Port Ol'val Voidbreaker II 43 ABY
Zig moved with purpose towards the helm, fully clad in her purple beskar armor. She walked with the confidence of someone who knew her ship- every wire every plated panel, every gap in the steps. The ship was at half-crew, some caught on shore leave, or on missions elsewhere.
The former Captain looked around and sighed. She was learning that nothing stayed the same. The Voidbreaker II felt different with so many having moved on to other things. She wanted to send Zuza a message but was trying to be better about bothering her so often.
But she had a post, and a job to do. And now, that stupid Quaestor had gotten himself kidnapped while attempting to infiltrate an enemy he forgot to warn everyone else about. And of course the person who could probably solve this most easily was away in a different system visiting his in-laws.
Marick had taken Kirra and Weyne to Alpheridies, and wouldn’t be able to make it back to the system in time to be much help. Still, he was present on the holoprojector, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. If he was worried about his brother, it did not show on his stoic visage.
“Kaliska,” he said as the Zygerrian approached. She gave him a lazy salute.
“We’‘re in space now, beginning scans and pings to isolate Wyndell’s location. Revs is coordinating the patrols and troops, so we’re just going to try to punch through and board whatever schutta’s have him.”
She made a chopping motion with her gauntlet.
“Who else is on duty?” Marick asked.
Lektra had arrived a tad bit early to the meeting room. Since Sebastian was joining the mission, she needed every sliver of information possible. She needed to be ready for anything in order to keep him safe. She too was clad in mandalorian armor, though the color palette her clan used was made up of different shades of red, grey, and black.
The Firrerreo spoke up to respond to the hologram. “Lektra Kendis. I am here on behalf of my uncle, Koda Kendis, and our clan.” Her arms were crossed and posture straight as she addressed Marick.
The holographic form of the Exarch inclined his head forward respectfully. It would have seemed a lot more formal if he wasn’t wearing what looked to be a plain, long sleeve shirt and sweatpants while a toddler that was mounted on one of his shoulders like a pauldron pulled on his hair.
The Hapan’s features remained impassive.
Caleb came to stand at Zig’s back. The Togorian was an imposing figure, towering even, and the Zygerrian was by no means short. The full Beskar armour did nothing to dial down the intimidating shadow cast by the sheer size of him. The light cast by the holoprojector gleamed off the polished surface of the Hunter’s Beskar, glinting off the vicious edge of the Tremor Sword slung across his back. Caleb took the mission and persuaded Mune to stay in Port Ol'val. The denizens of the port and the clan’s forces there would be better served by the Shistavanen. Mune would hesitate to kill. Caleb’s eyes narrowed behind the visor of his helmet, eyes frigid as winter’s ice.
“Wild'en, reporting for duty,” Caleb growled low. “We will bring him back and make the enemy regret their life choices.”
The ferocity behind his words brooked no question that he meant exactly what he said. There was no threat in his words. Only promises. Those promises? Smoke, steel and blood. The enemy was not getting away unscathed. Not if the Togorian had anything to say about it.
He glanced down at the Zygerian, then at the Firrerreo. He never saw Lektra in combat, the Zygerian, on the other hand…
“You actually convinced them to stay behind? Wow. ‘Bet that took a bit o’ convincing, eh?” Zig wiggled her eyebrows, but realized her facial expressions were hidden beneath her visor. Instead she faux-jabbed her elbow into the armored Togarian’s side.
“Thank you, Wild'en,” Marick’s voice said calmly over the holo.
CLUNK
“Kriffin’— stupid bloody armor,” Sebastian muttered, rubbing the invisible wound on his helmet from bumping his head.
This armor was way too heavy for him. Lektra insisted. So. He reluctantly agreed to wear it.
Though it fit well, he had more than enough trouble assembling it. The chest plate and shoulder pads were obviously crooked.
Boots scuffing the floor, he joined the group, behind Lektra. He self-consciously fiddled with his crooked armor, wondering if it was obvious to the others. There was a quiet confidence and tether he felt from being in Lektra’s presence. It was enough to ease his nerves. He heard the tail end of everyone’s introduction and remembered he should do the same.
“I’m Sebastian Vasca. I’m… here to assist Lektra.”
Zig lifted an eyebrow beneath her visored visage. “Ya’ know, I could help weld your armor to fit better,” she said as she looked him up and down. She seemed entirely focused on the armor and not the person beneath it.
The Zygerrian gestured at the custom ear-molds on her helmet.
The door barely finished parting when Socorra stepped through, boots striking the deck with unbroken momentum since leaping out of bed back in the flat.
Her armor was only half on. A Soulfire-marked pauldron sat crooked on the left shoulder. The right side, bearing the Erinos crest, was fully ready, its vambrace loaded and humming. Her chestplate hung half-fastened over silk pajamas torn from rushed tightening. The scorched plates said she had carved her way through the port to get here in time.
The family holo necklace at her throat bounced against the cuirass, still warm from her grip.
The operative’s one arctic eye swept the bridge, cataloguing faces, calculating threats. Zig and Caleb earned fractional nods. Caleb got the smallest tightening at her mouth. He crossed lines when needed. She would use that.
Her kohl-lined stare reached the holotable before her boots did. Marick flickered in sapphire light while Weyne climbed his shoulders, tugging at the Hapan’s perfect hair.
Something punched beneath Socorra’s ribs. Weyne: Turi’s cousin. His partner-in-crime.
In another path, maybe Turi was visiting today… safe. Laughing. But there had been no time to chase timelines. No time for visions. She had left nearly three-year-old Turhaya - his birthday in a few days - with only her Cythraul to guard him, hoping this was all a misunderstanding.
If Marick was calling in, this was no impromptu “oopsie” Wyndell mess fixed with a wink and bribe. This was real, straight out of her book. Fortunately, her instant calculus was partially incorrect, it didn’t account for one variable: others were actually willing to retrieve his wayward brother.
Good. If he survived, Socorra could kill him herself.
“Weyn’ika,” she murmured to her little nephew.
She moved into parade rest beside Zig, spine locking into place. Zig might have read the rigidity as discipline. It was containment.
Her gaze returned to Marick.
The missing eye marked old sacrifice.
Her presence here promised new ones.
The Force worked in mysterious ways.
That’s what kept running through Zlata’s mind as she stepped into the meeting room. Somehow, she’d found herself in a room of Mandalorians. Although the historic conflicts between the Cathar and the so-called children of Mandalore were millennia removed from the present situation, she nonetheless felt the weight of unease settle within her stomach like a stone. How else could she feel when surrounded, outnumbered by the very people who attempted to annihilate her own in the past?
With perfectly straight posture, she stepped to a position in the room that allowed her to keep everyone in the room in her line of sight, her hand never straying far from the extended hilt of Solnaya, her lightsaber. Just above her right shoulder, O.K.O, her spherical droid hovered idly, watching the group with its glowing photoreceptor.
“Zlata Belyadar of House Belyadar, at your service,” she said tersely, her Catherese accent ringing clearly for all to hear.
Marick’s expression remained in its resting-neutral sate, but he nodded back at his former apprentice.
Lastly, he had very little data on this member, but with resources spread as they were, he knew they needed everyone.
“Thank you all. I will be available on comms for logistics, but trust the vice-Captain with the rest.” He nodded at Zig, and then his image winked out.
Zig turned, arms folded across her chest plate. “Yeah, no pressure, thanks,” she murmured. Then she used her datapad to take over the screen.
“Alright, for those of you not familiar, the ‘breaker here is a custom-built space-Yacht. While it might look like a typical yacht, she’s actually very battle capable and actually ready for something just like this.”
She showed a quick schematic of the ship, weapon systems, and shielding.
“I was able to slice through the enemy comms, and, with help from the 'breaker’s computing power to boost my local machine learning model and decryption protocols, was able to reverse-lookup through the possible assets or ship signatures that could have our Quaestor on it. I filtered for keywords, like blindman, and annoying, with some language model looking for common expressions or audio logs including things like: wynning, your mom, and waiting for someone to tell me what a have is. When cross-referenced against the existing assets in Dajorra space, and those that have entered within the last week or so, it’s easier to filter down to his likely location. Maybe one of you can do your psychic-mind-meldy searchy pings for him when we get close to confirm?”
She noticed a few blank looks and lowered her helmeted head slightly.
“I was able to use technology to find Wyn’s likely location,” she said plainly.
“It’s another asteroid-based space station that recently had a change in ownership to the Veltay Corporation, which seems to have ties to some other anomolys around Port Ol'val space and links to the Hutts…who are still probably not happy with us after we infiltrated one of their strongholds…but I digress.”
She pulled up the space stations schematics.
She turned to the helm, glancing at Caleb. “Cal, we’ll need to come in hot, so we’ll likely need to time our landing. I will slice the containment door open and do a hard landing, help stay on top of the pilots and guns.”
“On it,” the Togarian nodded.
“Everyone else, get towards the landing ramp. We’re going to do a Selanian Shuffle.”
-=X=-
“And a Selenian Shuffle is … what exactly?” Zlata asked, narrowing her hazel eyes at the Zygerrian woman.
-=X=-
“For the third time,” Wyndell Tyris said as he waved his manacled hands around in a circle. “I am behaving! This bubble is blocking my powers, so don’t blame me that your mysterious ‘boss’ is so obsessed with me.”
The guard, a Zeltron woman with a pixie cut and a pinched face, growled prodded the prisoner with a shock-stick.
Wyn let out a cry, but then laughed. “That tickles, stop,” he breathed.
He was in some kind of bio-dome greenhouse. In space. In what was once an asteroid. He had no idea how that worked, but, he was here, and bound, and whatever was used to construct this room blocked his connection with the Force. Still, he had made sure to be very loud and vocal about his situation and whereabouts, with hopes that Zig or someone else would be able to do their slicey-hacky thing and find him.
Hopefully.
“You’ll rot here,” his captor said once again.
“Oh my god,” Wyn said, realization on his face. “You like the big boss and are upset he’s paying more attention to little old me!?”
The Zeltron’s eyes darkened and she scowled, temper flaring, as she moved to stab the annoying hostage once again witht the electro-prod stick. She lost her footing as a shockwave rippled through the very foundation of the station. It was distant, but he could feel the vibrations in his heels.
“Huh. Selenian shuffle?” He murmured as the guard moved towards the exit, clearly being called away to deal with whatever disturbance was happening.
-=X=-
Zig grinned. “It’s pretty simple, but 60-percent of the time it works all of the time.”
The Voidbreaker II banked left and right as it wove through the asteroid belt that surrounded Dajorra. Their destination became clear very soon as a pair of auto-turrets jutted out of the rocky-exterior of the small asteroid and started to fire.
Caleb stood at the helm growling out commands and timing.
Zig had settled at the new terminal that had been installed after her insistent pleading and requests. It was a slicing system and meant she could pull this off better than she might have in the past.
“We jettison extra cargo we keep on hand with heat signatures in it to draw away fire. We send some out in front of us, and then slip under or over it depending on which way the defenses go.”
The cargo did exactly as Zig narrated. Her fingers danced across the terminal as she focused a bit, but still talked.
“If we time it right, I can cause a temporary lapse in the containment field, just enough to let us pass through it as if we were one of their ships. They are using post-imperial security routines which are obviously better but not perfect than the ones the Brotherhood engineered.”
The Voidbreaker II manuvered past the cargo distractions, and then slid almost on its belly into the hangar bar. Loud screeching before the landing gears activated and it was able to come to a stop.
“Hah, first try,” Zig grinned. “Go time people!” The Zygerrian cackled as she leapt up from the console, dragged Caleb along with her, and lead the way to join the others at the landing ramp, which was slowly starting to open….
Socorra tapped lightly at the vice-captain’s datapad with a knuckle.
“‘Never go full Jawa’ and just… ‘towel.'” She half expected eyebrow raises at the quirky vocabulary. “I will do 'mind-meldy t'ing’ on the Princess.”
Zlata maintained an air of serene poise as the yacht made its rapid descent and subsequent rough landing. She had experienced similar breaches during the Clone Wars decades ago, and she felt a twinge of excitement ripple through her as the ship’s hull groaned and screeched as it slid across the hard platform just inside the base. In a galaxy so different than how she remembered it, she found some comfort in the fact that same things seemingly hadn’t changed.
“O.K.O, on me,” she said while moving toward the descending landing ramp. The hovering droid emitted an affirmative chirp while hurrying along behind her.
Once the ramp opened enough for her to see into the base, she unclipped Solnaya from her hip and looked out into the facility to get a read on what, if any, opposition awaited them.
Lektra waited patiently near the landing ramp, her folded bow in hand. The way the ship was rumbling around as it shot through space made the young Kendis queezy. Up until the year prior she had never even traveled to space, and once she did she learned she couldn’t handle much more than a smooth ride.
“Is this why it’s the Voidbreaker two?” She asked the empty air around the group.
The Firrerreo pushed the thoughts out of her mind as she unfolded her bow, activating it and notching an arrow. “Stay behind me, Sebastian.”
“Please,” Zig said in mock dismissal. “The first Voidbreaker was Zabrak-headbutted into another ship to take out both.”
“Fortunately no CoM or Collective op. T’ey no send droid to replace him,” she said, recalling that one time.
“Even t’ey no want Wyndell,” she muttered under her breath. “He probably giving more grief than he get.”
The landing ramp opened to the frantic shouts and klaxons blaring. Footfalls echoed around the large hangar bay as armored armored mercenaries wielding a wide range of weaponry clambered down the side ramps from both directions to converge on the intruders.
Zig Kaliska, clad in her Zigbuster armor, had spent too much time behind her terminal screens. Zuza and Vez said she needed to “touch grass”, but she figured this was close ‘nuff.
The Zygerrian launched into the air with her jetboots to hover high and get a better view of the scene. Her re-programmed Ascendent Drone droid whirred alongside her.
The first batch of bad guys was grouped up enough for her first idea. She lobbed the cryoban grenade stick down towards the group.
The grenade angled towards the enemy, but when it hit the ground, it bounced and detonated wide-left, missing the intended target.
“Son of a karking schuttabanger,” Zig swore as she pulled another grenade and yeet’d it towards the enemies. Surely if she aimed for the middle she’d get at least one?
The adhesive grenade detonated, but instead of muddying up multiple enemies, she only managed to entangle one.
Maybe she was a bit rusty.
Caleb drew both Deadman revolvers from their holsters. The Togorian stepped from the ship’s ramp, slugthrowers coming up. He took aim. He squeezed off two shots, the explosion of ignited powder rang sharp through the hangar.
Caleb’s target, perhaps through dumb luck… or maybe he was Force sensitive, dodged the first shot intended to take out his knee. The second shot hit its mark. The slug tearing through the man’s right shoulder. The Togorian’s cold eyes narrowed behind his visor.
“Let’s play then… shall we?”
“` And play they would. The armored mercenaries, mixed with lighter-armored "officers”, advanced on the boarding party of Arconans. Their mission was clear- defend the base, stop their progress, and protect the hostage.
Two mercenaries returned fire on the armored Zygerrian hovering in the air. The bolts flew wide, but one or two hit her beskar-plated armor and dinked off. A distant, modulated curse could be heard.
The officer that had been hit by Caleb’s initial attack winced through pain but fired back. So did a second trooper that moved in beside her.
On the other side, the two soldiers drew beads on the Cathar that was in motion. “`
Zlata’s movement was like a lesson in both efficiency and grace. With a single Force-assisted leap, the cathar Jedi repositioned herself onto the Voidbreaker’s nose, which was sufficiently tall to give herself quite the height advantage over the rifle toting thugs approaching from their right.
Without missing a beat, she tapped into the wellspring of the Force, causing her hands to glow brightly with emerald power. It churned and swelled in her palms until she could hold it no longer, then exploded outward, lancing through the sky on separate paths that ended with the sudden and violent impact with the two mercenaries she’d spotted earlier.
The Force was her guide, and whispered warnings to her of her enemies’ intentions while they were still recovering from her attack. When they raised their rifles, Master Belyadar was ready. She didn’t even lift a finger; instead, it was as if the Force acted reflexively to defend her.
The air, the very space around Zlata appeared to shift and warp before finally cracking like transparisteel buckling under the weight of a large object. Instead of shattering completely, though, the fractured area bubbled outward until it formed a translucent half-dome in front of her, scintillating in the light of the base and radiating in the Force with an energy signature suspiciously familiar to those capable of sensing it. It felt of the Ethereal Realm.
“I adnire your determination, but this skirmish’s conclusion has already been written,” Zlata taunted her assailants while watching the crimson bolts of their blasters harmlessly dissipate across her barrier’s surface.
Socorra watched the Cathar hop onto the ship and blast away. Using the ship’s nose for cover, she raised her vambrace and fired her own opening salvo, whistling birds seeking to cover the feline. Only two scored direct hits, taking two down, but they all did their jobs to momentarily distract.
While the action on the far side of the hangar evolved, Zig landed from her levitation in front of the three closest henchmen (one was a henchwoman to be faiiir) in a roll and came up on one knee, almost if she were proposing to them.
Instead of a ring, however, her wrist shot out, and a blast of flame roared out in a wide cone in front of her.
“Tooastyyy!” Zig’s modulated voice shouted as the flames reflected in her glossy visor.
The three henchpeople™ let out screams as the fire licked towards them. Their armor didn’t help as they covered their faces.
Without any coordination to speak of, Lektra did what she was taught when she was the one with the jetpack. Get behind the adversary to split their focus.
“Stay in the ship, don’t get shot,” she said over the shoulder to her companion. The man who has elected to accompany her wouldn’t take no for an answer so the leasy he could do was stay out of the line of fire.
The young Kendis activated her pack and rocketed over their enemies, twirling in the air so she’d land facing the group of baddies. Wordlessly she pulled her drawstring back and let an arrow fly. The projectile flew by one of the goons, barely missing them. Lektra cursed to herself, blaming the artificial gravity for her problems, before nocking and firing a second arrow directly into one of their shoulders, sending them to the ground in a mix of pain and shock.
The Togorian dodged, a shift of his weight, the blaster bolt missing. The cylinders turned, rounds chambered. They were not intended for the same target. The whoosh of Zig’s flames filled his ears.
No. These next rounds were destined for another. Or. Two.
Caleb pulled the triggers. The force of powder igniting was a jolt through the muscles of his arms. The slugs tore from the barrels in a flash of fire and crack of thunder. Blood marked the exit of one projectile from a man’s back, a path punched straight through his chest. The second man was luckier, his right thigh a blossom of blood and heat.
The cylinders rotated again. The next rounds chambered. Caleb remained focused. Eyes already picking out another target, body ready to react to enemy fire.
Tundra shot from the shadow of the Voidbreaker II. The vulptex closed the distance in no time. Before the second man could grunt in pain from the slug striking him in the thigh, Tundra was on him, savaging him, finishing him off.
A high pitch shriek emanated from the hobbled mercenary as he was made into shredded kibble.
Zig’s cone of flame let up as the charred and now crispy mercenaries dropped and rolled around in pain. The armored Zygerrian kicked one, and he went still.
“No obvious markings,” she noted idly. “But it’s clear this is the right place. We need to keep moving,” she called out to the group.
Twice he’d been ordered to stay put. To not get shot. But for what? Was the armor just for show?
Sebastian knew she knew better than him—of course she did. Still, defiance sang its sweet, luring tune. Experience or not, he refused to watch her throw herself into danger while he sat idle.
Blaster drawn, he left the confines of the ship. Without his helmet, the noise would have rattled him; even with it, the chaos pressed in from all sides. His allies had already thinned the danger, but two mercs were still standing.
He fired once. It hit. His stomach lurched.
He aimed at what he thought was the easier target, the one stuck in Zig’s sticky grenade goop. That shot went wide.
By then, the rest of the squad, Lektra included, had cleared the remaining threats. He found her instantly. She was still standing, bow drawn, composed in the way only she could be.
Adrenaline kept his pulse racing, but the sight of her somehow sent it spiking even more. He forced himself to look away, toward the Zygerrian in charge, listening for whatever mattered next.
“There are more coming,” said Zlata, who hopped off the Voidɓreaker’s nose and landed gracefully on the ground next to Sebastian. With her senses still open to the Force, she picked up on the emotions whirling around in his mind. “Get a hold of yourself, kid,” It was an odd comment, because by all accounts, she appeared to be younger than him, “there’ll be a time to feel what you’re feeling later when our enemies are licking their wounds and this ‘Blindman’ is rescued. For now, lock them away. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t capable, so get it together.”
<@315438760428961793>
Without saying another word, Master Belyadar strode forward, the elongated hilt of her lightsaber pointed toward the ground - it practically buzzed in anticipation of the impending conflict.
“Nice shooting,” she said as she passed Caleb.
<@114916641581563913>
Sebastian flinched, blushed, then straightened.
“Yes’m.” His reply was reflexive as though he had been caught by his mother doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
He figured his helmet had made him immune to being read so clearly.
Socorra shimmered out of sight and went up the nearest stairs to stealthily position herself before the next wave.
“` Dramon Fen felt something in the Force. It was a faint flicker. The Zabrak did not turn his horned head, but his eyes shifted, following what he could have sworn was a ripple in the air.
No matter. The intruders had taken advantage of their surprise stunt, but now, the mercenary group was ready to take on the interlopers. There were bounties to be paid, after all. ”`
“` "Advance, show no quarter,” the Zabrak said as he ignited a red lightsaber and pointed towards the stairs. “A bonus for every head that’s left recognizable.”
As the Arconans emerged from each of the stairwells, Zlata with Lektra on her heals and Seabastian in tow and Zig and Caleb from the opposite, they were met with shouts and cries of havoc.
A red-skinned Zabrak with a lightsaber pointed, and the merceneries surged forward with guns and batons. “`
“Three-Hundred-Spartans!” Zig called out a formation.
No one reacted. She sighed and mentally pinched the bridge of her nose. Right, Mune would have known, but they had stayed back. She realized that she needed to do a better job of looping in the other clan-mates to the code words and battle formations
“Shield!” she shouted as she activated the her vambraces circular shield and held it up to the anticipation of oncoming fire. With her other hand, she shot off a set of whistling birds into the fray, trying to target while moving into a protective ward in front of Caleb.
The trio of rockets corkscrewed from the armored Zygerrian and targeted the closet three bad guys. They attempted to strafe and dodge but were hit with the explosives, recoiling in pain but still bearing their weapons.
Caleb tracked the Zygerian’s movements when she was in just the right position, he took aim.
Tundra sprinted from the Togorian’s side for the nearest enemy. Acting as a distraction. Growling and dancing around the target.
The Zabrak, Caleb’s guns clicked, gunpowder flashed.
The muzzles cracked, their projectiles launched forward, cylinders already turning to chamber their fourth rounds. The expelled slugs rent the air, kinetic force aimed to take out the Force user. The biggest threat the enemy had on their board, for the time being.
“` "AH!” the mercenary cried as they ducked away from the crystalline fox, still off-balance despite the dodge.
The Zabrak narrowed his eyes, and was already in motion as the shots from Calebs weapon barked. He moved his saber to cut through the first few slugs, but wasn’t quick enough to have a percision shot draw a line of blood from his shoulder. He staggered back.
That was curious, he thought. He thought he had predicated the trajectory.
Dramon tilted his head, craned his neck, and then licked at his wound.
“Looks like this kitty has fangs,” he smirked. “`
“` Zlata stepped forward and enforced her will through the Force, sending it out in a wave to knock back the closest attacker attempting to engage in melee. The initial push stalled at her fingertips, but as she doubled down her willpower, she pushed again and at the last moment sent the mercenary rocketing backwards. The merc landed hard and crouched on one knee, needing a moment to recover from their interrupted charge.
O.K.O, her droid, whirred a dramatic beep, almost as if it were annoyed that it had to be here at all and do the hard work. The Marksman edition droid remote floated, took aim, and fired a salvo of bullets into the other closest mercenary, causing them to shout in pain and be driven back.
"Your tricks are no match for old fashion thermodynamics!” a Demolisionst mercenary shouted as she leveled a grenade launcher and fired at the trio of Zalta, Seabastian, and Lektra.
Zaltra’s reflexes were quicker, however, and she managed to summon a shield wall of the Force in front of her, just in time to force the grenade to rebound and detonate harmlessly off to the side in an ochre cloud of flickering flame. “`
Thanks to her vambrace wrist-shield, Zig was able to weave and deflect whatever incoming blaster fire was coming her and Caleb’s way, covering the Togarian’s flank. Even without a practiced formation, the Arconan’s were still formidable and had faught through much more than mercenaries. It was actually a nice change from crazy zealots, shadow beasts, and crystalline monsters, ya’ know?
She heard more than saw the grenade that was launched between her and Caleb, but worked fast, having trained rigorously in her armor to not be impeded in her movement. Years of Corellian Kickboxing and sparring paid off as she bapped the grenade away with her foot.
“Nyet!” she said as the explosive device darted away and detonated off to the side. “Try harder, bitch,” her modulated voice chirped.
“` Dramon let the dark side course through him, an old friend and ally as the pain in his shoulder added fuel to the fire. The Zabrak hurdled the distance between him and his new prey, the Togarian with the beautiful coat.
With a sneer he swung his crimson lightsaber in a serious of viscious arcs.
It happened to fast for the armored Zygerrian to react. ”`
Caleb eyes tracked the Zabrak’s movement but reacting quickly enough was another story. He dropped his revolvers. He drew his Tremor Sword and tried to parry but was but was not quite quick enough. Nor was he quick enough to dodge completely. His Beskar was all that stood between him and a lightsaber.
.
After the fight finished in the hangar, Lektra grumbled. The young Firrerreo was unable to retrieve any of her arrows and she had no idea the amount of hostiles she’d be facing. She never liked relying on her vambraces for ranged attacks.
She followed the cat lady up the stairs and into the next room of foes, immediately greeted by the sight of not only new types of enemies but a sith. As much as she loved her bow, it wasn’t much good against a force user, something she rather lamented.
After a whole lot of fun action went down, Lektra took aim at the grenadier who had attacked them and let loose two arrows into their body, sending them down
Sebastian did the only thing he really knew how to do: follow Lektra. His boots hit the durasteel behind the duo ahead of him with more weight than he intended. If stealth had been the goal, it certainly wasn’t now and not with him tagging along.
More enemies emerged.
He could barely track the movement of the two warriors in front of him—Lektra and their Cathar ally were a blur of precision and purpose. Sebastian, by contrast, lifted his blaster with a stiff, clumsy grip and aimed at the closest mercenary.
He squeezed the trigger. Twice. His eyes were shut for both.
When he finally forced them open, he realized both shots had landed true. The merc collapsed in a heap. Adrenaline made his stomach twist sharply.
Were they dead?
His throat bobbed as he swallowed back the rising nausea. He didn’t understand how Lektra, and the others, could put people down with the same ease he used a hydrospanner on a droid. Efficient. Unflinching. Necessary.
At least they were on his side.
Socorra reached outward on instinct. Wyn’s signature should have been there - bright, unmistakable, a beacon she could always find no matter how far, no matter how dark the day. But now? Nothing. Just a massive void where the Force should have flared.
Clearly dat not right.
Ahead in the hangar, Zig’s voice rang out: “Three-Hundred Spartans!”
A snort nearly escaped the woman. The thought bled across her mental reach in a lazy, amused Ha-oo, but the body already moved, silent and swift, toward the far wall, and not the formation.
Focus.
Deeper she pushed. A biodome. Wyn tied up… osik, that’s hawt… inside a null-Force barrier. Ah. That explain it. A Zeltron poked him with a shock-stick. Wyn jolted and laughed like the unrepentant menace he was.
Molars locked.
Amateur. Dat is my job.
Then: two Wyns.
A droideka chassis. Advanced tech, but the guards carrying it jostled each other like drunk siblings fighting over a toy. A creature roared somewhere out of sight. Two snipers lay prone farther ahead, disciplined, unlike the rabble around them.
Who arm incompetent with tech like dis? And why?
The vision dissolved as the Shadesworn ghosted into position behind the grunts. Breath slowed. Muscles coiled. Rage simmered low.
The Zeltron. A debt now owed.
Her veil shattered the moment blades kissed flesh.
Heat surged beneath scarred skin. Alchemical Sith runes smoldered awake, ember-bright for the instant violence touched air.
Two bodies dropped almost together. Oblivion’s edge cut the first man clean under the jaw. The off-hand dagger sank into the second before he even turned. Quick. Silent. Efficient.
A fine mist of blood had arced with the motion, settling warm across her cheek. A darker streak painted itself down the pajamas. Sloppy.
The Socorran straightened.
Breath eased out, slow, unhurried, controlled. A single eye slid toward the man standing in the doorway, pale and cold as carved ice. The runes upon her dark skin still glowed faintly.
One blade lifted, angled directly toward the inevitable corpse.
Next.
Caleb gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands. Every breath. Every pulse of blood through his ears. The crackle of the enemy’s lightsaber. Any enemy beyond the Sith faded into the background. They no longer mattered. Not in the face of the threat before him. The imminent danger of a Force User waving around a laser sword. The Togorian drew his sword up, muscles straining against the weight of the massive blade. It was no easy feat to get the weapon moving. A roar filled his ears, a distant thing, though it tore from his own throat.
The Sith, perhaps due to overconfidence, or maybe he just plain underestimates his armoured foe, could not guard in time. Caleb’s tremor sword arced through the air between them, a diagonal slash aimed to eviscerate. The Force User had to be put down. Mune always warned against engaging in melee combat with a sabre-wielding Sith.
Dramon hissed in pain, tappping into the dark side to fuel his rage and anger. It surged through him, coursing, and he reeled back to try and strike the Togarian again.
“Hands off my crew!” Zig cried out from beneath her helmet. She threw herself between the Sith and Caleb, drawing her ichor blade and snaking it to try and parry the counter attack from the Zabrak.
The Sith rolled his blade off of Zigs, however, and managed to score a hit on her armored shoulder.
Zig hissed, temper flaring, and she countered herself, dropping her blade from her hand, sinking down to a power squat of a crouch, caught her blade again and then slashed it across the Zabrak’s knees, causing him to buckle.
The thrill of combat was something Zlata never grew tired of. In the Force, the signatures of all those gathered there, friend and foe, thudded and thrummed with a rhythm that was rapidly approaching its crescendo – the conclusion of this skirmish whose conclusion, as Zlata had mentioned to one of their assailants earlier, was already set in stone.
Although she saw one of her teammates, ostensibly the most stealthy of the group, moving to finish the Sith, Zlata was determined to beat her to the punch. The glory of the killing blow would be hers to savor.
Curling her fingers toward her palm, Zlata swung her arm upward to hoist the Sith aloft with a telekinetic grip; then, with a mighty roar, she hurled her lightsaber through the air, intent on cutting the Sith in twain before it circled around on a wide arc that ended with her catching it.
Socorra flowed from the last kill toward the Zabrak… right as the rookie swooped in and split him neatly in half. Her white-and-raven hair whipped in the turn as she delivered a pale, unreadable side-eye. Then, just the faintest smirk before two fingers rose: one to her own eye, one to the offender.
“Zeltron is mine,” she informed the team in a tone that suggested she would personally enforce this rule, as if any of them even knew which Zeltron she meant.
“And watch out for ugly droid.”
And with that, the woman vanished like some annoyed, mildly prophetic seer.
“` With the "threat” neutralized, the Arconans regrouped, reloaded, checked each other over for any major damage, and then continued forward.
The resistance started to thin, as the improvised group became more synergistic, more coordinated.
Until they came to a stop at the food of a raised set of stairs that guarded two diverging paths towards dome-like structures.
Pressed up against the glass of each was an unharmed, but frazzled looking Wyndell. Two of him.
The only thing stranger than that was the third Wyn standing with his hands bound next to what looked to be a hooded, masked figure and an angry Zeltron woman pointing a gun at the back of his head.
“You all came, just as expected.” the masked man’s modulated voice spoke. Excellent.“ ”`
He held up a hand. “Before you act too rashly, know that only one of these men is your so-called ‘Blindman’.”
He gestured at the two vidscreens to each side of him. “If you kill me or my associate, both snipes I have trained on each in the bubbles will die.”
“So, I give you the power here. Choose. Surrender and come with us, or he dies.”
“How could you think that’s me? I don’t have an accent!” The Wyn on screen one said.
“How would you know? Maybe my accent IS an accent” the Wyn on screen two said.
The Wyn tied up in front of them looked up at the Arconans and flashed a tight grin. He winked at the Cathar woman and gave her a reverse head nod, as if to ask, how you doin’“.
The Zelteon grit her teeth. Keeping the gun trained on him.
This timeline was playing out exactly as the clairvoyance suggested. That meant Wyn was in one of the domes, not here.
And they never would have let him out of the Force bubble. Maybe.
Also this one acted too much like him. He had said the droid that replaced her in the war acted just like her…of which she still was not sure if she should be flattered or insulted…but that would explain where the droid in the vision was right now.
Socorra finally shimmered into view, her hair mussed, crimson splattered on cheeks, and in a nightgown. She let her gaze drag over Wyn- all three of him - then bit her lip with theatrical deliberation.
“Maker… so hawt when helpless.”
Purposefully loud.
Purposefully projected toward every direction: the domes, the camera feeds, the corridor.
“Are you enjoying yourselves?”
She just needed to know if they could hear.
The Wyn on the left screen made a cartoon like “Awooga!” noise, eyes going wide.
The Wyn on the right screen laughed and shook his head.
The Wyn in front of them wiggled his eyebrows. “Hello there,” he said.
The Zeltron made a disgusted noise while the masked figure remained still.
Socorra’s gaze dragged over the three Wyns again. She needed to be sure because it was about to get ugly.
She bit her lip like she was about to cause trouble.
“Alright. Enough.”
Her chin lifted slightly, eye narrowing at the left screen… then sliding to the right… then back to the one in front.
“You all remember under citadel, sah?”
Her voice dropped, low and wicked. “When you blast in and find me tied up…”
A smile cut slow and dangerous across her mouth.
“…and I tell you dirty little secret.”
Her eye flicked to each Wyn in turn.
“Do what you did after I said it.”
“I swept you off your feet,” the left one said.
“I fainted,” the second one said dryly. “But no one was supposed to know about that…”
The one in front of them just wiggled his eye brows and said “oh you know.”
The Zeltron pressed her blaster to the temple of the one in front of the team.
The masked man made a scale with his hands to the left and right screen, as if weighing the judgment.
“You never go full Jawa.” Socorra shook her head, then flicked her gaze toward the Wyn on the right screen. “Sorry. I could ask for safe word… but dat too easy.” (Because there wasn’t one.)
Her eye cut to the masked man’s ridiculous balancing gesture. “Six–nine, not six–seven. And you t'reaten wrong clan.”
A pulse crawled under her skin as the Sith runes smoldered to life.
“T’is…”
She lifted her vambraces at the Wyn standing in front of them.
“Is.”
“ARCONA!”
The Wyn that stood in front of the group of Arconans disappeared, the illusion apparently cut off.
“Take the shots,” the masked man said calmly, ignoring the woman’s pop culture reference or missing it entirely.
On the screens,
“I’ve intercepted their comms and muted his audio.”
Zigs voice came in over internal comms to the team. “I don’t know which one is the real Wyn but if you know, he still needs help from the snipers! They are waiting for the order but can’t hear it obviously. Problem with having disciplined mercs…Go go go!
The masked man seemed confused as the snipers were not responding.
The Zeltron lost her patience and open fired on the group.
Zlata reacted instinctively, throwing up a barrier practically as quickly as it took her heart to beat. She didn’t just protect herself, though, but around the entire group who suddenly found themselves the target of the zeltron’s blaster fire.
“How uncivilized,” she said with a scoff, placing her hand on her hip as the tibanna bolts dissipated harmlessly across the shimmering translucent barriers.
The Zeltron only seemed to get angrier as she did not let up her firing.
The young woman pulled a cryoban arrow from her quiver and took aim at the Zeltron. She was wearing armor, surely she’d be fine if one shot slid through the barrier.
Lektra broke her quiet streak through the combat and shouted to the force users of the group “Sword and shield!” With a lilt of uncertainty. She had now idea whether or not force users had knowledge of the maneuver but it seemed rather self explainitory.
Zlata’s eyes flashed with recognition when she heard the maneuver name. She hadn’t heard it since the Clone Wars, but the training burned into her brain kicked in immediately. Timing it for when the zeltron stopped firing, she allowed the barrier to dissipate long enough for Lektra to launch a counter assault of her own.
She did the same, hurling her lightsaber on a curving arc meant to offer an added layer of danger – a two-pronged attack.
“Hold line!” Socorra barked, already breaking from formation and sprinting toward the correct dome. “I get him!”
Zlata’s barrier flared behind her, brilliant, fragile, and very temporary.
She didn’t spare the Zeltron a glance.
Retribution could wait.
Wyndell could not.
Sword and Shield. Tried and true. The barrier held, and the enemy Zeltron’s array broke harmlessly against the Cathar’s ward.
A few things happened at once.
Letkra’s arrows flew true, penetrating the Zeltron’s light armor. Caleb sprayed a wave of a suppressive fire as well. The bullets phased through the masked man, who seemed to be a projection of some kind and not present or corporeal.
The Zeltron cried out in pain, swearing in her native tongue at the futility, and then Zalta’s lightsaber arced, then flashed across her neck, vivisecting it cleanly from the shoulders.
Socorra used the cover to make for the second dome. When she got to the door, it opened, to reveal a hand-bound Wyn just a few strides in. Her lone eye scanned along with her senses for the sniper position- but found her connection in the Force abrubtly cancelled.
He looked at her and flashed a wry, but almost sad smile. “You figured it out.”
Behind Socorra, the ghost of the masked man appeared as he made eye contract somewhere in the distance and send a chilling order.
“Take the shot.”
A sniper bullet sang.
Wyn darted forward, though time seemed to slow and dialete. Even with his hands bound and his powers surpressed, he managed to throw his body towards Socorra, not in a longing embrace, but a full body tackle.
The bullet grazed Wyn’s shoulder and he cried out in pain, but he landed on top of Socorra and tried to roll with her.
“No time for jokes, keeping rolling!” the two rolled into a bush or shrubbery, he wasn’t sure which.
“Finish them both, then,” the masked man’s modulated voice was amplified across the room and audo comms.
Zig swore, as her temporary signal jam gave out. She started to run towards the rest of the group, but she was an entire section away.
“Take the shot.”
Something broke loose in Socorra’s throat, not a scream, just a raw, startled sound, as instinct snapped quicker than thought.
She did not even consider it might be meant for her. Wyn was the target. Wyn was supposed to be the one in danger.
She launched forward on reflex…
…and his body hit hers first.
The impact was brutal. Air vanished from her lungs as the Defender’s weight folded her backward and sent them both flying. Her waist long mane whipped forward, lashing across her face and his, catching on seams and zippers, sticking to blood, and up noses as they tumbled through dirt and brush.
They finally stopped in a tangle of limbs and foliage. The Mandalorian’s white-streaked hair had wrapped around them like jungle vines, looped over Wyn’s face, draped across their shoulders, even a white lock caught at his collar like some ceremonial stole. She spat one strand free with a sharp hiss, another clinging annoyingly to her lip like a white mustache before she tore it loose.
“Need cut,” she muttered.
She saw nasty wound in his shoulder. Her mind caught up a heartbeat late.
The shot was not meant for him.
It was meant for her.
Reality snapped back in hard, practical lines. The shooter would already be adjusting his angle. Four in five kill-shots came from center mass or the throat, and nearly seventy percent of battlefield deaths came from blown arteries. Wyndell had taken neither. He would live long enough for the sniper to finish them both.
Without the Force her thoughts clawed through options at a frantic pace. She had at least some armor and he did not, so she shifted, shoving herself between him and the line of fire, ready to grab his collar and drag him down if he tried something heroic and stupid.
Her hand slid down along her belt until her fingers bumped a familiar cylinder.
A pale eye widened and found his, blue to green. Socorra tipped her gaze downward in the barest motion. A small smile tugged at her lips as she tilted just enough for Wyn to see into the narrow hollow between their bodies.
A flash-bang rested in her hand. Not lethal. Not likely to breach the dome. But more than enough to ruin any sniper depending on a sight.
Her dark brows danced, a subtle, unmistakable pop-culture cue.
.
Wyn nodded, and, trusting the Mandalorian, rolled away so that she could unclip the flashbang and toss it out.
“ ‘nade! ” he yelled as the flashbang detonated and white-hot light filled the dome.
Zig caught up to Sebastian, Lektra, Caleb, and Zlata, who entered after the bang.
“Up there!” Zig shouted, not having to rely on the Force but her helmet’s tracking instead to find the sniper, who was struggling to find a new position blind.
Caleb, Sebastian, aimed blasters, Lektra a bow, and all fired.
Bolts and an arrow found their mark, and the sniper screamed as they fell from their perch and splattered against the floor with a meaty crunch.
“Time to go,” Zig yelled as she gestured towards Socorra and Wyn.
Caleb lifted Wyn up, holding him like a maiden.
“Easy there, big guy, Mune might get jealous…” Wyn quipped but then cringed at the pain blossoming from his injury.
Caleb rolled his eyes and switched to carrying the Quaestor in a firemans carry instead.
Zig went to help Socorra up, but the Mandalorian rose to her own feet, dusting herself off. Zig nodded and then the Arconans made their way out towards the exit.
The masked man was gone. Had he ever even been there? Zig wasn’t sure, but she had managed to download data from the facilities mainframe, which they could process later. So many questions unanswered.
They met little resistance on thier way out. But the fight was hardly over. They had come for Arcona, and the Shadow Clan was not one to let things go without rebutal.