Brotherhood Space Arx The Desert Around the Iron Garage
A massive Brotherhood force had assembled outside the Iron Garage motor pool. A 3 tier expanding line of trenches had been dug to offer some protection to the defenders. The vehicles inside the motor pool had been fueled and re-armed. Vehicles with longer ranged weapons were entrenched and covered in additional durasteel armor plating. More mobile vehicles like speeders were prepared to flank the enemy once they landed.
A series of defensive towers and emplacement weapons dotted the landscape, ready to intercept the incoming enemy force. The reinforcements payed for by The Regent had arrived and taken up defensive positions in the trenches and across the fortifications. The Brotherhood had done what they could to prepare with what little time they had.
The time for combat was nearly upon them. Hyperspace signatures were detected in Arx space. It would be mere minutes for the enemy to arrive.
The Brotherhood strike team had received their orders, take up defensive positions and eliminate the 3 bounty hunters whenever possible.
In knowing the battle was imminent, Jai would position himself near the front lines within the second trench line to better react in their attempt of a possible flanking maneuver. As he makes his way over to the trenches, he ensures his armor systems are optimized and confirms that his suit is sealed. Quickly programming his micro droid swarm to alert him of any incoming attacks, allowing for a 360 degree view of his surrounding area.
Removing his X-8 blaster from it’s holster, he readies himself for when the enemy deploys their units on the ground for any mid-range engagement.
As Jai heads out in his preparations, he calls out to the others, “No time like the present.”
“Zaagnika, ensure that the Scythe remains cloaked and ready, do not engage,” Aphotis ordered the Zygerrian over the comms, her modulated voice like a calm sea.
The towering Sith would keep her Raider-II at standby, should they need a last minute trump card—all she required was the dark side of the Force.
She settled somewhere safely behind the front line, tapping her platformed boot against the duracrete. There was no reason to jump in head first, it was much wiser to let the waves crash against each other, to then seek out targets of importance—especially the bounty hunters.
With a clawed digit, Aphotis sent our her Spider Probe-droid Eye-ronic to scout ahead and ordered it to deploy its remotes upon contact.
The lone Sephi had set up to the side of the field, not to far from the front lines. She had shrowded herself in the darkness, holding it around her and making her invisible for normal viewers. She had her sniper rifle set up and peered through the scope, scanning the layout of the fields before her, lying in wait for priminent targets to take out.
Having inserted himself into a squad of Iron Legion troopers Race sat motionless in the first trench. He was not impressed with their Sergeant but he knew better than to question him, yet. Race was no stranger to the front lines. He had fought there on multiple occasions in his time in the Stormtrooper Corps. If it was a fight this Hutt wanted Race was thoroughly prepared to give it to him. Now the waiting game began as the Hutt forces made their way to the surface.
Thran firmly gripped the controls of his AT-ST. He’d forgotten to change the livery to something more suiting of combat, instead of a fearsome war machine. He strode about lines in a 9 meter tall metallic chicken. He laughed to himself. Perhaps it was more frightening this way.
He leaned forward, peering out the open blast sheild. The rag tag team that had assembled was scattered across the desert.
To some, Anders was known as a former Inquisitor, a manipulator, someone who carried out the will of the purge. To specific others, he was Aequitas. He was the Brotherhood Combat Master, a Sith, and apprentice of Darth Lenora. What few seldom saw was that he was an effective combatant, a master of Makashi. There was a reason he held the accolades he did.
He shut his eyes gently, allowing the currents of the Dark Side to flow through him like a building tsunami approaching a continent. Despite appearances, he thrived in the chaos, the battle, the death. To challenge them could only be met with the most severe of punishments.
When he opened his eyes, his crimson orbs were tainted with an amber hue, a mark of the darkness within.
With his lightsaber in hand, unactivated for the moment, he took his place behind the front lines in between Aphotis and where Circe had seemingly vanished. He almost sighed at the absurdity of the robot chicken.
“Justice,” he hissed under his breath, and activated his weapon.
The enemy had arrived.
Dozens of spacefaring vessels of various sizes appeared on the outskirts of Arx space. Most were Corona Class vessels but a variety of other ships could be seen alongside them. C-ROC Smuggler Gozanti and Lancer Pursuit Craft could be counted alongside them. Most notably was a visibly modified Arquitens class Command Cruiser, repainted with an image of Abraxas the Hutt atop a bejeweled throne.
The disk shaped vessels surged forward, clashing with the small Brotherhood defensive force. Planetary guns spat fire into the sky, rending hulls and causing incoming ships to crash. The Hutt’s forces were aware of the trap set by the Brotherhood; but to refuse and try to break the planetary shield conventionally would require them to take an immense amount of casualties. Abraxas’ forces took the bait and sprung the trap.
The first disk shaped vessels flew through the opening left in the planetary shield and began their descent towards the desert of Arx. The vessels were rapidly closing to engagement range, giving the Brotherhood defenders an opportunity to open fire before they landed.
Abraxas was a damned fool. Either that, or he suffered from delusions of grandeur. Only someone overcompensating for their insecurity would plaster their vile, disgusting, slobber-covered visage on their ship.
“He is supremely confident about his chances,” Anders commented. “Or, he is attempting to lull us into a false sense of security. Either way, we can manipulate the circumstances to our advantage.”
Abraxas’ forces flew even closer. Brotherhood defense emplacements traded fire with the approaching ships, doing everything in their power to make the landing process as dangerous as possible. Brotherhood vehicles spat forth laser and missile weaponry taking down half a dozen Corona class vessels before they made landfall. But the enemy was numerous, and they were relentless. The vanguard of Abraxas forces deployed and surged toward Brotherhood territory. 8 Speeder Tanks used by pirates, a horde of infantry, and a dozen cobbled together skiff land speeders manned by pirates of vary sobriety moved towards the first trench line.
As they crossed the desert they were open to a Brotherhood attack.
Watching the landing crafts breach through the walls of blaster fire, Jai readies his trusty X-8 and awaits for the doors to open. As soon as the first wave of soldiers boots hit the surface, Jai lights them up in quick succession, one by one their forces fall until a total of six are slain by the mighty gunslinger. After doing so, Jai drops down behind the trench to take cover from return fire, checking himself over to ensure no shots were placed upon him. “So.. many.. troops..” as he sighed, sitting down in the dirt briefly.
Pathetic.
These cretins were nothing compared to the power of the Dark Side of the Force. With a raised hand, Anders suspended a dozen of them in the air, blaster fire spraying in every direction.
Her Spider droid Eye-ronic had locked down twelve targets with the help of its many remotes, each marked red and transmitted towards the Sith’s head-up display. Saccades from her glowing electric-blue eyes checked the death marks off one by one.
Aphotis moved away from her chosen vantage point as the Abraxas platoon got their boots on the ground. Hatred flowed through the entire towering length of her body as she stepped into their line of sight with a loud click of her heel, coalescing all of that energy into both of her spindly arms. The symbiotic skin tightened together with her muscles as cerulean light traveled towards the very tips of her durasteel nails.
The troops did not have time to raise their weapons as she reached out toward them with both arms stretched. Raw, seething vigor crackled in the air, turning moisture into vapor as Aphotis unleashed a blinding cascade of electricity onto her victims. The area illuminated in brilliant blue, warping into flickering amethyst—the intent to kill more vivid than ever. With an ear piercing shriek, the violet stream crashed into a soldier’s chest. .
The armor turned white hot, melting into his flesh. His scream of terror was cut short as the jolt surged through his body, boiling his eyes while every fiber of his being convulsed. The lightning split from his limbs and leaped over to his compatriots. Dark side power snaked towards them, delivering indescribable pain, setting every nerve on fire.
Clack
Hiss
A platformed boot stepped forward as the tall Sith held onto the Force, clenching on the stream with her metal claws, weaving and amplifying its power with passion and might. Their fear and agony were like fizzing honey on her tongue. Armor and helmets became the soldier’s own caskets, merging into soup like a crock pot of skin and meat and bleached bone. Some tried to crawl away as their blood boiled and burst from every orifice, silencing them forever as they slumped into smoldering heaps.
Her eyes widened and lit up as plumes of smoke emerged from their collapsed, still twitching bodies. She exhaled with a satisfied hiss and stepped back into the shadows for the next meal.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
And with great passion, Aequitas tossed them back into line. In what must of been a twisted act of Dun Möch, he gleefully awaited the lack of morale the scum would display.
A fearful outcry spread amongst the Vanguard infantry.
Melted. The other infantry were melted. With a mere handwave the troops in front of them were turned into goo.
Fried bits of flesh, bone and armor scattered across the line infantry. Their faces twitched into expressions of utter horror.
Frack this. No amount of credits were worth the risk of being dissolved.
Some troops screamed in terror, others hurled their blasters to the ground. All began to flee in scattered directions in the hope of being anywhere but the battlefield they had found themselves on.
Within the confines of the speeder tanks morale was better. The soldiers were under the false impression that they would be safe within their metal coffins. What they felt was an utter blinding rage at the death and disrespect towards their comrades. Actions that led to a rather impulsive action.
“Blast the witch!”
The crew obliged the orders. Pirates atop the sides began firing their blasters as the main cannon charged. The speeder shook as a massive red beam leapt forth, closing in on Aphotis.
Before she could reach the comfort of her blanket of shadows there was a distinct whirring. Aphotis squeezed her eyes shut as she turned on her heel.
Hiss
An exasperated sigh pressed out of her mask.
“Fine,” the Sith placed the emphasis on the ‘f’, drawing it out.
Crack-hum
Her claw felt the familiar chill of her lightsaber hilt as she activated the Varpeline-powered plasma blade with a modest, but powerful flourish.
Click
Always one step forward. Time slowed down to a crawl. The tall woman imagined moisture in the air evaporating ahead of the shrieking high-powered bolt that was heading her way. The dark side placed its all-reaching hand on her shoulder and whispered in agreement as she opened her electric-blue eyes. It was not just one bolt, it was a cascade of destruction aimed at obliterating her.
Wind and dust parted from the cannon-fire as it connected with super-heated plasma. Aphotis’s muscles tensed and the symbiotic skin coiled around her arms and hands. She wanted to, she really did. But there was no way she was going to be able to avoid the cascade of blaster fire that followed. So she slammed the tank projectile away.
Military personnel ducked as the bolt crashed into a nearby wall, sending fragments of duracrete flying. The witch moved quicker than most eyes could see as she deflected the remaining barrage.
The agony bearing down on her made her heart pound in her chest. There was a sensation in her shoulders that ramped up from stiffness to searing pain. Then it dissipated as she exhaled with a pop and a hiss.
Circe narrowed her eyes as she focused on the speeder tank that was thundering towards Aphotis. A grin creeped onto her lips as she looked through the scope and saw the gunners and pulled the trigger. That was one, the main gunner tumbled down and off the speeder as it thundered on. The other two hadn’t even noticed what happened yet until another dropped. That was two. The last gunner looked around in panic until also he dropped from her third shot. That was three.
She then focused on the speeder itself, aiming were the pilot would be sitting and pulled the trigger. The bullet zipped through the air and through the hull of the speeder, hitting the pilot as if by luck. Without pilot at the controls the speeder veered off and crashed, creating a large cloud of dust and rubble flying around.
Yes! she quietly celebrated and looked for her next target, pulling the shadows back around her to disappear from sight once more.
The remaining tankers were unnerved by the foe in front of them. They didn’t sign up to fight people lifting, lightning throwing, tank penetrating snipers. But they were trained far better than the infantry. Each had been personally trained by the legendary Nemodian Dax prior to the battle. So with fear in their hearts and trembling arms they held fast and refused to retreat.
Blasters charged as they all took aim at the same target. If they couldn’t slay the suited being and couldn’t find the sniper, they would obliterate the blue skinned menace who lifted their comrades into the air.
The moment the canons lifted, the Force rang out in the corners of the Combat Master’s mind. Make no mistake, the Force was not his ally. It was his servant. It was not with him, he demanded from it and took without remorse.
The Force poured into him like burning magma. His muscles felt like they were on fire. Yet, that was the price of the Dark Side, one that he accepted with ravenous glee. He launched himself forward faster than a posracwr as turret fire eluded him. Once he was in between them, they stopped firing.
‘Of course.’
So, what could Anders do in this situation? Sometimes, the simplest solution was the best.
He plunged his lightsaber into the hull of the tank. Immediately, the stench of corroding metal filled his nostrils as the orange hue of the carved entrance shone like a wretched omen.
The metal fell to the floor with a loud clang. Already he could feel the trepidation of those inside as they awaited. There were some who believed Anderson did not have the credentials or skills to be the Combat Master. An Inquisitor, maybe, but the Combat Master?
Oh, how he had trained, and fought, and bled to improve his skills. He was more deadly than ever, more dangerous, like a coiled viper full of venom in its bite.
He lunged when he found his prey. Fear gripped the personnel of the tank when he deflected blaster bolts with ease, his lightsaber searing tbe electronics on either side of them. One held out a hand, a pleading, meaningless gesture to spare them.
There was no mercy from the Dark Side. Weakness needed to be eradicated. He was a spectre of wretched justice. Aequitas ensured it prevailed as their limbs dropped to the floor around him and their heads rolled to a stop by the cockpit.
The Combat Master entered nonchalantly, like he had every right to be there. The pilots of the tank spun in place, wide eyes full of surprise and panic.
“Good afternoon, gentleman,” there was no smile on the Chiss’ face. Two swishes of his lightsabers cleaved into their skulls. They slumped over in their seats, dead.
Watching Anders enter the tank Race knew the troops inside would be dead in a matter of second. Apparently, so did the tank to its direct right as it started swiveling to take aim on the hover tank the Chiss was in. The commander of his squad didn’t seem to either notice or care. Instead he was trying to have his men take cover and avoid incoming fire.
“Squad 81” Race yelled, “Suppressing fire on the tanks. Draw their attention.”
The squad immediately did as they were instructed. Torrents of red blaster fire rained out from the trench as the 12 man fireteam. The tank swiveling towards the Combat Master paused unsure of whether to return fire or keep targeting the now disabled tank next to it. Hopefully, they bought Anders enough time to escape.
The incoming blasts slammed into the remaining tanks. Pirates sitting on the exterior hurled themselves off the vessel, diving into the sand as they scrambled behind their armored vehicles. Covered in grains of sand their vision was further deteriorated by the bright flashes flying their way. They attempted to return fire, all the shots going wide, missing the Brotherhood forces entirely.
Thran deftly moved his hands over the controls of his All-terrain Scout-Transport. Although the walker appeared ungainly, the firepower it carried made it a nightmare for lightly armored craft and infantry units. Each footfall shook the ground slightly as he pushed the large poultry painted walker into the fray.
His finger squeezed a red trigger gently.
A gout of flame spewed from the psuedocreature’s beak. The lance of blue-cored flame hosed over several speeders and infantry. The sticky near gelatinous fuel clung to them as it burned.
Thran could barely hear their screams over his own cackling laughter.
The remaining pirates stared in horror from the confines of their tanks. They were up armored speeders meant for border skirmishes and raiding. Not fighting maniacs with flamethrowers.
“Retreat! Fall back to the staging ground!” The lead tanker ordered.
The vehicles rotated and began to accelerate away from the Battlefield at high speed.
The Brotherhood forces had won the day…for now. The enemy still had a large number of troops at the landing area. Troops that they would soon call upon to attack.