Session export: A Mother's Love: Northwest

The outer city limits were bustling with activity. The Dajorra Defense Forces had a battalion dedicated to keeping a perimeter around the city in the event the conflict moved north to Estle and her suburbs. Between the soldiers movements and equipment hauling, a squadron of LAAT/i’s had landed and were hurriedly loading up those deploying to face the threat head on. DDF ranks mixed with agents of Arcona, Naga Sadow, Odan-Urr, and Taldyran.

Diyrian Grivna watched the progression from holo lighting up along the walls of the Fort Blindshot main communication bridge. Having left the generals where they took observed up on the balcony overlooking the room, she paced between the rows of officers hunched over terminals, their even mannered voices adding to the buzz of the room. The caxqettes. She never wanted to face them again, their song still echoing in her mind. The visage of Sera stumbling after she shot her and the disturbing infants she tried to smuggle and save from a corpse –

“Sir, the LAAT/it’s are loaded and ready to go.”

Diy stopped beside the officer and nodded to the woman. If this was any other time, she might have been tickled by the use of ‘Sir’ towards her but right now that meant responsibility and a weight she never thought to handle. “You have a list of cords?”

A nod.

“Good,” she mentioned to have the comm set, the woman obliging after a incredulous look…

…The transport hold of the LAAT/i you find yourself in is filled with the soft crackle of speakers.

‘LAAT/i blue, Rose gold– er, Blindshot here. Need you to respond to Cusiba, Haumato County ASAP,’ the buzz continued with coordinates recited and the location repeated. Before the voice crackled off it addressed the hold itself, ‘Hey, folks. Good luck out there. Best get to know who yer rubbin’ elbows with cus they’ll be havin’ your back. Over ‘n’ out.‘

It clicked off, leaving the gathered team to themselves as the LAAT/i rose and took off.

Big flying birds, like metal Omwati. She would never get used to them, never get used to feeling the momentum of gravity and force rushing past them in the fancy metal box. The white and black woman gripped at her seat, skin a touch paler than normal (if that were possible), her feathers rustled and on alert due to her faint distress.

She did not like the big metal birds. She did not like being in them. She did not like the lack of control or the seperation from the elements.

Metal was cold and hard and unyielding.

But she had to help. She had felt them before they had gotten the alert, before Foxen and Flyndt had shared their veiled look of slight alarm. It was like a sickness in the force, like thousands of souls screaming to live but to die. Pain and joy and hunger and lust and fear and– It had made her stomach lurch. A tidal wave of half-thoughts and primal instict had slammed into her with enough force to cause her to stumble. She was more force sensitive than Flyndt, after all.

The ship rumbled in turbulance and she had almost threw up her breakfast, which would have been a shame because Foxen had made such a beautiful collection of fruits and nuts for her. With honey. It had been so long since she had last had honey.

“Almost there?” she shouted over the roar of the LAAT-i, pitch black nails gripping the seat tighter, silver eyes squinted in focus, her voice thick with an Omwatese accent. Two years wandering and it had not faded.

Please get me off this thing. Please please please.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, trying her best to quell her heart and her stomach. Hopefully they would land soon.

That whisper, from the Throne itself. It had been a while. She was once one of them. What it said was not wrong. What it asked for was.

It was strange being here again. The lush Selenian environments were only a welcome sight because of the large bodies of water surrounding them. Aphotis had only just shooed her Zygerrian pilot away, removing one pawn from the board of so many present. It barely felt fair that so many had answered the call to lay waste to living myths that she had so admired.

Perhaps there was a chance—no matter how slim—of coming back to Kasiya as its new Governor with something worthy to show for. An audience with the Goddess herself? A trophy? A living sample? A duty of preservation? She had to risk it all, what other path is there? All or nothing, that is her way.

The immensely tall Sith peered around her, taking in the atmosphere. A shiver ran over her spine. It was dreadful. Alaisy could feel the dense ichor of others’ destructive intentions in the air. Just like last time, nothing had changed. But everyone would be changed once this was over. If anything, she would make sure of it.

Wait for the right moment to pounce.

Her clawed hand ran over the weapons of mass destruction clipped on her belt or stored under her backpack. All of it was on full display, but it remained to be seen what, or who it would be used on. With a loud whistle, her facemask was sealed off. Her breaths carried with it a hiss every time she breathed in, or out. It gave her some comfort at least. The time before all chaos ensues was always excruciating. How she yearned to be in the fray once more. To see those creatures again. To soak her second skin in pools of blood.

It had only been a few weeks since Wulfram had been home to visit Sofila and the other children, but it felt like it had been a lifetime. This was different, this was settling a score, bringing closure over wounds that had been left open the year before. Basalt eyes cast a wary gaze across the Resurgent’s hangar deck. He focused on the CR25 Troop Carriers, abuzz with members of the 2nd and 3rd Battalions, the Reggies had begun to spin up and loaded their Dropships underneath the carriers and the War Councilor admired their precision for a moment.

Despite everything moving in perfect order, his nerves betrayed a greater threat on Selen. He knew these ‘Gods’ and their damnable pets. Caxqettes, Caxxies, fucking abominations. His mind drifted back to the various encounters Arcona had with the beasts and the near Caxqette creatures. How broken his sister-in-law had been over her encounter with the ‘pet’ Caxat in Tekpantil, how the child bound to the creature threw their life away for the creature, and the ensuing trauma it caused for everyone. His fist tightened on his helmet as he recalled the strong emotions the beasts could cause in others, the way they could manipulate just like the Sith who purpose bred them.

He rapped his helmet on the railing above the Hangar Bay and tapped his earpiece, connecting himself to the intercom system.

“There are lot of fresh face on your first combat missions since the OUSC Mobilization Efforts Three months ago. I’m going to forewarn you now, what we’re facing is not like what you’re used to in Kiast. Do not fall for their ruse, trust in one another. Your jobs are to work alongside the DDF to provide field support and maintain field presence in operations bases. Do not try and be heroes, do not try and make a name for yourself today. These are not that kind of enemy.” The Mandalorian spoke as he pulled on his helmet and clambered into the ship.

The long ride to the surface gave him time to think. To prepare. This was it.

Arcona Citadel

Earlier

“Are you sure I can’t come with you, papa?”

“No, lunayi,” Marick spoke softly yet firmly as he knelt in front of his daughter.

She frowned at him. It was a proper frown that pulled at her freckles flanking her rounded nose.

“Kirra. You misunderstand me,” he continued. She tilted her head slightly, but kept her practiced frown going. “You’re the only one I trust, you see, to guard the food reserves.”

Kirra’s mismatched eyes seemed to do a quick calculation. In that moment, it was almost a perfect mirror of whenever Marick paused to think through a given piece of data or information. Just on a smaller, rounder face.

“The cookies,” she replied seriously. Her frown was gone, but she now reflected a calm neutral line with her lips.

Marick smiled faintly and nodded once. “The cookies. But also the other children, and the officers, will need someone to remind them to eat, and drink water.”

Kirra considered this. Then met her fathers eyes and nodded firmly, puffing herself up slightly. “Yes, papa!”

At her side, Fela made an excited yipping noise, balancing despite her missing paw.

Marick rose and exchanged a glance with the man leaning against the wall nearby.

“Turi and Weyne are safe on Ol'val,” Wyndell Tyris said somberly. For one of the first times since reuniting with his brother, Marick was surprised to see not even a glint or smirk on the older siblings face.

“Will you be okay?” Marick asked him, his face not showing warmth or emotion, but attentiveness that showed he cared in his own way.

“Yeah. They won’t enter touch the Citadel,” he replied calmly.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about us. Worry about…her,” Wyn replied, careful to not let his voice carry too loud.

Marick blinked once as he processed that. He sighed.

Marick placed a hand on Wyn’s shoulder and gripped it firmly. He let go, leaned down to kiss Kirra on the forehead, scratch Fela behind the ears, and then marched off towards the shuttles.

Forward Operating Base: Triage

Present

The jungles of Selen were familiar to the once Shadow Lord. The planet had been Marick Tyris Arconae’s first true home. He could smell the mix of sceptic chemicals, blood, and ichor in the air. The mushy ground underfoot squished with every step. His armorweave shaed billowed in the wind of the rising transports. Ash gray hair blew in strands across his too-blue eyes, as he surveyed the area and took a quick assessment.

His lightsabers and lightdaggers rested quietly in place, and his sith dagger remained in its boot-sheath. He made sure his sling bag was secure, as it was filled with his medkits, antidote kit, and some stims. It never hurt to be prepared.

“Injuries are coming in quicker than they can treat,” the Arconae stated.

“Guess it’s a good thing they directed both of us here instead of the front lines,” Mune Cinteroph mused in response.

Marick nodded, but his mind started to drift elsewhere. If anyone could have aided the dire situation they were in currently, it would have been his wife. She was the real healer. Marick just…tried his best to help.

Atyiru… he reached out through the Force reflexively, almost.

But if she wasn’t here…concern hovered around the edges of his beskar-clad resolve. He really hoped she wasn’t out there, trying to find a way to make peace with the Caxettes. He loved her for that, more than anything, but here, and now, it was a time to fight, not compromise.

Life before death. Protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Alla'su would not relent. She believed that Selen was hers.

But she couldn’t have been anymore wrong. Arcona had grown since the first time she tried to exert her will on the planet. They were stronger now, and they were not alone.

At his side, Mune stirred as they placed a hand against the side of their furred temple.

“Cinteroph? What is it?”

Audience Chamber ASD Fallen Spear Orian System

The Consul looked at him, the mask obscuring his face. DarkHawk had prepared for war, his black mask gleaming in the half-light. Eyes the color of the void regarded him slowly. There was not much needed to discuss between the two. Arcona’s new consul had called for aid. Muz nodded slowly at Darius as the Grand General stroked his goatee, eyes transfixed on the spinning world of Selen as it hovered holographically between them. Fast fingers retrieved a datapad, calculating the route. DarkHawk moved, leaving the room silently, heading for the hangar and then after, to the Perdition.

Gods, Zuza had said. The term impressed him not at all. He’d brought low all too many laying claim to that title. Hubris in most cases, born from a wealth of raw talent, but lacking discipline, training. Restraint. Willpower. Planning. Power was not the end as so many had thought it to be. It was means.

Muz paused, the pale blue of the hologram reflecting in his eyes. He had been here before. The visions swarmed his consciousness, the adumbrative eddies of possibilities swirling from memories of what could be, what should never be. He paused, a glimmer of reminiscence seething beneath the current of thought. That he longed for the simplicity of ages past played across his face, a desire for the times before the world of shells had changed the game so dramatically. He willed the sneer away from his face, letting his mind deconstruct the visions once more quickly.

He glanced up, Leena flitting through options on the datapad, the light casting her in an odd shade. He could feel her anxiety, and Nisha’s discomfort was well known to both of them, seeming to radiate from her in waves. Even Blackwind seemed ill at ease as he plotted their course. Only Doc seemed unbothered, leaning against the bulkhead, his helmet wedged between his arm and his belt. For a moment, he envied the Never-born. Muz took a breath, moving a hand toward the console. It was only proper, a show of good faith and manners, and yet so much more.

“Marick.” He watched as the Hapan’s form appeared in the hologram, already tending to wounded. “We come to honor the auld alliance…” He let the words sink in, watching him for a reaction that he knew would never come. the ancient alliance between the three clans predated even the Brotherhood’s exodus to Antei. Tradition kept it resurfacing in the unlikeliest of times. Muz continued, his words chosen carefully, the real question unsaid in ways that the Prophet would hear. “Where would you have us?”

“Great question,” Marick replied calmly despite making his way over towards a few stretchers with prone bodies on them. He kept half his attention on Mune, concerned, but split into three equal parts to answer the voice in his mind.

Muz.

Marick was usually pretty good at hiding his mind from others, but having spent so much time working for Dark Lords of the Sith, it was just another quirk of the Force on another given day.

That said, Marick did some quick calculations, taking in his experience of facing off against Allu'su and the tools at her disposal. He remembered Alaisy, ironically, in that moment and what the crown had done to her. His expression actually paled.

Listen carefully, Lord Ashen", Marick replied after a few moments. He hoped that falling back into honoroifics would help sell how serious his words that followed would be.

“Stay off the front lines. I am sure you could defeat Allu'su one on one, but it is not so simple as that. If All'su gets what she wants, Selen could be facing worse than the Rite of Obscuration.

He let the reference to the fate of Antei, which Muz Ashen knew better than any, linger before continuing.

We need your help in bolstering defenses. We can’t fall under the enemies control. That is why I’m remaining here behind the lines.

A pause as he tilted his head towards Mune.

I don’t have anything in my black book for Grand Master’s aligning with eldritch deities, so, maybe next time. Good luck.

He broke off the connection and asked the Shistavanen again, "What is it, Cinteroph?”

Wulfram smacked the side of his helmet as they touched down and placed his hand on one of his medical officer’s shoulder, pointing them in the direction of the triage efforts, and barking orders to the logistics officer before pointing them in the direction of their Dajorran counterpart. Experience with the locals was a good thing, the less balking and lack of communications between their ground forces, the better.

As one group disembarked, already the wounded were being brought to load, alongside dead. The Odanite’s spine chilled for a moment as he watched living and dead packed together in the vessel he had only just disembarked, but he knew what was at stake coming to fight these damnable creatures. Anything left behind was just fodder.

So many of these injured faces were familiar, so many had been well known to him through the last several years. He had spent time raising his children among them. As much as he was an Odanite, he was an Arconan as well, and to see his children’s home being pressed by the madwoman who believed herself a god.

Basalt eyes fell on Marick and Mune, faces he loosely recognized, Marick more than other as his daughter’s mentor. He carefully approach in peripheral view of the former Shadow Lord in time to hear him call out to Mune, his own gaze turning to the Shistavanen.

Earlier

“Seriously,” Caleb’s gaze bordered on Agenor’s frigid levels. “Araave confirms that you can access maybe a quarter of your memories. Why would you risk returning to the field when you’ve yet to recover fully?”

Carr glared daggers at their older sibling from the sofa.

“Eleceos agrees; I am more than capable of returning to the field,” Mune countered. “Being a prisoner on this ship…”

“A prisoner? This is your home,” the Togorian growled.

“I am well aware. However, one grows weary of undergoing tests and evaluations and not being allowed to participate in missions.” The white-furred Shistavanen’s hackles rose. “I need to get out, I need to do something, I need to do my job.”

“You are an Intelligence Officer…” Carr muttered irritably, “I had to slice into your terminal because you don’t remember your codes.”

Mune fit their lightsabers into the holsters at their lower back. They slipped the Sith dagger into its thigh holster before pulling on their overcoat. Their Force-imbued blade was strapped across their back. They turned to face the two pairs of eyes that threatened to stare holes through them. They were worried; that much was clear; they had every right to be, Mune knew. Though Eleceos had given the Arcanist the okay, the Miraluka had given it almost begrudgingly. They needed to do something, though, needed to be helpful. They needed to shake the feeling of being caged.

The thought felt uncomfortable.

“I will be accompanying Marick.”

Carr’s ears came up, “Lord Tyris.”

Caleb shook his head and growled, “Do what you need to do.”

“We will be defending the medics,” Mune clarified.

“We both know better… or… I do,” Caleb sighed heavily. He was exasperated. “Just don’t do anything reckless.”

Were they ordinarily reckless?

Mune turned it over in their head, uncertain. All they knew was that their younger brother and husband were clearly worried. They also knew they had to get off the Voidbreaker II and do something worthwhile before they went stir-crazy. They met the tall Togorian’s eyes, staring into the depths of icy blue.

“I love you,” Mune said. “I will come back to you, I promise.”

“In one piece,” Caleb answered, features relaxing. “I love you too.”

“Gross…” Carr muttered.

Present

“Cinteroph? What is it?”

Mune realized their ears were back, and they were growling in annoyance. Their ears immediately came back up, and they lowered their hand from their head. They opened their mouth to respond that it was nothing until it suddenly became something.

They lost sight of their surroundings, their vision filled by flicking images. Scents. His nostrils flared, his breathing caught. He visibly stumbled. The images filled their mind—the sensations—a cacophony of voices—a scream. The baying of a nexu. Burning metal and spilt blood, billowing smoke and rampant death. Mune grit their teeth, eyes squeezed shut, instinctively fighting the images, trying to force them back.

Do not fight the current.

They were swallowed up. When Marick spoke their name again, Mune spoke in a near whisper, “She sings, bathed in light…” and they sang the words that came from the woman’s lips. “Fly away home–”

Mune latched onto the image. Something borrowed, something blue. That memory. They had that memory. They inhaled deeply, inhaled the scents that surrounded them in that other place, that place unanchored from time. They used the memory of something blue to calm the maelstrom within their mind. The rapids gave way to a gentle current, one they could navigate.

Black teeth and black fur. They felt teeth in their flesh, felt the blood well and ran in copper-tinged rivulets through fur. They watched the woman sing, walking serenely through the woods. Static. Meba overrun. Help. Help.

Help us.

Mune’s eyes snapped open. Reality reasserted itself almost violently, and the Shistavanen exhaled the breath they were holding. Their burning lungs complained.

“Cinteroph,” if Marick was concerned, it didn’t show. “What did you see?”

Of course, Marick knew.

“I saw it all going wrong,” Mune muttered.

Had the visions always come so violently? Mune wondered momentarily before they filled Marick in on what they saw, precisely what they saw, emphasizing the figures the Shistavanen recognized. Knew.

“The future is ever in motion…” They eyed the Hapan, “We have work to do.”

The metal bird landed, finally, and Aibyss was one of the first off the LAAT/i, even if it meant stumbling out into the thick of things.

The avian straightened up once gravity reasserted itself, squaring her shoulders. She knew this, this was familiar to her. The sounds and smells and Force-feel of battle, of war. Pure white feathers caught in the stale breeze as Aibyss closed her silver eyes. She could feel the death and suffering of both sides— both the abominations and Brotherhood members.

Such was the fate of those who fought on a battlefield.

Aibyss opened her eyes once more, then turned to try to find whoever was in charge. If there was anyone. Obviously not everywhere worked as Onwat did, didn’t abide by the same rules.

Her eyes raked over who was present, taking in faces, memorizing them in case they never made it back from the blood and muck.

As others made their way off, the metallic boots of the Taldryan Supreme Chancellor and Lady Second, Cassandra Oriana Lottson Tyris echoed off of the ramp as she made her way off the ship. Unlike her traditional garb that she was typically in, she was in a full set of red and gold armor with her helmet held at her side. A red and gold cloak flowed behind her, with two Republic Guard on each side of her. The armor of the two guardsmen was similar in design to that of the old Imperial Royal Guard, however had they had red visors instead of the traditional black, and white armor and robes instead of red.

She glanced around the area once they were all on the ground, stopping for a moment while taking in the sights. It was quite different from her first time on Selen a long while back, under much different circumstances. She could absolutely say this for the Arconan homeworld, it was definitely a sight to behold. After this was over, she would need to make time to see it in all of it’s true glory.

While she looked around, she happened to notice her brother and several others she was familiar with as she began making her way over towards them giving a mental note to the two guard.

“Come along Zero-Zero-Four, Zero-Zero-Nine.”

It was a subtle warning, one that the Assassin knew that the Lion would understand behind the carefully chosen words. Marick made it a point to know as much as he could about everything, and his choice of words stood out, knowing that Muz would not miss the subtle references. He’d even relish them. The Rite of Obscuration wasnt exactly common knowledge, but the man was Consul of Arcona when he had needed them in the final moments of Antei. The convocation was devastating, even if necessary at the time. The rumors still swirled about that day. That day, and one very much like it on Korriban.

Eldritch? That was a fairly deep cut, in reference to some of the hidden programs from before, well funded and quiet delegations sent to discover things that they were never meant to know as mortals, but critical for understanding….well, everything. Some of the artefacts that lay in stasis beneath the Academy, in the Dark Hall’s Vaults, and in other places he never shared had come from that work. There was a tie there.

As for the black book, a double entendre of considerable depth. Muz didn’t know whether to smile or sneer. He knew that the Arconae was not present for those days, the chaos dealt those decades ago by the unhinged spirit cast in negative. It was largely a family affair, and yet… He blinked. The Ghost Dragon was there, and she had moved to Arconan shores shortly after he had retired. Marick was a spymaster of Pravus’ Inquisition, after all. It only made sense that they would have done a deep dive into anything that they could use against him, had he returned to challenge the madman in white. And telling him in such a way…

Muz stood silently for a moment, his mind seething through possible plans, wrapping contingencies around each other, then honing them down to a workable point. Marick was right. It was not worth the risk. The potential if he were to lose control was just too much. He let his eyes slide to the dark haired woman, thin Kiffar clan markings lining her face. She tread the line between control and not as a general rule, so that would not help. The violet Twi'lek had far more control, even fear of her capacities, a stark contrast from her. Still, it would be too dangerous. They would connect with the Arconan Consul, meet and coordinate until such a time when matters got desperate enough to field them.

He nodded at Blackwind, then felt the hyperdrive warm up, the course already prepared. Tilting his head, he let his eyes slide over to Taka. The Nihilgenia had been a constant companion since the reclamation wars. He was more than capable, as were all of his brothers. The additional training that earned him his nickname would make him ever more useful to their cause. “Doc, take Hekate and reinforce.”

The Twi'lek’s tattooed eyebrow went up in surprise at the mention of her droid’s name. Muz shifted his weight and his gaze, letting his mind reach into hers, explaining the current plan.

“Solo drop?” Taka smiled, drawing a gloved hand up to smooth his tightly manicured beard. Muz nodded at him, then watched as Hekate moved to join him. Doc ran his thumb across the Jaig eyes on his helmet before putting it on and saluting. A moment later, he was through the door, Hekate on his heels.

“Not solo.” Hekate’s voice reverborated with their unusual voice. “Try to keep up, vat-boy.”

Taka chuckled as the door closed behind them. “Fancy talk. You got any armor, or are you just going to wade into the thick wearing that bathrobe?”

Circe looked over the new rifle again. It felt odd in her hands, but Aylin had insisted that she took it along. It was much heavier than her own adjusted sniper rifle.

‘Perhaps Aylin knew something more than she let off when she gave me the rifle,’ the Sephi silently thought.

She shook her head slightly and glanced over towards Alaisy. It would be a second mission they might work together, though she wondered if she even saw her as an ally. Sith tended to be very careful about that and rumours of her weren’t the light kind.

All she could do now was wait and show her worth and most of all, survive.

ASD Fallen Spear

Orian System

DarkHawk walked down the Spear’s corridors and made it to its hangar in deep thought. He and GM Muz were about to take the Clan into foreign territory. The assassin felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of crossing blades in foreign lands. A blacked out Upsilon-class command shuttle began firing up its engines. DarkHawk could see Ty through one of the flight deck’s main view ports. He was making adjustments as the shuttle’s engines purred when it reached a steady flight idle.

Today of all days was not a normal day for the CNS Summit, the call from Consul Zuza was both a welcomed surprise and raised an eyebrow with the assassin. The Arconians kept to themselves until now, so this was the first joint operation with the Arconians in some time. When the message first came through, DarkHawk felt intrigued at the team up. Over the past few moons, DarkHawk and Consul Zuza had established a rapport before and since her ascension. When the word got back that Clan Odan Urr would be joining the fight, that seemed to solidify the urgency of the request. A fresh fight was well needed.

DarkHawk walked up the ramp. He could hear Ty, railing about in the flight deck as if someone was int here with him. The seasoned gunship pilot had his own rituals when it came to flying, he was religious in his ways with an aircraft. Nor did he make any effort to hide those idiosyncrasies.

“Bloody'el you wanka!” Ty said with conviction.

“What seems to be the problem Sgt. Major?” DarkHawk asked as he stepped into the shuttle’s flight deck and then slid into the copilot’s seat.

“Oy, don’t touch a bloody thing tommy-toggle.” Ty said, exaggerating his tone.

The Consul pulled the seat’s safety harness over him and locked himself in. Ty continued to mumble and flip switches before he ever looked over at his Consul. After a few choice cuss words and a hard slap to the side panel of the ship’s auxiliary power plant control panel. The ship’s environmental system began to spool up to operating parameters. The air inside the cabin began to not taste so stale and heavy, Ty sat up in his seat and looked over at DarkHawk.

“So war it is eh?” Ty asked.

“Looks to be that way, let’s get to the Perdition and get these coordinates to Moff Simonetti. We will put the fleet in place and see what kind of a mess with can get into.

“Do you think this is on the up-and-up?”

“Even the GM Muz did not foresee any irregularities for now. We should know more once we get to their system and GM Muz can really put the feelers out.”

“What is up with the shuttle?”

“She is good to go now. I will tear into that power unit when we get onboard the Perdition”, Ty barked.

Ty made a few more adjustments before positioning the throttle quadrant and he pulled up on the stick. The shuttle lifted off the hangar and into the depths of space. Ty flipped a couple of switches and the Upsilon-class command shuttle’s wings dropped into their oriented flight position.

Ty pulled the shuttle out from the Spear and headed back to the Perdition. As the Perdition came into sight, the shuttle’s comm’s began to squawk. The distinct sound of an incoming holonet message chimed away.

“It is Consul Zuza Sir.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Put her through Sgt Major.”

@zuza

Wulfram felt it, the urge to turn and walk into the jungle, to greet the siren which sang the lovely tune above the evening in the quiet woods, to know the something that lie deep in the recesses which called out to him. The familiar itch, the call, a siren’s song. A beautiful melody played quietly through the internal speakers of his helmet, slightly distorted, their death knell played back, haunting as the distortion rippled and faded the song into oblivion and brought him back to his senses, only moments after he turned away from Marick and started to take his first step. Awash with agnosthesia the Mandalorian paused, counted his fingers, and rapped on the armor plate against his thigh. His mind reached for answers in the moment and it dawned on him as he focused on the fading vocal distortions in his helmet speakers.

The damned Caxqettes had begun their singing, but through the distortion in his helmet’s speakers and the odd calm of the night, Wulfram couldn’t discern it. Barely free of it for the moment he turned back to Marick ( <@189568236201705472> ) and checked his weapons as well as the microphone inputs on his helmet, before he helped move one of the stabilized patients towards another incoming LAAT/i.

“I’ve never heard Selen this quiet outside of the far North. What do you make of it, Marick?”

“All'usu needs to be able to hear herself talk,” Marick replied flatly. It could have arguably been considered a dry delivery, but it was always hard to tell with the stoic Hapan.

As he continued to focus, and process what Mune told him, he also reviewed his messaging to Ashen. Hopefully his words were not wind.

As a potential doubt, and an itch started to set in, Marick felt a bolster to his confidence as Munes familiar presence pressed against his awareness, just as All'su started to beckon anyone that was listening over the quiet.

~Come~

No, he spoke back through the Force.

He absently applied pressure to a gnarly looking claw-gash wound that which the attack had clearly ignored the reinforced plating of their respective armor.

“We’ll need to work in rotations. But we cannot let this triage base fall. It’s our only hope to preserve lives of all the allied forces, not just the Arconans.”

As Cassandra made it to Marick, she looked at her two guards. “Zero-Zero-Four, Zero-Zero-Nine, I want the both of you to assist with perimeter defense if the main force is about to gather and move out soon. I will remain here with Marick and assist where I can before joining the defense.”

Without so much as a word, they turned and left. She gave her attention to him afterwards with a warm greetingful nod and a simple yet straightforward question.

“What do you need help with at this immediate moment?”

The Monochrome Avian closed her eyes once more, drinking in the force– smelling, hearing, feeling, breathing the cosmic energy that connected everything and reading it like a page…

Sick. Poison. Tainting the ground, the air, the water, the.. It was a sweet sickness, tasting of love and freedom but poison all the same. She could fill it spilling into the earth, into Selen. A miasma flowing through the forests, commanding everything in it’s path– Come. Come with us. Join the family. She could feel their perverted love, their pale fascade of the thing she hoped to feel one day.

Ebony fingers gripped tightly, her breathing kicking up.

Where, she thought, how many? An army? A small group? The force did not respond, but she felt them near. The Force-feel of them like ravenous beasts, drooling, craving, yearning. She did not blame them, how could she? There was one thing that every non-natural thing craved… normalcy. She craved it once, too. Though she couldn’t pick up details, the sick felt like a whole sea.

Choking the light out of everything it touched.

Her eyes snapped open and Aibyss rushed to the Hapan male nearby, the one who was surrounded by others, the one who seemed In Charge. She had heard him speak in basic before, heard him address the others. Her expression read of the urgency she felt. The Omwati female gestured to the treeline, her charcoal lips set in a grim line.

“They come. They close. They want. Be here soon, very soon. We must prepare defence– or attack before get here.”

All the feathers on her head were brustling with anticipation.

It had been so long since she last fought.

Ancestors guide my blades.

<@189568236201705472>

Come.

Mune’s eyes narrowed. There was nothing beautiful about the twisted lies she wove. They felt it in their bones, thrumming and itching. The Shistavanen knew the sensation was familiar but could not say why. Familiar or not, they did not have any of it.

Come.

“How about bite me, you twisted witch,” the Shistavanen snarked out loud.

The doors were already ajar, so the Shistavanen kicked them open and drew upon all they had access to. The Force responded, bright, vibrant, and alive. Mune hoped All’usu felt the rebuke. They hoped she felt it like the slap to the face it was intended as. A mischievous grin split his muzzle. They embraced the Force; it permeated them, and they reached out to others through it. Resolve. They let their resolve steel the others against her song to put pressure against the wicked that twisted its way into their minds.

The others felt it like the kiss of delicately falling snow and the soft brush of fur. The Arconae knew that touch, though there was something wilder about it. Less gentle, more feral.

Mune hoped it was enough to keep her song at bay for now. Maybe she would cease her attempts at turning them against each other. They focused, anchoring themself in the Force and maintained their meditation. Marick knew the drill. They would cease when necessary and contribute more directly to the healing effort when All’usu figured out they would not be beguiled so readily.

“You have this, Marick?” Mune asked, voice even, calm.

“What do you need help with at this immediate moment?” inquired the approaching Epicanthix.

They did not know Cassandra—or did they? Hmm. Mune had to assume she was a comrade, as much as the Omwati female who followed.

Marick blinked a few times as multiple people asked or told him different things all at the same time. He was used to it, in a way, between Kirra’s constant questions, and a career as a spymaster of the Dark Council and now an administrator for the Envoy Corps.

But It had been a very long while, he realized, since people looked to him on a battlefield. Perhaps it was the fact that Selen was his home. As Shadow Lord, and Scion before that, much of his time had been spent in perpetual war and conflict away from the planet. He was barely twenty, after all, when his Consul and Proconsul, both father figures, sacrificed themselves on New Tython, leaving behind an unprepared Quaestor to step into the shows of Proconsul.

For whatever reason, it was happening again.

In his momentary lapse of deep thought, he looked down and realized that the wound he had been treating, even with his efforts through the Force, was futile. The soldiers skin had gone pale, limbs limp, eyes glossed over. He was gone.

Marick frowned and absently wiped his hands in the water basin and rubbed his hands raw with a towel. As he kept his hands busy, someone come and dragged the soldiers body away.

He wouldn’t be the last one Marick would lose.

Life before death.

He felt the warm soothing comfort of Munes aura again. He exhaled slowly through his nose, and turned to address those that had gathered around the Brotherhood’s Gray Fang.

Old habits returned quickly as he stripped away his emotions string by string, focusing on the battle at hand. Focusing on being what everyone needed him to be.

First he nodded to the Omwati, listening intently three times. Aibyss, if his memory served him correctly.

“We’ll need to work quickly, then,” he replied.

He glanced at Wulfram, then his too-blue eyes shifted towards Cassandra. A distant part of mind was still processing the concept of having family outside of Wyn. That she also happened to be the leader of Taldryan was yet another twist of fate that might have made him cautious in the past.

But Arcona was not going to do this alone. So.

“They will not assault us head on,” he answered Cassandra calmly, his voice carrying without having to be raised above the din of the makeshift triage base.

“They will test our perimeter, attack in waves from different angles and try to slowly wear us down by spreading us too thin.”

His mind calculated. “A defense is only as good as it’s weakest link. Make sure to pair off in sets of two. If one goes down, cover and call for backup. We will shift and adjust to maintain the perimeter…and hope that the assault team can find an opening while we hold our ground here.”

He gestures around to different terrain they could hopeful use for cover. Upturned trees covered in moss. Great boulders worn down through the grinding of time covered in vines.

They could do this.

“if anyone has explosives, setting some traps would be beneficial.”

Before he realized it, his hand had drifted to the molded hilt of his Radiant saber. Slowly, he activated the black-cored blade, a ghostly white shroud joining it as it hissed to life.

Today, he did not toggle the dual-phase emitter to stun.

“ We will defy her and hold our ground.”

Aphotis had seen or sensed several familiar individuals on her way there. Some, of which she was less wary of. One of them was Circe, she seemed strangely close to Tir'eivra every time there was a mission. They hadn’t exchanged many words, but she seemed diligent whenever given a task.

And then there were some of which she needed to watch out for. Such as Marick Tyris, who wouldn’t hesitate to lodge one of his daggers between her ribs if she threatened an Arconan, especially now.

It became an intricate puzzle on how to slip into the fray and lose them. Or to find a way to coerce them when presented with an opportunity. No prize worth winning was ever easy to get, after all.

Her open mind was given an invitation with the familiar song she had heard years ago. It welcomed itself like a sword cleaving through her gray matter. Beauty was often accompanied by her friends, pain, and terror. This was no different. She would have stood there, resolute, if it wasn’t for the constricting sickles drawing her in like a prime cut of meat. That made it tangible. The suffering.

She allowed it. There was no struggle on her part, so long as the wrenching pain did not relent. It showed her the way. All too eager to step forward. Hopefully, the others would see it as a will to go to battle. If her mind space allowed it, she would make them think that.

The throb of returning to realspace punctuated the sudden appearance of the planet through the hangar doors. Doc nodded to no one in particular, his thumbs absentmindedly checking the snaps on his holsters as the transport lifted from the deck gently, navigating from the Fallen Spear into the black. Autopilot would take him and the droid down, but he still sat up front, watching as other ships arrived, grouped up warily together, clusters that seemed anxious to intermingle with others. Doc still didn’t understand the politics of the clans, and he guessed he never would.

The world grew closer now, filling up the entire window as they approached. The red light blinking on the console let him know that they were being hailed. Beneath the helmet, Doc’s eyebrow went up. He could only imaine how hectic port authority would be, if he remembered correctly. Four clans in theater would be a zoo in the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

He clicked open the hail, inserting his code cylinder, and waited for the tower to transmit routing information to the autopilot. All he had to do now was wait.

A few minutes later Makeshift Triage Center Selen

Doc slowed to a brisk walk, Hekate keeping pace with him as they saw the stretchers and people attendign to those on them. He raised his hand in greeting, clearing his throat to ensure that they heard them approach. It was unwise to startle people in situations like this, let alone ones that could possible spit lightning at you. Doc had learned that the hard way.

One of them stood up and looked hard in his direction. He was a foxtrot uniform, if the robes and knuckler logo were to be believed. He waked closer, careful to keep his hands in view. He watched as their eyes slid across his armor, pausing on the dragon painted on his pauldron. “Who are you?”

Taka straightened, saluting properly by rote. “Taka Kuroshin. CM-117, 9th Nihilgenia.” The man looked at him like he was not speaking common, so he slowly pointed to his spaulder, the black medic symbol obvious there enough that a gleam of recognition bloomed behind their eyes.

Hekate stpped out from behind him, adjusting robes from the run. “Hekate, Krath apprentice of Lord Keibatsu.” Hekate tilted their head, gesturing at Doc. “We’ve come to help.”

Doon’s heavy boots thudded down the ramp, then across earth till he was next to Mune. He was busy putting away a compad, eye bouncing between the trees and Marick who seemed to be speaking. Freshly lit, his pipe gave off thin wisps which plumed into billows of sweet smoke as he chuffed and exhaled through his nose.

“I’ve got explosives. Plenty, for a spot or two. Need to go looking for em.” His rumble squeezed out between clenched teeth, holding the pipe in place. “Not going alone. So, you coming?”

The question was cast towards Marick, but Doon didn’t exactly wait. He felt better than he had for more than a year, physically. Mentally… he was actively shutting himself off, concealing himself from the force around him. He was determined, the past encounters he’d had with these were fresh in his mind, at least up until the point that -

He shuddered, unclipping a thermal imploder from his belt to absently toss and catch like a rock as he began patrolling the perimeter.

“You go, see who else wants to lend a hand. I’ll be here guarding Cinteroph and the medics.

Wulfram turned on his heels and fell in beside Doon, a quick rap of his knuckles against the Shistavanen’s bicep to garner his attention, before he jerked his thumb towards their third party. Alaisy, a woman whose very existence seemed to define lachesism, then to the path ahead.

“Looks like we’re babysitting.” The Mandalorian grunted as he activated his helmet’s native MFTAS suite and watched it for signs of activity.

“If you’ve got the skill to rig it, I’ve got an adhesive grenade you could rig as a trap.” He chimed in, watching as Doon began to toss the thermal imploder.

Aibyss followed the giant wolf man, keeping decent pace with him and the Man Made of Metal. She would provide support in case it was needed. She didn’t know the capibilities of anyone here, but she could heal should anyone need it and protect a location if needed.

“Am here. Can mend, can fight. Will keep Abominations off of you.”

The Omwati gestured to the thermal detonator in his hand. “Know not. But kill many in one go, yes? Will help however one can.”

He nodded at wulfram, then glanced at Alaisy and the bird like person that was also following them. “Thermal imploder. It… kills many in one go. Yes.” He confirmed rather than taking the time to explain how it functioned.

To be honest, he didn’t even really know.

But he knew how it worked, for the most part.

He prowled the perimeter with the quickly assembled group, stopping occasionally to note things mentally. Different routes, obvious or not, ways to get in and out of the small camp. He stopped finally, figuring he’d found a spot that would be best laid with explosives.

He squatted down, rumbling to himself in his native tongue as he placed the charge, activated it, then covered it with some flora. “This should do. I have tape as well. For the grenade, I’d hang onto it. These are best set up before hand. That is a far better reactionary tool.”

He began moving again, shifting to a nearby secondary spot to begin laying strips of tape out along particularly large rocks. Natural shrapnel would have to do. While he worked, his golden gaze landed on Aibyss. He had very little info to work off of with her, much less than wulfram. “You know Foxen? And.. the other one. Flip?” The name escaped him seemingly. “Why come all the way out here?”

Alaisy’s jaws clenched as she saw the black-furred Shistavanen set up a trap. She wasn’t sure if she was stressed because of the amount of people around her, or the threat to the Caxquettes that they posed. The bubbling rage almost formed a mist around her peripheral vision. It made it impossible to guess if she was being watched.

The possibility of being judged and witnessed did not make it any easier to attempt to sabotage their heinous act. She had to do something. If only because every fabric of her second skin pulled at her to get in there and deal with it. This wasn’t ordinary pain that made her decision. The sensation was accompanied by a deafening screeching in her ears and pins being hammered into her mind. She lowered herself down onto her knees and removed the vegetation with one full swipe.

A Thermal Imploder?

The revelation was a mix of shock and urgency. Her heart sank. A branch rolled back onto the explosive before she could even begin the process of disarming it. A loud beeping and flashing of crimson greeted her like a face of maniacal laughter. No time. Pulling away from it felt like wedging the tip of a knife under a nail. She got up and made long strides to get away. For some reason, she could taste iron in her struggle. Anger swelled up and rippled across the song with a thunderous echo like a banshee’s scream.

Once she deemed herself far enough from the explosive she rolled down onto the ground. Her head snapped to the side to peer back with snide. Tir'eivra’s tail twitched as an almost primal emotion spiked through her, the song and everything connected to it. The resulting inward explosion shook the ground. The sound compressed and deformed around the blast. If the discharge wasn’t enough to give it away then her emotions rippled through the melody and pinpointed the location.

The horn of battle…

Taka moved with purpose, sliding to a knee next to one of the wounded as he handed his helmet to Hekate. There were hurt folk to attend to, and that took precedence for the moment. “Stay close with that.” Gods forbid that whatever hell they had fallen into would overrun the area, and the droid had run off with his bucket. Taka dismissed the idea before it had time to ferment into bitterness.

He focused on the one in front of him, his face twisted in pain. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, still a child in most ways. “I’m Doctor Kuroshin, here to get your tonsils out.” He snapped sanitary gloves on, mustering a smile as he looked him over. The kid managed a pained chuckle in response. Peeling back bloody fabric gingerly, Doc examined the wound to his thigh. Deep lacerations that connected from trauma, just missing a major artery. At least that was promising, an inch difference meant bleeding out in seconds rather than hours. The wound was jagged, no scorchmarks or burnt bits. It looked aggravated, like some beast or other had chomped down on him and shook him. “I see you’ve mastered the art of bleeding.”

“Raw talent.” The kid tried to chuckle, but clenched his jaw instead.

“Impressive.” Doc withdrew a tool from his medical pack. “Good news is you’re not gonna die from this.” He watched the kid give a short sigh of relief. “I’m not going to lie about ‘feeling a little pressure’, son. This next part is going to really suck. But it’ll clean you up so you can go out dancing sooner, okay?” The kid nodded, then tightened his jaw in preparation.

Moving as gently as he could, he retrieved the aeserolized antibacterial to cleanse the wound, fingers holding open the wound to make sure all of the debris was blown out. The kid thrashed an arm, but to his credit, kept the leg mostly still. Doc was actually impressed. Looking back up to his face, He saw the streak left by tears on the side of his face. If he wasn’t worried about supplies, he would have given him a dose of ameliorative.

“The suck isn’t quite over, but it won’t be as bad. Take a breather for a sec.” Doc lifted his head, watching more robes moved among the rows. They had directed him there, and the foxtrot uniforms were exceptionally talented, but there were only so many of them, and they were already looking pretty haggard. He had no idea how long they had been at it, but mosst of what was here now wasn’t too bad,according to the triage manager. A transport screamed away, carrying the more critically wounded ones off to somewhere more prepared for them. It wouldn’t be long before another batch of wounded came in. He looked back down at the kid. “All right, ready?”

The kid managed a nod as Doc prepared the synthflesh sealant. “All right, here we go.” He pinched the wound shut as much as he could, the blood starting to flow from the pressure as he sprayed the fine nozzle into the crevice. The hiss of the fluid coming from the dispenser was muted by the sounds of an alarm, one of the comms soldiers alerting everyone to an inbound transport. Doc shook his head, holding closed the wound for the seconds it took for the sealant to stop his bleeding and cure enough to hold the skin and muscle together. “You’re doing great. Besides, scars are awesome.” He winked at the kid, then slowly released the wound, eyes watching to see if it popped open. Thankfully, it did not.

Doc nodded at him. “Stay put, and don’t mess with that or I’ll have to get those cones for your hands. I’m gonna go help some people who aren’t as good at bleeding as you are, okay?” The mental image made the kid laugh out loud as Doc stood, then started to move toward the landing zone.

Cassandra made her way to the middle section of the southern perimeter, and glanced around the landscape as she made her way onto the upper ring. She watched as several others were setting up traps and barricades at the few entrance points, making sure to take note of those locations herself.

Slowly she took a breath of the crisp air, held it for a second, then let it back out. The one thing she was able to sense was the glares and the surface level feelings of confusion from Arconan forces as to why she was there, animosity from others, and even some feelings of potential hostility even if they chose not to act upon it. Regardless, she kept her focus in the here and now where it belonged. She trusted them, even if that trust was not mutual from all of them, and she would help defend them while the rest of the Taldryan forces that had came ahead of her assisted on the front lines.

She even trusted her own forces to trust in her, to put aside their own feelings towards the Arconans. It was a new time, she had told them, a new leadership and a new era. Those she had known who would be unable to do so or refused to help at this point, remained on Kasiya.

It was only a few moments before the detonation occurred, immediately snapping her attention in that direction as she watched something explode. With a twitch of her finger, the saber on her right side unclipped and fell to her hand though she kept it unignited. She closed her eyes and focused on her battlefield awareness, something that as a Marauder she had become quite adept at doing, to try and discern what and hopefully who was approaching, and from where.

Anger. Anger from a single individual near the origin of the explosion, surrounded by confusion and directed attention from others. She locked onto the anger before mentally sending out a single thought telepathically to those who would accept it within friendly forces.

“Single potential hostile, southwestern perimeter.”

With her post currently being at the southernmost location, she opted to remain there until such time it would warrant her having to depart it to assist. Against a single target, it was not yet warranted. Instead, she closed her eyes again and perpetually worked to focus her attention to the area at large just in case something changed.

Silver met gold as Aibyss stared back at the Shista, taking him in. With the black fur and massive stature he would have had a hard time blending in back in the Tundra.

“Flyndt? Yes. Knew him before shark-man. Since he was fledgling. I-“

She heard the beeping. Seconds. Mere seconds. The Omwati spun to face where they had just placed the Thing That Goes Boom and was faced with a worrying sight. A flashing red light.

Bad. Worry. React. Gogogo. The Things That Go Boom around Foxen’s home also flashed red before they went boom. She had seen a poor rabbit reduced to mist by one of the pieces of Thing That Goes Boom that was left behind— to quote Flyndt —when her fellow Omwati had to protect his other.

Without a second thought, Aibyss reached out with her hand and the force to grab the Thermal Imploder. She tore it from its spot and launched it far into the forest with a practiced motion. It made a wide arc up, then landed somewhere in the trees.

One… two… thr—

BOOM.

The thermal device detonated, sending whatever wildlife was hiding in the trees scattering.

Aib got a sinking feeling, the expression on her face turning from stone cold concentration in the moment to a tight grimace, her double canines on display.

“Abominations likely hear-feel that. Oops.”

Doon’s single ear twitched as the beeping began. He spun near instantly, catching the fleeing shape of Alaisy from the source of the noises. A snarl caught in his throat, worry seeping into his thoughts. Not enough to stall him however.

Doon moved fast, leaping infront of the Omwati and activating his personal shield. He spun to face her, hoping to block most of the blast, but she seemed to be doing something. With a hand motion, the beeping faded, and the thunderous implosion sounded, followed quickly by the secondary explosion.

Doon eyed Aibyss for a moment before turning to check on Wulfram, then looking off in the distance that Alaisy had ran to. “Careful. She’s been swayed. The song has her, we need to find her before she does something else stupid.” His voice was a low growl as his claws sparked, the modified shock gauntlet turning on as he spun to face the wilderness.

Circe walked after them, but kept herself at a distance. She didn’t like the pull she was feeling, but she wanted to help in the best way she could, long distance fighting.

She held her rifle in her hands and looked around as she went after them when she suddenly heard a commotion and then a loud implosion.

‘That can’t be right,’ she silently thought and hurried closer

Marick tuned out the din of everything…wrong with what was happening to his homeworld. Old habits died hard as his mind of iron settled into place, free from emotion or worry, replaced with a sense of pure, unwaivering sense of duty.

Protect those that cannot protect themselves

He wasn’t Atriyu, but he had watched her for so many years. Watched how she single handedly found a way to save more than she lost. He had been working diligently at the clinic when he wasn’t on duty as Exarch or babysitting…it was important to her, to him.

The Hapan moved from injury to injury like clockwork. The Elder Arcanist applied pressure, ignored his own bodies needs with the Force while seamlessly drawing in the living Force to refuel any small traces of expended energy. He closed wounds, worked careful, nimble fingers around stitching. Applied wraps to amputated limbs and helped continue to load the transports for evac.

He sense more. Knew more was coming. But right now, he had a way to help the people here who needed it. He had to trust that the others could do their part.

And, if the worst came to pass, he knew he’d be needed to step in, step up, and repel any that tried to take advantage of the weak.

One patient looked worse than the others, so he shifted his focus to them.

Marick’s face rarely reacted to…anything. But as this downed woman came over to him, his eyes seemed to go flat and his brow knitted in…disgust?

He could see what the creatures were doing. Worse than the ichor, viscera, and rent bones. They had learned a lot over the years, fortunately, about the unique way the Caxette’s bred, yet seeing it up close, the squirming and writhing of whatever it was that was now inside the soldier needed to be removed and slayed.

The Hapan moved methodically, using scalpel and careful tools to extract the thing. Once he did so, he activated his lightdagger, jabbed the bulbous thing repeatedly, then stepped on it and ground it into a pulpy nothing beneath his boot.

“Sweep up the remains, put it into one of the sealed containment bins,” he ordered one of the aides who nodded numbly and did so.

So much for surprises.

The tall Sith layed low for a second, breathing rapidly with short hisses. The impact came from much further away than she had anticipated. She could still feel the heartbeat in her throat. That pleasant thrill of that Thermal Imploder. Hunger intensified as the song called for prey to be chased down.

Aphotis willed the Force into that palpable furor that came from the melody. Her hand reached for her Assassin’s Datapad. She set a self-destruct timer and frantically swiped for the first music video that would show on the holonet.

Time to go.

Then she pitched the device behind her as it started playing and pushed herself off the ground. She was going to be exhausted after this, but distance was key right now. A frenzied surge of energy burst into her legs.

Passionate and violent thoughts were brought to the surface. She remembered the crown. The painstaking time and credits it took to restore it to its former glory. She gritted her teeth and let her mask turn off the air, sucking it onto her face as she attempted to inhale. Muscles tightened, her heart raced and her vision narrowed.

Her lips formed into a wicked smile imagining what she’d do to whatever quarry the sisters would find. Claw them, rip and tear into their chests. Feast!

Grappled by her alchemical skin she was reeled into the forest. Weight shifted entirely onto her platforms. Tir'eivra’s tall frame covered an incredible distance with each long stride. The void-like aura around her turned into a torrent of crimson flames in the Force. Alaisy’s goal was to get as far away as possible or to reach her sisters in the shadows. Then, and only then, she would let the adrenaline subside.

Mune’s ears swivelled at the sound of the distant explosion. You better not be getting yourself hurt, Doon, they thought with a sigh.

They opened their eyes to see what Marick was doing. It was unsettling. Was this what the creatures did? Was this how they increased their numbers? The Shistavanen did not realize they were growling until they felt more than a few personnel staring uneasily. They could stare all they wanted, Mune thought, giving a couple of them a glare in return as if to tell them to get back to work.

“Before cleaning that up…”

Like a gentle sigh, the brush of fur and snow faded from the minds touched by the Arcanist’s aura. They had something else they had to focus on right then. Mune realized they had no idea if touching that mess could be potentially hazardous. They had doubts; it was dead, and the Hapan had ensured that. It would harm no one else. Dead though it may be, it could still serve a purpose, the Shistavanen thought. Even as the last vestiges of their aura withdrew from the minds of their nearby companions, they were already focussing their mind outwards, weaving the Force to another design. Dropping to a crouch, they touched their fingertips gingerly to the mangled mess and put their Arcanist abilities to work.

Like a beacon, the material’s progenitor lit up within the Force, and its retreat path was made clear to the Arcanist. Grabbing some gauze, they collect a sample of the mess before they rose and let someone clean up the remnants.

“We can track them,” Mune noted to the older Arcanist. “The one that implanted this is currently retreating from the perimeter. I imagine it is not alone. Perhaps the explosion made them rethink their position…”

They gazed toward the jungle, watching the foliage momentarily before reaching for their communicator. “Doon, what is your position? What was that explosion? I have detected and am currently tracking one of the creatures through the Force, retreating back into the jungle.”

Aibyss turned from the explosion and let the large Shista protect her from the shrapnel. Exhaustion breezed through her for a moment, causing her tattoo covered legs to tremble under her dress. She wouldnt have been able to protect herself without Doon’s help.

Aibyss stared back, level, but obviously momentarily worn down. Silver eyes and black sclera were unwavering as Doon stared.

Ancestors he was massive. How was in that damn near everyone in Arcona was tall, even next to her? She had been one of the tallest in her tribe and here was this sentient mountain of fur and scar tissue towering over her.

The Shista turned his attention and Aibyss’s attention was drawn by something dark and fast sprinting away from them.

The monochrome Onwati took three measured steps, pulling a knife seemingly out of no where. The black obsidian blade gleamed with a sickly green hue as she raised it between two fingers, aimed, then tossed the bone and obsidian dagger with pretty competent and force-augmented precision.

It sailed through the air and…

Burried hilt deep into a tree just behind the dark figure streaking through the trees like a panther. A loud, reptilian like hiss rattled from the Onwati Shaman’s chest.

Frustration.

She had missed.

She turned and handed another one of the obsidian daggers to Doon, then pointed at the figure.

“Quick! Throw!”

Despite the blur of speed and tunnel vision, Alaisy noticed the sudden thud of tree bark being split. If there was any doubt before about their intentions, they were gone now. Her focus remained adamant in her sprint.

Note to self: No mercy has been shown. No way back. Keep going.

Passing at least beyond the first treeline reassured her. It felt like time stretched out from seconds to hours.

Must reach further in.

It all happened in a few fleeting moments. As soon as he activated the MFTAS he saw why the camp had been beset with so many injuries. They were surrounded, the passive motion tracker pinged movement in every direction, and before he could relay this information to Doon he saw the Omwati woman reach out and flick the beeping imploder into the distance.

At first silence. The airburst effect of the imploder pulled the nearby forest towards it, before violently detonating with the amplified air pressure caused by the initial implosive force. Doon placed himself between the blast and Aibyss and Wulfram covered ducked his head against the blast, an armored vambrace covering the nape of his neck. The Mandalorian’s visor shuddered as the reverberation of the blast washed over him and his eyes fell on the motion sensor before he stood, scanning the field for signs of the one missing member of their party. A black framed form broke for the tree line, this one wasn’t a Caxqette, it ran for the pack, but it didn’t belong.

This one was theirs. This one betrayed them.

Wulfram’s mask slipped and his everpresent concealment faded, the carefully crafted veneer that kept his secret from the rest of the galaxy, the secret that only his trusted knew, that threatened his childhood. Rage boiled over as he stared into the dark forest through the HUD of his helmet, threatening to lose sight in the distance from the camp’s oversaturation of spotlights. Joints ached against the coursing adrenaline and anger that pulled on his aging frame as he ripped the adhesive grenade from the magnetic clip on his thigh and primed it with a press of his thumb.

“K'aarayi, ge'hutuun!” He shouted against the night as he whipped the grenade directly for the woman’s back.

The grenade missed by a hair’s breadth, only for it to detonate at it’s range and snatch her by her illustrious ponytail.

"K'aarayi, ge'hutuun!" = Suffer, villain *(abusive)*

Alaisy had no idea what the shouting meant, but its hostile intonation seemed clear. An explosion, uncomfortably close to her, followed up on the cry. The device sounded more like a whistling wheeze than a bang as adhesive matter spread out of it. A chill ran over her back. Even mid-run, with her going at full speed, it somehow caught up to her. It latched onto the tip of her war-like plume like a claw.

The Sith’s ultra-sensitive hair—an alchemical amalgamation of the same type as her second skin—picked up on the substance that sank and hardened as it connected with her and the forest soil. Intuitively her tail had pulled back in sharp twitches, coiling around her waist. Her pessimistic mind had already pre-calculated the worst scenario. She would have to cut part of her hair off.

Arms raised, she grasped just above the covered strands and tightened her fist. Aphotis gritted her teeth. With her other claw, she ran a single vibronail along it and swiped.

A clean slice. Tension released. A blood-curdling pain followed. She squeezed her eyes shut and wanted to scream. Her adrenaline rush and closed air valve did not allow it.

Her thigh trembled as her boot stomped on the ground. She gasped in agony as the trimming felt akin to slowly sawing a fingertip off. Not unfamiliar. Whoever was responsible would die a thousand deaths for their hubris.

She burst forward with tears forming in the corners of her sharply lined eyes. Wrath and vengeance were the wind in her sails now.

It was easier to communicate with emotions and feelings than using words. Full understanding came within an instant instead of after a constant battle of charm and wit. And it came with truth only, it was honest, something Tir'eivra valued greatly.

The sight was a welcome one. Seeing the dark ones emerge was like receiving a warm blanket and a lick on her wound. Aphotis couldn’t bear the thought of any of them getting hurt because of the risks she took.

They were the downtrodden, still embedded with golden grandeur. She could relate with the Children more than anyone she had ever met. Adaptation, survival, and constant evolution were themes she took to the extreme herself. Her heart filled up with excitement at the thought of sharing all of her experiences.

For now, all she could give were the faces and intentions of those she wished to ruin. Even in her vexation, she inclined her head at the winged one, giving off warmth like a compliant smile.

So many things were happening.

Doon’s communication crackled as the adhesive grenade goes off. Mune was trying to reach him, but a knife was thrust into his grip. He regarded the Omwati for a moment, shifting to the side to catch but a glimpse of Alaisy and the two new shadows that joined her.

He snarled and turned back, holding the knife out to Aibyss to take. “No. There are dozens out here, she’s unharmed. Swayed, she shouldn’t be harmed too grievously. We must return.”

He grabs his communicator to respond, ushering the other two back towards the camp. “Alaisy set off an Imploder with us in range, then ran into the arms of the Cax. She’s been swayed and we can’t pursue, there are too many. Prep for an attack coming from our position but keep eyes and ears open, they may be surrounding us.”

Circe stopped and stared off into the distance. She couldn’t believe that she just had given herself over to the song like that and wondered if there was more at play here. Sure, Alaisy was a Sith, but even then she knew the dangers of just going off alone like this.

Frowning, Circe joined the group, her markings on her helmet appearing before the rest of the chameleon painted armour appeared.

“Seems I will be joining your team for now,” she said with an even tone.

The Shitevanen had already started walking in the direction the team had gone before Doon even finished speaking. Their muscles tensed to run, but they resisted the urge. No one was hurt; otherwise, Doon would have mentioned injuries. “We shall meet you partway to save on time,” they made a point of pitching their voice higher for Marick to hear, no doubt in their mind that the other Arcanist was already aware something had gone wrong.

It was no surprise when Marick fell into step with them.

“Alaisy has succumbed,” Mune stated simply. “She set off a thermal imploder close to the team, surveying the perimeter. Doon reported no injuries though warns of a potential attack from their vicinity.”

Was Alaisy more susceptible to the supposed God’s influence? That would suggest she had been previously exposed to All’usu’s song. There had been no clear indication who from their allied clans would be joining them, or else Mune would have done some digging around. Their memory of what it was, they could not recall hearing the woman’s name come up in conversation on the Voidbreaker II either. If she had been exposed to the song before this mission, they questioned the wisdom of allowing her addition to the team and the danger she presented to the Arconans and their allies from the other clans that chose to join them in their time of need.

“We know what to expect of the caxqettes, in theory. Do we have information on Alaisy? What can we expect from her?” Mune asked the other Arcanist as they walked, Doon and the others coming into view.

<@189568236201705472> <@160141735354171394>

He had made sure that the medics had whatever knowledge and insight he could provide before turning to follow. He kept his Radiant lightsaber gripped in one hand, but disengaged for the moment.

“Plenty,” Marick replied easily. “Tir'eivra’s Brotherhood records are simple enough. Her time in Arcona, easier. Other than relations with Zig Kaliska, she had a lab on the Voidbreaker and aided Arcona when called upon. We worked together against the Collective.”

“Then she went to the Council, but then dissapeared. She resurfaced recently. I sent her on a mission with other Envoys on Uskill- but other than that, the Taldtyan Consul is probably the best source of knowledge.”

As they moved with swift familiarity, he continued, “One of the earlier encounters with the Cax’s, she was indeed easily pulled by the song, but she is still very strong in her will and determination.”

“That said, if we can cut off All'su’s influence, Alaisy would likely be inclined to work with us, instead of against us. She values her own pursuit of power, and would likely be…annoyed at not being in full control of it. Not exactly the sharing type,” the Exarch finished. Cinteroph, of course, just nodded along as they processed.

The Hapan, however, realized that he was straining to see now that that they had left the flood lights of the triage base. He called on the Force, letting it flow freely through his body, augmenting his vision to counter his inherent nightblindness. The area around them became crisp and clear, if a bit devoid of color. His pace also remained brisk but smooth.

The Mandalorian’s arm shot down after his blaster, fueled by rage he had no intention of letting Alaisy escape, but as the calm and collected voices of the others broke through his helmet he slowed and his wrist snapped into place against the magnetic accessory holster the adhesive grenade had been attached to only moments ago. A heated breath shuddered through his clenched his jaw as he began to release the tension along his frame, his free left hand reaching across to disengage the magnet and free him from it as a sense of calm slowly filtered back into the Mandalorian.

“Tactical Systems lit up with a lot of movement after the imploder went off, they were moving away from the camp.” He rasped as he began to look in the direction where Alaisy had been.

“I could have sworn that grenade snagged her. The tracker stopped and lit up with a few more hostiles…” He voiced as he looked out into the jungle, striking his glowrod and tossing it in the same direction he had thrown the grenade.

The Wolf and Metal Man started talking, as if to no one, which cause Aibyss’s head to tilt. The force? No, they were likely using the talk pieces that Aibyss had seen others use– Commlinks, she remembered them calling them. She took her knife back from Doon with a very Foxen like “hmph”.

“Wanted to slow, poison. Not kill. Waste of life, that. Not Shadow’s fault. The Song is strong.”

She slipped the knife back into the holster under her sleeve– one of many covering her tall but thin frame. The Omwati looked between both of the men she was accompanying.

“Am used to this, tapping into big web of energy. Touched the surface of their sense-feel. Thirty were around us, but Thing That Goes Boom scared them off, I think. A hundred here on the land, in forest. Sneaking. Waiting. Hundreds of hundreds in the ocean. Thirty that fled? Southbound. Maybe something that way?”

Silver eyes that glowed white in the refracted light from the moon and camp flickered between both men.

“I go. Southbound with them. Shadow lady also likely there, but will not kill. Will try to free, though don’t know how.”

The Shistavanen mulled over the information. So, aside from the caxqettes, they had what they gathered to be formidable Sith in the mix of what they would be facing. It certainly added to their troubles. How would Taldryan react if things were to take a worse turn than they already had? It was possible Alaisy would not be unscathed if caught up between the clans and the god’s minions.

“Determined or not, it would seem All’usu’s song has taken her in,” Mune muttered, more to himself than to Marick. “I can but reinforce the minds of our companions; I do not believe I can break whatever hold All’usu has once her influence has wrapped its wicked claws around their minds.”

Together, they walked the rest of the way to the meeting point in thoughtful silence. It was a puzzle to be solved, and even with fractured memories, Mune was not about to shy away from the puzzle.

Doon and the others came into view. The white-furred Shistavanen’s eyes narrowed, studiously observing the much larger Shista until they were certain Doon was actually unwounded. Their eyes glanced at Aibyss, Circe, and Wulfram. All seemed in fine enough health. No surprise, Alaisy was not among them. Mune glanced in the direction they had approached from in thought. It was far too dangerous to think of tracking her with the enemy at their doorstep, perhaps waiting to catch them unawares.

“Is everyone okay?” Mune asked distractedly.

“She’s broken away from it before. She can do it again. We just need to stand our ground and…endure until she can break free herself.”

Marick took a quick cursory glance around and filed away each person into his memory. The Sephi, Circe, was unfamiliar but it was hard to miss Wulfram and his armor. Doon, as well, somehow made the forest itself seem smaller. The Omwati was Aibyss, he recalled.

As the group exchanged short exchanges and filled each other in on what they knew, Marick spoke up to address the larger group. “I know it will sound strange, but if each of you could share an article of your attire, a piece of fur, a feather…” he spoke very calmly and firmly to show he meant business only.

He didn’t realzie until after he asked that anyone not familiar with him might be confused or concerned with the request.

A rumble of a growl comes from Doon as the bird spoke. His eyes focused on the two that met up with them. “You will not be going alone.” he assured Aibyss.

As Marick made his request, Doon didn’t seem to hesitate drawing his beskad to cut a tuft of hair from his mane to hand it over.

“Alaisy is gone, Cax covered her retreat. If we want to go after her, we will need to move fast. Aibyss says about a third of them fled, Mune can you track them with her help?” He looked at the smaller Shistavanen then to the Omwati. “We will move as one. If that is in offense, we need to alert the others”

Marick idly pocketed the tuft from Doon, into one of the many small pockets woven into his Shaead cloak.

Wulfram looked to the Exarch and drew one of his RSKF-44 blasters, Stark Resemblance, clicked the selector three times, and handed it to him.

“It’s set to stun, I get turned, shoot me. If I die hunting this thing, deliver that to Asani, when you can recover my body take its twin to her as well, and my Phrik blade to Sofila.”

Mune growled, “I will not let anyone here die…”

They unsheathed their daggers to cut a small tuft of fur, which they handed to Marick. They did not plan on getting separated, but one never knew once they set foot upon the field of battle.

“Do we have anything of Alaisy’s by chance? It would make tracking her easier.”

Marick blinked as he looked at the weapon he had been handed. He held it with two fingers, barely touching it, and studied it. He took a nerf wool, wrapped the blaster inside of it, and stowed it in his bag. “Copy,” he replied to Wulfram as he side glanced at Mune as he similarly pocketed the tuft.

“Asani has been very impressive in training, by the way. You raised her well,” he added.

“I have a feeling we won’t have to look that hard to find her…” Marick mused.

Circe tilted her head slightly as she thought of what she could give him. Then she fumbled around her neck as she pulled a necklace free from the folds of her armour.

She held it out towards Marick, “I would like it back once we are done here.”

Marick Tyris Arconae bowed his head slightly as he accepted the necklace. “On my name, you will have it returned safely.”

Black tipped fingers deftly plucked one of the smaller feathers from the side of her head— circular in shape and dark charcoal in color. She handed the small feather to Marick. She knew other Force users could use bits to trace people, even across the Galaxy.

Her eye began closest to the feather began to water. Even then she stared at the Hapan man with a calm expression.

“Have no intentions of joining the Force here, but if do… Send me home to Omwat, please?”

Then she looked at everyone collected, including the person who had been with the Shadow lady previously.

“Wont ask this. Don’t know me. Wont ask to follow me into horde. This one can do on own— is a dumb idea, in hindsight, but only way one can make themselves useful.”

Wulfram placed a hand on the slender Omwat’s shoulder, to keep her from running off into the night alone.

“Nobody goes alone. Nobody dies needlessly.” The Mandalorian spoke as the weight of crashing Rage began to settle upon him.

“We gather ourselves, prepare for what’s out there, and we hunt, together.”

“Understood,” Marick replied calmly and offered a polite bow of his head.

He nodded then along with Wulfram. “This is in case we’re separated, but sticking together is likely our best course of action against the Caxettes. If someone starts to act erratically, they are likely turned by the song. If you have stun equipment, or restraint equipment, try to incapacitate.”

He paused, consdering. “If I turn, go for my eyes or ears. Blinding or darkness, sonic weaponry.” He continued to self-analyze himself. “Don’t try to restrain with the Force. It won’t work. Fibercord or stun cuffs better.”

Mune’s hackles rose. They did not like being restrained if their low growl indicated their response to the discussed topic. They reached out through the Force, noting where the caxqette they were tuned into had gone. It differed from what they could discern from the direction Alaisy went in. Of course, why could it not be made easier for them?

“Avoid restraining me, if you would be so kind… Incapacitate, suppress… no restraining,” Mune thought, “Restraining making use of the Force, much like Marick, will be completely ineffective.”

The Shistavanen moved past the others towards the darkness, quite literally sniffing at the air. They thought nothing of the rather animalistic action. “We need to start moving soon, though, if we plan on pursuing. The instant we enter the jungle, I have no doubt we will become the hunted.”

A hamlet of insignificant size sprung up in the distance between the foliage. Buildings made of common materials seemed mostly unmarred.

The burning pain of Alaisy’s cut plume intensified as her pace slowed down. Her already narrow vision blurred and seemed to shift away from where she looked. A dizziness overcame her, coupled with lightheadedness. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer, and with a whistle, her valve opened. Frantic breaths pulled oxygen from her tanks with loud hisses. For a moment her visor seemed to fog, but cleared out after a breath or two.

The gathering of about a dozen Children reassured her that she had reached her goal. She could feel their harmony in the song more than she could see them. Anger subsided with the relief and her flame dimmed out.

Her legs shook before she dropped to her knees. Pain transformed into a pulsation with pins and needles. Her throat was dry and her heart seemed to be untameable.

Still, she couldn’t linger. Kneeling at the entrance to the village, she peered up at the light shining through the trees. Aphotis’ neck corset served as a pedestal for the back of her head. Trembling, clawed hands rose to the sky like the wings of a mynock. Being the void that she was, energy from the Living Force was sucked into her fingertips. She drank from the pool of life like a black hole at the center of the galaxy.

The search for a living victim would begin once she could raise herself to her full height again.

Circe looked between them and then nodded, “Guess we will have to find out who is the better hunter.”

The longer she siphoned, the better she felt. It was like pulling at decorative bows to reveal packages of energy as her long nails twitched in the air. Her double vision merged into a singular one with a greater peripheral view and her heart simmered down. Hunger and thirst were brought to the surface now.

Aphotis could sense the urgency of the song. Her tail—her most honest and emotional part—swooned in agreement.

Temporary, time to go.

Tir'eivra placed her legs to her side and pushed herself off the ground with her hands. Her muscles were sore and the fever was set to become much worse as time went by. Her ankles trembled as they worked to re-balance the massively tall boots. The rest was easier as she snaked back up to her full height.

Somehow the pair of sisters gave off a fresh breeze of coastal air. With some concentration, she was able to pinpoint its direction. It had been some time since she swam in the waters of Selen. It was something of a passion back then. She longed for it and wondered why she never reserved moments like those for herself anymore. The chronic nostalgic pain was interrupted by physical stinging.

She ran a long-nailed hand over the length of her tail, and it began excreting an oil, that she then rubbed over the damaged strands of her hair. It prickled like alcohol on a wound at first, then it cooled like peppermint would and the pain ebbed away in waves.

With renewed confidence, she walked up to the two escorts and inclined her head. It came with a melody of curiosity and pessimistically toned-down excitement.

“Meba has fallen…” Mune muttered, caught up momentarily in their vision.

Shaking their heads, they scanned their surroundings. Visually, the place was a mess. The devastation wrought by the caxqettes and their mistress was evident. Their mind open, they reached out through the Force, brushing against the remaining lifeforms, detecting them among the debris of their ravaged lives. The two in the house would need to be directed towards the camp… Mune thought. They continued forward, their eyes upon the broken body in the street, the weak flame flickering ever lower in the dark.

The Force rose to the Shistavanen’s beckoning. They knelt, the calm of their power whispering through them, and as their fingertips brushed the broken woman’s skin, they fanned that dying flame. Mune focused their efforts on knitting the flesh of the woman’s back, staunching blood flow, and stabilizing her life force.

“There are two people in that nearby building,” Mune indicated, their voice pitched low to go unheard by the caxqettes they sensed nearby. “I can feel the enemy still skulking about this place.”

Circe used the scope of her rifle to scan the perimeters. She saw many of the beings around them, but also many traveling on, holding bundles that sometimes looked like people. She frowned, why were they travelling all in the same direction.

“We need to keep low for now, they are still close enough to jump an attack on us,” she whispered to the group, “but I also see them taking people away from here.”

Mune shook their head slowly, “Nearby. How near, I cannot say for certain. Please, remain calm, you were very near death.”

The Shistavanen heard Circe and nodded in her direction, thankful for her observation skills. People? Were they planning on using them to…? Mune focused their attention back on the woman. “Be calm; try and match my breathing.”

They continued to heal the woman, inhaling deeply and slowly exhaling. He made a point of keeping their breath even so she would do the same. Her hyperventilating and passing out would not serve them well. They glanced over their shoulder towards the others with a question in their eyes. Did they pursue to free the people, or did they continue forward? Then there was the question of the woman and the two people Mune sensed in hiding.

“My name is Mune, my companions, and I happened upon the town in pursuit of the creatures who did this.”

Mune rose, watching the woman hurry into the house. Seeing the two people clamber from the attic, they understood the two other lives they sensed. There was some relief that her family still lived and that she could return to them. What now, though? They could not turn around to escort them back to the camp.

“Our camp is some distance from here, I’m afraid,” Mune explained carefully, keeping their voice low.

The Arconan activated their comm to check on the movement of the contingent of soldiers a short ways behind them. A quick exchange confirmed they would be arriving within minutes on their position.

“Our soldiers will arrive within moments. They will escort you to our camp, where you will be looked after,” Mune explained, “They will keep you safe.”

Marick quickly took in the scene, eerily-blue eyes moving from detail to detail.

He then took a closer look at the two that were hiding. No signs of infection.

“They’re clean,” he murmured mostly at Mune. “Ma'am, may I take a closer look at the wounds to assist my friend here?”

Marick’s voice was hardly warm or inviting. There was a distinct lack of emotion, as it were, but it was calm and seemingly devoid of any fear.

Mune smiled… though a Shistavanen smiling was an awfully toothy thing and perhaps not the most reassuring. Their eyes, though, conveyed warmth and calm. “Yes, we are only helping. Thank you for your trust.”

Aibyss stood, ever watchful outside of the building Mune and Marick were inside of. Silver eyes raked the surrounding area, looking for moving shadows or any warning sounds, Her ears listened dilligently for any sign that the Song was coming closer.

She absent mindedly twirled an obsidian dagger between her black fingers. It had been so long since she had last been a Warrior… this was… strange.

Marick looked over the woman. He saw no signs of anything bubbling under skin. Nothing implanted, as best he could tell. “You’re going to be alright,” he spoke calmly. He paused, then glanced down at his hands. He removed the ring around one of his fingers, silver with a signet bearing the symbol of the Arconae.

Once removed, he casually floated the ring so it hovered in his palm. He extended it towards the youngster. “Here. Take this. It is a charm that will help keep you all safe, as long as you stay here, hide, and wait for the soldiers with a similar emblem.”

He tapped the rings signet. The Arconae emblem was the symbol for Clan Arcona with archaic runes encircling it.

He let the ring stop floating, and placed it into the childs palm. He offered a small smile, and bowed his head.

“Excuse us. We need to try and help prevent more villiages from meeting a similar fate.”

With that, the Hapan rose and left, joining the others outside.

“Tracks. Southward towards the sea. Humanoid…and monster. We should make haste.”

Mune was still uncertain about leaving them but knew they had work to do. They trusted these people would be okay. The Shistavanen turned and followed Marick without a word. There was no question about which direction they must travel, and so Mune took to that path, following the blood path and footprints.

“Agreed… everyone, stay alert.”

Mune took a moment to tap into the Living Force to replenish their reserves. Her flame had been so close to dying out—to being lost to her family. They glanced back towards the house the family sheltered in before turning their backs and taking to the trail briskly. There was no time to waste. If this village were any indication, time was growing short.

Mune stumbled, eyes taking in the scene before them. Their vision swam. Overlapping with reality, boats bobbing… Run! Run! The song singing, they’ll be safe in the water. All'usu says so. Their goddess says so. The Shistavanen had to wrench themself free, shutting it down before they could be swallowed entirely by the visions. Mune grabbed onto the other Shistavanen’s bicep. The last images to fade were of a black-furred muzzle lunging and the glare of a brilliant, gold eye.

Mune gritted their teeth, the feeling of teeth in their throat fading as reality reasserted itself. “Sorry, Doon. I lost my balance,” Mune muttered, loosening their grip.

“It would appear she has assembled quite the army,” Mune noted. “If we make a stand here, I doubt it will end well for us. Not with our numbers.”

Marick narrowed his eyes faintly, calculating the numbers calmly.

There it was, the danger Alla'su presented, it wasn’t just the dangers of Sith ideology and domination. Heavens above and throughout knew that the Arconans had enough of that in their midst, no, the danger lay in her pets, their ability to amass and build into a terrifying force, alongside their coercive song. Wulfram sighed and tapped the side of his helmet twice.

“Quiet, biding, building. She knew we’d come for her after we came for the others. She laid the trap well, and our options are getting tighter by the hour. Our-Lady-of-Leather was a symptom of a much larger issue, we’ve been able to tell, we hope, how many have been pulled by the damnable swansong to this point, but… What if there are more who got past us, who made their way back with the others, under orders to cause mayhem?” Wulfram questioned as he lifted his forearm and studied the map of the landing zones.

“We came from this landing zone…” he said as he poked the topographical map over their camp, “but have we had any word from the other LZ, how well established are our Forward Bases to the south? We may well be one of the only forces standing and able to push in after Alla'su right now.” He sighed.

“Arcona and Odan-Urr both have air and space assets that could be used for close air support against amassed forces. I’m unsure of what our other guests have brought to the table, but if Zuza warned them against what was on the surface, they’ll likely have sent some similar firepower.” He mused as he brought his finger up to his visor, pressed to the brow line, his thumb quirked, approximately, where his lip would have been.

“In for a Druggat, in for a Flan.” The Mandalorian chuckled as he checked the hilt of his phrik sword and pulled on his blaster to check the holster’s tension.

“The ground fight’s going to be a slogfest the closer to the bitch Queen we get, and as we get closer we’ll have less support capabilities.”

The tension on her second skin was still palpable, but it did calm down a little as they reached their brethren. Her oils seemed to have numbed the pain down to mere itching around her hair. Aphotis felt a warmth within the throng. A sense of productivity and importance. Emotions of protectiveness and pride swelled in the area. She rolled her shoulders as she walked by the nests. They weren’t wasteful, not with their time, nor with their quarry.

After all the running she could barely feel her legs anymore and her hands were a bit shaky. She felt a spike in her heart as she looked down at her shuddering claws. Tir'eivra froze in her movement as she noticed it. The familiar caxquette sent chills over her spine. Memories came in like a tidal wave. It couldn’t be any more relatable. A rebirth, a melding of identities.

Emotions of pain, loss, nostalgia, and dying wishes surged through the melody. Alaisy had gone through much the same. She had died, lived again, and then had to risk losing everything to be reborn as something else.

These thoughts flowed deeper and deeper…

A bleeding tree. A sharp pain. Death of two. Emerald light. Life, twice. A wealth of knowledge. A coven. Strength. Power. Growth, cancerous growth, it wouldn’t stop. Struggle between two. Ripped apart. Forced back together. Then a death of identity. Rebirth. Every feeling amplified.

It was as if this caxquette mimicked her path. A strange kinship. The sensation became so strong it choked her up. She felt a tear slide over her cheek. Her hand wanted to wipe it away, but it reabsorbed back into the cup of her mask.

“I know you, and you know me.”

Her tail flicked smoothly from side to side. They had both evolved.

It all made sense now, their malady. The amount of pain endured was equal to the love absorbed. An agony so pure that Aphotis could never consider it weakness.

She had always felt their objective and intentions but did not know clarity. Despite not having Mother’s recognition, she felt a wave of satisfaction from knowing. Life always started small. It needed to be protected before it could bloom. The children, nests, and family, were keys. It would be beyond tragic to not see it done. Not to mention the former, golden glory dissipating into nothingness, a grasp at immense power clawing and not attaching, missing. She made a motion with her claw, imagining it disintegrating. She felt it like how her Imperial classes described death from a disruptor rifle.

Alaisy’s logical thinking halted her, making her tail curl and unfold violently. If the song, the Mother and her Children wanted her to do the same thing they did so well already, she would not have been left alone to retain her sense of self. She would have been made part of the family physically, like the many victims.

In another scenario, would Tir'eivra herself have trusted an outsider with her own Children? The answer was a resounding no. Was she too insignificant to have an effect? She refused to think this way, it was self-destructive. What did she have that made her so different? .

She harkened back to her earliest visions, several of the thousands in which she experienced vivid death of self or oblivion. In so many, she bore witness to an apocalypse, the end of everything. No, not finality. A revelation. Something wondrous to behold. One way or the other she was destined to witness an apocalypse. Perhaps as a keeper, to preserve. Fear spiked in her heart. Not ambitious enough. There was no destiny, she had always willed her way, shaped herself, shaped fate, chosen.

A flower, forming itself piece by piece, the corpses of planets being fertile ground.

For now, she bided her time, inspecting nests for weaknesses. Every curiosity learned from and sampled from like roots drinking nutrients from the soil. Her claws stroked membranes, tissues, caxquettes that varied. Aphotis tried to see the beauty in every one of them. She considered preparing explosives as defenses but realized that if the song was disrupted the Children could fall victim to them. Instead, she was a sensitive conduit, with her emotions pure and easy to reach, extending the range of the melody.

“We do have the Force on our side though… if it would help us,” Circe said as she looked off into the distance through her scope. Silently she hoped she would see any sign of Alaisy, but she also knew that she could still be to far of to be spotted, if she even wanted to be seen at all.

“So, what is our plan?”

“If you spot Tir'eivra, signal. If you feel yourself overwhelmed or going down, signal,” Marick spoke as he absently tossed his two lightdaggers out to either side of his body.

Before the small hilts could hit the ground they caught mid-air and began to lift up. Shortened-blades of plasma sparked to life from each telekinetically controlled lightdagger, casting a pale glow around the Hapan’s head like faint halos.

In his hand, his Radiant saber ignited, the black-cored blade shrouded in a pale ghostly white glow.

He did not toggle the dual-phase to stun, and left it active.

Protect those who cannot protect themselves.

The Exarch nodded at Mune, and the two Elder Arcanist started off towards the closest enemy, taking point.

Marick kept an idle bead on Mune trailing behind him. He trusted very few to watch his back, but the white-furred Shistavanen had proven themselves time and again.

There would be time later to discuss philosophy, morality, and what was right and what was wrong. But for now, the threat in front of him was real. As the Hapan darted forward into the mass of swarming shadowy creatures, he dropped any pretense of hiding who or what he was. There was no reason for him to hold back. Not here, not now. Lives were at stake. He kept seeing the images of the boy he’d given the charm to. Marut’s eyes. The dying soldiers he’d overseen at triage. The shapes wriggling underskin.

No more sorrow.

This was his home, and he did not care if All'su herself noticed him. Let her send what she had against a true child of Dajorra itself.

The first Caxette was bold, brave, and brazen. It saw a diminutive humanoid charging at what seemed to be a recklace pace with only a single weapon gripped in its hands. Marick made it regret being the first to meet him. The varpeline crystal in his lightsaber emitted a loud sharp krsshk sound, like a seamstress scissors gliding against fabric.

His first slash gouged across the creatures bulbous stomach while the second removed its head in the same, rolling motion. Gray hair and dark cloak blurred in harmony with his black-cored, ghostly glowing blade.

At the same time, the two lightdaggers, controlled telekentically by a portion of Marick’s will and split-focus, darted out like angry spider-drones and made a repeated series of micro cuts into the second closest Caxette. While smaller than even a shoto lightsaber, the lightdagger blades were harder for the creatures sinous limbs to bat at or try to deflect with scythle-like appendages. They were small and quick, and shredded into the Cax’s center of mass, bringing it down with a wail and spray fountain of ichor that the Hapan casually evaded.

Circe took up a spot some distance behind Marick and lined up her rifle to shoot any of the Caxette getting to close to him as he advanced towards the village.

From the corner of her eye she saw one of them trying to jump attack him from his flank. Quickly she aimed her rifle at it and shot. The beast was to nimble to be shot head on, but it did break of it’s attack so that was good.

Silently she wondered why she missed, normally she has no problem hitting targets from this distance, was it the unfamiliarity of the new rifle or something else?

Marick.

Aphotis had to step forward now that he was hunting her. She couldn’t risk letting him slip out of sight. A man like him wouldn’t relent, or let emotion sit in the way of his objective.

Unfortunately, there were two more. One was Circe, perhaps she could be dissuaded from fighting her. Alaisy sent her mixed feelings throughout the song. Finally, there was a Shistavanen there that she understood very little, but they seemed to be in the back.

Out in the open, without ranged support, they were most vulnerable. The song needed to know that she was determined to fight for them, at least for a time.

Her electric-blue eyes darted over the trio. She calculated every possible outcome. The caxquettes were only effective at close range. They needed a distraction, something to give them the chance to engage.

Her claw ran over her lightsaber.

Too defensive.

Latex clicked and snapped as it ran from her high-waisted belt over to the metal disk resting on her hip.

Too risky, later.

A nail tapped each of her grenades hidden under her backpack.

Likely to be flung back.

Her left hand reached for the Maxalan Smart Pistol, her new toy.

Perhaps.

She unclipped it and aimed it between the trio. She locked in the miniature laser pinpointing the empty space. In a way the device was stubborn, she had to override the tracking system from picking a specific target.

With a gentle squeeze of the trigger a salvo of flechette-filled pellets burst out of the barrel. She hoped the high explosive payload would cause their Force-alarm-bells to fire off all at once.

Tir'eivra’s free hand clenched into a fist as she urged all of the caxquettes to take their chance. The adrenaline rush that raced through her veins and heart transformed, spiking into a fear of urgency.

Now, now, now, NOW! Eat, bread, kill, murder! Get in there! Or see your unborn Children torn apart, the Mother disappointed, your glory unrestored. Fight for yourselves!

Marick’s awareness tracked everything in near-real time, the Force alerting him a few beats before it transpired. While Precognition could be attributed to the longer life expectancies of Force Users, it took a different kind of training to be able to act and interpret those warnings into real-time data.

So he did not so much as blink as the shot missed the radius of where he stood. He did not seem to even react to the sudden bubble-like protection that appeared above and around him. The Exarch’s eyes tracked the projectile to its source. Even in the darkness, surrounded by monsters, it was hard not to spot to Aphotis.

He did not turn to Circe or Mune, knowing the later would know what to do without him telling. For Circe, he just assumed she’d assess the situation and know to stay and use Mune’s cover as long as she could.

The Hapan strode forward, and let his voice ring out loudly with a slight aid of the Force. He didn’t usually raise his voice, but when he needed to, he could be heard.

“Alaisy!” he called out, making sure to use her first name alone. He did not want to speak to whatever it was that had been influenced by the Siren Song. He wanted to speak to the Sith who valued power above all else, and her own control over it.

“What kind of Sith bows to an alleged diety? I know you’re more powerful than anything SHE can offer you. Otherwise, why come back? Why take on the Governor role? ” he started applying to logic, but then threw his hands our wide in…what he hoped was a display of alpha-like bravado. Wyn did it enough. Taking a similar page from his brothers book, he then added, “Did you ever think that your aim is better when you’re not letting yourself be controlled by another’s will!?”

Circe cursed when the explosion of pellets went of near her. She was so focused on keeping them at bay that she didn’t noticed the shot coming. Her eye hurt from the sudden bright flash through her scope and if she wasn’t wearing her helmet she would have rubbed it to ease the pain.

She slowly moved forward after a moment and kept her rifle ready again then blinked as Marick called out to Alaisy.

‘Was he really poking a minocks nest now?’

Hearing Alaisy instead of her Sith name was enough to figure out that he hadn’t fully grasped her ambitions. A growl and a hiss expelled from her facemask. Her sharply lined eyes scanned for anything that wasn’t Tyris, his act was enough to echo-locate him. The calculations ran through her mind, keeping tabs on the distance between them and her. If anything, he was sudden in his movements, and quiet once he would cease speaking.

This was all very unexpected. Hearing such emphasis in his voice was new to Tir'eivra, and the gestures that she noticed in her peripheral view, well, they seemed unlike him. Too animated. Was Marick employing the same strategy? Distract and divide? It was almost as if she heard Wyndel talking. Either way, it was a trophy gained in experience all by itself. Yet it roiled something up inside of her, and she was nothing but honest, so she would spill it.

“I know full well I was pressed into the seat in an attempt to keep me in line. The title of Governor means nothing to me.” Alaisy’s voice had to be amplified by her vocal modulator, that’s how monotone it was. “You are trying to control me now Marick, I am here of my own free will. But you gathered that information now, did you not?” Her free claw ran over her lightwhip. The Sith would have to get Besotted in motion before he’d be in range of the very tip of the lash. The Smart Pistol was stowed in the meantime, it served its purpose.

Vexation sprouted by the Exarch was being siphoned into the dark side already. Her shiny suit shimmered as she tapped into her Garden of Trepidations. Having a gun pointed at her was just, unacceptable. If Circe was having doubts, she would need more of them. So Aphotis began weaving tendrils of fear and hesitation into her old and, no doubt brimful, Sephi mind. Her tail flowed with elegance, just as all of her gestures did, but twitches of stress were interrupting its grace. Her rally did not have as much of an effect in the song as Alaisy would’ve wanted.

Her worries echoed through the melody.

What if this nest falls, what then?

She hoped she would get a glimmer or a vision, or a shiver through her alchemical skin. A plan B. Would escape be an option after cutting their losses? Survival was the goal was it not?

Marick’s face remained an expressionless, emotionless mask. His words might not have had their intended intent, but they had done something. Perhaps there was a method to Wyn’s seemingly random weaving of words.

“If your will is your own,” Marick retorted calmly. “Then you should know full well that Arconans do not take to their nest being threatened. And this time, we have reinforcements.”

“It sounds like you are itching for a purge, Marick.” The tall Sith swapped Besotted to her main hand as she weaved with her other. “Murdering one nest of unwanted aliens at a time.” Her gaze stayed on Circe, but she paced back and forth. Every movement they made caused a spasm in her tail.

Circe glanced between the two of them. She was uncertain were it was going to, but she probably wouldn’t like the end result.

Marick felt that one deep in the recesses of his soul. While many wouldn’t have thought to use the word purge against him, it was still a very real and visceral scar on his psyche. Yes, he had aided Pravus’ purge of Undesirables. But it was necessary to gain trust and access, to position himself into a position where he could then put an end to it. Which he did. But others still viewed the ends not being justified as means.

He’d had years to live with that. Live with all the bad and wrong that he’d done to the galaxy. He had chosen to fight for the living, not the dead. To add to the world, not just detract from it. He had given life and hoped that his children would do better and be better. He knew they would.

But his face remained cold, stoic, and impassive. The jab slid right past him, like a faint breeze.

“If it means protecting my home, my family, then so be it,” Marick replied flatly, any hint of taunt or emotion stripped away entirely from his voice.

The hyper fast movement of caxquettes interrupted Aphotis’ focus. Her little monsters seeped back into the Garden as electric-blue darted away from her target. With an exasperated hiss she stopped weaving her spell and ignited Besotted.

With a thunderous roar she cracked her whip and spun it into motion. Vegetation burnt around the lash as she kept it in perpetual flow.

Marick narrowed his eyes, feeling the subtle shifts in the strands of fate being pulled and twisted in different directions through the Force. He felt something go wrong behind him, but did not have time to isolate exactly what went wrong. He had to trust that Mune…could handle whatever it was.

Alaisy was in closing distance. One caxette remained next to her protectively. His mind raced through different scenarios, applying his battle experience to the present moment while keeping his expression neutral and unreadable.

The moment of deliberation passed, and the Arconae darted forward. While he seemed to be making a beeline for Alaisy, his mind directed the twin spinning lightdaggers to assault the Caxette standing beside her. The plasma blades bit into the creatures shadowy flesh, wounding.

He toggled his Radiant saber to its stun setting as he continued to close into melee with “Aphotis”.

With the lightwhip already in a dance-like motion, it became like second nature to create waves within the plasma cord with subtle movements of her lithe figure. The lash retracted as she followed Marick’s approach, saving up momentum. With one boot forward she aimed the weapon at his torso with a wide swing. Muscles tensed as she created a surge, causing it to knot in the very tip. All the energy coalesced into a single point and cracked with a thunderous boom. It connected and the superheated plasma would bounce back for another round.

Marick’s attention, sharp as it was, could have been stretched just enough between controlling his Telekentic lightdaggers and with resisting, passively, the pulls of the sirens.

He had faught and trained against whip-like weapons before. Usually it was easy enough to cut through them. But with a lightwhip, like Alaisy brandished and he’d seen her use before, it was an entirely different approach.

Perhaps he was simply just getting older, no matter how much he became more and more at peace and in synergy with the arcane elements of the Force.

In the end, he misjudged his trajectory. The towering Sith’s lightwhip lashed and whipped in an erratic but intentional weave.

Marick tried to interpose his saber, but felt his arm tremble at the impact and recoil. He tried to twist, augmenting his agility with the Force for a brief moment, but his timing was off. Not fast enough.

Two firm hits struck into the shoulders of his armorweave clock. It didn’t do much against the bitter bite of the lashing lightwhip, but the Arconae grit his teeth, focused through the Force, and ignored the blossoms of pain on each side of his body.

He caught himself in a backward slide but dug his heels into the ground and balanced with one hand down on the ground. He recalled his telekenetic lightdaggers into a close orbit around him for added protection, his stun-toggled lightsaber still gripped at his side.

The barrier shuddered, and cracks radiated through the protective field. It took seconds for it to shatter into so many shards of broken glass, raining down upon the sand to fade into nothingness. Mune gritted their teeth against the shock of the breach, keeping the barriers protecting both Circe and Marick in place for another moment.

However, the threat to them was imminent. Six caxettes surrounded them. Their eyes narrowed, they bared their fangs, and a rumbling snarl filled their chest.

Releasing the barriers, they redirected the Force. They grasped and held particles of sand, focusing on turning the sand beneath their foes into a sand screen to obfuscate their next move. Only, it never happened. They could not redirect their attention and refocus their power quick enough, and the caxettes were upon them.

The weight of them suddenly overtakes them. The Shistavanen yelped. They felt the teeth in their scruff and snapped back in return, snarling in frustration as they grappled in a tangle in the dirt. Their ruby eyes blazed with anger. Okay… if they wanted to play that way… their snarl went up an octave and muscles tensed attack.

Circe slowly lowered her rifle. The song was tempting her stronger, but there was also someone else in her mind trying to call her back. It felt like a battle in her mind, making her slow to react, but the pull to defend the nests was stronger at the moment.

She slowly advanced towards the nests and Alaisy. Her movements none hostile towards any of the Caxxies around her.

Pain was an afterthought. Marick furrowed his brow, and with a fraction of his will directed the lightdaggers to rend through the attacking Caxettes. He kept his eyes on Alaisy the entire time, idly taking note of the creatures parting for Circe, and that Mune was, for the moment, okay. He had to trust the Shsitaven could handle themself.

Reinforcements would be nice right about now

“They’re playing our song…” Hekate’s triple voice rattled off at Doc, who barely nodded back at them, his eyes factoring trajectories on his bracer, bolting alongside the robed HK into the fray. Fast hands flipped out one of his pistols, the DC-17 feeling like it was meant for his hand. It was, in a way of thinking about it. Designed as they were for the clones, it wasn’t a dramatic leap.

Hekate moved ahead of him, sliding to a knee as they shouldered their weapon, squeezing off blasts in the enemy’s direction. The shots went wide, the animal bounding sideways with preturnatural grace as it left the space that Hekate had filled with angry blaster fire. “You slippery little…”

Doc moved quickly behind, leveling his pistol and squeezing off a satisfying blast as he ran, barely lining up the shot as it burned the air between him and the caxqette. He trusted his equipment, his training. The helmet gave him realtime targetting information, estimating proper lead time and windage as he ascertained the battlefield. Foxtrot uniforms all over, mostly from the vibroknuckler clan. A sith woman in shiny black who was entirely too wrong from an initial glance. Fighting among themselves, like he had heard about from the boss. Doc pushed the thought away, his mission reasonably clear.

Several of the caxqettes were all the way up in the Shistavanen’s business. Teeth and snouts and snarls abound as they tried to haul them away. Nah. Not today. A flick of a finger engaged the weapons sync, lighting up the reticules in his helmet as he picked them with quick gestures. The launcher shifted on his arm, exposing the micro-rockets.

Beneath his helmet, Doc sneered as he whistled.

The sound was shrill, amplified by his helmet, commanding the weapons to launch. The rockets swarmed from him, leaving trails of vapor as they swarmed around like stinging insects toward his prey. A moment later, the explosions flashed into flesh soft enough to rend and ruin. Mune landed atop their falling forms as Doc gave a quick nod in his direction. Turning, he saw two more, their wounds shifting their attention. And a third, seemingly unaffected by the weapon, glowering in their direction, larger than the others. He tried to remember if the creatures had a pecking order to their pack mentality or not. He bounded forward anyway, drawing the other pistol as he moved. It didn’t matter.

The devastation caused by the new arrival sent ripples through the song. Pain and distress surged through the dark side. Aphotis’ living suit tensed around her body as pins and needles tortured her consciousness. She gasped for air as her heart pounded in her chest. Fury built up within her, followed by a deep depression. Her mind did the constant arithmetics, keeping tabs on the numbers, factors, and solutions to problems.

The despondency caused by the losses hurt, but it also fed her brain with delicious inspiration. Her tongue ran over her lips and electric-blue glowed in a brighter cerulean. Besotted’s lash came to a standstill, sizzling everything around it. With a hiss plasma dispersed.

Damage control, consolidate, prioritize.

Her head snapped to face Circe. A plan unfolded. The clarity of the melody made communication with the Sephi instantaneous. A light touch of her claw on her shoulder carried her towards the nearest nest as if she were floating within the same dreamscape.

Thank you for your sacrifice. For the greater good. Now, come closer, closer…

Tir'eivra nudged Circe as they knelt together in front of the hive of fleshy membranes, tissues, skins, and hair. An opportunity of a lifetime. A study in the field, true life science, the Sith way. Her claw sank into the Shadow’s flesh as it began drawing at the vigor of her very being. A muted, but sinister chuckle emanated darkly from the tall Sith. Alaisy saw this as a terrific addition to her collection of experiences as she poured all of her hatred, passion, and trepidation into this project. .

See this as my first trial and treat to you, Circe.

The Force flowed from subject to medium, down through the latex-covered fingertips, tingling the fleshy veils. It felt like a flame that trickled along the fuse, burning all the way through. Aphotis’ hands trembled, eyebrows knit together. Ignition. Sinew weaved together in pure chaos. Pustules burst open. Hair flowed out of pores like tubes being squeezed out. Cuts and slashes in flesh, being torn open, folded, grasped, and pushed back together by a mad ethereal surgeon. Cancers grew like a tempest, ebbing and flowing like the tide.

Alaisy could sense the essence of a trio of younglings, hearts beating rapidly, little grunts squiggling, lust for that melody hungering. A glorious, golden Selenian metempsychosis was pushed forward into the future. No controlled environment would’ve ever amounted to something so unique. Three little striped ones broke out, followed by a fully-fledged adult caxquette. The nest convulsed and shattered into jets of blood and sinew. It was as if the sea froze over.

*The sea. Safety. Go, get out of here! *

The blood-soaked Arcanist felt Circe drop. With a sharp hiss, she stood up and rushed the fledglings towards the water. Aphotis’ attention returned to the large one and urged it to help out its sisters in their time of need.

Circe followed Alaisy’s command and knelt down, being to entralled in the song she didn’t really realise what was happening. Then she felt it, pulling lightly, but the pull got stronger the more the Sith concentranted on it. She felt her life being pulled out of her, at first she was compliant but then the songs hold faltered as she got weaker and she snapped out of it.

She saw her face, stern and focused, just moments before she felt her consiousness slip. The Sephi tried to hold on, to understand what was happening or happened, but she felt so weak. She just needed a nap.

“It frelling bit me!” Hekate reeled backwards, trying to put some distance between the creature and themselves. It seemed to pant, a rasping tongue confused by the fluid that dripped down its teeth, down Hekate’s arm. Hekate looked down, examining the wound, optical sensors burning brighter for a moment in surprise. The color was all wrong. Hekate wobbled on their feet, staggering back a step. Blood wasn’t supposed to look like that. The beast turned its head and darted away, following its fellows even if Hekate seemed to not notice.

The sound interrupted thoughts, interrupting the pattern. Hekate shook her head. “No.” The voice warbled between tones. “This isn’t right.” They paused, tilting their head, trying to isolate the sound of their own voice behind the wailing sounds of the beasts. Optical sensors swirled through emotions, the diodes burning in varied intensity.

Lowering the weapon, Hekate stepped back again. They just wanted to be left alone. Eliminate targets. To keep their children safe. Intrusion suspected. Isn’t that all anyone ever wanted? Combat protocols reloading. To make sure that your young grew up safe and strong? Mission parameters updated. “ To see them grow? Evacuate and reassess. Remember your mother…

"I can’t.” Hekate drooped their head, the hood falling forward to shield their eyes.

Doc bounded sideways, his back making contact with their chassis as he moved past. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t remember my mother.”

Marick did not have the greatest battlefield awareness. Even in his prime, he had been used as a weapon or a tool. Find weakness, eliminate, locate the head of the hydra, server them, fall back. Even as he gained more power and knowledge and knowing, he was still, he realized, not in his element. He was reminded, again, that he was just one person, and his strength had always come from…those around him.

Without Mune, Doc, and Hecate it would have been a disaster. He felt a pang of guilt for not preventing or helping Circe. He felt a subtle anger towards Alaisy. Even if he knew on a blunt level what was going on, he had secretly hoped to get through to her.

But words were ultimately wind. All that was left was action.

While no marauder, the Elder Arcanist was calm despite the chaos devolving around him. He saw Alaisy trying to herald or shepard the new young cax’s to the water…where he knew thousands more lie in wait. He could try to cut them off, but to what end?

There were too many nests for him to deal with alone. He could call in air support. Zig was nearby in the Encanis II. But there would be casualities. That was a last resort.

He silently felt himself missing his partner. Atyiru would have been able to turn this tide. Wyn, too, could have done something.

Anger bubbled but was quietly dissipated against his heart of stone. He lowered himself deeper into the mindset he had tried to put behind him. But there were too many lives, again, depending on what he decided or chose to do.

The Hapan pulled the two sets of throwing knives stashed in his cloak and threw them out into the darkness, but not at anyone target. With nothing but a furrow of his brow, and another stretching of his compartmentalized mind, the ten knives joined the two lightdaggers to form an angry swarm of saber and blade. He did use a hand gesture for emphasis as he lashed them out towards the Singer.

Rend

The blades and sabers did as instructed and tore and seared through the singers throat first, then the rest of its limbs and spindly, shadowy body.

His bright blue eyes, augemnted and nearly glowing in the twilight, re-focused on the others. He raised a hand to his ear and toggled his ear-communicator. “Zig, I need you to cloak the Encanis II, isolate our current position, and prepare a blaster-run. Do not execute without my go ahead.”

Marick’s thoughts were distracted, revealed from under outer layers of protective skin that had been torn away. Where it seemed there was no true head or face despite the antlers and behavior of the upper body, he could now see a humanoid torso atop the stag-like body. It had four arms, tapered ears on either side of a head of some kind, and seemed somewhere between beastial and human. What caught his eye, almost painfully, was a mane of silver hair.

He thought back to the temple. You’re in my way

He had pushed and faught to find Atyiru. She was trying to protect life. She had been carrying one of her own though. Kirra. But this wasn’t about her. It was about his wife, his soul mate, and what she had given to these creatures that threatened his home, and his future.

There would be no oprhanage without a Selen. Arcona would be forced to retreat, like the old stories, to the stars and ships. That was no life for his family.

He recalled his circle of telekinetic weapons to shroud him like a moving ring of protection and stalked towards the “Singer”.

When he got close enough, there was no light left in his eyes. Only a dull, cut-glass glower. While even in his fury, he was in control, there was nothing holding him back. No oaths, no words, just raw, guttural, violent intent as he hacked and slashed through the ache and pain in his shoulders.

His lightsaber was no longer in stun mode.

“Not really the best time for this dren, Hex.” Doc snarled. He would shake them back to their senses if he had time. The creatures seemed to be retreating into water. Water that seemed to be teeming with an unholy swarm of the creatures. Doc shifted his weight, watching the slender foxtrot uniform stalk forward, his weapons floating around him. Doc chuckled, muttering to himself. “Now where have I seen that before?”

“I….can’t remember my mother…” Hekate repeated, the words spilling out over themselves in a discordant chorus. Hekate lifted an arm, the viscous liquid dripping down the metallic limb, the sleeves staining as it dripped across the fabric. Damage assessment: servicable. Their master had given them those robes, brought out from where they had laid folded for years. They were sized a little big, but Hekate didn’t mind. He had told her about when he wore them, all those years ago, when the colors signified the orders more than they did now. Memory recalled the warmth, inside and out, the way the fabric draped across their body, how it slipped across their armor. But he was not mother.

Reinitiating Programming Override.

Hekate twisted her wrist, pushing the sleeve of the robe away from the fluid, trying to keep the stain from spreading. Optical sensors narrowed to slits. Memory twitched and seethed, the recollection of a tool clanking against their helmet as eyes finally opened, returning their vision for the first time in what felt like ages. Hekate would forever remember that sight. The look as she turned and smiled, telling them how glad they were to truly see them, lekku twitching excitedly. Leena. Leena was not mother, although there was warmth behind those eyes, behind the smile. In the way that she took care of them. There was warmth beneath the robes, in the bed in their room, in the steaming caf and in the food. So why were they always so cold?

Program AN3554-3NN3R01 stalled. Reloading.

Hekate turned, looking at Doc as he glanced in their direction, the chaos of the battlefield continuing behind him. “Question: Do you?”

Doc slipped his blasters into the holsters at his thighs, sliding to a stop and retrieving his mortar system from his pack. That water was in need of some cleaning with high explosives. He tilted his head at Hekate, wondering why the voice was suddenly clear. “Do I what?”

“Clarification: Do you remember your mother?”

Doc’s eyebrow went up beneath his helm. “I… don’t have one, Hex.” He swung the legs out on the mortar, watching the supports anchor themseles into the soil. “I was never born.”

“Observation: That muszt beE3 sAadttt fooauuur aAa meEatbAa4gCkgg.” Hekate twitched in sync with their voice, optical sensors dimming, and then glowing brighter. Shaking their head, Hekate quietly looked at him as he stared. “I’m sorry, Doc.” Their voice had returned to the usual chorus as abruptly as it was lost. Doc shrugged off the thought. That was a problem for Leena, if they survived.

“Okay, can you handle this?” Doc gestured at the mortar system, then filled his hand with his pistol again, waiting for Hekate’s nod. “Good. On my mark.” Doc rose, rushing forward, squeezing off blasts to cover his approach. The two that remained, beefy but wounded, seemed to snap at him, frothing as they defended the pack’s flank. Just beyond, Doc saw the one that the Sith had clawed, collapsed near one of the nests. Laying near animal nests and leaking vital fluids was not a great tactical plan.

He lined up the shots easily, running full bore at them as the bolts flew from his pistols, searing into angry flesh and open wounds. Charging at him, they made it a few steps further before stumbling, rolling forward onto their faces, tombling clumsily and squalling into their final state of rest. Doc slid next to her, fast hands pulling a quick-stim pack from his kit. “Hey there, you’re way too good at bleeding, you’re gonna have to stop that…”

Circe let out a soft groan as if woken up way too early. She moved her head to try to look up at him. Soft blue glowing eyes and lines stared up at him from her helmet’s visor between the icky goo she was covered in.

“Don… Don’t let… her slip… Away,” she said between breaths.

She felt as if she had run a million marathons, but she still wanted to save her.

Mune felt the jaws release their scruff in a spray of blood. Thanks to the well-placed rocket, the creature’s body fell away. They had to move. Growling, they were back on their feet, the Force roiling through them, blood pumping, muscles tensing. The woman had to be stopped; she could not be allowed to escape. They could not save her from the song if she escaped with the enemy.

The Shistavanen snarled, their fur bristled, and their prey was in sight. The Force filled them, driven by pure instinct. The feral had no cage to rage against and wanted to hunt.

Mune did not see that one of the caxqettes nearby their feet still had a nasty surprise for them —the last thrash of dying nerves. Suddenly, the caxqette’s jaws snapped open and closed around the Shistavanen’s shin. The surprise, more than anything, threw the Arcanist off balance. Their armour protected them from teeth sinking into their flesh, but it was a close thing. They’d have to shake it off to pursue their prey.

The song seemed focused entirely on defense. It meant that Circe was ignored and further diplomatic complications were averted. A return to normality, no matter how unexciting, was still an option. Aphotis felt the collective effort to bring the Children to safety, the many hands. Her own movements were light as air and almost automated as she tried to save the younglings.

Good.

Less ideal was the sudden determination from Marick, who with every cut into the Guardian seemed to startle the entire nest. The song was in agony. She felt a splash of warmth as viscera covered her back.

Not good.

Her hand ran over her throat as pain spiked, and then burned into the rest of her body. Alaisy’s head snapped back as she saw the familiar hair and forced herself through the struggle.

Get it. No other chances left.

With a trembling claw, she pulled an airtight canister from under her backpack and ran towards the town’s square. She stowed a piece of horn and strands of rubbery hair away. Finally, a sample was taken from what organic matter stained her back, adding it to the collection. She disassembled her whip and lightsaber, stowing it away as she hurried back to the sea. .

The melody quieted as heartbeats numbed out. A deep sadness strengthened and then withered away.

An alarm went off as a defender’s dying notes grasped at a blood-lusting Shistavanen.

Tir'eivra kept going and felt cold reprieve as the water stood at her heels. She checked her gear, opening a valve to let pressurized oxygen into her facemask. A little tug on her air hose and down into the great abyss she went. Her tail coiled and propelled her down, while she elegantly dove with her entire body, arms and legs still.

The barest of light shone through the thick darkness as she descended, it is what her Sith name, Aphotis meant.

Welcomed and heralded by the monsters of the deep. Limbs like slick eel-like tongues gliding over her. Lashes tickled her shining suit as eyes blinked at and against her. The embrace warmed her within the chill of the sea. A lasting dream of pure bliss and nightmares. She ran her hand along the sister as her second skin tightened around her, adjusting pressure to the crushing depths.

Not alone.

Mune calmed, growling; they shook the dead creature’s jaws loose from their leg. They felt ridiculous missing that the thing had anything left to it to latch on. The opportunity was wasted; they had no choice but to move on and let the woman go.

The Shistavanen rose, testing their leg before going over to Circe. They were already redirecting their power towards healing, which the Sephi needed after what she had been through.

Twice. Twice, they had slipped up. Mune grumbled moodily.

“I will have you on your feet in a moment…” they muttered to Circe, mostly to distract themself.

The Force flowed into them and through them to the Sephi. Pulsing warmth filled Circe fanned the diminished life force so dimmed by the Sith woman. It was a testament to the Sith woman’s control that she hadn’t killed the Sephi, even accidentally. Putting it out of mind, Mune poured healing energy into the woman until she could stand on her own.

“What now, Marick,” Mune asked, rising, drawing upon the living Force to replenish their own reserves. “This has certainly not gone well for us.”

Her eyes flickered open after regaining energy. Looking up she saw Mune and Doc and nodded slightly feeling much better.

“Thank you… What happened to Alaisy? Did we get her?” she asked at she sat up. The field around her had turned into a bloodbath. Unconsciously she reached for her rifle as she skimmed the village grounds.

Marick idly noted Mune’s rage through the Force. But he was too focused, and already moving, cloak blurring behind him as he honed his focus on the two fleeing Caxette’s.

He held out a blood-soaked hand and made a chopping gesture with it. In response, his array of throwing daggers and twin lightdaggers swirled and buzzed like swarm of insects as they encircled the first caxette and tore into its flesh with a frezy.

The second hissed and screeched as it tried to break away, but Marick narrowed his field of vision, broke his mind off into another piece, and hurled his Radiant lightsaber directly at the Cax like a throwing axe. The black-cored, white shrouded blade wizzed through the air tip over hilt until it sunk into the back of the creatures head, shadow and sinew warping and steaming around the deadly wound.

Marick nodded just his head to one side, and his telekenetic blades and sabers finished the job.

As he tried to calm his coursing adrenaline, he was given a bit of aid by reaching out into the Force to refuel his spent resevoirs. It also helped center him, his anger disipating back behind his now stoic, neutral mask.

He recalled his lightdaggers, and saber. The lightdaggers disengaged and went back to his belt while he kept his regular saber still gripped in his hand and ignited.

He turned to Mune and Circe. “She’s gone. All that’s left, it seems, is the remaining nests and the people…”

Dried blood caked his tunic at the shoulders, but he continued to push away the pain.

Circe let out a soft sigh and looked towards the ocean, wondering why she had left them and what she would gain from flowing them. She got up and held her rifle close.

“Guess we could help the people around us who are savable,” she said softly.

Doc nodded at the Shistavanen as he watched their magic healing work on the downed woman. It was a fair bit quicker than the Bacta doses he had in his pack, so it made sense to reserve his supplies for those who needed them. It was standard operating procedure from his time fighting alongside the wizards. Heal the healers first, then start triage on those who didn’t have the Force.

He let his eyes dart over to Hekate, seemingly shiverring by the mortar he had set up, awaiting his signal. It would make fairly quick work of the nests, but if there were still civilians to save, that order could wait. Then again, he had heard about the ruthlessness of some within their ranks, and it was well above his paygrade to make that call. He chewed the thought as readily as his lip. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get ordered to do something brutal. He idly wondered if the Droid would even follow that order as he moved toward the dark-robed man. After all, Hekate was not a soldier. Hells, it thought it wasn’t even a droid.

Doc watched the Hapan as he approached, patently in command of the situation. It was usually a sure bet that if they were winging weapons around with magic, they were the ones in charge. That thought had served him well so far. He looked calmer now, at any rate. And since the boss knew him, maybe he cared for his people as well as he did. He closed a fist and brought it to his heart with a clatter, the standard salute, but based on the man’s lack of reaction, probably not as standard as Doc had thought it to be.

“Orders, Sir?”

Mune moved through the small group to Marick’s side. Their aura was again calm, like the softest brush of fur on the edge of the Hapan’s consciousness. They drew upon the Force and focused their power on mending the other Arcanist’s wounds.

“Lady Fate was not playing nice with her dice this day, it would appear,” Mune muttered, knitting flesh back together. Though they knew asking was useless, they said, “You are okay, Marick?”

Marick didn’t respond at first. His eyes were distant, focusing seemingly on everything and nothing all at once.

“Hmm,” the Hapan replied flatly as he blinked once and then seemed to realize that Mune had moved beside him. Predictably, he ignored the question.

He glanced at Doc and Circe. “Start tending to the wounded, if you can. Help who you can. When the triage operations get here, we can plan our next move.”

The fatigue he felt internally dug into the marrow of his bones. But this was the not the first, nor last time, he’d be looked at to lead or to decide.

Perhaps in death there would be time to rest. For now, there was work to be done.