. The other was warm, cooled now from lightly steaming, a feta, lemon and thyme infused liquid caramel. Eggs poached for seconds more, different mental timers counting down in the mind for respective doneness preferences. At the table, Flyndt and Sivall plucked at fresh fruit, a starter with the tea – and caf, for the work-addicted and -addled Chiss and her long trail of horrible decisions that they supported as being her decisions.

Foxen lifted one egg out of the steam and set it perfectly in its stand–

And then the Aedile’s datapad went blaring at maximum volume about frak knew what Brotherhood bullshit. The sudden sound drew a sharp, spooked hoot from Flyndt, crest rising, knife (mmmmm, sigh, perfect) in hand, startled Mal'nies off of her perch and careening in a spiral down towards the ground.

Foxen dove, catching the little L0-LA unit whose dented left wing still wasn’t folding exactly right since her meeting with Drakor’s tail (relatable, Bad Bees Knee. Fraking. Relatable.)

However, casualties:

• His goddamn eardrums
• Breakfast egg

“K'tah!” the Chiss exclaimed in her native tongue, which she really only used for terms of endearment and vitriol. “Sorry, you two, let me just–”

She turned the volume down. Blissfully. And then put back in the earpiece somehow not surgically attached to her external acoustic meteus yet that Foxen forbid being on in the house.

- Grumbling, the Nautolan hybrid regained his feet and moved over to his mate, handing him the droid back as Flyndt slowly sheathed his knife and settled back from perching into his seat. He pursed his lips, a soft click of beak hinting at his displeasure despite aloof expression; whether though it was at himself or the interruption was to be determined.

O.K? Foxen asked, running finger pads over the Omwati’s bare hand and just under the cuff of his robe sleeve, the ones that didn’t have sacrificial yolk on them, at least.

O.K. Flyndt signed back, then, bluntly to their medic companion, “Hoo, what is it?”

- Siva bore an expression of repressed distress/anger/self-loathing that categorically matched 89% of the rest of her facial emotive library when displaying trauma response. Her gloved hands – excellent choice, those, he’d picked them, a light half glove of taup satin that could be more suited than a full glove for casual dining – fist. She trembles.

“Mattock Station is under attack,” the Chiss informs, and it is not fear/the memory of cold in her voice. It is rage. “The Children, it seems.”

They share a glance.

Neither of the pair holds the same grudge against the Children of Mortis as they do the Collective, despite another of many horrific wars in horrific twisted otherworld hellscapes with them. However, the Children are a threat. And: they cause an anger in Sivall, who bears their scars.

Siva stands, wringing her napkin as though choking the life from a throat. Her tiny hands have saved Foxen’s life. Have been there for Flyndt when Foxen could not. They are also killer’s hands.

“I have to go. Excuse me.” She genuinely looks ashamed/regretful as she faces him and half bows. “I’m so sorry, Foxen, Flyndt, especially for breakfast, I know it would be wonderful but. But I. I have to go. I won’t be weak again. I won’t.”

- Foxen snaps his fingers to get her attention. Red eyes snap up and meet red staring back.

You want revenge?

“…yes.”

O.K.

The flash of signing that follows is too quick for her still-learning to follow, but a silent conversation between the two men that seems more looks and hums and coos than actual words, gestured or spoken. Then Flyndt is nodding, dangerous-looking, a beautiful blight, and hopping off towards their room and the armory. Foxen looks back at her. Stops to wash his hands, shut off the oven and stove, put up the food.

“Foxen, what?”

We’re going. Send me the intel. Now. Getting ready, then stop by your place, grab your things, deploy. He dried his hands, turning to face her fully. Confirm?

Her lip wobbled, then stiffened. Her face cleared to blank and black ice. Her hands are still.

“Confirm.”

<@142850390738731009> <@244244400488710155> <@264959101384130560>

Arx is under attack.

Crystals, like shards of glass, burrowing into her skin, piercing muscle and tissue and setting her nerves ablaze. No anaesthesia, no numbing, nothing, just pure unadulterated pain. The cries of dozens of other people, just like her, trapped and in agony, unable to move, unable to scream. These sounds and sensations were all the Aedile of House Galeres felt as she aggressively stuffed gear into her pack. Scenes of clinically white ceilings, of electropikes and blaster fire played over her vision, her brain replaying the memories of that day… days? Weeks?

No one ever told her how long she was in that facility. Which might be for the best.

Blaster, check. Vibrodagger, check. Sabers, check. Sabers she would stab into the karking face of every one of the Children on Arx. No mercy, no holding back. They hadn’t had mercy on her, they didn’t even see her as a person.

Flyndt was good, capable, a whirlwind of blades and grace. Foxen was even more capable, an unstopable force of nature. They would be unstoppable. The Children would not hurt anyone else. They wouldn’t hurt her again. No one would hurt her again. She was tired of people having that power over her, tired of her hands trembling at the slightest chill, tired of the nightmares that plagued her sleep, tired of the damage inflicted on her by her abusers that made her unable to function.

No More. No. More.

“Cyare?”

A soft, warm hand on her shoulder startled her out of her rage. Sivall flinched and whipped her head around to look at the face of the man she knew would be standing there. Their force bond humed, quiet, soft, not like hers and Bril’s. Alexandyr’s face was worried, so deeply so that it creased the skin on his forehead and around his mouth. He must have felt her rage, felt her seething in their loft. The tension and anger left her body as easily as it had come and she covered her fiance’s hand with her own.

“I’m okay, Alex. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“Are you sure? You looked… Stabby.”

A soft snort escaped her, which brought a small smile to the Mandalorian’s face. She patted his hand, then placed down her sabers and turned to face him. Tiny blue fingers encircled his features, holding his face in her hands, a reminder that these hands were made for love and healing.

“Do you have to go?”

“Yes, for me. I need this closure, I need this justice, and it won’t feel right unless it’s me.”

“Be careful then. Please? Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur.”

For most this would have been just a normal ask, to be safe, but for Sivall and Alexandyr it was more. It was him, asking her to make sure she came home, to not take any stupid risks, to not be a marytr. Her heart squeezed in her chest painfully and she pulled Alex’s face down to her so that their foreheads were touching, sanguine eyes meeting emerald.

“I promise. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur.”

The Human relaxed a little, but not fully. She didn’t blame him for not trusting her word.

“Bring Asani with you, please? I don’t trust Foxen and Flyndt.”

A soft sigh, then a nod. And agreement, for his comfort and peace of mind, because she had already hurt him enough, made him see her on the edge of death enough. If this is what it took to let him sleep, let him eat while she was gone then she would take the Kushiban.

She pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss, then grabbed her bag, said her goodbyes, and walked out while typing away on her comm.

*’I need help. I’m going to Arx to fight the children. Your ba'vodu asked me to bring you, and I agreed, because it involves something I think you might find some enjoyment in.

Revenge.’*

<@142850390738731009> <@244244163002892288> <@244244400488710155>

An alarm of a message coming in woke Circe up from her meditation. She looked annoyed at the datapad and was contemplating to throw it away, but then the alarm signal changed which earned a rise of her brow instead.

Getting up from the floor she walked over towards the table and picked it up. One was a general warning message but the other was from Aylin.

“Why would she contact me?” she mused as she opened the message. Scanning through the message her eyes grew wide. The Clidren had returned and had the gall to attack the Mattock Station. She quickly send an answer back to Aylin that she was going there to see how she could kick them back from where they came.

After the message was sent she grabbed her equipment and put the rest of her armour on. After that she left for Mattock Station, hoping there was still someone brave enough to fly that way.

Aboard Mattock Station a Mandalorian in Black, White, and Dark Blue armor was inspecting the repair work done on his vessel. Aiden Lee Deshra wasn’t a mechanic, but this was his ship and he had wanted only the best to have worked on it. It has not been long since he returned to active Clan duty. Having spent time traveling and re-aquainting himself with his Mandalorian past, the man was now far more powerful and focused. He would protect his family.

Looking over his ship some more, the loud ringing of claxons and alarms jolted the Force Adept. The Station was under attack. Alerted to the situation, he rushed to try to help when his way was blocked.

“So… more of the Children’s threats.” The Mandalorian’s hands went straight to his saber hills. “Not today.”

… ᴷⁿᵒᶜᵏ, ᵏⁿᵒᶜᵏ … “ᴺ⁻ⁿᵉʳ ˢᵉⁿᵃᵃʳˀ” … “ᴴʳᵐᵐ” …

A shadow passed over him as a shape knelt before him, a hand reaching out to curl around both his own. Flyndt inhaled, his mind pulled from the haze of thoughts and memories, both old and recent. His sunset eyes glanced up away from where he gripped the corded wire hilt of his saberpike, and met unblinking sanguine looking at him.

“Hoo, what?”

Foxen paused, his expression pinched at the edges in concern, care. No doubt his iris-less eyes had caught the tick of crimson feathers, the three centimenter lowering before being startled from his distrait state. Yet, still the Mandalorian answered first, reiterating whatever had been lost to the cacophony of windy plains, ethereal screams, and shattering crystal.

‘Status: Docked. Arrival at Mattock Station fifty-seven seconds ago. Siva and A-S-A-N-I headed to hatch, waiting on us to breach.’

The hands paused, his partner’s gaze softening.

‘O.K?…there is choice. You can stay here, guard the ship. Don’t have to fight those frakers—’

“–No!”

The Omwati jolted to his feet. He clicked his beak behind pursed lips, less annoyance than thinking. His free hand rubbed his neck while the other held the saberpike still, it’s length pressed up against his shoulder where it rested. The orange crystal carefully planted inside seemingly vibrated through wires and metals to him against his palm.

Inhale.

“I stand by what said before. I will help Siva. I feel she wants me to…” they both knew ‘she’ was not their compatriot present. Flyndt continued quickly, “We defeated them in war. We will again. Quell their unnatural diseased ways.”

Foxen nodded and rose to his feet. ‘We will raze them and burn their everything, I’m beside you, Ner jai’gulaar.’ .

With resolve set, the Omwati exhaled and pivoted on the heel of his boot. Cordovan and dark burgundy striped armorwoven tassels flapped with the surge of movement — mirroring the wild crimson plumage of his head. The pair swiftly joined the others within one minute and forty seconds. Flyndt nodded to the others.

“Ready? Do we need to scout ahead?” he looked to the chiss woman, referring to the both of them.

The raptor launched through the air, its jaws snapping at the armored Force wielder. it reached out with its claws, trying to rip and tear into its meal. All it felt was weightless air. WIth an outstetched hand, Aiden held the beast in place. The Force was HIS ally, these abominations needed to be eradicated. With his free hand, the Mandalorian reached down to grab his Beskar Forged Black Hilt lightsaber. With a screech the black core white black streamed into existance, a slight deep purple smoke emanating from the plasmic blade.

“I am sorry that you were made to be like this. My only mercy for you is a quick death, to return the error that created you to the Force.”

With graceful precision, having located the weakness in the creatures armor, Aiden stabbed the blade into the aptors neck. With a simle flourish, the blade was removed, and the crystalline creatures head fell to the floor. Aiden simply disengaed the lightsaber and placed it back onto his belt. There was no need to waste energy at this juncture, but seeing how he knew these monsters were on Mattock Station, his goal was simple. Protect the Brotherhood membes on board from the Children’s growing threat.

“Today was the wrong day.”

He headed out to find and rescue any survivors that he could locate.

Circe had just arrived as a few survivors ran towards her and the ship asking for a way off the station. It didn’t take much to get the pilot to agree to take them along. The pilot then hightailed out of there with a few survivors. She shook her head slowly, she had no ride back but at least there were a few less people to worry about.

The Sephi assassin was hidden in the shadows, having pulled them around her as she scouted a little around. So far it looked like this part was relatively save. She then heard a rumble of another ship approaching the hangar.

‘Hopefully others who also heard the call,’ she thought silently. She prefered working alone, but even she knew her limits against these things.

This was as important to Siv as it was to Asani. To get back and get even with these freaks. But at her ba’vodu having requested, she was a bodyguard more so than an active participant. Her job was to help, not to get caught up in her own anger and compromise everyone.

Siv was known to be…reckless at times. The contrast needed to be there, the level head, to help keep aunt from getting into more danger than necessary. Maybe Sagitta should’ve been the one here instead, Sagittas positive attitude would’ve helped keep their ba’vodu calmer. She had always been better at that.

At the sight of the bound workers and the one with the blade at their throat though Asanis body moved faster than she might’ve liked to admit. She said nothing as she unleashed shots at the cultists without thinking about anything but avoiding all of the prisoners and hitting her wretched marks.

No funny comments or brash angry yells. Silence. Just her breathing and the blasts. ‘Keep her safe, defend the workers, eliminate the scum’.

Red is all she saw. Or ar least all she processed. The snap of two sabers igniting is what filled the cabin as she waited to be unleashed, eyes glowing sanguine tinted with gold, the Dark Side leeching out of her like a sickness.

And when the doors finally opened? And one if the scum charged her niece? She had found her first target. The first to die.

Sivall crouched, sabers held low to the point they almost touched the ground, then took off like a bullet. The Chiss closed the distance between her and the cultist in a heartbeat, swinging her saber up—

It stopped just short of her target, surprising her back into some semblance of consciousness.

The chanting, the ritual… of course there was Sith Alchemy going on. It was always karking alchemy.

The cultist snickered and lashed out knocking the training saber from her hands. Her blood boiled and she hissed, copper red eyes narrowing.

Most of the cultists were now distracted by the incoming fire and the incoming lightsaber attack.

‘Good,’ Circe thought as she moved between the cultists and evading the shots. She was out for the one with the blade at the prisoner’s throat.

With a quick jab at the cultists arm the arm became useless. The next strike was at the base of the skull, taking him out. The man didn’t have time to react to the strikes and just crumbled to the ground, the prisoner falling forward to his hands and knees.

Her form was momentarily visible as if a hologram glitching out, her glowing markings on her helmet lingering in the air the longest before disappearing again and going for her next target.

The Regent of the Brotherhood kept his heterochromatic eyes focused intently on the various feeds, holo or otherwise, from behind the dark crimson visor of his helmet coming from across Mattock Station. He folded his arms as he watched members of the Brotherhood - from around the organization - engage with the crystal ascendants, and fellow Mandalorian Aiden Lee Deshra engage and dispatch a venerable Ascendant Raptor. They were no easy foe - having nearly dispatched the now-Vizslan Proconsul and former Arconae Socorra Erinos during the Fifteenth Great Jedi War - and were beyond fearsome in their own right. The fact that these monsters were also aboard Mattock Station posed a great risk not just to the station personnel and Exchange companymen aboard, but the only station in Brotherhood space capable of servicing the Clan’s various Destroyer-class vessels.

How had that scumbag managed this in the first place?

Should the station’s defense fail and the station be lost, it could have profound consequences on fleet readiness and reverberate throughout the Brotherhood. A decision might, one that greatly disheartened the Mandalorian General. For now, there was still a chance. The Regent stepped forward and activated a station-wide broadcast.

“All security personnel and defenders converge on the hangar bays! This assault must be stopped, or the station will be lost.” The tone of his voice was at its most serious. The last thing that the Dathomirian-Mandalorian wanted to do was call for the evacuation and abandonment of the station, but he would if the risks became insurmountable.

Security personnel that had been maintaining order across the rest of the station heard the Regent’s declaration and began moving throughout the facility, hoping to assist those that had come to the station and The Council’s aid. How much help they were going to be against crystal ascendants was debatable, but the stakes were not.

The hissing of hydraulics filled the hull as the hatched cracked open and lowered. In curled crimson wisps along Force lines, sickly tendrils strangling the muted greys and blues within his sight, heralded by rising chanting. Flyndt stiffened upon the scene laid out below, unexpecting a ritual unfolding before them. His frozen state was swiftly broken as armored white fluff darted forward followed by their chiss comrade. Cultists converged upon their position after blaster fire rang from Asani.

Inhaling sharply, the Omwati grip tightened on his saberpike and glanced to Foxen. Seeing the others too engrossed to notice his call, Flyndt signed their gesture for hyōbao, shadow, spectre.

“I bait and herd on left,” he uttered quickly a plan, tongue clicking on the syllables following, “Tuk as Khotta.”

Grasping upon whatever untainted energies there were, the Shadow of Omwat disappeared from sight with only the faintest glimmer of his form. Seconds passed as he jogged around the conflict and locked onto his target. With an undulating warbling coo, Flyndt shredded through his cloak of lights and shadows. He swung his pike, the orange plasma blade cutting through air where the cultist had been seconds ago having heard his call with time to react. The Omwati backpedalled, successfully luring his foe after. Robes fluttered, the cultist pivoting to chase after the short red and silver feathered Omwati. Her growl of frustration and the crackling of comms overhead caught the attention of another, ceasing their pursuit of the Kushiban and lining the pair up with the Khat Hatal.

Hyōbao. Tuk as Khotta.

Confirm.

Confirm, the Nautolan hybrid’s raised fist signal replied, unblinking red eyes rapidly scanning the entire battlefield as home melted away into naught but the invisible waver of heat warping the air over flame fire, Fire that he was.

Assessing.

Ten objects.

Five: enemy targets. Allegedly: Children of Mortis. Updated intel: “for Lord Scimitar.”

These are the motherfrakers that Sofila fears.

Updated: four enemy targets. The Asani shoots. One is cut down. Siva engages another, who disarms one hand.

Assessing.

One: unknown entity, ghosting ability or stealth technology in armor, unarmed lethal fighting, opposing enemy force; possible enemy.

Four: captive civilians in likely unsanitary circle of bodily fluid finger painting for nefarious bullshit purposes.

Hhhhrrooo-wrrrhhhrr.

The warble, distraction tactic, cues his action on the left. His arms piston up, pistol pointed, thumb flicking the firing mode to its double-module. Two rounds chamber.

Flyndt appears, a silvery copper specter of feathers and plague. His goading strikes align the targets, spare the Asani.

The hammer clicks.

Wait.

There.

Aim.

Fire.

Loose skin and severed vessels splay like torn cloth in the wind as the bullets rip through the soft jugular artery and veins of the throat of the first and closer target, a massive spray of hemorrhage relative to estimated body mass/volume indicating fatality even before the body drops. Directly behind it, the bullets continue unabated into the secondary target, 10 cm shorter than the first, with nearly full force, exploding through skull/facial bones.

The corpses fall simultaneously. Foxen slams the barrel of the gun to his bracer, BRRRRNG, both as distraction and for communicating critical message to Flyndt. His signs are large and short to be seen mid-combat.

KEEP. ONE. ALIVE.

<@244244400488710155>

The Omwati, evidently seeing this, raised his voice in a hoot, snapping cold and damning to the others, “No kill them all, one alive!”

Aiden moved with purpose down the halls of Mattock Station. He froze as the shipwide broadcast went out from the Regent. The situation seemed to be more dire than he had first accounted for.

With newfound reason, the Mandalorian made all haste towards the other hangar bays. Having come from a maintenance dock, he was closer than others may have been. As he grew closer to a situation he heard the sounds of a fight. Grabbing hold of his black hilt again, he deemed himself ready for whatever the Children on Mortis were throwing his way. The Arconan rushed into the hanger and scanned for whoever may need his assistance.

Circe moved up her next target, after hearing the warning, changing her tactic. Instead of striking him down she chose to tackle him.

Both of them rolled over the floor, Circe loosed her shadows and fully revealed herself in the action.

She struggled to get a good hold of him, but at least he was taken care of for now.

With room to breathe, Flyndt quickly assessed the fight. He watched Asani force one cultist towards the blade of Siva, primed, ready and angry. Grip tightening on his crackling polearm, he turned his attention to the final cultist – and watch him get knocked off his feet. The sound of him rolling was heavier than expected, and before Flyndt’s eyes an emerald armored woman appeared on top, grappling them.

A whistling trill.

“Foxen! Help bind!” the Omwati called, gesturing for his partner to assist the stranger he assumed was temporarily on their side. Pivoting, he ran and skidded to a stop before the captives. Crimson feathers rose high as Flyndt nodded to them and positioned himself to guard. “Stay low, we have you.”

Confirm, echoed in the Nautolan’s mind as he advanced from the ramp, pistol still up, sweeping left, right, up, checking all approaches. Another target entered the hangar space, robes, object in hand reminiscent of lightsaber hilt, likely: jediit Possible enemy.

The Mandalorian reached the fray, dropping down next to the cultist and green armored entity clinging to its back, his own guard still up. He growled at the figure in warning, showing the gun, then switched hands and pulled fiber cord rope from his belt. Quick motions bound the cultist’s arms to legs and secured there as a point of tension, and the Mandalorian was quick to then yank the prisoner’s head up by its roots and jam the muzzle of the barrel between the front teeth.

No biting down on poison capsules hidden in the molars today.

<@417336769181122562> <@837236610684813342>

Circe was surprised by the quick effectiveness of the Mandalorian and moved back a bit, keeping a close eye on what the cultist might try.

“Thanks,” she said, “I guess you are also part of the rescue party?”

The Nautolan quickly tapped his mouth then pointed at Flyndt, giving a sharp nod.

Sure. Rescue. All you need to think, lady, he thought.

Red eyes pinned on the incoming possible: jediit, and his free hand snapped fingers, signalling to his partner and a hiss likely unheard escaping him, a throwing knife falling into his grip.

Sivall took a deep breath, then gracefully brought her saber upwards as the cultist stumbled forward, severing the cultist’s head from his neck with relative ease. The head hit the ground with a thud and rolled a bit before coming to a stop. The Chiss assassin medic was quickly moving then to rejoin Foxen and Flyndt with very little afterthought for the life she ended.

As she moved she carefully removed the gloves from her hands, the precious presents from Foxen, and placed them in her bag. The exposure had two reasons– to not bloody the gorgeous gloves with the blood of monsters, and to show her scars on her right hand off to each cultist she downed. She reached out to try and sense any other cultists around her, but the Force did not answer her.

The pale-skinned woman gritted her teeth. Of all the damn times..

Aiden noticed the others, and the cultists that they had apprehended, and killed. He was glad to see they were all safe. As for the ACE personnel, he was impressed so many were still alive.

Approaching the Zeltron officer, Aiden spoke, “Whats the full situation? Are there more enemies to route?”

With – allegedly – the jediit with station personnel who are allegedly not also cultists of one faction or another in disguise, Foxen lowered his knife.

5 cm.

And still held it.

Unfortunately that made for poor communication ability – sigh, from the bones and marrow, confirm – and left him with few options for informing Flyndt and Siva and the Kushiban of the relevance of the not Mortis cultists and asking the questions he needed to ask. Also, barrel of his pistol as a poison bite guard, not helpful to interrogation.

Frustrated by setting it to: ignore, the Nautolan stood up and dragged the captive with him, pulling his gun out – ugh, cleaning needed – and instead using his grip at the man’s jaw condyle/hinge and 2.6 kg/pressure to lock it open whether he wanted to bite down or not. He walked them both over to the side while Flyndt’s attention moved to the civilian former-hostages.

They’d have a nice little patient wait for a translator. Crush a finger or two if necessary to deter fidgeting.

Snapping fingers brought Flyndt’s attention from the head rolling on the floor, his grip slipping on his pike at the thud…thud, thud… His eyes narrowed in on the newcomers. They did not look like the cultists or the other Children of Mortis encountered in the past, but that did not mean they were allies. As soon as the Zeltron leading them addressed the group and the helmeted figure joined to converse with them, the Omwati relaxed. He compressed the switch on his hilt once, the humming electrical orange blade dissipated from the saberpike.

Slinging it over his shoulder again, he turned his attention to the bound individuals in the circle and crouched beside them. They had minor injuries as far as he could tell, some cuts and scraps, scared. This moment would understandably be traumatizing. While examining them, the Hyōbao felt the growing urge to get them up, up and away from the bloody ass crawls of scripts and lines. Away from the circle they nearly lost their lives to.

“Come, let us move over here, safer,” Flyndt suggested and started working on cutting the binds off of one of the personnel.

Foxen grunted at the captain, taking in mention of “monsters” – you weren’t in the Ethereal Realm, were you, champ? – and watching Flyndt guide the civvies aside. His eyes softened by about 1 mm observing it for a permitted 3.6 seconds before returning gaze to perimeter check/assessment/targets.

Sacrificing the knife in his hand – Flyndt would be his blade and safety, if necessary – Foxen sheathed it then dragged out his datapad from protected rear compartment. He typed down at his side with only his thumb, then thrust it towards the Zeltron.

TELL OTHERS THEYSAID LORD SCIMITTAR. NOT C O M. ONLY. MORE GOINGON.

Siv’s eyes narrowed at the captive as the Colonel spoke, eyes carrying a slight gold tint still that caught the light and made her hues look like molten lava. She gestured to Foxen once the woman had been unmasked and finished her laughing fit, then signed– she was getting so much better at it –That’s unsettling.

“They seem unwilling to speak. I could try to pierce their mind. I’m not very good at it, but maybe worth the try, yes?”

Foxen nodded to the Chiss at that, seeming perfectly content with the suggestion. And tightening his grip to choke off the laughter. Another pound of pressure or so and he’d break the jawbone itself.

Shadows.

Not his home, his hy hyōbao, but others melting into visual range from the waver of light-warped cloaks.

Assessing.

30 enemy targets + 1 captive in his hold. Surrounding on all sides.

Engagement. Bodies of ACE soldiers fly or smoke with crackle of lightning from fingertips the mind immediately sets to: ignore, both stench/sound/flash. The eyes clock, targeting positions/movement.

The eyes find home.

Flyndt is hand in hand with a civilian, pulling them to their feet. His head does not turn towards the enemies at his back.

Foxen whips his arm up and fires three times.

CRACK.

CRACK.

CRACK.

A corpse drops, another civilian screams, Flyndt spins. The body moves, the bracer clangs, warning, lightning flies, he is running.

Flyndt’s screech is sharp, not a warning but a call as he pivots again and twirls, the long striped feather sashes of his armor fanning out like fully spread wings, obstructing the hostages from view and making him seem twice as large in that moment of motion. Fabric singes as lightning catches on it instead of any victim. His lightsaber ignites, and orange lance of mourning, and he parries a blow from one cultist just as Foxen barrels into the bloody circle.

Their eyes meet, just a flash, sanguine and sunset.

Then Flyndt winks out of existence, and while Foxen knows, the cultists strike at empty space, or pull up short midstrike. A familiar, ghostly weight hops onto his shoulder from a grip on his chest, a foot planted, and he hears and feels the flutter of cloth as Flyndt appears suddenly behind him, spearing the enemy coming for the Nautolan right through the chest.

Beskar blades slip into Foxen’s hands, and he jerks the shortsword up into the air to catch a blow, stabbing past the held guard with the dagger directly into the jugular. A shove sends the dying enemy straight backwards 1 m into his cohorts, and then Flyndt is flipping overhead again, launching off his shoulder to disappear midair.

- The Omwati swept his halberd in a wide strike across the stumbling cultists, warding them backwards while Foxen whirled and cut sheer through the next incoming enemy with one mighty sweep, tumbling halves. One half step back, and his arm brushed Flyndt’s, back to back, a constant whirlwind diverting their opponents and then picking them off.

<@244244400488710155>

Aiden allowed the Force to fill his body, before leaping into the fray, distancing himself from the others. Five of the cultists broke away from the others, surrounding the Mandalorian. Blades in hand, electricity crackling at their fingertips, their faces held sinister grins directed at their prey.

“Your Beskar won’t save you, Mando. You will fry in your armor, and no one can save you! So disarm yourself and accept your death with pride.”

Aiden shook his head, his annoyed gaze hidden behind his transparitsteel visor. He disengaged his lightsaber and placed it back on his belt. With hands at his side, the Adept was silent and still, his mind focused and attentive.

“No final words? Not gonna beg for your life?”

“You Children of Mortis are all the same. So blind to the truth of the Force, so steadfast to your petulant beliefs. None of you will ever know the true connection with the universe. None of you are worthy.”

The five pressed their hands forward, expecting lighting to careen through the air and exterminate their target. But they felt…nothing. They were cold. Alone. Their connection to the Force seemingly ended.

“What? What did you do?!”

“You lack conviction.”

With a gesture of his hand, Aiden watched as a blade flew free from a cultist’s hand, and lodged itself into the chest of another. The receiving terrorist dropped to the ground with a look of shock as the durasteel floors reddened.

“You lack true purpose.”

Two others pulled out blasters and fired at Aiden, only for the bolts to bend in the air and sail towards the other. The attackers dropped dead as their heads smoked from supercharged tibana.

“You fight for terror and destruction. There is no love, empathy, or solace in your hearts.”

A fourth cultist was overwhelmed by anger and rushed the Mandalorian who never stepped away from his planted spot. His blade glinted in the light, and as he swung towards Aiden’s neck. With heightened speed, Aiden grabbed the blade’s hilt and forced it free of the cultist’s grip, before turning the sword back on its owner and relieving him of his head.

The final cultist looked on in absolute terror. His squad had been so thoroughly defeated, he didn’t understand what was going on. He felt so…useless. Utterly powerless in the face of this Arconan.

“You will never feel the Balance in the Universe, and for that, I pity you.”

The cultist turned to run but found himself lifting into the air. He plead for his life, wishing that his faction would rescue him. But he knew the truth. He was no longer worth saving. He was disposable.

“I would say that I was sorry for this, and in some ways I am. But you attacked our station, and this is the conclusion to your reprehensible actions.”

With strength pulled from the Force, Aiden sent the man flying. Like a ragdoll, he flopped in the air before slipping past the Hangar bay barrier. The vacuum of space took him, and like his friends, he too returned to the Force.

“Cuyir mav be gar mircin. Oyacyir bat o'r te suum.” Aiden’s words were like a near-silent prayer as he turned to help his people.

The green armoured Sephi glanced around at the arriving Children and frowned.

“Guess they need another lesson,” she muttered as she disappeared from sight.

Not long after that one of them fell screaming to the ground as it got his leg cut off just at the hip. The only sign of her being there was the quick glimmer and a swish of a bright yellow blade. Her final strike was a stab through his chest.

The second one tried to defend itself against his unseen enemy by shooting randomly in front of him. To his surprise his weapon got cut in two after which both his arms were cut off before loosing his head as well. Each time only a shimmer of her was visible with each attack.

The last three huddled together and hold out their weapons in an attempt to ward of her attacks, but her skill in shadow stepping and lightsaber proved way to much for them to handle. They all got cut in half as they stood to close together. Two of them holding onto each other in fear as life left their bodies and dropping to the ground.

“May death spare you the joke you were in life,” an emotionless voice said as she disappeared completely from sight again.

There was no break or pause for quips or declarations in the reeling wave of combat flowing in the center of hangar bay. Judgement came in defiance as the cyclonic pair wove together to keep the cultists at bay like a pair of cythrauls protecting their mate’s neck. Their foes circled and tested for weakness, electricity arced out to net the ghosting avian to no avail. The wielder quickly cleaved into by shear might and sword in turn. Dark energy fueled their muscles as they surged the behemoth in mass. A flutter of stripes fabric and a high pitch shriek tore through their eardrums.

Flyndt doubled back coughing while Foxen ran through two more and held the others at bay for his bird to recover. Movement caught the Omwati’s eye. A civilian shifted in an attempt to get their feet beneath them, preparing to bolt to safety when a weight pressed down on their shoulders.

‘Senya, be…brave for me, do not…move…cough…still as stone…’ urged his voice above. An iron scented kiss placed in small feathers as breathing turned wet and raspy until cold silence was his only shield and company.

He shook his head and blinked from sight once more, surging forward and leaving Foxen temporarily. Heartbeats later, his weight pressed down between their shoulder blades. The smell of feathers accompanied his strained disembodied voice commanding them with urgency, “Stay down, play dead.” .

The human flattened from under his hand, taking the advice in their panic driven state. Flyndt exhaled and turned his own attention back to the battle – a shadow passed over head, a voice not memory urging himself to roll sideways and bring his lance upwards, appearing visibly with the orange glow. The wise cultist, having sensed his position, uncloaked once more from shadows and drove down her alchemical blade.

shhiick.

A whole beskar sword lodged into their chest. Thrown.

The Omwati twisted and kicked the dying corpse away from him. He hopped to his feet in time to catch a crimson gaze. A nod followed by a hoot of warning, pointing out two final cultists surging on the hybrid’s exposed back. The mandalorian pivoted with speed belied by his bulk, one meaty hand catching one wrist before kicking out their knee and driving his elbow into theirs. Crack. A scream sharply cut off as the masked foe crumbled from his assault.

Foxen left them there and shifted focus to incapacitating the other still swinging. Beskar met sith alchemy, batting it away. One thick arm wrapped around their head, fingers digging in under the chin to lock there before one flex turned their head two-hundred degrees to the side – a range his love could easily stretch. The lesser neck broke. Returning to the other, he caught three flashes of silver peppering into the writhing now-corpse, whose hand fell from the blade they reached for.

Flyndt reappeared at his side with throwing daggers chambered in hand, chest rising and falling with adrenaline and exertion. He presses two into Foxen’s palm, pulling the older man from his distracting thoughts now nestled behind mission focus. Back to back, they ready for more.

She felt them, like voids in the force, swirling masses of antipathy fueled by Sith Alchemy. How she didn’t feel them till just before they posed to strike, she didn’t know– but now that she could? Pale blue skin turned to gooseflesh and her muscles tensed as Siva was turned off– a switch flipped –and Sivall stood, her last saber held in her hands. All of her softness was gone now, whatever bits of it had clung to her, her face hardened into that of focus.

Five for her. Five for the others. Foxen and Flyndt held their ground, as did the Mandalorian she faintly recognized as hailing from Erinos.

So that left her.

She brought her saber up to meet one of the saber pikes from the cultist, the cyan color of it reflecting purple in her eyes as she placed her weight against the opposing plasma blade. She then moved aside, rerouting the strength that the cultist had put into countering her into forward momentum that sent him stumbling forward. The butt of her saber met the chin of the next cultist who charged her from the side, dazing them as well.

The third was even less lucky.

A quick switch of the grip on her saber, switching from Makashi back into Shien, flipping the blade around to face backwards. Down to the knees, weight on one side to lean, blade angled back and up… The blade of her saber caught the most unlucky of the opponents in a very precarious place. The squeal from him echoed off the walls before he dropped, dragging the saber along his body as he went.

Suffer.

She stood and chucked her saber, deactivated now, in the face of the fourth cultist, which hit with a thwack that would make most people cringe.

Four enemies down, where was the fifth?

Force lightning crackled through her being. It seemed the fifth cultist was the smartest out of the five, deciding to not get too close. Sivall screamed, her whole body becoming rigid under the current. It lasted only a moment, but still hurt like hell. The Chiss woman spun, her hair now wildly loose around her face, eyes almost pure molten gold in color.

“Oh, you poor soul. You’re gonna regret that. You die next.”

The lagamorphic woman was quick to spot the shadowed figures emerging, feeling the malice through the Force that they possessed as they dared to approach the group. She could finally let herself cut loose, free to attack to her hearts content. She dashed toward the enemy, eyes focused.

The first two were easy to dispose of. For the first, she rammed her helmet against their lower jaw, pushing them into the direction of an incoming blaster bolt fired by ACE personnel, ending them swiftly. Using their now falling body as the perfect platform for her to continue her assault, Asani pushed herself off them and vaulted into the air and then landed upon the second one’s shoulders. With her lightsaber, she managed to stab them in the chest just as they had begun to push her off, activating its pale blue glow, ending the other just as promptly as the first as the light emerged from its hilt.

“Scum” she said, leaping again into the air, her momentum allowing her a moment to charge up for her next attack. Her third enemy was not as easily felled as the first two. He dodged her body as she leapt toward him. This would not save him as she used the Force to pull him toward her, slicing his body in half, the remains collapsing behind her.

The final two seemed better prepared for the Kushibans onslaught, as they attempted to attack together. The first tried to shoot at her, but Asani’s blade made quick work of it as she sliced through both the blaster and its master. Her blade spun gracefully in her hand as she blocked the last enemies attempts at attack. She threw her blade at them, but they dodged, smirking at her and mocking her.

…until the blade was pulled back by the Force, impaling itself through the final cultist. Their body falling to the ground, she grabbed her saber again, ready for yet another onslaught.

A smirk, that was all the warning they got. Sivall rolled her shoulders, sighed, then disappeared from sight with a slight shimmer.

The cultist that electrocuted her never saw her coming. She reappeared behind him, wrapping her arm around his neck then pulled him back. The sound his neck made was… not ideal.

The last three were dispatched in a similar manner. Disappear, strike, disappear, strike, disappear, strike.

When it was all said and done, Sivall dropped her cloak for good and snatched her saber off the ground. She looked at the bodies around her and a faint voice trickled at the back of her mind.

She wondered if Anders would be proud of her.

The Chiss woman kicked one of the nearby cultists to confirm he was deceased before returning to the group, slightly singed and hair falling freely to her shoulders. The cape to her Envoy uniform was torn.

“Does anyone require healing?”

Aiden observed the rift in the fabric of reality. The cultists had tried their ritual, and had a measure of success. Without a word, the Mandalorian approached the ritual area and closed his eyes.

He imagined the area, felt the flow of the Force. Holding out his hand he cycled his breaths. Taking hold of the Dark Side, and of the Light, he tried to cut the rift off from whatever was supplying the event.

He didn’t know if this would work, but he didn’t have any other plans.

With the final cultist in the hangar bay collapsing on the deck with a thud, Flyndt exhaled sharply and winced as his throat burned. He leaned his head against Foxen’s back and closed his eyes for a second, knowing his other would keep vigilant for both of them. The Vilissës‘s wail was a double bladed sword, disorienting to foes but cuts the user’s throat. The fire was tolerable however and although he could focus and numb the pain, it would be wiser to conserve that energy.

Likewise put healing to those who need it most. His sunset gaze met Sivall’s crimson briefly. He shook his head and gave a simple raspy “no.”

Dropping his pack, the Omwati retrieved his thermos and started taking a couple long draws when the officer soldier fellow – Maddison was it? – started helping the civilians. Flyndt felt a small guilty pang for not thinking of doing that as well, lowering the thermos as he watched and listened.

“This. This needs destroying,” the Zeltron man intoned.

Watching the masked mandalorian approach the ritualistic circle, Flyndt too stepped forward to examine it. It was not the faint rippling tear in reality that drew his eyes however. No, that he missed entirely. Instead, his eyes had locked on the hand drawn bloody sprawls on the durasteel. Without a second thought, he spilled water on it. Using his boot, Flyndt scrubbed at the lines until the puddle at his feet was ruddy and scrapped away.

His solution.

“Water.”

With present threats eliminated, Foxen gathered his various blades back up and trailed after Flyndt, his shadow’s shadow. He took in the goings-on, unconcerned with other wounded/objects: people once assessing that Siva and the Asani were intact and functional for mission.

He paid close attention to Siva, her request/his promise in mind. If she unbecame, then he would put that thing in her place down.

Confirm.

He understood that entirely.

While she went about the healing, he had noted her behavior on landing and in battle. Check needed.

The Nautolan pulled out his own thermos and medpac as the jediit and Flyndt did jediit things with the jediit baby portal that probably lead to Frak Knew What Bad Shit. Directly into the esophagus of a crystal rancor, probably, with their fraking luck. He took out one of three bacta doses and squeezed two drops into the thermos cup, then poured in a bit of water and mixed the solution. Repacked things, then approached Flyndt as booted talons scraped at bodily fluid paintings.

He touched the Omwati’s arm, gesturing, drink and pressing the cup towards him. His throat would be rent from that scream, he knew.

Pain: denied.

Going to check on Siva, he told his partner.

Circe came back into view as she walked back towards the group and looked at the others. She wondered what was going on between them, apparently more then the surface would tell her. She shrugged slightly, it wasn’t her place to pry if not needed.

“What are the other portal locations? I’m sure we have more of these idiots to fight… especially if we linger.”

Flyndt turned and capped his own thermos. His eyes caught Foxen’s, shifted to hands, and finally noticed the cup. He started opening his mouth to point out he has his own, only to pause and take the cup. A sip and a cool sensation coated his throat. He clicked his tongue softly against his beak, lips pulled back perplexed and thinking. Bacta.

‘O.K.’ he replied with a nod and finished the infused beverage. He gestured, ‘Thank you.’

A nod back and middle fingers folded down with outer digits and thumb up and out answered him. “Hmm,” Foxen hummed, red eyes flicking briefly to the armored figure that had spoken to the captain, head cocking to the side. There was also the jediit.

Still watching, he added, with a subtle gesture between them at either unknown party, O.K.

With that the Mandalorian walked backwards towards where the Chiss medic attended our irrelevant station soldiers, rather literally still watching the hooded male(?) 1 m away from Flyndt and the armored female(?). He stopped once he was in visual periphery of the medic/assassin, snapping his fingers and waiting for her attention.

Then he said, hands slow: Status report. <@264959101384130560>

Aiden approached the ACE leader, his demeanor one of professionalism and authority.

“I am Aiden Lee Deshra, of Clan Arcona. Where is the Regent now? I will make my way to protecting him, and will eliminate all threats in my way.”

She didn’t hear the snapping at first, being too focused at the task at hand. She quickly moved from injured person to injured person, healing what she could. But… this time it felt different. Instead of the cooling sensation that filled her fingers she felt the sensation of pin pricks there instead– like she was bein stabbed by shards of ice.

The sound of snapping did eventually rouse her from her daze and she looked at the Nautolan, thankful for hi slow signing.

Still here, she signed back. On the edge, but not falling over.

Confirm, Foxen replied, then grasped her shoulder, lifting. Then more slow signs. Leave them. More to do. I don’t trust these people.

He pointed at the newcomers now volunteering to ‘protect the Regent.’*

Gesturing the lot of them together, Foxen returned to Flyndt to see the portal nonsense gone, then made sure the Asani and Siva were arrayed close too.

Ner kar'ta, speak for me, please? the Nautolan requested of his partner. When Flyndt nodded, he continued. Killing enemy will be irrelevant if portals not all closed first. Will just keep coming. Query: is it possible to vent the station in sections? Maybe can close portals, then exit area with minimal engagement, vent to secure. Either way, enemy entry has to be stopped first. Also, red eyes went to Flyndt and stayed there, rescue operations priority.

<@142850390738731009> <@264959101384130560> <@244244400488710155> <@837236610684813342> <@206692046424113152> <@417336769181122562>

Foxen huffed, red eyes going to the ceiling.

Look, pal. I specifically didn’t propose venting it all for acceptable casualties because the one that mattered wouldn’t call any sacrifices acceptable, so why must you interpret it the worst possible way anyway?

The thought was. Grumpy. And resigned.

I repeat. Close the portals – and rescue people being used for them, OBVIOUSLY, his larger, sharper gesture there conveyed obvious annoyance, and then get your R-E-G-E-N-T. Or we split forces.

The Nautolan turned to his Omwati, a question in his eyes and the pause of his hands and the way his head titled sharply.

Forward?

Siv let Foxen lift her back into a standing position, frowning softly. She looked at the wounded that were there, seeming to quietly debate with herself over whether to leave or to stay, but then turned and followed Foxen gesturing for Asani to follow along as well. A quick sign to the Nautolan hybrid then– we go?

The lagomorph kept her saber in hand following along. “If its just one big circle theres no point in splitting, we get the job done fast and we save what we can. The only reason to split would be to finish this faster, but considering the large number of scum coming through, id prefer we keep our forces tight, we’re skilled, but even the most skilled fighter can be overwhelmed.” she commented reminding others that numbers sometimes were better than getting caught off guard.

Crimson feathers twitched and sunset eyes narrowed as Flyndt looked between Foxen and Officer Maddison. There was annoyance for the assumption they would sacrifice people, he managed to bite back a defense for his partner’s words. Confusion quickly grew and birthed frustration, however. The Zeltron stressed not letting people die but focused on saving one person, this Re-Gent fellow – who is at the end of a ring that he proposed they clear only one side to get to. When the Nautolan hybrid turned to look at him, the Omwati had crossed his arms and gestured a hand up, two fingers pointed to the high hangar ceiling above.

‘By the suns watching…’

The avian had opinions.

“There is no end of circle, have to clear all round,” His feathered crest rose as a minute frown disturbed his blank face in his muttering to himself. It was ruminating on small details and kept fairly hushed for Asani had come and addressed it more level headedly with reason. He glanced then to Foxen and caught his questioning expression.

“We help this Re-Gent who wish not disturb when there, but we continue after, not stop and guard. The people first. Or these warriors,” he gestured to Maddison, “can leave bay and clear that direction or the lower levels.”

A small chittering of Omwatese wrapped up his thoughts. Mm, the bacta must have worked quickly in soothing his throat.

Uncrossing his arms, Flyndt glanced at the helmeted man and the lady who’s armor reminded him of an iridescent beetle. They, he recalled, were of mind of aiding the important person. He whistled for their attention. “Asani speaks true. We need to work together. Fight with us and then if want, can guard Re-Gent. I am Flyndt, this is Foxen. You?”

Noticing the Nautolan’s use of sign language, and the translation of the Omwatee, Aiden turned his body to make sure he was seen by Foxen. As he spoke he also used his hands. Making sure that the Erinos would be able to follow.

“I agree that we need to clear this station of the threats. The creatures, the cultists, and the portals must be closed. That being said, guarding the Regent must be a priority. Keeping centralized icons of power and leadership safe and alive is best for morale, increasing performance of the followers, enhancing our chances at a successful outcome.”

Aiden turned to Maddison.

“We will clear the path for you and your men. Once we have done so you will guard the Regent. As my friend her has suggested.” Aiden motioned to Flyndt.

“Teamwork will be central to saving this station, so you can all be assured, I fight alongside you, not as an enemy. I will also do my part to more quickly close the portals. I am uniquely qualified to.assist with that, it seems.”

Circe looked towards them, the glowing eyes on her helmet staring at each of them for a moment.

“Then teamwork it will be, but the longer we linger the more we let them enter the station. We better act fast,” she said with a slight nod. “My name is Circe.”

The deafening crash was nothing, but that roar–

For 2.1 seconds, the body froze. Motor function paralyzed. Mind compromised. The echoes make.

The echoes–

Deny.

Flyndt beside him. Siva. There is mission. Confirm.

Confirm.

“Go! We’ve got this one!”

Okay.

However:

The mind calculated.

Civilians would need evacuating. The primary mission objective was: rescue. This was the evacuation point. Not only for said civilians, but for them. If the hangar fell, there would be no getting off this station. Possible the ACE personnel could do it. Their survival: irrelevant. To die for this was their choice, respected. But their success? Critical.

And that thing had just swallowed rockets and blaster fire. High impact incindery explosive: ineffective. Plasma: ineffective. Would bullets do anything?

Frak.

Baring his teeth, Foxen unslung his rifle from his back, loading the chamber even as he gestured and pointed in command.

GO! he ordered, pointing at the lift. We cover what can. Go!

And the Nautolan began backing towards the lift at speed, bringing the rifle sights up to his eye, mounted on the shoulder.

Aim.

Fire.

Screeching metal ripped asunder caused the Omwati to turn and freeze. Time stopped. His heart stopped, or grew so loud that all noise and its own heartbeat disappeared. Small shards of crystals sprayed through the smoke of spent plasma, the rearing of a horned head out of force not pain.

The walkers did nothing.

He could not fight that.

Flyndt’s breathing quickened, palms sweaty and hands flexing to regrip his saber pike before him. The metal buzzed under his touch in pulsating, undulating waves. His thumb pressed at the ignition fob, fumbling the short musical patten required.

da-da da… Da, da-dade…No!

‘ʳᵉᵗʳᵉᵃᵗ’

“Come ooon, puhta–” Flyndt kept struggling. He did not see Foxen’s call to fall back, leave. A faint tickle in his brain no more than a whisper of a breeze.

‘⁻ⁱʳⁱˢ, ʳᵉᵗʳᵉᵃᵗ!’

Crack!

Red feathers fluttered as the Hyōbao jolted, gaze rising back to the Terenatek before he pivoted to find Foxen and the others pushing for the turbolift. Several heartbeats passed as he struggled to register that this battle was not theirs.

‘Retreat! Go, Senya!’

The voice was loud and urging, breaking through the crumbling fear erected barrier. Flyndt lunged forward and sprinted to catch up, skidding to a slowed pace once behind Foxen, the buzzing from the pike and of his body quelling in his presence. He kept moving with the group for their exit.

Circe grabbed her large rifle from her back and aimed at the Terentatek as it was roaring loudly into the room. A lot of shots had already gone sailing towards it, but it only slowed it down a little, but no real damage yet.

“I hope you prove your worth…” she said to herself as she pulled the trigger.

Shots went flying and hit straight into it’s mouth, shattering teeth and other parts of it’s mouth.

“Soup for you, bastard,” she grinned as she fell back on request from the others to fall back. Then took up place again to aim again at it’s ugly head.

Aiden watched the others firing shots at the large creature. Wanting to be of assistance, he first reached for his lightsabers, but then he remembered his newest addition to his arsenal. A prototype created for him in recognition of past success. He reaches to pull his new Lightsaber Rifle off if his back.

Quickly setting up the weapon, he took aim at the beast. The weapons built in droid assistance helped with his aiming. When he was ready, he pulled the trigger, aiming for the beasts head. He wasn’t expecting the kickback of the weapon. Because of that, his aim was off.

The blue bolt of lightsaber plasma sailed through the air, colliding with the creatures Crystalline neck, shattering more bits off of it. Aiden looked at his rifle, and smiled beneath his helmet.

“I could get used to you.”

Foxen had been about to reverse and grab onto Flyndt, who seemed frozen – where are you right now? Come back to me, please – when his Omwati suddenly burst back into motion, joining the retreat. Shots and cracks rang out while the Nautolan waved the group on, the beetle-female firing an impressive shot that shattered teeth and the jediit shooting some strange saber-gun device. Cables above held starfighters in place, barely, ships that had been secure moments before in their docks now knocked free. Consequences indeed.

Hissing, the Nautolan slammed his bracer and gestured to his partner, one of the oldest they’d ever communicated, the first Flyndt had ever learned, a broken collar, a tank, a counting clock.

Go! Run!

He pointed at the lift.

Then stopped, planted his feet feet, and turned.

Lifted the rifle again.

Steady.

The plating shook with the force of the beast’s steps.

Aim.

His sights moved, lifting past the tarentatek and up, up, to the cables. Waiting as they swayed. Calculating when the most of them would overlap from this angle/trajectory.

Fire.

CRACK!

The bullet flew, tearing through durasteel fibers. The TIE jerked, met groaned, wires snapped.

Aiden watched the bolt snap at the cables, fraying them. Understanding the assignment, he placed his rifle onto his back and reached out with the Force. grabbing hold of the fighter, he pulled hard. But jis strength alone at this time didnt seem to be enough.

“Some help wouldn’t be missed!”

A beast, giant, crystalized.

Foxen firing a shot.

Flyndt running.

Her hand burning. Crystals under the skin, rupturing cells, tearing blood vessels as they went.

Absent-mindedly she began itching at the scars on her right hand, staring wide eyed at the beast in front of her. How could it be covered in the thing and still be living? How could it be charging around and not crippled in agony? It made no sense, it…

Some help wouldn’t be missed!

Right.

Siv reached up with her left hand, focusing as hard as she could at the TIE on the ceiling, willing for it to fall. Cables snapped, electricity crackled, and Siv gritted her teeth.

“Come free you piece of kist!”

One last, desperate tug between her and Aiden and the ship came loose, falling downwards towards the crystalline beast.

Go run Flyndt did.

Sprinting across the open hangar with striped tassels fluttering in his wake, the Omwati slid into the turbolift. He pivoted quickly, pushed off the back wall and pressed his body against the ajar door, holding it. His gaze darted between allies and blaster fire, until it fell on Foxen.

“Come on, come on! Tul apa!” Flyndt ushered them all, a trilling call between the words beckoning the Nautolan specifically –

Crash!

Flyndt flinched and ducked, straightening up and peeling over his arm to see that large head lolling free and away from the x-wing that severed it. A low whistling hoo escaped him.

Circe ran off towards the turbolift as well, tugging along others that hadn’t started to move towards it yet. Normally she wouldn’t care about, but this time the numbers would help.

“Get moving!”

As soon as the beast’s head detached, Foxen was pivoting to run again, that specific trill calling him home. He reslung his rifle and ducked into the lift, wedging his bulk up against the wall on Flyndt’s opposite side, conscious of not crowding the Omwati, lest more trauma be triggered.

Asani had been struck by the size and in some ways curious look of the creature, the chaos that erupted seemed to haze by her. Crystal shards and body parts scattered, a heavy blast from Aiden. And finally the creatures somewhat gruesome demise. But seeing the others dash she quickly moved to the lift, making sure her aunt followed close behind. “I admire the skill but we should move!” she yelled reaching the lift concentrating in case she might need to help anyone else get the lift in time.

Feeling the familiar pull of the Force, Aiden moved his ass towards the lift. He was beginning to feel the wear of using so much of his power with the Force.

“The jobs not over yet, Deshra. Keep moving forwards.”

The green beetle-lady shoved them all into the lift as she ran. The door finally sliding shut as they all got into it and Flyndt failing his hold on the doors.

Alarm was a feeling at seeing Flyndt be shoved by the merciless mechanism of closing door and still bravely standing in it. Foxen lunged as his partner called for his help, but before his hands could even get between the doors, the last of their impromptu team was flying in. At the last second, his grasp went instead to the Omwati’s shadow robes, yanking him back and to his chest. With everyone clear and the lift moving them to the next Who Knew What Horrible Shit in the next seconds, the Nautolan gave a silent sigh, his arm falling but briefly.

It raised again in question for his home, O.K.?

With the lift stilled and the door sliding open, Flyndt straightened up and let go of Foxen’s arm where he had braced himself with the earlier jolt of movement. He crept a couple pace just outside the threshold, saberpike shaft chambered against his shoulder with the emitter pointed towards the floor. Stepping gingerly over a broken pipe and strewn tools. His third step was met with a slight wet slick beneath his boot. The Omwati crouched and in the little light from the lift, he reached out and touched his gloved fingers to a dark spot, sniffing it.

Blood.

The Hyōbao tapped into the Force sight, and scanned their surroundings with intense focus. The pitch black room took on a faint grey haze, undulating with specks of color. Fading light of dying life energy highlighted more blood spatters leading away and towards a door where…Flyndt stiffened and furrowed his birthmarked brow as he spotted dark crimson tendrils seeped through the cracks around the door. Nestled in that dreadful and foreboding mass was a figure of heavy dark blue, fear, desperation, vulnerable.

“There. Behind door. Dark like cultists, injured and cornered,” Flyndt gestured with his saberpike at the closed door.

The moment the Omwati moved out, Foxen was on his six, allowing that advance of three steps with all the readiness of a loaded gun. The pistol he already had raised, to be specific, peering through the OmniSight scope to see into the dark with both infrared and ultraviolet spectrums.

It was carnage, plain and simple. And one humanoid figure, in the direction Flyndt indicated.

H-U-M-A-N-O-I-D, he spelled to his partner quickly, for the group. Mess in here. Careful. Red eyes didn’t leave the scene, sweeping left and right and up at the ceiling and every possible facet, searching out any threat. Nonetheless, he added, Should let one of the strangers go first.

“Hoo, he says it is destroyed in here, much mess,” Flyndt relayed to the others quietly as he pulled a magnetic glow rod out, flicking it on and clasping it to his sole shoulder pauldron. He considered the suggestion and nodded, glancing to the nameless helmeted man and Circe. “If one pushes door, I will have your back.”

Circe stepped outside the lift and moved carefully between the things on the floor towards the door. Glancing back towards the others as she was standing next to it so that her glowing helmet eyes could be seen disappearing from sight. Once she was gone she pushed against the door, but it was unable to move.

The Nautolan neither blinked nor made a noise at that, but Flyndt would recognize the way his shoulders shifted as a shrug that said, Okay, lady, your choice. The look he gave his partner before turning to continue sweeping the room only reinforced the sentiment.

A now stained gloved hand raised and snapped for Foxen’s attention. Flyndt shifted his gaze from the door, where he had been staring and chewing on his inner cheek in thought, to the Nautolan again and the others. A small conflicted brrt escaped his inked lips before he addressed his thoughts.

“What if leave and she flanks us? And why is they hold up and not assaulting station?” He paused, searching for the right words. “They a deserter? Or not cultist?”

He stepped up to the other side of the door and knocked on it with the butt of his saberpike. “You alone in there?”

Hearing the apparent fear in the woman’s voice, and what he thought may have been a pained grunt, he approached the closed door and placed his hand upon it. He began to concentrate, they didn’t have the time to waste but information was highly important in a situation like this.

“Things will be ok, we are here to help.” Aiden tried to sound calm and soothing as the Force interlaced his words. He needed to draw out the information she knew. “You said that you didn’t want to hurt anyone. I need you to tell me what happened here, and what you are trying to protect us from.” He exerted his power gently, not wanting to overwhelm of frighten the panicked woman.

The point about flanking was valid. Foxen reconsidered.

Everyone turned, but NOT her? Doubt, Foxen signalled to Flyndt, then approached.

Flyndt caught the signs in the glowrod light, and relayed the message to the others.

“Must be why she is in pain now. She might be trying to fight it off.” Circe said quietly, “If we don’t know how to save her, perhaps better to end her suffering.”

Foxen was unblinking to the sound of crying. I’ll do it. Stand back, watch the room.

He gestured at the hinges on the door to indicate his plan, and drew his beskad back out from its plain matte sheath.

Siv had followed the group and had been relatively silent, but then stepped forward as Foxen drew his weapon.

“It feels like fire, yeah? In your veins, in your soul, blazing under your skin. It makes you willing to do whatever it takes to stop the pain.” The Chiss’ voice was calm, quiet, the gold tint having faded from her eyes. “You can fight it. You’re already doing it. If you come out, I’m a doctor, I can take a look at you.”

A soft frown filled her features.

“You don’t have to die here. They don’t have to win.”

The Nautolan paused at their Chiss companion’s offer. Red eyes assessed her, and he shifted slightly to allow the door to swing open, if the occupant so chose; and to be able to deliver a swift executing strike, should that opening come with any surprises or a compromised enemy that could not be treated. Otherwise, he waited to fell the door itself.

That seemed to decide it for Foxen. Flyndt was right, they couldn’t leave some crystal-transformed threat to flank them. With a mighty slash the beskar sliced through the door where it connected, then a grip tore it free, setting the sheet metal down on its side like a partial obstacle for anything surging out of the room to trip over. Gun and blade raised, ready.

The familiar cry of a blaster echoed from the direction shortest member of the party, any who may have been distracted or unaware wouldve likely been spooked or made aware of her then. “We press on.” Asani stated, looking to Flyndt, she grabbed what apperead to be loose fabric around his belt. Ripping it as she passed by she used it to hold the deceased womans memento, wrapping it with care.

Intending to be thoroughly safe, Foxen stepped forward after Asani moved away and gestured behind him at his home, conveying, Safety, don’t look.

Then he made several swift cleaves to the body with the hefty beskad, decapitating it at the neck, and two more to take off the uncrystalized arm and leg. If anything still grew out of that, or the crystal otherwise puppeted the corpse like a fungus, it wouldn’t have much speed of movement. A perfunctory flick cleaned the blade while avoiding any contact or blood splatter whatsoever.

Once done, he turned, red eyes sweeping the room again, but finding nothing more. Forward it was.

Sivall looked away but didn’t protest when Asani shot the lady, or when Foxen finished her off. She would have wanted it were she in Bonnie’s shoes. A mercy, a quick death.

Kark these Children bastards.

The Chiss medic stopped her niece and held out her hands, a soft frown on her face. She looked tired suddenly, a weight on her shoulders.

“Vod’ad, please? Can I see it? I’ll look as we continue.”

While she waited, she opened a comm to the ACE gentleman they were talking to before.

“This is Doctor Zosi’val’ria. We have discovered a contagious biohazard. Please continue with the upmost caution and adhere to biohazard protocols.”

Hearing the screams, after having witnessed the evil of the crystal ascendancy, Aiden began to walk towards the corridor. He pulled his black hilt from his belt and activated the black core lightsaber. It was time for the Children on Mortis to crumble.

Circe followed after him even though she wasn’t visible, she was sure he could sense her taking his flank, her lightsaber in her hand.

The unexpected blaster fire did cause the Omwati to flinch and distracted him enough that he did not notice the theft of fabric until the rip registered in his brain. A small tsk escaped him that cut off quickly when he saw the lagomorph pick up the locket with it. That…was fine. Flyndt gave a small wince of a smile and an approving nod, sympathetic to the late woman’s request. He turned to watch their backs while Foxen took precautionary measures, though every swing drew his ears whether he wished it to or not.

Screams.

Screams coming from the corridor nearby. The two strangers already headed that way. Flyndt glanced to his four companions before starting after the others. “We need to go. Trouble up ahead.”

Asani gently opened the locket, carefully using the cloth to inspect the contents on the inside. Hearing Sivalls request she offered an open view of the necklace from her palm hopping and gently keeping it within view. “I hope we find whoever Bonnie cared for.” she commented, a bit sentimental for the small rabbitesque woman. It seemed theyd have little time as more screams echoed. “Lets go.” She said, blaster ready following the duo who had already dashed ahead.

The Nautolan followed quickly, keeping close to Flyndt and content to keep letting the armored jediit go first to absorb fire.

As the group approached, Aiden was first to enter, saber drawn and lit, ready to suppress whatever he may find. Foxen followed, content to let the meat shield meat shield harder, his rifle raised once more with its scope that would see through solid matter, prepared to eliminate any threat to his own. The Nautolan was distracted, however, as he briefly took his eye away to check for his home on a 10.2 second rotation, as ever, and looked down directly into the beam of Flyndt’s lifted glowrod.

Aiden’s face was hard behind his helmet. The second portal so far, and something was trying to come through. He wouldn’t let this continue. The Mandalorian walked up to the portal, his concentration unbreakable. The Force energy that kept the portal open was being shut down by his sheer will.

“Sorry, we’re closed today.”

As Aiden maintained his concentration he saw the familiar circle.

“If someone would disturb the ritual circle, it would be immensely helpful to our continued existence.”

He slashed the Crystalline arm with his lightsaber, just in case.

Rounding fully into the room just as the portal initially closed Flyndt caught the request of the helmeted man. His gaze quickly fell upon the array of food items along the walls. Beelining for the first container filled with liquid, the Omwati attempted to open it, sloshing the yellow-green substance and cylindrical veggies inside around.

Nothing budged.

“Foxen!” he called, then threw the pickle jar to him. Yeet!

Turning from his sweep, the Nautolan was thankfully quick enough in reflex to catch the jar, even though it required dropping his rifle to let it dangle from the strap over his shoulders. Upon seeing the pickles in hand, he huffed to himself, and twisted the lid off with a pop.

Well, it worked. Any liquid really.

Maybe someone would be pissing on these things before it was all over. Which sounded disgusting. He’d just grab more pickles.

Approaching the circle like it was a serious fraking biohazard, the Nautolan doused the ground in the brine and then looked for something that might be usable to scrub it away without having to dirty their equipment or clothes. He was suddenly having deep disinfecting feelings about Flyndt’s shoes.

Spying what might have been some janitorial equipment left for dead when everyone else was, in all likelihood, bloodily murdered, Foxen moved to pull out a mop…

And immediately felt the pressure give of a small piece of wood supporting a larger weight.

A creak was all there was before a crate came down on his head, driving him briefly to his knees, and suddenly, everything smelled like green citrus, and there was juice leaking down his forehead and burning in his eyes.

Pickle juice seeped into the bloody circle, already eating away and muddling the lines where it was poured. Flyndt’s gaze flicked between the portal, the doorway, and watching the Nautolan walk to a bunch of stuff stacked up to the side when a cascade of thudding limes thudded across the floor. Blinking in surprise, the Omwati crossed over and pulled the citrus from Foxen’s horn. He offered up both it and the remainder of the torn cloth tucked into his belt before taking the mop to go scrub.

There were limes.

On. His horns.

If his face hadn’t already been spasming from having acid in his eyes, then the muscle would’ve twitched. As it was, he just grunted to his partner in gratitude and used the cloth to wipe at his head, yanking the other lime off the other horn and standing viciously in a shower of round little green citrus balls. The cascade of plops as they rolled all directions and he stomped over them to get out made a mess, but certainly lime juice wasn’t any worse than pickle brine.

As if the banging wasn’t alerting enough, Foxen’s keen ears determined that the encroaching threats were large and bipedal, flashes of memory from the pit making echoes, but also, more closely matching those more recent of the Ethereal Realm.

Bipedal, heavy, crystalline, groaning, blunt and violent.

Baring teeth, the Nautolan banged on his bracer to get Flyndt’s attention, then signed large, CRYSTAL WARRIORS. It was what they’d come to call the Ascendants they’d fought in those twilit hellscape fields of corpses. He advanced to position himself with the Omwati, head clocking to each door, trying to assess their strength and how long they would hold compared to how stuck the creatures might be.

The doors were closing. His leather souls dug into and slid on the metal as Flyndt pushed his weight into the door to little avail. His beak gritted behind his lips, and he glanced to those rushing for the lift still.

“Tul upa! Hurry, come on!” He twisted to look over to his partner. “Foxen! Help!”

The ripping scream of durasteel and pounding steps heralded that terrible roar, something between animal and humanoid, warped with a crystalline brrrrrng undertone. It was closing the distance in ≤ 4.7 seconds.

Flyndt was behind him.

3.2 seconds

Foxen let his rifle drop, weighing on the strap, and braced.

0.8 seconds

Impact.

He tried to push back, scrabbling for a hold, feet sliding through blood and brine, and for a heartbeat it seemed a contest, but then like ground giving way before a charging reek, gravity has him. The rare sensation of being thrown catapults stomach into mouth, and the body makes contact with metal and crashes down. He hears the thud of yet more citrus as green pulps under his weight, and the Nautolan hybrid growled as he pushed back to his feet before his vision even stopped spinning, shrugging off the blow, knowing he had to move.

Maw of teeth bared, Foxen slammed his bracer repeatedly against the fallen crates, the beskar ringing out clarion across the space, the best he could do to goad.

From the shadows Circe lined up her rifle, having put her Saber away. She watched the movement of the monster how it went after one of the other. Then the ringing came, the monster clearly annoyed by it and started to stalk towards it.

A loud bang rang through the room, a flash or Circe visible for a moment and then a hit against the monster’s head. Right were she wanted it.

Watching the Crystal Ascendant drop to its knees, and seeing its arms flailing about, Aiden saw and opening and took it. His black core saver in his right sand and his silvery blade in his left, the Mandalorian ran towards the creature, using its own Crystalline structure to launch himself onto its back.

With elegant precision Aiden swung each Lightsaber with deadly accuracy, cleaving through the beasts crystal shoulders. With a pain cry, the creatures arms fell uselessly to the ground, seperated from the rest of it. Aiden flipped off the flailing creature, blades still ignited and ready to defend himself.

As more enemies burst into the room, Foxen drew his beskar blade back out and charged back towards the original target that had thrown him away. On its knees now and armless, it was still a threat.

The massive Nautolan swung with the full force of his momentum and strength behind it, a two handed chop meant to decapitate, beskar gleaming deadly. But even for all that, the blade only lodged partway into a thick crystalline amalgam of neck and shoulders that seemed to actively grow thicker in that moment. The beast roared again and thrashed, and Foxen barely recovered his sword and began to reposition himself to once again bodily block Flyndt, only to feel that crystal torso slam into him, knocking him backwards yet again.

Foxen had gone flying, and as Flyndt turned back to face the crystalline beast that was once man, he watched as both a shot and lightsabers cleaved into it – and it still lived! More poured in, too many, outnumbered. This would be difficult to take even one on by himself.

He shook his head and pressed back towards Foxen. Swinging Din Soñ back in hand, he quickly triggered his saberpike. The Omwati surged a jab forward towards another approaching ascendant, only to get bodily checked into by Foxen, throwing his aim off and wide. He stumbled on his feet and regained his balance.

“Karabast! Watch your aim!” The lagamorph complained as she was nearly hit by a stray blast. They werent in the best position but anythig was worth trying.

Taking a quick look, Asani advanced to the nearest crystal creature, attempting to slash through only to find herself bouncing back. “I hate rescues…” she mumbled to herself scrambling back and away from the proximity of the creatures.

Seeing a few tables close, she decided the bestntime to use any technique would be now, concentrating on the furniture she managed to slam a table toward the beasts, knocking two of them off balance. “Anyone have a plan?!” she queried the rest of the group.

A shot rang out from the shadows again, but this time her aim was off and the shot ricocheted against one of the crystals and nearly hit one of her fellow fighters.

‘Crap’ she thought silently and moved to a different position as more of the crystal creatures came running in.

“Does anyone have explosives? Perhaps we can lure them together and blow them up.”

Aiden looked at their situation, and the prognosis was quite grim. So many of these large ascendant beasts. He felt like he could take a couple of them down, but they were being overwhelmed.

Looking around his eyes caught the only path to survival that he could see. But it was a dangerous shot. Reaching into his pack, he grabbed his mag-gloves and put them on, finding a stable and secure spot to get a grip on. Using his metal arm and the mag gloves his hams was locked into place before he raised his lightsaber rifle, and pointed it at the large plastisteel window.

“Hey guys, either get outta the room, or brace yourselves down! It’s about to get real breezy in here!”

Circe stared at him and then used her mag-gloves to hold onto something sturdy and magnetic. She also concentrated on the Force to keep her save from the vacuum that would be created when the glass would shatter.

“Hoo?”

Flyndt sacrificed a glance towards the masked man, and followed his aimed gun up to– a window.

In space.

In space.

“NO, puhtan no!”

A stream of trilling words and clicks followed as the short man cussed the figure out in Omwatese, already twisting for Foxen. Decompressing and slinging his saberpike back across his back, he yanked a climbing claw on one hand and leaped. The Omwati landed on his partner’s back, threaded his fingers tightly into his armor, and wrapped his legs around a thigh nearly as thick as his own torso.

“Foxen!!! Ndu! Down!” he urged. His free hand prepared to dig into whatever surface he could reach once Foxen did. He called out once more to his companions. “Sivall, Asani, brace!”

Siv was fast, faster and more lithe than most. She reached the door quickly, dodging through people and objects and clung safely to a bar by the door. Once there she looked around and pressed a button, sealing this room off from the rest of the station.

Asani looked at the direction the taller mandalorian gazed in and saw the idea form. The window.

Space.

“Brace!” she heard Flynt yell out, she was already halfway onto grabbing the nearest bolted down bar. Anything to keep her from floating. She looked for Siv, seeing her clinging to a safety bar she felt at least at ease, they had the same plan. “Braced!” she yelled out.

Everything happened very quickly, and even as he has the same realization as Flyndt, his partner was clinging to him, and that was all he needed in the world. That and the simple directive.

Down. Brace.

With a surge of strength and speed he threw them to towards a thick support beam on the other side of all those spilled produce and pickling crates, not wanting them to get hit by the wreckage when it flew, and hooked an arm around the base. The Nautolan reached for the climbing claws on his wrists and let the claws themselves fold out and down, swinging his arm to slam one into the decking and hook into metal on metal. With the other hand, he scabbled for his pouches, pulling off the breath mask with its hosing and small canister and shoving it onto Flyndt’s face tucked into his side. He held the front there, hoping the Omwati would take the cue and put on the strap.

Taking a look around at his group;

Flyndt, secure Foxen, secure Asani, secure Circe, secure Siv, secure He was secure

All of them were braced and ready.

Aiden looked back front, to see a crystal ascendant staring right at him. The Mandalorian smiled.

“Yeah I know. Sucks don’t it.”

He pulled the trigger.

His hand pressed under Foxen’s on the mask, just holding it in surprise when –Crack! Immediately, before even the heftier crystalline ascendants started surging past, Flyndt could feel his light body slip from Foxen’s hold. His hand buried securely in the man’s armor was quickly just fingertips desperately flexing to keep their grip. A muffled grunt and cry of defiance –

And then it was gone, his partner ripped from him, or himself for him.

Foxen–

The boom of the glass breaking and the piercing cold were enough to detter anyone from doing something as insane as what they had just done. Clearly it wasnt enough as they all found themselves braced.

The creatures were away from them but now Asani had a new problem. The pressure had been enough to drag her away from what little bracing she had managed. “Karabast!” she yelled out. Trying to find any way to hold on to anything.

–FLYNDT!

His world was slipping away, and he would not. Let. That. Happen.

He’d promised he’d get him home to Gaile and Auntie.

The Nautolan’s body unfolded, girder-like arm snapping out, grabbing securely around Flyndt’s waist and straining, muscles flexing, as he fully reeled his partner back in and folded him into his chest. He held the Omwati there, large hand spread to cup the back of his head and brace his neck securely, and used the single other arm, veins popping, to curl them back towards the support beam. His growl of effort was completely lost in the vacuuming rush of air flooding out into frozen emptiness, but he pulled, until they were close, and then looped his tree trunk legs around the brace too, just like Flyndt had his thigh. He ducked his head, eyes burnt and dry from the sudden wind, just clutching Flyndt with as much gentleness as was possible and weathering the storm. His mind raced, trying to calculate the volume of the room, the mass and trajectories of their allies, the distance to the doors– could he get them there once the room finished depressurizing, get Flyndt through the door, before he expired?

The body could only last approximately 11.2 seconds in vacuum before complete explosive decompression.

Siva, he thinks, having glimpsed her go by, you had better take him from me when I get there.

Aiden felt the pull of the voids suction, but luckily the mag gloves had sealed his metal hand to the bar we has holding onto. The Beskar he wore protected him from the cold and oxygen-less space. Through his visor, he saw Asani slip from their safety, and instinctively the Mandalorian reached out with his flesh hand.

Willing thr Force to obey him, he grabbed hold of the Kushiban with his mind, holding the lagomorph suspended in the air, and refusing to let go. He could feel the mechanics in his arm screaming and pulling against eachother. The pain in his nerves was excruciating but he refused to let go or let a teammate die.

He would never let go.

A deathgrip on his arm pulling him in. Flyndt clung needlessly under Foxen’s hold, tightly compressed to the man’s chest. He exhaled shakily a few shallow breaths, a small fraction of tension escaping. But they were not out of the danger yet. As sunset eyes met squinting crimson orbs, Foxen using all of his might to keep them both from flying away, he realized the man could not breath.

Drawing the Force in with his own breathe, Flyndt tore the mask off and pressed it hard into the Nautolan’s face. It sealed around his features despite engulfing less of his than the Omwati’s. The avian just held it there for him, unable to get the strap over the man’s horns. Not breaking eye contact and just willing Foxen to understand will be fine.

They will be fine.

No suffocating or freezing to death.

Hold on, Foxen.

Red eyes forced nearly shut, blackness creeping at the edges and body burning from decreasing oxygen/continued muscle flexion accelerating its use, Foxen held on to them…and nearly wailed – silent, always silent – in despair when a mask pressed suddenly hard over his mouth and nose tip. Nevertheless his lungs gasped in a great lungful greedily, and the rush in that second of horror, helplessness, and rejection that reared up inside was so great it left him more breathless than the vacuum of the endless void.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t let go, had no way to shout NO! to his home, could hardly see. But their eyes met as he looked down, a desperate hope for conveying that by look alone, please, love, no–

And he saw resolve. Determination. Trust. Belief. Sunset eyes that would fight. Would not let go. Hold on. That had once and again vowed, Not without you.

They don’t have words, not whispers or speaking hands.

But they don’t need them.

O.K., he thinks, and trusts in his partner. Flyndt is capable. Past the precipice of panic, he knows this, knows Flyndt has been able to stay under the waves with him longer than is anatomically possible before. He knows that if all failed, to die for him would be Flyndt’s choice, just like it is his to die for Flyndt.

Red eyes meet and hold sunset, staring in that frozen heartbeat, and he gives the barest, slowest nod, thick neck muscles straining.

Hearing the hiss and clamp of the shutters and anticipating the would-be reasserting of gravity, Foxen strained to twist around, angling so that when–

Thud.

When they fell, he’d take the impact and not crush Flyndt. Even cradling the back of the Omwati’s head and body, he didn’t trust his own body weight, didn’t fully trust himself, still, with Flyndt.

The crunch is a distant echo in the mind.

But more pressing is the now, as he shifts on the deck and feels the frost cracking along his skin with the movement. His exposed, black flesh is patchy and whitened with the burns of cold and his eyes are filmed for a moment while his blood actively rewarms them, but they are alive.

Mindful, he doesn’t pull away from the mask just yet, but touches Flyndt’s face, skimming fingers all down his body as they sit up, checking in with wordless urgency.

Are you okay are you okay are you okay? <@244244400488710155>

The Mandalorian exhaled a sigh of relief. They were all alive. The gamble he made was a risk, but they had been severely out numbered. And the gamble worked. The beasts were gone and they had all survived. His left arm, though still responsive, was definitely in need of repair work.

Slowly standing up Aiden first went to Asani. He kneeled next to the Kusihban.

“You all right? I’m glad I was able to catch you before it was too late.”

<@142850390738731009>

Circe landed back on the ground after the air had evened out again and was happy that there was breathable air again. She sighed softly as she let go of the Force that was keeping her alive a few moments ago and looked around.

“Does anyone need help? I can aid in healing.” She asked to the rest of the group.

The Chiss medic burst through the doors even before they opened fully, sliding in between them with her thin frame as soon as she could. Sanguine eyes swept the room, assessing injuries. Anyone not breathing or actively cyanotic would be her first target.

Asani checked her armor for any perforations or serious damage after that not so gentle fall. Nothing was damaged, every limb intact. She was safe or as close it as she could be in the situation. Even if everyones group fall from being nearly swept into space hadnt bruised much but their egos, it was still a situation shed prefer to avoid happening again.

“Thanks for the save, lets try to find a different way to kill those things next time.” she suggested to the stranger. “But Ill give you points for creativity.” she used his knee as a way to move herself back up without too much issue.

Looking at Asani, Aiden responded in a calm tone, but loud enough for all to hear.

“They had us dead to rights, 2 to 1. We were having trouble bringing down one of them, let alone 12. I saw no other way through it that didn’t result in total casualty. I apologize if my actions seemed rash at all. In the moment, there was no other play to make.”

Hearing the response Asani chuckled. “its fine I would’ve done something just as or more reckless” checking her weapons to make sure she had everything with her.

“If Im missing weapons Im sending you the bill” she stated humor laced in her tone, scouting if any others needed any assistance or had injuries.

I’m O.K. Foxen assured, though he groaned softly with the discomfort of cold burns/battering as he moved to stand again. He set it to: ignore. Bruised, light burns. Not worth tending yet. We will need to save our healing/strength, if going to make it through this with more enemies like that.

Once done speaking, and satisfied the Omwati was also O.K. by admission, he flashed an OK overhead and then resituated all his gear. A last lingering touch brushed the Omwati’s hand before turning to examine the others and the room. It was significantly emptied – frak those limes, space debris now – but he still looked to see if the sigils had been moped up successfully before all that.

<@837236610684813342>

Area clear, Foxen signaled, Proceed, then waved the others on, specifically their window-shooting meat shield. He gave a visual check of Siva and the Asani, and noted that the green beetle was also a jediit.

<@206692046424113152> <@417336769181122562>

Aiden silently took the front position in the hallway. He was the most defensive of the group with his Beskar and dual lightsabers, so he would happily stand guard to keep the others safe. Keeping his eyes peeled for more monstrosities, he walked with a purpose towards the Regent’s office.

Circe followed after him when she heard no one asking for assistance and glances around at the area they were walking into.

After a while of pushing through the station, Flyndt gave a short low trill followed by a double click. He jutted his inked chin towards the direction they were traveling and held up one finger. “Someone is coming, ahead. No malice, afraid.”

Running, Foxen added, hearing the cadence. Possibly fleeing. Be ready. Ghost?

He took up a planted position, lifting his rifle with both hands, ready to fire in whatever was behind the incoming someone if necessary.

“Spectre on field,” Flyndt nodded after relaying all but the suggestion to himself. With saberpike in hand, he disappeared from beside Foxen and from sight.

Foxen held for a moment longer, obviously looking behind the adolescent, before lowering the rifle with muzzle down properly. He waved the male towards them in a firm and hurried beckoning gesture.

Internally, where most of the self was set to: ignore for Mission, the Nautolan gave a very, very tired sigh, and thought again of how well meeting Gaile could ever go. Outwardly, he just gestured harder, pointing at his throat and shaking his head and then beckoning again. He gestured at them, gave a thumbs up, and pointed forward. Then pointed at the teen, and pointed behind them.

“How many? and no he wont eat you” the smaller woman spoke up approaching the teen and giant Nautolan.

“Granted asking questions like that gets you shot in other systems…” she added a bit of humor laced in her tone, as her expressionless mask migt seem either threatening or hilrious depending on the teen. Shed find out sooner or later.

Foxen took out his datapad and showed it to the kid.

Good job getting out. You gotta be pretty stealthy, huh? That’s good. Good job. Gets us intel. The way back the direction we have come from is clear. Follow to the lift and go down to the hangar, there are soldiers there waiting to escort you to escape pods. Know it’s a lot to ask, but would help us a lot. Do you think you can give your best guess of enemy numbers in there? Were there any creatures or monsters made of crystal? Please.

Foxen shook his head.

You’re doing fine. Go where I told you. Be out of the way. Safe.

“We’d appreciate it but we’re on a rescue. Isnt much of a rescue if youre in danger again. Go back down the lift, theres more waiting to help.” the kushiban commented, moving her head so as to point toward the direction they had arrive from without looking away.

“Expect problems everyone” Asani let everyone else know as she moved back down the line to ensure everyone understood what she had said.

The datapad was out. Foxen did not need his voice, and Asani aided in directing the adolescent. Flyndt remained cloaked, shifting beneath the blended shadows and lights to position himself in a defensive spot between the group and the way the teen came. He kept his senses open and minded the hall, but his attention kept shifting back to the conversation behind him, especially the scared jittery tones of the young man.

Circe kept to the side and watched it from a distance. She had seen enough young ones getting scared and traumatized by events.

But it what the boy said was true, then they had another big fight coming up… Or those out in space were that fighting group.

Realizing that she looked around for signs of the beasts charging through here.

Foxen watched the teen the whole time he left, until he disappeared from sight. Then, he turned back and signalled to the team.

Going to try and trim numbers. Flash bang. Spectre is on the field.

He flashed the datapad around, then put it in its holster, and approached where he saw the slight warp of shimmer he knew to be where Flyndt stood invisible.

Us forward, he signed, a combination of hand signals the Erinos used on the field, which he had taught Flyndt, and signals Flyndt had taught him that the Omwati Order warriors had used, Hyōbaos lead by their Linwirron. The Ghosts had many group tactics, and he and Flyndt had practiced many of their maneuvers together they’d made on their own in their training this last year. Ghost and flash. I follow, flying fire birds. Target enemies. Try to separate civilians.

A disembodied hoot confirmed the plan, Flyndt pressing forward alongside Foxen as they led the group to what lies ahead. And what lied there was worse than he imagined. So many people held, the chanting deafening to his ears as he broke the threshold into the room with one step. The Omwati stuttered to a pause after catching the spray of blood, too late to try and intervene.

As the light faded, Flyndt reassessed the room quickly. Only one cultist. Where were the others? The phantom enveloped into the Force more than the shadows wreathing him, and extended his senses to the large open room. Puhta! There are way more lurking in the shadows, hidden much like himself. How many? He did not know. As many as the hangar? Pray that there’s less.

The Omwati slinked back the couple paces to the safety of the corridor and uncloaked briefly. His feathers fluttered and brow furrowed as he spoke. “Another portal, big. Forty plus hostages. Hidden cultists in the shadows, I do not know how many. Prepare yourselves.”

He looked at the helmeted Mandalorian stranger, “Can you suppress again?”

Aiden gave a gentle nod at Flyndt’s request. These portals were a nuisance, but there was something….more. Quietly finding the best vantage point, the Mandalorian took a deep breath and centered himself. This day was dragging on, and these nuisances needed to end.

Reaching out he found the portal and the one chanting. Aiden called the Force to him… and then pulled it from the area. The portal wavered…not closed but weakened considerably much the the Chanter’s dismay. Shadows around the room faded. What were one like ghosts were now visible, no longer hidden beneath their shrouds.

“Out of the shadows, and into the light. Take your aims. Your targets are clear now.” He quietly told the others.

Circe looked into the room and saw several cultist showing up from the shadows and the one standing in the middle doing the portal chanting. Seeing that being the most important one, she took a shoot at the chanter. Lining up her riffle she pulled the trigger, her form becoming visible for a few moments before fading back into the shadows again.

Glancing at the cultists around her she easily weaved between all of the attacks they made at her. Some of them were even hitting their fellows as Circe moved out of the way just at the last second as if she were like waves of water. When the cultist were distracted from hitting their own instead of the green armoured lady, she quickly moved in to take out one of them by turning the pike attack of another cultist against their own. Once down she took over the pike and held the others at bay.

Following signaled, phantom hoot of agreement, Foxen had trailed at Flyndt’s six, witnessing a cacophony of chanting and ritualistic exsanguiation that birthed another portal flash; more voices than shapes. The enemy was cloaked again.

Flyndt returns, and the plan adjusts. Tactical flexibility. The male jediit does his piece again, drawing ire and, importantly, tearing away enemy cover.

Useful.

The female’s shot blazed out, and a modulated voice, activating memory files from encounters with the Collective rather than the Children, calls for assault.

The mind processes this, encoding.

Not just the Children, Cult of Scimitar.

Crystal Ascendants.

Cyborgs.

Are they all collaborating?

Possible paranoid conspiracy. Possible extremely bad time for them.

The calculus was set aside as combat commenced. Foxen slid past the doorway and into the chamber, letting rifle fall in favor of original intended armament. His arm extends, quick inputs keying the miniature rockets to painted targets he cues with a gesture.

The birds – not his bird, and therefore now inferior, though they used to be one of his favorite – emerged from the beskar'gam with short, sharp whistling screams, beskar needles that honed in on and followed several cultists even as they attempted to dodge. The little explosives bit into flesh and through masks and robes and armor, dropping bodies. Two of six left standing.

Unfortunately.

Taking his sword back up now in close quarters, the Nautolan advanced, red eyes roving for the waver of their specter on the field.

Two of the once hidden cultists remained still. In one fell swoop, the other four were removed from play by screeching tiny bits of metal. The Chuldren of Mortis were on the cusp of victory, but these upstarts had ruined their plans!

The Portal was still not working at one hundred percent, and the Mandalorian responsible was in full concentration on his task, his right arm extended outwards as he fought the portal. The cultists held their saber-pikes at the ready. This was it. Their moment. Their time to prove themselves superior to the Brotherhood. Their time to show their worth to the cause.

They charged.

Their pikes ablaze, they ran at Aiden, full intent on using his lack of focus on them against him. He would die for his arrogance to think that he could ever measure up to the greatness of Mortis!

“Do you mind?”

The two cultists were shocked to discover they couldn’t move. They were frozen in place and the Mandalorians left arm pointed at them. He wasn’t even giving them the courtesy of eye contact.

“I’m busy. ”

With the flick of his metallic wrist, the two were sent flying away from him.

No sooner had they gotten their feet under them did they hear faint footsteps approaching swiftly. Swathes of shadows and lights shredded and rushed into coiled muscles as a red and silvered feathered Omwati emerged much like they had. The orange glowing saberpike held out to his side was pulled before him with two hands in time to be blocked by the hastly raised blade of their own. Flyndt rotated his left wrist and knocked the blade aside.

Momentum carried him through, planting a boot to their chest he leapt off in a whirl of stripes fabrics. Din Soñ cut down on the second in a silent bite of its namesake, stabbing into the masked cultist’s chest and shoving them back down. Flyndt pressed his weight into it until his blade seared into the floor before withdrawing it and pivoting to face the one that remained.

Fwoosh!

A narrow dodge. His amplification was wearing, Flyndt had to be quick, so close to the suppression field he could feel it pulling on his bond with the Force. Skirting some distance to the side, the avian humanoid’s stance relaxed, turned sideways and casually holding his pike to the side. The cackle as the enemy took the invitation. Their attack belied their belief he was vulnerable.

A flitting strike upwards.

A portion of cylindrical metal clattered to the floor with one severed end glowing bright. Disarmed, the cultist gritted his teeth, a curse halfway out of his lips as the final blow jabbed into his abdomen.

Flyndt withdrew it and watched them fell. His crest clamped to his skull as he pressed the back of his hand to his lips and muttered something briefly. He turned his attention then back to his surroundings, his enemies and his allies. There was so much still at risk.

She swirled the pike around to get a bit of a feel for the weapon and then grinned. Moving quickly between renewed attacks from the cultists she started to use the pike against them. One of them was easily run through, and as his body was still comprehenting it was as good as dead, he was used to twap out the one next to him. They crashed into each other with a crunchy thud that knocked the air out of the receiver of the body.

The last two were glancing at each other before deciding to do a jointed attack on her, trying to hit her from both sides at the same time. One of them quickly lost it’s weapon in the attack and was run through by the cultist charging from the other side of Circe, which she cleverly diverted. Not waiting another heartbeat she finished the last one off as well and stalked over to the one struggling to get from underneath the body of his dead teammate.

“So… you still dare to draw air. Huh?”

Flyndt was a whirlwind, spiraling fabric trailing like his tail feathers, the avenging wings of a god of death, felling the cultists that moved for him, falling like chaff in to his plagued storm winds. Foxen repositioned to the Omwati’s back in his advance as he noticed a gloved hand press to inked lips, his mother’s blade warbling clear beyond the sizzle of instantly boiled and steamed blood.

The Circe moved, and in another few moments, the last bodies fell. One still moved, which the female called attention to. And then there were–

The eyes assessed.

36 hostages.

The Nautolan sheathed his sword and withdrew five small knives, flicking them in a reversed fan out in his grip, offering the short metal struts; made for throwing, they had no handles, but such wasn’t necessary.

He offered them out to the others, using his other hand to motion at cutting bonds.

“Guess my work isnt necessary” the small woman mumbled to herself while observing the others make quick work of the enemy.

“Once your bonds are free, help release others, you need to get out fast and together” the small T visor helmet wearing woman ordered, taking one of the offered knives, freeing the hostages as fast as she could.

She didnt expect them to follow orders but if they did it would actually make things faster for everyone. And added some safety in case they were to run into trouble, the hostages could at least run away from any future danger.

The orange blade of Din Soñ dissipated before being slung from a shoulder once more. Flyndt nodded to Foxen on his direction and pulled his Kal dagger from where it was tucked at the small of his back. He circled the hostages and started aiding those at the opposite side from Asani. As the thick rectangular blade cut cleanly through the second set of bindings, the Omwati abruptly stopped. He stood up straighter and stared not at the portal but the floor several degree to its right, head angled for listening.

Again, Cries and screams for help.

In heartbeats, Flyndt was at the Mandalorian’s side who was battling the portal. “Drop it! There is more inside–”

“Run away! It’s a trap!”

Crimson striped feathers flared full and froze, sunset eyes widening as Flyndt caught that voice from the portal, loud and clear among the cries of anguish. His words uttered in a near whisper of disbelief at its words, echoing, “a trap…”

But what? From whom? The portal, or in the room among them and the hostages–

Screams. From inside the portal?

More victims or some horrific animal amalgamation of crystalloid engineering?

Foxen’s head titled, birdlike, as he listened, and then Flyndt was teleporting back to the jediit, ordering him to open the portal again.

The Nautolan immediately advanced, knowing his Omwati would want to continue rescue operations. Whatever Flyndt considered Mission, if possible, would be done.

He approached the edge of blood scrawls and crouched down, considering using his fibercord rope to tether himself to something and reach in…

It happened in all of 14.2 seconds. He was turning to gesture to Flyndt, to inform him of his plan, Going to try to get them– only to see the horror on his home’s face, the pale of olive and the press of feathered crest.

He does not get to ask what is wrong.

Then: movement. Bodies in the peripherals. Hostages, cut loose, including the one Flyndt had just freed. Not rushing away, or rushing to family.

Towards him.

Hands contact, push. The body responds, but there is not time for knives. The mind does not know if these are threats or civilians. The muscle strain and he braces and pushes back, trying to throw them off.

The weight tips, the fingers drag on deck plating slippery with blood.

He falls, messily, clinging to an edge, hands braced to keep from being thrown in completely, but the head is pushed through, as though he was a mammal they could drown by holding his face in water.

The surface breaks.

His tower fell. The tall dark Nautolan shadow of mass thrice his own, stumbled and overwhelmed by those they thought were innocent. Foxen fell halfway into the portal and still was being shoved.

“No!”

Flyndt sprinted, dodging past disguised cultists and crossed the short distance to his partner, his kal dagger still gripped tightly in hand. He slid to a stop, red feathers flared high and wide with silver streaming behind him. He inhaled a well of the Force that snapped crimson against his mind and his vocal cords.

“GET BACK!!!”

The amplified sound concussed against two of the cultists, causing them to grip at their ears and loosen their holds on Foxen. The third evaded it. Pulling back just out of the scream’s trajectory, they rammed forward and knocked the Omwati backwards and away. Flyndt lost his footing and landed hard, head cracking on the metal floor. Several heartbeats dragged out like minutes as he laid there struggling to catch his breath, rasping over his torn throat.

Memory: files engaged. Red eyes roamed a red skyline. The general horrors were null of emotion, only details noted.

The animals–

Deny.

Get back to fraking home.

–visualaudio input, catalogued. The mind will not forget. Even the asshat on his asshat overblown holofilm throne on his asshat compensatory castle even bigger than the literally ancient mega cult spanning eons and trying to destroy the fabric of reality.

Although:

Foxen’s one flailing free hand, one arm and his neck and shoulders all through to this hellscape, lifted in a single-fingered salute to Scimitar, who had made Sofila afraid.

Coming for you, bastard.

Then something grabs his fraking horns, and the hands on him he can still feel, disconcertingly, on the other side of his body suddenly pull away, and he heaves, shaking his head like the bulls that have gored him, that he has gored back.

With a massive bore of strength, he pulls free, but not alone. The weight stays, hands and crystals clinging to his horns, having been pulled out from his escape and tossed to the deck on the other side of the portal. Six bodies. Foxen pushes up and away from them, pivoting, searching only for one–

He sees Flyndt.

Flyndt.

Flyndt.

Who is on the ground.

And not moving.

“§§§§§!” he screams, a broken, quiet croak, and he is running, running.

Skids to his knees beside the Omwati.

Blood.

No, no, no no no no no–

He reaches–

crunch

NO YOU’LL HURT HIM AGAIN!

He–

GET SIVA.

The hand trembles above a cloaked shoulder.

Flyndt breathes.

The chest expands again. He gasps in, and moves, crouching over the Omwati and gently touching his shoulders, bodily shielding him because there is no time.

They are surrounded by enemies, and an army is on the other side of that portal.

He draws pistol and beskad, intent on staying as close to Flyndt as possible.

Aiden, concentrating on the portal, found himself surrounded by the hostages. They’d been tricked, and now they were under assault. The Mandalorian was pissed.

Dropping his suppression field, his lightsaber hilts found their way into his hands. Simultaneously they black and silver blades were activated and Aiden took his stance.

“You all should’ve just kept up your rouse. At least you might’ve lived longer.”

In a blur of black and white, his lightsabers weaved and carved through the attackers. Aiden seemed almost inhuman with the way he effortlessly cut through his enemies. Soon enough, seven bodies fell at the Mandalorian’s feet. All of them in various states of unaliving.

“We’ve only just begun.”

The touch to his shoulders jolted the Omwati. He surged up and rolled into a forced crouch with his kel dagger held to the side. His head protested the movement, a sharp pain jabbing his temple above his birthmarked forehead. He ignored it and focused on the danger – Foxen. He was out, freed. Flyndt exhaled and touched his free hand to the throb, brushing against a sticky matte of feathers.

Blood.

Shadows descended, the horde surging around them and the sounds of combat rising. The Nautolan wielded his weapons and wedges himself between him and the foes split from the portal with him. Flyndt pushed himself forward and shifted back to the Foxen’s side, saberpike buzzing angrily and protectively in his hands. The orange blade caught and redirected plasma and alchemic metal alike, barely keeping them back for a moment as he flitted about behind his second half, guarding his back.

Two surged him at once with unnatural speed after a warding sweep, one scouring the decking with their saberpike and the other coming in low with two daggers. Flyndt drove his own pike down, a feint causing the smaller foe to dodge. Pivoting, he wrenched his blade back and arched it hard into the other. No sooner did the body drop to the floor, did metal rake across his left arm, drawing two long cuts and a cry of pain. Inhaling sharply, Flyndt screamed again, the Force curdling in his lungs and burning his throat as the cultist and two others pulled back slightly. A temporary reprieve as several closing cultists pulled back briefly. He pressed backwards until he brushed against Foxen, shifting stance and grip to accommodate for the wounds.

“I am O.K., O.K. Keep on,” Flyndt rasped, desperately urging to stay focused, to the both of them.

His feathers framed his face and raised, freed from their tie, as his gaze flicked barely towards the Nautolan. They were not dying here today. They would stop them. The crystal nestled under the metal casing in hand seemed to buzz in agreement.

The cry of pain was so much worse than the echoing shriek of the fearsome avian warrior, worse than any of the blades or plasma that flew by as he twisted and pivoted, constantly maneuvering to not move far from Flyndt’s side. Every second without the contact of back to back was agony. Every–

Flyndt!

He could grab his partner and run. Abandon this portal, these objects: people, this station. They could make it out. Flyndt was hurt. Had been wounded again–

“I am O.K, O.K. Keep on.”

O.K.

Okay.

Confirm.

Snarling, Foxen whirled, a storm of fury even without the Force that every other being in this chamber breathed with, nothing but flesh and bone and metal, scars and bullets and a body and a mind. His beskad cleaved through an arm from which lightning arced from fingertips, and then the rest of the way through a ribcage and spine. His feet slammed down, staccato motion, as he stopped and shot twice with pistol in hand, calculating trajectories, steadyaimfire, then was spinning again in a flash of Mandalorian steel.

Bodies dropped.

One.

Twothree.

Four–

One cultist got much too close, trying to bully them apart, past his guard. The hybrid bared teeth and seized the man with a hook of his elbow around inferior, puny throat, dragging him backwards. He lifted and twisted at the same moment he brought up his knee, slamming the body down across it while leveraging up at the neck and shoulders.

A series of simultaneous, mighty crcrAACKss issued, snapped neck and snapped collarbones and snapped spine and ribs. He didn’t drop it, instead lifting and heaving again, using the corpse to shield from the lightsabers coming their way.

Four.

Pieces fell.

Foxen didn’t.

He reversed, backing up, waiting for the contact of a smaller back against his, and when it didn’t come immediately–

FlyndtFlyndtFLYDNT–

O.K?!

O.K.?!

Flyndt was gone.

Seconds before as the wave of foes resumed their onslaught with the ringing in their ears subsided, a invisible grip grabbed his ankle and yanked him hard. Like a riptide, it pulled the Omwati into the sea of enemies. His free hand failed to find a purchase on the floor, the chirped curse that left his lips was lost under the sounds of slugs firing and bodies grunting. Opting to abandon bracing himself, Flyndt twisted onto his back as he slid and propped his pike up at an angle to spear anyone that would descend from the pack.

A prone target is a vulnerable one.

And the cultists knew this well.

Blades, lightsaber and metal alike, took opportunistic strikes. Most he blocked but a saber grazed his right shoulder, searing his flesh through his light armor. The contact broke and his leg freed when he came to rest at the feet of a masked woman sneering down at him. Flyndt leapt to his feet and arced his saberpike wide, beak gritted behind curled lips to the flaring pain in his arms. The woman dancing away, only to be replaced by three others. .

Absolutely surrounded and alone, several meters away from Foxen, his weaknesses shown through like a beacon. Fending off one cultist, another would appear. They alternated blows and tore at cloth and leather and skin, drawing blood where they sliced and stabbed. Plasma raked his back, illiciting a cut off cry before he spun with augmented speed and impaled through a Zabrak, killing them. Withdrawing his blade, he reached for a thread of the Force, intent to snap it like a frayed wire, to send flash of light –

– nothing.

A cold chill down his back, his eyes meeting that masked woman.

The Force felt far and distant, that warning voice in his mind silenced. His body slowing as his coiled muscles loosened and the suppressed pain raged blindingly. Chest heaving, his strikes became parse and desperate as he stumbled between blows. The final blade stabbed into his chest, the woman withdrawing it and letting him fall to his knees within the circle, his pike rolling from his hands. Blood splattering the durasteel below as he sputtered and wheezed, his lung perforated.

His vision faded, a cold darkness encroaching as fingers fistes his feathers and forces his body to stay upright, neck exposed. A raised blade. Visions of his life flashed across his mind, faces of his friends, of Minnie and Siva and Sofila, of Inid Low and Gaile. Of Foxen.

“Nai,” Flyndt croaked, a broken breath, a prayer as death beckoned, “Ama-vil…en no…stari-ri…már…”

Nai thandān te…

Then the darkness swallowed him.

Foxen turned, looked, saw:

Flyndt gone.

No.

Flyndt on the ground.

No!

Bodies between them.

NO NO NO

Flyndt getting further away.

Rains of blows descending.

N O !

A blade through his chestno.Knees.noNo.Mother silent cold.nononostopNoletgoofhimno.Handinhisfeathersnothishurtingno–

Saw:

–nothing but red and those sunset eyes closing. Red blood down an olive and dark face, red staining robes, red on the floor, red on a blade–

He tastes it in his teeth. In his gums. In his lungs. He’s running again and the thing in his way is a gurgling pile on the ground with no trachea, with no skull, rolling across the floor.

Bodies get between them.

He roars and it is silent as the dying prayer.

Asani upon realizing what had happened with the now revealed to be fake hostages sprung to action lighting her saber and taking down as many as she could as quickly as possible. Limbs and bodies burning as she did her best to fight off what was now a bigger problem, until the problem escalated. They were loosing, no lost? a member of the squad, and the other was likely going to be swarmed any minute.

“Dank Farrik” she mumbled to herself taking a deep breath and concentrating used the Force, unleashing a blinding light illuminating everything around her, anyone looking at her would be blinded by the sudden bright light, leaving an opening to finish close by enemies off and anyone who wasnt might now be disoriented by the blinding light.

“YOU WORTHLESS PIECES OF BANTHA SLOP!” she yelled out taunting every enemy in the room. Any distraction to get everyone to safety, or give them an opening to run.

“Come on you cowards! A hutt could fight better than you lot!” she prepared to dodge out of any incoming problems

Circe was happy she had already ran past Asani when the light erupted into the room, she would not be blinded by it, but she felt her shadows fleeing from the light. She was no longer hidden, but the bright light had stunned enough of the fools to be taken down easily. Three of them found their death by her blade without even realizing what happend as she swooshed by the with enhanced speed.

A moment later another body fell to the floor as she advanced towards where Foxen and Flyndt were fighting. She saw what was happening and urged her body to go faster, to be there sooner to help them.

As she went on a trail of bodies was left behind her until she met up with Flyndt’s group.

“Pick on a real fight, will you!”

Perhaps is says something, that she doesn’t even blink, when they turn on them.

When she cuts the throat of the woman she had been cutting the binds of, before their wrists are even all the way free.

But it doesn’t matter.

She remembered the hangar. And she will not let it happen again. She wouldn’t be weak and useless to this fight.

It will be different this time.

Sivall pivoted on the balls of her feet and spun, discarding her borrowed knife as her long and short saber lit, scything in synchronous swipes one after the other to take the arm and then head off the cultist who struck from her right. She stepped past, each footfall carefully placed, silent and swift, just as she’d been molded to be. She took two strides and lanced out, her longer saber’s reach piercing a man through his sternum as he raised his own blade in a mightier, two-handed overhead strike.

He fell, and she went quietly on, a shadow full of shadows, the door thrown open. She slipped silently behind her next foe and placed her blades at spine and stomach, letting him fall. The next tripped to a telekinetic yank at the ankle, and fell on their own vicious alchemical weapon. A deft stab ensured there would be no rising. Lightning was caught on her off-hand shoto, and the perpetrator, no match for the foes – and red-eyed mentor – she had already faced, was not even able to cry out before she lunged. Her balled, tiny fist slammed perfectly into his throat, collapsing his trachea, and she stood just for a moment and listened to him die, to the sound of air through splintered cartilage, weaker and weaker.

She was unstoppable. Deadly. Useful–

The Chiss assassin turned, smiling, ready to cut down the next who had dared to scar her arms to hurt her family and clan–

-

There’s noise. Shouting, taunts.

A blinding flash in the peripheral.

Bodies between them.

A knife at the throat.

He bulls through the others. Lifts the gun, fires. There’s no savagery. Just a bullet. The knife drops. The body drops.

Flyndt drops.

“ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ”

His knees hit the floor. Soak wet with blood. He shoves the corpse away and cradles his home into his lap, in his arms.

His hands are shaking so much so hard he almost drops him no no no I’m sorry please

“ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ, ˡᵒᵛᵉ”

The roaring is so loud in his ears. The darkness closes in, blurred and saw-toothed at the edges. The chest hurts.

He cups a cheek. Too cool already. Eyes closed. No.

no

no

“ˢᵗᵃʸ. ᴶᵘˢᵗ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ.”

Shaking, shaking. Tries to unclip the med pack. Drops it. It’s bloody now. Contaminated. Tries. Slipping on the latches.

Other hand, pressure, apply pressure–

please please please pl ea se eples aeas p e la

“ᴵ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃʸ”

A hitching, dying sound rattles the stocky, deceptively light body that is barely breathing; he’s shaking them both now. Water falls in droplets and soaks into the red-stained robes.

Hand presses over heart, trying to hold blood in. Lips press to desecrated feathers, smoothing them from their blasphemous disarray with ardent care. Noses brush. Cold, wet.

“ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ”

–and sees bodies in her wake. Bodies on the floor. And her friends she swore to protect…

…are two of them.

A broken, throaty whisper, but a scream she knows. Massive dark shoulders and a chest she sutured closed herself, once, heaving with sobs. Head bowed.

From down in the Dark where she’d given herself over to be strong, part of her whispers, no.

No.

No…

Kill them, bids the shadows, so sweetly. This is what you were made for. Fia, Connor…they were too small for you. Too weak to stay, and too foolish to understand. You are more than them.

You are greater.

You are powerful.

Yes. An assassin. A killer. Strong and capable. The Children would pay for delaying her. Anders would pay for mocking her. Ruka would pay for trying to leave her. She–

“ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ”

Red eyes looked up, full of anguish. Begging.

Hah.

Yes, she should be begged. That was a look she could get used to.

“ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ”

She could.

“ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ”

She could!

Their lives are yours–

–and they are mine to protect!

-

With a gasp Siva ripped herself free, the Darkness, displeased, retreating back and seething like a spoilt tooka dumped from its spot. She deactivated her sabers and clipped them to her belt even as she sprinted across the chamber, past Asani drawing attention away from her, past the portal Aiden tended and last Circe covering their comrades’ flank. She dropped down opposite Foxen, the strongest person she knew in so many senses, broken and begging for help. Her hands were so tiny, next to his. She pressed them over his, urging.

“Let me. I’m here. I need you to breathe for me, Foxen, okay? Count to four, in and out. We’ve got him, we’re going to save him, I just need you to let me…”

The Nautolan hybrid wheezed in, sharp and jagged, trembling, and their eyes met.

Red to…red. Not curdled, poison orange.

He nodded, barely, and moved one hand away, giving the medic access to Flyndt’s chest.

A tiny blue hand pressed there in its place, over the sucking wound in his chest. Foxen’s immediately returned over it, unable to be parted. She closed her eyes, summoning up all the good things she had now, all the love, and especially the bond these two held, their love she’d witnessed, their desperation, their choosing each other. She took it all, breathing in the Light, *one, two, three, four…*and breathed it back into the Omwati, a marriage of minds and souls, sinew and bone.

But the familiar fatigue she expected, to feel all of her go into Flyndt, didn’t come. Rather, dark veins erupted over black and orange-speckled flesh. Shallow gasps came from them both, and their eyes met again. Held.

Perhaps there was a price for coming so close to falling, indeed.

A pause, a breath…

Foxen nodded, again. And then his gaze dropped inexorably once more to his beloved’s face.

Siva exhaled and kept going. Willed the wound to close. Willed the heart to beat and lungs to expand. Willed the Omwati to open his eyes.

Live. <@264959101384130560> <@244244400488710155>

Circe would make sure they would be save and finish off anyone getting to close to them, and if they didn’t get to close, she would kill them none the less. No one was going to come out of this alive from these Cultist bastards.

Two of them had formed up a team again to face off against Circe, but she was having none of it. It had already costed them more then needed and she had enough of it.

Pointing her lightsaber at one of them, the other thought it had an opening to attack. Foolishly enough he had fallen into her taunt and she quickly moved sideways, making him lose both his arms. He screamed in horror at what happened, but then got taken by rage and tried to attack her again. The other one jumped into the fight as well, going for an attack from above.

Circe easily blocked the attack and used her other hand to fling the armless man into the attacker with an invisible hand. Both of them tumbled over the floor and came to halt a few paces away from her.

“Silly fools, this will end here,” she hissed as she extended her hand towards them. Electricity erupted from her fingers and racked over their bodies until they both stopped moving.

She then turned back towards Flyndt and Siva. “I could help healing him too, if you want.”

Though he barely took his eyes from Flyndt, the brief look the Nautolan gave was obviously an accepting one. Anything. More. Please, it urged.

Deactivating her lightsaber, she knelt next to Flyndt and rested her hands on his body. Closing her eyes she called upon the Force to help heal his body and poured the healing energy into his body, mending his wounds as she continued on.

One of the remaining cultists saw the carnage around him as the group, minus Flyndt, tore through the horde. The Omwati was bleeding out of the floor…they’d got one of them. But overwhelming fear took hold of the Child of Mortis and he moved to flee.

He made it almost 20 feet. And then he froze. He felt the dark tendrils of energy grab hold of him, pulling him back into the fray. His head began to split from pain as something felt like it was digging into his mind. This…this was true fear. He thought it must’ve been the overwhelming hatred of the beast that had fought on the Omwati’s side.

As he turned midair, he found himself face to helmet with the black, white,and blue armored Mandalorian. This was the one that held him.in such ferocity. Behind his helmet, Aidens Blue-green almost crystalline eyes flashed an orange-ish red. They were like flames dancing across the sea. The cultist could still feel his mind being probed my the outstretched hand of the Mandalorian.

Then, in a silence felt only by the two, Aiden’s voice shattered the illusion.

“You have been weighed,”

The cultist felt searing pain as a black core lightsaber bore through his stomach. He tried to gasp for breath, but as sweat dripped down his face he couldn’t.

“You have been measured,”

A second silvery-white blade forced its way through his flesh alongside the first. He could feel his life force faltering. This was it for him.

“And you have been found most wanting.”

With the flick of the Mandalorians arms, the Child of Mortis fell to the ground, bisected. His lifeless eyes forever frozen in fear.

The armored woman had managed to dispose of most of her troubles, most. One still remained, and upon seeing her distressed squadmates she would take her rage out on what was left.

She dashed to the enemy, headbutting their lower jaw with her helmet, catchig them off guard, saber in hand as she sliced diagonally upward while the cultist fell, slicing their midsection diagonally.

Having sliced them in half she turned her attention back to her allies running toward the group huddled together. Saber light retracting she stood beside Flynt gently attempting to help mend his wounds in any way she could.

Darkness gave way to light, and from the light…grass. A sea of aureate blades rippled and danced under warring breezes as far as the eye can see. The shadows of ancient immovable mountains held on the horizon in a shielding circle, protecting. White specks dotted the landscape, flocking together on land and in flight. With a sigh, Flyndt closed his eyes and tilted his head up as the light of the largest of several suns chased away the cold from his bones and warmed his skin once more. To wear the mold of home but shaped as something more, a place where souls lay to rest or be reborn.

Nostarimár, how odd the afterlife feels so familiar, as if one–

“– Senya.”

Sunset eyes opened, their gaze falling to his right. And stared. Bright amber eyes stared back as pale golden and crimson feathers rustled in the wind – the same length and same stripes adorned on separate heads. Before he knew it, this woman he last saw in the flesh nearly a decade ago was embracing him, him in flesh not torn and bleeding but well and whole– ᴮᵃᵖᵗᶦ

“Look, how you grown. A man wished knew in life, but watching,” his mother stepped back and spoke, pressing two fingers to her heart. Her crest ticked as the wind picked up, stirring the flock of avians he just noticed had surrounded them. A glance over her shoulder, listening, and then a more pressing look back. “Not much time, not your time. You must leave, go back to yours waiting.”

“What? Wait! But I have questions, wait–” the ashy avian sprites, souls, fluttered between them, pushing him back as the wind bellowed.

“Please,” …ₚₗₑₐₛₑ… “Go! Find your brother, Ciris Náro!” his Whi called, a hand outstretched and reaching for the wind itself that wreathed around him.

…ₚₗₑₐₛₑ, ₗₒᵥₑ… ᴼⁿᵉ, ᵗʷᵒ, ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ, ᶠᵒᵘʳ…

‘Fight for him, Náro,’ the airy words licked at his ears before an eruption of bright light blinded all his senses… .

A faint orange light glowed from the fallen saberpike resting on the floor a bit away from the crowded group. The hands of Sivall, Circe, and Asani wrapped with life energy, willed and trusted desperately to work by the Nautolan slumped over the near unmoving body.

ᴼⁿᵉ, ᵗʷᵒ, ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ, ᶠᵒᵘʳ…

The orange light faded.

A gasp, Flyndt’s mended chest flooded with a deep fresh breath of air, expanding. He immediately choked and coughed, hand grabbing onto the arm wrapped around him and hoisting himself just over. Dark blood splatter the metal decking, hacked and vomited up, clearing the once collapsed lung and throat. Several seconds past, he panted with feathers falling and curtaining his face, the back of his hand pressed against his lips till nausea subsided.

The Omwati was soaked, freezing near to the bone. His body felt stiff, mostly around the shoulders and chest, movement causing a twing of pain. Everything that happened prior to unconsciousness came flooding back in a tidal wave. His hand flew to his wounds with a wince, running over the fresh tender scabs over the slashes and burns of his arms, rawer feeling the farther away from his torso. And then his chest. Shaking, he touched it gingerly, expecting some gaping hole but finding not only scabbing but thick mangled scarring.

Right.

Life weaving.

Flyndt…prepped for this, what to expect with being brought back from the brink. And at the same time he felt nothing could prepare him on how jarring, disorienting, and unsettling it felt. To just be okay, your wounds abruptly healed to near non-existing.

Exhale.

Foxen.

He shifted with a grimace onto the balls of his feet, turning, searching, and– meeting crimson orbs beside him where he had been. Flyndt gripped the man’s hand in relief.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Please.

–a pause, a breath.

He gasps.

Sunset eyes fly open, blood and mucus splattering on metal.

Somewhere there is alarm at that, but the wounds are visibly closed, the chest is moving, the breathing is present. Somehow, the body crowds even closer, milimeters, to the Omwati and blocks it bodily from the portal behind them all, full of threat, watching and waiting for the heaving to subside, watching the wounds be checked, watching everyone and everything.

Some part accomplishes this.

But he is just–

Foxen folded over, caving in around Flyndt as his home reached for him and gripped on. He didn’t let his weight fall, bracing on his knees, but it wasn’t careful, too desperate, borderline drunk on despair and relief. It was just–

He grabs onto Flyndt and drags him back into his lap and chest, clutching him as he buries his face in those feathers again and sobs.

He’s too busy clinging to say it with his hands so he uses the ugly broken voice:

“Cir-is, Ciris, Cir– Naró– Fl'ndt, l-ove, lo ve, lo-ve you, my m ine dreammy love y-ou, love, Ciris…”

Blood. Good. He expelled the clots and the sanguine liquid from his lungs so that Flyndt could breathe again, air replacing where blood used to be, allowing oxygen to circulate once more. The coughing, the puking, was good. It meant the Omwati was alive. It means it had worked.

Siv sunk back onto her knees in relief, her shoulders slumping from the ever familiar exhaustion. Her arms burned with the ichor that had marred their surface, the black fluid that she recognized from Ruka’s near-death experience at Port Kasiya.

She had danced too close to a black hole and had nearly lost herself– and now she had the scars to prove it.

But it was fine. This was fine. She had saved Flyndt, with help of course. If it weren’t for Circe and Asani she likely would have collapsed trying to heal the near-fatal wounds the male of the pair had suffered.

The scars were worth it. These were scars she’d wear with pride.

Foxen started to sob, brokenly, as she felt her heart shatter in her chest and spasm painfully. Foxen was by far one of the strongest people she knew, a mountain of a man– unmoveable like Karran, with an edge and deadly aim. To see him so utterly broken in front of her… Images of her sobbing in a similar manner over Ruka flashed in the back of her mind. Then Fia. Of holding her tiny body in her arms and crying till it hurt to breathe.

Was this what it was like every time Alex held her, near death, rushing her to help?

The medic gripped at her pants, ignoring the screaming blisters around her fingers as tears stung at her eyes.

No. No more. No more would she hurt her family like this.

When she brought herself to speak, it was in unpracticed and wavering Mando'a, her normal posh Coruscanti accent suffering from her attempt to mock Alexander’s accent when he spoke the language.

“I-Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur…” Today is a good day for somebody else to die.

And then a soft smile, the smile of a doctor, a savior, a healer. And then a copied handsign, one she had seen so many times, despite Foxen and Flyndt trying to hide it, trying to be sneaky.

O.K.

<@417336769181122562> <@244244163002892288> <@244244400488710155> <@142850390738731009>

Aiden was getting real tired of all of these Crystal creatures. The constant sense of danger was getting to the Mandalorian. He came to this station here for upgrades, repairs, and to see an old acquaintence in the Regent, and here he was once again fighting an oversized Crystal abomination.

The Balance Adherent reached out with his stregnth calling the Force to act as his guide. The Force put pressure on the creature, barring down hard. Anyone watching could see the cracks appearing on its Crystal structures as the Rancor roared out in pain.

“I…will…break you!”

The creature seemed to resist the damage somewhat but it still felt the immense pain.

With a ferocious swipe of its fist, the Rancor tried to.deal a devastating blow to Aiden. He managed to block out most of the damage, but he was still knocked off his feet. He felt drained from his previous overuse of power. We would have to be careful moving forward.

Asani had grown angry at the ammount of crystal creatures and crazy things the group had experienced, she knew theybwere going to struggle but this was ridiculous. Nearly loosing one of their own didnt help.

“DANK FARRIK JUST LEAVE” the shorter mandalorian shouted as she summoned the help of the Force willing it into the shape of a hammer and charging at the crystal creature.

With one strong swipe she managed to break off some of the crystals from the rancor, and although it attempted to swipe at her she managed to dodge the creatures attack.

Arms had pulled him into a quaking body, and Flyndt had shifted along with them, allowing. His own hands found new purchase, an arm wrapping around the Nautolan’s thick neck and fingers catching hold of armor. Warm breath battered his feathers and heat pressed against him where his pinned elbow did not provide space. His name uttered and croaked and rasped centimeters above his ear, desperate and thankful exclamation. A part of him felt it all, felt it in a fuzzy zone of consciousness and held tight to it, but his mind was numb, empty. The Omwati could not form a word back, could not will his hand to make the shape of ilu into his partners shoulder. So he just held Foxen, while being held himself, and stared past his shoulder at the warbling portal–

It abruptly expanded.

Creatures pooled out and fled, and then…

Then a beast larger than the Terentatek from the hangar stepped out and roared.

A twisted version of Archian’s Candy and Lollipop.

His eyes widened and his heart thudded against his chest as adrenaline rose with that blood-curdling noise. Flyndt shifted in Foxen’s hold and found the man unmoving, too sunken in the emotions of nearly loosing his lover, his home, his everything. With a wince, the omwati braced his knees against the other’s hips and cupped the Nautolan’s cheek firmly.

ᶠᶦᵍʰᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᶦᵐ, ᴺᵃʳᵒ…

“Foxen. Look at me.” Crimson eyes met the purple and orange of his own. “Focus. I need you to fight with me, for us and them. O.K?” .

A shift in features, dark brows furrowing and jaw locking. Signs of a mission identified and accepted. Mission: Survive and Get the Puhta Out of Here. With a quick sigh, Flyndt twisted and fixed his attention on the raging crystalline rancor. He reached out to its mind with the Force and started to weave a disruption to its vision. And failed.

The beast whipped its head towards the pair still knelt on the ground in a pool of blood, his blood, and roared. Spittle and crystal gnashed together, amplifying the sound that rang painfully through his ear drums. A slight cry of discomfort and surprise escape him as a hand pressed to his ear and he ducked his forehead against Foxen’s shoulder.

SmelloffeathersshakingbreathsunseteyesateseedsandfruitforbreakfasttheyjustwokeupthismorningitsmorningitsnotyoureokayyoureokayO.K.O.K.O.KiloveyouineedyoupleasestaybloodsomuchbloodREEKSnoNONOpleaseloveSivahelphadseedsthismorningitwasfinefindGailedoesntmatternomissionkillmetooiwantnopleasestaystaySTAYfeathersyoureO.K.WEREO.K.weregoinghomebringyouhomeipromisedontleavemeLOVEhelpicantwithoutyou–

Input: “Look at me.”

Accepted.

The eyes move.

Input: “Focus.”

Confirm.

Input: “I need you to fight with me, for us and them. O.K.?”

Okay.

O.K.

Confirm.

Mission: fight, confirmed.

The home twists, moves. Target: crystal rancor thing roars. The home vocalizes pain, ducks into the shoulder.

The lips pull back, bearing teeth in snarl, category:animal to category:animal. The arms move. One cups back of home’s skull, holding secure, while the body lifts and lunges. The other arm retrieves fallen rifle, uses specialized practiced motion to chamber the next round without both hands. Tosses the rifle up, catches it farther down the barrel, sets it to the shoulder and raises to the eye.

Target: rancor is facing them, roaring, eyes fixed.

Target: eye.

Aim.

Fire.

The shoulder thuds back, but the body is strong and does not move beyond millimeters. The massive slug at this close range and firepower pulverizes directly through eye/orbital/socket, spraying viscera and crystal. Target: rancor roars again, blinded on one side.

The body performs tactical retreat, reversing 2.3 m as it reloads, standby: home orders.

As soon as the monster Rancor entered the room she disappeared from view. What it could not see, it couldn’t attack. She switched to her rifle and sought some distance to attack it, hoping to distract and hurt it enough so that the others would have better chances to attack it again in a more save way.

When she found a good spot she knelt and aimed her rifle at the big ugly head. Taking a moment she pulled the trigger and a shot suddenly appeared into view and Circe disappeared just as quickly again.

She hit the rancor full in it’s face and it roared in pain.

‘Bingo,’ she tought silently and was on the move again.

Of course there was more, of course they were in danger again. Frustration boiled in her— could the universe not spare a moment to let Foxen and Flyndt recover? Siva slowly stood, her hands tiny little fists at her side.

A mass if Cheunh swears fell from her lips as everyone scrambled to action. The wheels in her head turned as she thought of counter attack options.

Her best weapon was herself, unfortunately.

She started at a jog but quickly picked up speed into a full sprint towards the hulking crystalline mass in front of them.

She could hear Ruka, hypothetically, in her mind swearing at her in mirilian and asking her what in the kark she was thinking.

She was thinking of Foxen, still reeling from the loss of his love no matter how brief it was. She was thinking of Asani who was so small and easily crushed. She was thinking of those poor ACE officers hopefully still alive in the building somewhere who definitely would not survive against this… thing.

She landed a Force-imbued punch to its ugly face, causing the crystals to fracture where her knuckles hit. The rancor swiped at her, but she danced back out of its reach.

“COME ON BIG AND UGLY, YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT.”

The kinetic shockwave rippled through the floor. He managed to keep balance where he was partially held and perched on Foxen.

“Setting down, need to move,” Flyndt half informed, half asked. The Nautolan complied with a brief moment of hesitation.

On his own two feet, the Omwati exhaled and fixed his attention on the corrupted Rancor, his ears still ringing. He was trying to avoid running up to it to melee, not after earlier. Although the fear he had felt in the hangar has not risen. Seeing the beast only has one eye remaining, he called to his partner and verbalized to the others.

“Brighting, shield!”

Giving a second for their eyes to avert, he snapped the threads of Force nearby – a meager flash of light before that humongous eye. Puhta! He was still fumbling with his abilities. That large red sole gaze snapped to him and the Rancor started moving–

DENY, blared the Mission.

Confirm.

The hand drew knives from holsters. The arm chambered, the aim steady, throwing in quick, vicious succession with maximum force as the eye turned towards Home. Five silver flashes flew.

Metal slammed into crystal, embedding, cracking. Then metal to metal, hammering deeper.

Again.

Crack!

Again.

Crcrckaaakkk!

Previous projectiles fell along with crystalline chunks, and that red eye pulsed and–

–burst, two knives piercing it at once, digging into orbital socket and lodging there inside the skull interior, aqueous and vicious fluids spraying and leaking from pulped cornea. The rancor roared.

The body moved, repositioning again to be in intercept position to Home now that Home was maneuvering on its own.

Anxiety for that: ignored.

Mission.

Aiden, still worn out from his last assult on the Rancor attempted to utilize his Telekinetic prowess again. Unfortunately before he was able to catch hold of the crystal beast and carry out his plan, the Rancor grabbed hold of him, lifting him off his feat. The Rancor began to tighten its grip as it roared, and Aiden grunted out as he was wracked with pain. If not for his Beskar he would have likely been crushed.

Circe looked around for something else that could distract the giant monster from getting Aided crushed even further. Shooting it didn’t seem to do enough of a distraction. When she spotted crates a bit away from it a grin grew on her face.

Slinging her rifle onto her back she moved closer towards the crates to have optimal range for what she wanted to do. Once in position she held out her hands towards the crate with explosives and concentrated.

Slowly the crate lifted up from the ground and with a sweep of her arms, the crate followed the same trajectory and flew straight into it’s big ugly face. The explosives exploded and the monster roared in pain as its face got burned and maimed by the explosion.

She now just hoped it was enough for the freak to let go of Aiden.

Cloaked, shrouded the silent cold of the force, Sivall disappeared from sight. Now that she was up close and personal she needed to try her best to be less of a target…

Which somehow only made her a bigger target.

The beast swung for her and clipped her, but only just barely. Her cloak held at first. The Chiss thought she was okay.

She summoned her sabers and attempted to stab them into the Rancor’s arm, to assist Circe with freeing their Mandalorian comrade.

The blades bounced off harmlessly, doing no damage. Karking crystal kist… And now the Rancor knew where she was. It used its other massive hand and grabbed her as well, squeezing hard.

Siv heard her own ribs crack. The medic screamed, her force cloak failing. She was much more fragile than Aiden, and had no armor. She wouldnt last long.

Hearing the screams Asani charged at the beast saber lighting the way in what she could only expeess maybe some form of rightous fury. But it did little to help, as her saber seemed to be as effective as kicking a steel door barefoot.

The beast didnt take kindly to her charge as it kicked her back, sending her flying towards crates and burrying her in a heap of heavy weaponry. She bit her lip and did her best to stiffle any kind of noise that might indicate she had been injured. This wasnt good, they needed to take this thing down.

Flyndt raised his arm protectively before him as he felt the curdled tendrils of tainted energy rippling off the beast. His gaze flicked to the pile of crates he had seen Asani careen into, then to the pair clutched tight in the beast’s hands. Siva. A split second decision foregone his shorter beskad blade for his saberpike’s reach, retrieved from beside the pool of his own blood.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Pivot. Run. The Force weaved into his straining muscles. Slicing across its legs with a weak attack, the Rancor only growled and swung down at him with the armored Mandalorian in its hands. Flyndt rolled out from beneath the blow, evading it. He landed crouched and panting, his should and chest wounds aching where the movement pulled at scars and scabs. Twisting back, a curse left his lips. His strike did nothing against the Rancor’s rage.

Mission: FIGHT.

Mission: “fight with me for us and them”.

CONFIRM.

Confirm.

The body follows Home into close quarter combat, stowing pistol and letting rifle sling drop while drawing sword in practiced, mechanical movements. The offhand draws the dagger that accompanies the blade.

The body advances.

Home runs pivots, weaves, rolls–NOokOKhesokayitsokaymovego–twisting around and cursing. The body increases speed, arms lifting. Muscles tense and strain and then the foot plants and pivots. It swings, from ground to hip to shoulder, cleaving beskad into ichorous crystal brachial which holds object: world saver: Siva. The Mandalorian longsword carves into rocky fleshy, is pulled free, and cuts again, the body maneuvering around flailing limbs and roaring mouth, the offhand dagger stabbing into approximate location of median nerve on humanoid creature in hopes of paralyzing hand and releasing the Siva. Whether or not effective, result is: beastial screaming, the crystal fingers let go. The Chiss is dropped.

The body repositions again, keeping the enemy at its front, Siva positioned behind it while she regains footing. Home is to the left of the body.

Home still breathes, and so Mission continues.

Fight.

Screams, her screams? Movement. People trying to free her. Another rib cracked, causing pain to shoot through her torso. Fragile, malnurished bones screamed for relief. Black touched the edges of her vision, the dark side whispering in her ear.

I can save you. You can save you. Give in. Give in Zosi'val'ria.

That’s not my name.

Her mental reply coinsided with Foxen’s flury of attacks, causing the Rancor to finally free her. Breath rushed into her lungs and scortched the flesh it touched. The sensation of being asphixiated was not a new one to her, but not one she particularly enjoyed. The Nautolan hybrid watched over her as she stumbled to her feet, that familiar feeling of ice cold nails raking up her back appearing as she began to come back to.

The dark side called.

She heard so many conflicting voices in her head. Ruka, Bril, Connor, Anders, Alexandyr, Minnie, Foxen..

Sanguine eyes flicked to the side to observe the dark spiderweb of corruption on the shark-man’s arms, slightly oozing brackish fluid. Her doing, her mistake, because she had trusted the dark side. But.. the dark side was all she had experience in. She was still a fledgling in the Light, it didn’t answer to her like the Dark did. And she couldn’t be weak here– so many people would die if she did.

Her entire body sagged as she gave in again, gave in to the whispers, the Dark Side blanketing her like a dovet made of iron. Sanguine eyes turned a sick red-gold color once more.

The Chiss Assassin weaved her way close to the Rancor, dodging it’s child like flailing, her eyes focused on her target of choice– it’s throat. One she was in position, she raised one boot covered foot and kicked with all her might. The strike connected with the Rancor’s throat and the crunch that echoed through the room would’ve turned the stomach of a weaker person.

The beast’s roar cut off as it’s voicebox was inhilated, only air escaping where thunderous noise once was.

Queiet, controlled, channeling her mentor– the karking High Inquisitor –Sivall stared at the beast, eyes narrowed. It was a challenge and a statement in one go.

I will end you.

Circe moved again to a new vantage point to take aim for her next shot. When she found one she grabbed her rifle from her back again and took aim.

As she was aiming she felt the darkside effects creep over her, making her feel more uneasy as she did before. Trying her best to ignore it she took her shot and missed the monster. A curse left her lips as she missed and shook her head, trying to clear it and hoping for a new opening to get a shot lined up.

Still within the clutches of this crystallized Rancor, Aiden was unable to break free. A flurry of emotion surged through his body, and that was what he wanted. His anger, his fear, while these were disadvantages to some, the Mandalorian channeled his feelings and turned them into raw power.

With full concentration and subtle gestures of his hands, his two lightsabers detached from his utility belt and fist in the air. The blades ignited midair and the floating laser swords began to spin in midair. One of the blades quickly carved into the Rancor’s arm, and it dropped Aiden from its clutch. As he fell, the other blade cut into the creatures chest.

Plummeting to the ground, Aiden lost control of his weapons. They turned off, bit before falling the Rancor grabbed them and threw the holes in its own maw. Aiden looked at the creature with fury.

“Bad move, alive or dead you’ll feel the it as my blades carve through you and return to me.”

The commotion of those trapped and freeing themselves, Aiden managing to use his sabers and her own aunt managing to silence the beast.

She needed to help everyone no matter what. Even if she had been injured, she had more than enough fight in her to spare.

Freeing herself from beneath the crates she began to focus. The image in her mind clear, the destruction of the Rancor and the safety of her team. She ran at the beast again, not allowing it the same opportunity to catch her off guard or lacking focus hopping up in order to make sure she didnt miss this time, spinning in the air charging up to brace for the impact. Her focus on the Force allowing her ‘hammer’ to make contact with the beast. A spectacle of flesh desintegrating as the kushiban landed nearly faltering because of her injuries but staying standing.

The body pivoted, blades still free, as the others crushed and ripped the enemy the rest of the way apart.

Fight. Protect.

The voice came through, and more appeared in the portal, and the body swung the blade, repositioning between Home and the portal, stowing the dagger for speech.

Deny. Fight. Protect.

The offhand signs, robotic, firm:

DENY. DANGER. CLOSE.

Mission.

Fight.

Fight with me for us and them.

Fight.

<@244244400488710155>

Siv reached down, picking up one of the crystalline chucks from the rancor in her hand. The Dark whispered to her about how she could use it, use it for power, find answers to stop this tragedy from happening again. She couldn’t do anything for those here, but she could perhaps prevent it in the future. She could do it, she knew she could. It would only take one sample…

As she stood she felt cold metal against the side of her neck. Precise, steady. Sickly red-gold eyes slowly floated to the side to look at who dared to put a blade to her neck… only to find Foxen. His yes were still positioned on the portal, ready, waiting for the next wave. Flyndt was at his back.

The hand sign from the shark was fast, as firm as his hold on the dagger to her neck.

No.

Don’t listen to him, you hold so much power in your hands-

Tiny pale blue fingers released the chunk, the Chiss’s indigo lips hardening. The chunk of crystal shattered on impact against the ground.

If I do not come back, deal with me. I don’t want to go home like that.

Her body relaxed and she looked forward once more, awaiting what would happen next. She would need to apologize several times over and thank Foxen when they returned to Selen. Even when everyone else treated her like she was fragile, niave, a child, Foxen never did. And he always held her accountable.

Red-gold faded away to soft sanguine once more, the medic returning. She would need to talk to Ruka when he awoke, and Zuji.

‘Please help…’

‘…there’s hundreds of us…’

‘Let them go.’

Flyndt stiffened where he had shifted after Foxen. His eyes locked on those two souls trying to escape the portal. A large hand moved in his peripheral. He saw the signs, the Nautolan’s firm orders and the suggestion that this could be danger, another trap or some vile plan. He really saw that, heard that.

But.

If someone had the chance to rescue his people or the Omwatis taken in the past…he can not step back and leave them!

A blur at his side, Flyndt pivoted to watch the blade reach Sivall’s throat. He saw the sharp ‘no’. Brow furrowing and crimson crest flaring, Flyndt spat at them. “Stop it! We need to get them–”

As he took a couple steps backwards towards the portal and turned, he saw the cold metal of a blaster aimed at him –

Steel ended with beskar as the small mandalorian aimed. The sound of blaster and armor greeting eachother at her shoulder barely audible.

“Stow it. Focus. Portal.” Asani sugggested to Siv and Foxen. It seemed like the voice was not eminating from her body. It lacked the echoed sound typical of a helmet or of a voice being covered by something. It was clear. Loud. As if she was speaking next to their ears. Or even from within.

“I suggest you ask the big guy to stand down, that’s my aunt after all. I wont shoot unless I have to.” she spoke, her voice now audible with the echoed quality of someone wearing a helmet as she warned Flyndt of her intention. She seemed adament on having Siv be safe before anything else took priority. “You seem to be the reasonable one, id appreciate you reasoning him off her.”

The crystal dropped.

4.4 seconds

Confirm, confirm. Disengage.

The arm began to retract.

4.01 seconds

“Stop it!–”

Input: stop it.

Confirm, in progress.

“–We need to get them!”

Input: Get Them. Confirm. Mission: Fight, For Them and Us, Sub-Mission: Rescue Potentially Infected Civilian, confirmed. Routine: purge: denied.

2.3 seconds

A blaster lifts.

Words invade the mind.

The muzzle pointed at Home.

2.2 seconds

The arm whips around, no longer falling away from the Chiss, beskar knife leaving fingers with brutal, perfect precision and maximum strength. The other arm is already dragging Home behind the body, the body is moving, the body braces to absorb plasma burn.

BPRRRIIING!

Beskar rings against metal, a flashpoint spray of blood from grazed knuckles, tiny in comparison to the intended piercing and pinning of metacarpals to floor. The fingers were pulling the trigger. The Asani would have shot.

The body aimed for the hand first, to prevent harm to Home, to not immediately execute the object: category: Ally; category: Siva: niece.

The mind recalculates.

Threat to Home.

The sword will fall.

Mission blares.

Circe shook her head at the others having problems with themselves and started to help the people from the gate. Thought she would make sure that any with infections would be pushed back into the gate, none of that would be permitted here again.

The Mandalorian had her sights, the intent was to graze rather than kill, she wouldve preffered not to have needed to take the shot at all. But the big guy was too rash and she wasnt the type to take a hit and not respond in kind. Not that she had much choice in her reactions as her hand had pulled the trigger the second the dagger raced her way.

Her hand had an annoying sting now and the large fellow would find himself with a stinging sensation of his own. On his leg just a bit below his hip. Nothing too serious but they had a fair trade. She could live with it, he wasnt near Siv and that’s what mattered to her.

Fire. Fire and brimstone. But from where? From what? Sanguine eyes were tightly closed, trying to focus on the details wavering in from the force.

Nothing concrete. Damn. If only Bril was here. He was always better at this force vision stuff. Maybe he could have gotten a better read.

The clang of metal on metal caused her eyes to snap open. What she was greated with was her friends, her comrades, staring eachother down looking about two seconds from a fist fight. A gasp escaped her, then a huff of annoyance– While she appreciated Asani’s loyalty, Foxen had only been doing what she had asked of him.

“Can we not?!” she exclaimed, gesturing to the portal, “People need help! There’s a time and place for this, and it’s not here.”

Three hand signs to Foxen.

Mission. Flyndt. Understood.

A few more.

I help. Keep him safe.

She knew no matter what Foxen would protect Flyndt. Very few people shared or knew the type of bond those two had. Were she in Foxen’s shoes… She undoubtedly bring down anyone who harmed or threatened to harm Alex. Home. Protecting Home. She knew how that felt.

Jogging, the Chiss closed the distance, helping Circe to pull people from the portal, but kept her awarness up all the same. Should anything make it through the portal that was not friendly, she would act.

The Asani took the muzzle away from Home. That was all that mattered. Not the words of the Siva, nor the signs, though they were noted. Underneath the Mission, in the self, even appreciated. The Mission acknowledged, but no more.

The eyes look to Home, but orders have already been expanded: get them. Calculating: logical conclusion, civilian hostages in portal the Home cares about.

The body moves. Stows sword. Proceeds to withdrawal rope fibercord from pack. Extends fibercord in vambrace. Knots the ends together expertly to create longer additional tether. Ties the other end around support pillar beside munitions crates. Tests weight/strain at maximum force.

Confirm.

Ties the body into the harness. Set ignore: restraint.

Ignore.

Ignore.

Turns to the portal and approaches, signalling to Home: going in confirm get them confirm.

To the Siva: keep safe confirm confirm.

The body steps to the edge.

<@244244400488710155>

Exhale.

Flyndt’s shoulders dropped as the tension broke between the four and he straightened from his coiled position, having been preparing to get between Asani and Foxen. His mind flicked through the past several seconds, trying to process past them and get back to what he was doing. In the words of the Kushiban, ‘Focus. Portal.’ Seeing Foxen prepare to enter the portal, Flyndt shook his head and darted between the stumbling victims and rescuers. He grabbed the fibercord and nodded to the Nautolan.

“I am coming with.”

A pause. A warring torrent between what the man wanted and what he respected. Eventually, Foxen gave a minute nod. ‘Tie in…please.’

After the Omwati did just that, the two entered the portal and started aiding more people out. Offering a hand, a step up, a literal shove-throw.

Circe was happy that they started to help gettin the people out the portal and made sure that they were moving along on this side. She pushed and pulled people from the portal and told them to move away from it so that others could also get to safety.

“How many are still left in there? We need to go now!” Circe asked, hoping people in the portal would somehow hear their question or if some of the saved people would give an answer. She didn’t like the idea of becoming space dust after all these years.

While Foxen and Flyndt worked diligently to keep pulling, pushing, lifting, and evacuating people in the liminal space of Ethereal Realm through the portal above, the chaos carried on on the other side, Asani diligently watching each new arrival with blaster in hand. Despite his mechanical motions, Foxen was inevitably most careful with each child, passing them upwards into light with the utmost care, as gently as bird eggs in a nest, as gently as he’d hold his Home. He tucked a small, crying Twi'lek boy too little to climb into Flyndt’s arms and brushed a hand over little lekku in comfort, stare unblinking and face a blank black red granite slab, then boosted the Omwati up.

Flyndt’s head broke through just in time to hear the tail end of the announcement and Circle’s warning. He passed the toddler to Siva, Aiden funneling people onward and onward down through the halls, assisting groups en masse with telekinetic lifts. There wasn’t time left.

Back on the other side, the body that was Foxen continued Mission: Get them, running to stragglers as far out as the harness allowed him and then running them back, over and over.

<@244244400488710155>

“Take the others! There is few more. We shall get, come after!” Flyndt called before disappearing back into the portal for the next.

“Oh for kriffs sake” the warning announcement along with the sounds of metal warping blared around the kushiban. This wasn’t an ideal situation, they needed to get out. The urgency of it lent itself to rash decisions. “A team is still a team” she mumble at herself while deciding to take matters into her own hands.

“GET MOVING NOW” she yelled at everyone, whatever stragglers were left she would have to deal with. She stared at the portal for a moment “I hate that big guy I hate that big guyIhatethatbigguy” she held onto the cords keeping what she could of her body on the safe side of the portal, her tail and legs her anchors keeping her from falling in completely. Once she peeked inside, finding all of her targets, she focused. She would need a vacation after this mission.

They were likely going to crash into her but right now wasn’t the time to focus on how injured she could get, just on getting everyone out. “WE NEED TO GO!” she yelled at her team, pulling them and everyone else she could spot within the portal out back into the station. The pull wasnt gentle but it wouldnt whiplash them either. They may have landed in a not so gentle fashion but they would hopefully live to fight another day. “GO GO GO” She frantically yelled at everyone, doing her best to shake off any hurt and get going as fast as possible.

The body is airborne.

FIGHT, the Mission blares, recalculating amidst Sub-mission: Get Them, the eyes noting that the enemy plane empties of civilian targets as well. The eyes go to Home. The body adjusts upon landing, muscles coiling, knives in hand. Home: secure.

Search.

Fight.

Assessing.

No immediate incoming attack. Instead, the Asani shouts. The targets run. The eyes clock around, the ears record the input of: evacuate station.

The body does not move. Evacuation is not the order.

Home makes a sound like brrt and yanks on the harness, on the arm, says, “Foxen! Come on!” Sunset eyes more beautiful than infinite skyscapes in a tired, too-stressed face that should only ever smile search the self, and understanding is there. The beautiful crimson crest ticks flat, then rises. Home tugs again, snaps fingers. “Foxen stop. O.K.? Did good, got them, fight over. We have to go, come. Go. We run, leave! Please!”

New orders: confirm.

Input: go, confirm.

Home confirm confirm confirm.

The body moves, slicing through rope harness and tether, freeing both the body and Home. The arms lift up Home, who is also athletic but was damaged/deceased 14.33.07 incalculable minutes ago. The mind determines: efficiency.

The self underneath: needs this.

The body runs, joining the throng of fleeing/trampling/panicked animal humanoid crowd. There is shoving and telekinetic frakery. The eyes search for crystal threat or any other threat but do not find any. There is fire. The smoke burns. The smell and heat make echoes in the mind.

The memory files: the Pit find no purchase on the body now.

Nothing could be so horrible as the previous 14.42.02 minutes.

Nothing.

Set: ignore ignore ignore.

Mission: “Go, we need to go, run.”

Mission: get Home home. <@244244400488710155>

Circe was pushing everyone along to hurry down the hallways to the hangars and escape pods or what ever there was to get them to safety. She didn’t care, all she cared about was getting them to move as fast as possible away from the portal and into safety.

“I’m sorry for this!” she shouted and held out her hands towards the people in front of her. With a Force push she shoved everyone down the hallway as if she was cleaning the room with a broom. People were stumbling forward at the increased momentum, but soon were running at full speed towards the nearest escape of the station.

Chaos.

Destruction.

Fear. Screams. Fire.

Bodies scrambled for ships. Orders shouted over the terrified din, screeching metal and blaring alarms. Soldiers ushered civilians and personnel into spacecraft. Was there enough? Will they all fit?

A stained gloved hand pressed against Foxen’s chest and another on his tense forearm, Flyndt pulling himself out of his hold. Crimson eyes met his sunset orbs, pleading and desperate but also submissive and waiting for an order. His gut twisted. He hated that – His movement pulled on healing wounds and fresh scars. There was not time to talk about it. The time was thirty minutes, no, seven years delayed. For now they needed to act. To survive.

“Let me down.”

The arm relaxed, a barest nod. An order given. Flyndt exhaled and looked to those wandering lost and aimless, frozen in fear nearby. He looked to Asani and Siva, then to the Nautolan once more as he urged, “We need to take some onboard. Foxen?”

Siv had followed, dilligently, behind the bird and shark. She had deftly dodged fire and debris and now was shoving people into one of the ACE’s nearby ships. For once she didn’t ask for consent, didn’t try to explain.

She had to save someone, anyone.

“Please hurry! Maddison will get you out safe but you have to GO!”

Another bare nod, red locking to sunset in absolution. The large Nautolan began grabbing people by their collars, clothes, arms, hauling and tossing adults up onto the ramp of Khal Hatal while children were set more gently. The calculated mass/cargo space, accounting for further load of Home + Siva + the Asani, subtracting the self.

Flyndt aided in directing people into the ship. At some point climbing up into it to adjust those inside about to ensure more can fit, checking pushing and panic lest anyone be trampled.

The jediit meatshield takes civilians and makes for his own craft. The beetle female melts similarly into the masses with sufficient practic skill of a remarkable trained assassin. As the crowding of bodies dwindled along with available oxygen levels and deck plating and the fire increased, the eyes searched. Locked on target: blue.

The body waded out to where the Chiss was helping civilians onto another transport, clamped hand around tiny tiny blue hand and yanked, pulling bodily.

The medic immediately resisted such a maneuver, the other fist striking out at a targeted nerve cluster in the forearm. Numbing/pain erupted, but the muscle is thick, and the body disciplined. It is not enough to cause release. The body pulls. The Siva struggles.

“I have to help–”

Temperature of air: too hot for guilt-ridden speeches.

DENY NEED YOU FLYNDT, the insufficient hand snaps while pulling, pulling, inexorable. The bodies return to the ship which Home is upon, signalling to the Omwati to begin takeoff procedures. The Asani leapt in atop the Siva’s shoulder on the way. All necessary bodies accounted for.

The Foxen moves to step off, fist slamming latch close button, cedeing the unbearable body mass for higher speed of takeoff by 0.00000000002 m/s, but makes a last check in to Home, because it–

I love you.

He–

Please, love, please no, no no no, please.

Can’t not.

Red meets sunset, climbing up the hangar ladder.

…Ciris…

Sees realization.

Widening of alarm.

Scream of denial.

Hears the call:

“FOX! NO! COME! PLEASE!”

The Omwati is going to jump off the ladder. Delay takeoff procedure: danger. Danger: deny.

Input: please, accepted.

The body heaves itself back over the rising ramp, rolling down and landing on all fours. It climbs back up, pushing through the tightly-packed cabin via sheer force and emerging at the ladder.

“With me,” Home snaps, hoarse. “With. Me. Come.”

He climbs. The body climbs after.

Once they made it to the top of the ladder, Foxen was met face to face with a very upset Chiss. Asani had departed from shoulders, thank the gods because the Mandalorian armor she wore was karking heavy and she was already at critical energy capacity. If it hasn’t been for the force she would have collapsed under the Kushiban’s weight.

But now she was free to move, and to speak,

It only took a heartbeat before Sivall began talking aggressively in Cheunh, hands splaying and flailing, giving angry half signs. Foxen would catch “bastard”, “Dumb lovable shark”, and “care” somewhere in the quick onslaught of a foreign language he didn’t know and a demenor the medic usually never took. Sanguine eyes were filled with tears.

Forcing her onto the ship? She could forgive that. It was necessary. Pointing a blade at her neck? Also necessary, she was losing her grip and putting everyone in danger. Aiming another knife at Asani? She was a big girl and had started the fight on her own.

Deciding that leading himself behind was acceptable? Unforgivable.

Finally the Cheunh broke now that the Aedile was out of breath and weakened from her emotions, her legs threatning to give out, her already pale skin drained of a good deal of it’s color in the stark ship lights.

“We care about you and love you, Foxen! How could you even consider leaving yourself behind?! Not only would that absolutely break Flyndts karking damn heart–” A finger was pointed to the Omwati standing just a few feet away as she mentioned his name, “–But how would he complete his mission without you, without your help? How would he do what he needs to do knowing he lost you? How would he continue on, find his brother, under the weight of your loss? PLUS– I am not telling Minnow I let her brother get blown to fracking pieces on an exploding space station! I refuse to hold her while she unravels because you don’t see the importance in your own life! You and Bril are all she has!”

The Medic let out a harsh breath, feeling like she might fall over.

“I know that’s rich coming from me, pot calling the kettle blah blah insert human phrase here, but that’s why this should mean something coming from me of all people.” She was silent for a few seconds.

“Never again, Foxen Erinos. I will drag all one hundred and seventy-five ravri'ihah kilos of you onto this ship by the fracking horns. I might not be your commander but that will not stop me!”

Thankfully it had been a simple to reach past heaving Chiss and engage the autopilot while the words flew at maximum volume from smallish body – which the self knew from most precious experience were the bodies that could make the most noise, eg. Flyndt, Minnow – and continued as the indeed actively exploding space station became a point in the thruster burn. Their vessel joined the flight path of many others fleeing. The body stood with respirations and heart rate elevated owing to physical exertion/heat exposure/dwindling oxygen/dehydration and psychogenic shock symptoms. The eyes stared at the blue female screaming at him of loss and physically impossible dragging maneuvers. Somewhere below, the self feels the words. It has opinions, buried right now under an unspeakable, yawning combination of grief and gratitude that will consume the everything. The ears just record the auditory input for later examination, should there be a later.

Eventually the words pause, then stop. The Chiss may fall over. The body points at the medium-sized sleeping compartment down the short port hallway and then turns towards Home.

Mission: fight. Help us.

But there are no present identified enemies.

Mission: help get them.

But they have been gotten or are dead.

Mission: get them inside.

The cargo hold is full. And I don’t care if it’s rabbit, man, woman, or fraking baby, they can’t have *your*our bed.

What now.

The body takes the two steps to Home. Drops to the knees. Stares at the birthmarked face that is alive. Water/saline solution issues from the eyes and down the cheeks. The eyes are erroring.

What now.

<@244244400488710155>

A crowd of Fear. Despair. Pain. Anger. Hopelessness. Pulsating through the haul, into his being and against his mind.

Horned visage, red eyes, stepping back–

FOX! NO! COME!

The flashes of light from the hangar, of curling clouds of explosions. Leather clad fingers ghosting over controls. Inhale, exhale. A wall of resolve, shutting out emotions not of his own, its foundation quaking at the base. One goal: leave, get home, live–

A shadow loaming beside him brought Flyndt snapping back to awareness in the cabin, to Foxen completing the process and engaging the autopilot, to the sounds of foreign words dripped heavily in outrage, of Asani poised and watching the exchange. He pivoted himself to face them as the ship lurched forward and away from the exploding station. A hand pointed at him, mentions of broken heart and mission, of his brother and of Minnow losing hers. His chest tightened, emotions welling in a turbulent storm, seconds from snapping at the room itself –

Then Foxen knelt in front of him.

The wall cracked and the Omwati’s shoulders slumped with a sigh. Exhaustion blanketed his mind. His own fear, despair, anger, remorse, all of it still present yet felt far away and muffled, body heavy. Reaching out, he touched two fingers to his partner’s temple, tracing down to his sharp cheekbone before sighing and dropping his hand. Flyndt cleared his strained throat and sat down in the co-pilot’s chair. A hand gestured to the other, a faint exasperated but pleading tone as he spoke.

“Help me. Fly us–” he paused, a glance towards the haul. A recollection of all those displaced, “to Arx.”

“Then, we go home.”

Circe looked around the people that were now packed into the hold to see if anyone needed help with healing or other kinds of help. She had heard the exchange between her team members and understood to well what was going on even if she didn’t follow the spoken word of the Chiss’ native tongue.

She sighed softly, as she realized just how lucky they were that they were able to pull him back and rescue so many people from the fingers of the crystal monsters.

Now it was time to go home.

A touch.

A broken sound left the mouth, raw rasp whimper, vocal cords bloody ripped and torn from strain of begging for life, for staying, for Home. The body responds as if stabbed in the chest. It caves forward, cheek pressing into that two-fingered touch for the seconds that it was there–

Then gone.

Gone.

Gone–

…

Incorrect. Visual input confirms: not gone, only sitting in chair. Gestures and orders.

“Help me. Fly us to Arx.”

Confirm.

The body nodded, the tears of the shattered self leaking at the seams slowing as Mission was reestablished. It stood again and claimed the larger chair, engaged piloting procedures.

Confirm.