Log:First Order: Dromund Kaasequences

Dromund Kaasequences

OOC Date: September 12, 2019
Location: Dromund Kaas
Participants: First Order: Hadrix Rol, Karys, Saanvi, Avery Ihala Kora and Knights of Ren: Dreman Bryce, Kylo Ren, Ravelyn, Erisi Auslese, and Oran Arcantael as GM

The short story: The Vanguard and the Knights of Ren face doubts and demons while trying to rescue their stranded fellows from the evil Sith world of Dromund Kaas.

The long story:

By snooping around where they ought not to have, the Vanguard have successfully uncovered the location to which Kylo and his Knights disappeared: Dromund Kaas. Warned by the Librarian that they 'might need the Storm Commander' for this, they sent word to Dreman Bryce, who interrupts his own mysterious activities to join them there.

The problems are clear upon arrival; the ship in which the group left Spearhead is totaled in the jungle. It's never going to fly anywhere again. But once Bryce and the Vanguard clear atmo, they have been able to use short-range communications to verify that Kylo, Erisi, Oran, and Ravelyn dragged themselves to the tallest, most imposing building around. The remnants of the Imperial Citadel, the black heart of Dromund Kaas, and once, the entire Sith Empire.

But that was a long time ago, now. Millennia ago. The jungle dominates here now, but it is no kinder than were the Sith, and it has slowly destroyed everything in its path. The animals here are clever and aggressive. The plants are no better. It's all taken a toll on the Knights who have been stranded here a week, who are looking thin, dirty, lightly injured, and way way WAY too well acquainted with each other.

It has stormed non-stop with ferocious electrical storms in atmo ever since the first group of Knights arrived, but now it's terribly, ominously still. It feels wrong.

Everything here feels wrong.

The newly-arrived ships reach the Citadel and land, depositing their passengers at a vine-strewn landing platform, the selected rendezvous place. As they disembark... this place is unnsettling. Angry. Watching.

Feels wrong.

But it also feels like power.

The interior of the First Order dropship hummed with energy, as around them the wind whipped against the ship's body. Above, the pilot relayed information to the crew regarding the downed craft. "Get us into that building," Bryce offers, as he reaches out with his senses to seek the lost. He didn't like this place. He recalled the way Dathomir felt like a Predator, and Korriban like a tomb. Dromund Kaas, however, felt more like a trap than all of them. It felt cunning and sadistic. But, then there was something. It called to him. It beckoned him. Behind the half mask, glowing a cerulean light from its single eye, Bryce's lips tightened. "As close as you can. Quickly," Bryce instructed. Was it sentiment? Attachment to a friend he once knew? To those who try, Bryce is a lake of ice water. Emptiness, even in his anxiety, was all he gave off.

Haggard, ragged, with a week-old beard of thin, patchy facial hair, Kylo is waiting just inside the entrance to the temple from the landing area, a gloved hand braced on the stone doorway. The glove is missing one of its fingers. His hair is a tangled, greasy mass. His eyes are dark with exhaustion, puffy, rimmed in red. The scar on his face stands out starkly against the pallor of his clammy skin as he watches the rescuers land.

He looks like he might throw up. He looks like he might kill someone. He looks like he's still deciding which.

"It took you long enough," is the sulky greeting as he pushes himself off of the rock, stepping out towards the landing zone, the leaden light of Dromund Kaas revealing his attire as a torn-up article usually covered by a few more layers. "I want to get away from this place. But I want to destroy it first. Down to the /foundations./" An arm jerks back at the citadel looming large behind him, his voice raised to be heard over the noise of the machines, and the movement stretches wide a few holes in his clothing. "Get off the ships, I'm not finished here. Not yet."

This has been a rough week on them all, and even in armor, Ravelyn is looking worse for the wear. The armor lacks its usual polished shine and has numerous scuffs and scrapes, and the cape often worn is in tatters, serving as a makeshift pack used periodically throughout their stay. "Can we agree that we never come back here again?" is asked of the others, head turning to regard the other knights present during this hellish experience. There's a bit of a sigh that follows Kylo's statement about wanting to destroy the place, and a protest rests on the unseen lips, but the words aren't spoken. Instead the knight just remains where, waiting, probably sulking, and desperately needing a bath.

These kriffing suits... Not a fan, and he can't remember the last time he wore these place, Hadrix descends the transport ramp hearing the Supreme Leader complaining, and now Ravelyn. So things must've been bad.

<<"Vanguard, assault spacing, position to form shield wall once we've accounted for everyone and escort to exfil craft.">> the big man grumbles, pilot light on his plasma rifle igniting. Dreman is here, no need to address, let the knight do it... Less dressing down from Kylo to be had that way.

Suited up as per the usual call to arms, Karys and the rest of the Vanguard are given the pleasure of Dreman as their leader. It is definitely a chance of pace but not one of much difference in the moment. Her fingers flare as she pulls and tugs the glove on more tightly, making sure it is fitted into place with a press of her other hand between her fingers. She repeats the same motion with her other hand as they settle onto the landingpad, jostled back and forth before the whine of the engines powering down brings her to her feet. The click and clatter of armor and weapons fill the inside of the ship before her helmet comes down with a slight click once its sealed to hide her bright blue eyes.

The dark visor turns to look at Dreman, than Hadrix as she moves to follow the group out. When the Supreme Leader asks for them to remain, Karys is pulling free her pistols and then given Hadrix orders she glances between them before at least moving to offer cover.

Saanvi frowns and has a datapad out, apparently trusting the others to keep an eye out, "What was this planet's name again? Did we get an atmosphere composition scan? Which way were it's poles oriented?" there are mysteries here and Saanvi plans to start with the basics on uncovering them!

The rookie trooper peers around the jungle with trepidation, his emerald eyes squinting into the eerie atmosphere the Vanguard has been presented with once they debark from their shuttle. <<"Guys, I know we've been in some creepy places before, but... I gotta say, I've got a baaaad feeling about this.">> His voice betrays a small measure of fear through the comms as he swivels the gigantic T-21 back and forth, scanning for any sign of resistance or oppression that looks to rise against the Knights or the First Order. His vision alights on the Citadel, a strange yearning pulling the young trooper's attention and desire in beyond Kylo and the Knights. Unbidden, Avery's feet stir to life, moving the slicer toward the entrance of the imposing tower as he is pulled along by the siren call, eager to pass through the portal and discover the secrets that beckon from within.

Erisi also suffers from patchy week old patchy facial hair atop her lip and out to the sides, little sprouts, eyebrows having gone back to their wild roots and all remnants of makeup she once held so dear in all the right places having found their way to every crevice and pore. Her hair is greasy, bangs pinned back with her ponytail wound up into a rats nest of a bun. Robes smell like angry body odor, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looks distinctly displeased, a scowl that took a home on her features days ago now a permanent fixture, this place harboring and exciting the naturally existing darkness within her and keeping her antsy as she has no means of outlet. Until the group appears to rescue them, "To the bloody ground. Until I can grind it beneath my boot to nothing but dust and even then I want it whipped into the wind and scattered to every corner of this idiot planet." Hissed out as she rises up off something she was using as a seat, hands balled up into angry little leather bound balls at her side which slowly rise up as she makes her declaration. Burn it all down!

Mission accomplished, right? Here they are. Now they can leave! Ships are here, ships that are structurally sound. The skies are... well, if not /clear/, at least just not mind-creakingly treacherous for a change.

They can go.

They can just go.

Except... they can't.

For one thing, Kylo says no, and this whole terrible enterprise -- by which we mean planetary exit but also the First Order and its Knights in general -- is his deal. But also, there's just a strange, overwhelming feeling that they /can't/ leave, not yet. For some, this feeling may creep in as though something bad will happen if they stay on the landing ledge, better to go in. For others, they might feel urgently as though they've forgotten something inside the Citadel, even if they were the part of the group that hasn't been there before. Still others might feel as though there is something they want very, very much inside, or something that MUST be destroyed there. Avery and Bryce caught the edge of this ahead of the others, but it's seeping into everyone. They have to go in.

Unhappily for everyone, Dromund Kaas hasn't managed to kill Oran (yet), and he is here, looking no better than Kylo and the other castaways. Dirty. DIRTY. Dirtier than anyone's ever seen him! Rocking that week-old beard that's greatly interfering with the tidy look of his goatee, and his hair is revealed to be wild and curly when he hasn't been able to force it into good behavior with denial and hair product.

None of that seems to be foremost on his mind now, however as the thing longed for - ships! - is /right there/ and... Oran turns away from them to follow Kylo, Avery, and that sense that pulls the group inward.

As they walk, the path seems obvious. How? It's difficult to say, it just feels clear that /those/ obsidian hallways are bad, and /these/ are good, and they must go. They must.

The path leads them to a room lit by dim, cloudy sunlight from an oculus in its roof. Foreboding statues ring the circular room, figures who somehow feel as though they're individuals, despite that their faces are are carved cowled in shadow and they have no distinguishing features. In the center of the room, on a pedestal shaped like a kneeling slave, a small, crystal cube sits strangely untouched by the jungle that seems to encroach on everything else.

"Couldn't pass the chance to make operational changes while you were dead," Bryce says dryly. Whether he was serious was hard to tell. "Someone had to keep the General from assuming command," Bryce adds as his exposed eye inclines towards the citadel. He still felt it drawing at him. He wondered what could have bested his superior, even temporarily. He also wondered why there was a familiar feeling Kylo was going to be his doom was crawling back up his spine. "Alert Fighters include a wing of Bombers. Surely a pile of old bones and rock won't stand under our TIEs," he offers, before his eye returns to Kylo. What was in Ben's head--He dare not pry, but, his eye searched, nonetheless.

Is he serious? Kylo spends a long moment considering Bryce's veiled expression as the other man speaks, feeling out the words suspiciously. He'd never liked Bryce, he felt that now; he felt the deep distrust he knew he'd always felt for the other man welling up inside him. The distrust he felt for all of them.

The dark, bloodshot eyes that turn everywhere, trying to watch all of them, are accompanied by a persistent, pervasive outpushing of his senses, brushing up against that of the others who share it, the feeling of being watched, monitored; a pricking on the back of the neck, even for the Vanguard.

Even so, he walks onward; has to, something calling him forward despite his feeling of harried unease. That was nothing new, anyway, a lifelong companion who'd merely pushed their way to the surface again, refusing to be ignored. The hallways fall aside, and there it lies ahead: "The statues from my visions." They have no clear faces, but his eyes stare up at the featureless rock. "They've been guarding this. But they made a mistake when they called us here. We're no tools for a dead past to wield." He steps towards the center of the room.

The desire to leave this place is so strong. It is so strong. It was so strong, but something else sliiiiides into place as Ravelyn turns to move back inside this temple that they've spent so much time in already. The long stride has a new purpose and urgency, though that purpose is unclear, but it's present, as is something else invading the knight's mind. There are not an infrequent number of glances cast to the side at fellow knights, and then the focus narrows down to one in particular. Oran. Oran is getting a lot of looks, and were a face visible, they might even be mean looks. Everyone will just have to imagine it themselves. What doesn't have to be imagined is the hand that reaches out as they move down a corridor, and without any obvious provocation or any warning, Oran is shoved hard into the wall.

Keeping in escort posture, Hadrix does his best to keep eyes peeled even as he rolls his head to try and drive the tension from his shoulders, swapping to private comms, Vanguard only <<"AV - Did you hear about that new release of the old BT-16?">>.

No headlamps, no target system, practically bare eyes in this thing... shadows flickering... MOVEMENT! Hadrix's hand comes down, flamer leveled... and then he stops. <<"False contact.">> Was it though? He keeps his eyes on the spot, lingering, and then he moves on. The unease is building up in him, shoulders hunching, on the balls of his feet. He doesn't realize his teeth are bared beneath the helmet. Half turning again, the singular band visor of his flametrooper helmet falling on Karys... and a bestial rumble comes through on his externals.

There is an undeniable tension along karys' neck the longer they linger and the further they go. She can't rub at it but rolls her shoulders to try to get rid of the shivering tension that tracks its way up her spine. The visor slowly pans form Dreman to Kylo once more but then tracks Avery's progression as he starts to go further inside. Well kriff! She sucks in a breath and starts to follow him as they have been told they are to stay....

..by someone talking about statues guiding him here. Tools? Past? Hadrix gets a glance or rather a turn of her helmet as the pistols remain down at her side. BUt unlike the usual quiet stance of waiting for orders, KS-0218 is shifting her weight uneasily from foot to foot and she's taking a few steps back as if to afford herself some room. Her head turns slowly towards the low rumble from Hadrix and she tenses up, her back now angled towards a defensible position as her pistols start to lift.

Saanvi tucks her datapad away and slowly eases her weapon from it's holster, those often preoccupied slate eyes up and focused intently on her surroundings for a change. She shifts her stance so that her back is to allies and she is facing outwards to potental hazards unseen "How unusual. I suppose should we survive the library where references this curious place is off limits?" the disappointment in her tone suggests she already knows the answer. Then suddenly Ravelyn is attacking Oran <<Sergeant-In event of a conflict between knight assets what is protocol?>> seemingly entirely confident this HAS happened before and there should be a neatly outlined decision flow to decide to the appropriate response.

Even if his superiors, that being pretty much everyone present, had requested the rookie to stop, he's not certain that his brain would have allowed him to obey. Thankfully all seem to be drawn inward as the group makes their way inside and through the darkened corridors of the ominous Citadel. Though he scans ahead, his feet seem to know the way, carrying the trooper steadily to the room ringed by the imposing statues. AV-1004 peers up at the faceless individuals, eyes squinted as if he could pry their personalities from the darkness they inhabit. The feeling of want has turned to forboding and a sense of alertness tingles his spine. Head on a swivel, Avery examines the nooks and crannies, the barrel of his weapon following his gaze from interest to interest.

Bit by bit, the strange actions of the rest of the group start worming their way into the trooper's psyche and his eyes cease to scan their surroundings and begin darting from one member of the group to the next. The usual bright and cheerful regard narrow in suspicion and mistrust and 'Ten' finds the point of his rifle having switched from without to be pointed within, not quite aimed at the group at large, but certainly ready in case one of his so-called teammates make the move they are just itching to make. <<"The old BT-16? I hadn't heard, no.... why?">> Comes his reply over comms, the edge of fear having been replaced with a growing anger.

Erisi has no real desire to leave, "No, they dead past is going to be OURS to wield." Stated in a glowering manner as she once again lifts up a gloved hand to shake it menacingly in the air as she straightens her spine to stand ramrod straight. A few crinkles of an abused spine and bones shifting into place she takes on the aura of distaste for those around her, shaking fist soon dropping to clutch the other in front of her abdomen as she begins to walk in a more stately manner once within the room, checking out the statues as Ravelyn shoves Oran.

Lips dip then curve into a look of dark elation that echos in the sudden laughter, "FINALLY, oh my Goddesses, I've been waiting for this for //ages//." Tip of her tongue peeks out from between her front teeth as she steps back to lean into one of those statues, hands unclasping so she can cross one arm across her stomach, hand gripping the elbow of the opposite arm which pops up so she can prop her chin into her very dirty glove. The look on her face is the complete opposite of Ravelyns' mask, emotions evident in their rawest, anger and hatred clear on her features. Gaze darts between the two Knights, grip on her own elbow tight, body taut just in case they turn on her. No. Not just in case. WHEN. Fingers itching to set the air on fire.

SHOVE, Oran eats wall, thanks to Ravelyn -- who is taller and mightier in most respects, let's be real. "Hey!" he snaps back, metaphorical hackles up, "You mold-brained public-access fashion disaster, what is WRONG with you?" Normally that's all it would be... some snarky words, too much time too close together under too much stress. But something is different... this time. This time the growled question is accompanied by a snap-hiss of his lightsaber -- he's drawing on her. Normally that would be cause for alarm, cause for 'what the hell is up with Oran'? And that's still a valid question (it's a valid question at all times), but here... and now.....

It makes sense.

He shouldn't trust her. No one should. Ravelyn is a danger! But.... so is he. They all are. Bryce and Kylo are each sunk with a cold, soul deep certainty that this man will be the death of him, and no one else fares any better. Oran is clearly ready to have a go at Ravelyn, who looks just as happy to BRING IT, and even the trusty, stalwart Vanguard find themselves succumbing to this doubt, this fear, this anger.

Enemies.

Every man and woman here is surrounded by enemies, volatile, foolish, mentally unstable psychopaths who /will/ lead them to harm.

But are any of this group going to stand for that kind of thing?

Absolutely not.

It hit him all at once. When was the last time he was sticken in such a way? Mon Calamari, with the Jedi across their ranks, ready to destroy them. Funny how final they had wanted that to be, only for this moment to light Bryce's senses with an overwhelming and sudden panic. The visions flooded his mind all at once, as every future raced into mind backwards. They would all strike. He saw each of them in turn make the first blow, seeking to, perhaps, become Kylo's favored. Was he? A part of him would wonder.

But those thoughts were dangerous now, and reaction needed to be met. Bryce's hands slip along his shadowsuit as the visions come to a pointed moment, where finally the first of his attackers revealed themselves in his mind. Athletically, Bryce rolls from the immediate crowd and comes into a readied, acrobatic crouch. From his hands, one holding the silver and black lightsaber he made himself, and another holding the jet black, frost-rimed saber of Anuesana's, two crimson blades snap to life with an electric, burning hum.

"Traitors," he spits.

Kylo stops a few paces short of the crystalline cube on its pedestal, a hand stretching out toward it, but rather than the artifact it is the battered hilt of his lightsaber that claps into his hand, spitting to life with a crackling hiss of red plasma as the man turns to face the others, seeing three other red blades already ignited. They reflect in his eyes, wavering back and forth across his field of view, and his own ragged red blade joins them as he brings it up into a high guard, the point aimed directly at Bryce, his longest follower. The most informed, the most dangerous, the most like him.

"Ever since that night you've been waiting for this," his voice accuses with contempt. "You weren't strong enough to stand against me then. You're not strong enough now. Was he afraid of /you?/ You? Frozen by indecision. Holed up in your own head. You disgust me." As he hates those parts of himself.

Ravelyn's hand is already traveling to her own saber as Oran grabs hold of his, the ominous red glow expanding around them as a second saber comes to life. "Wrong with me?" The voice that comes through the vocoder is rarely overflowing with warmth, but might seem so when compared to the veritable icy tundra captured in her tone just now. "What is wrong with /ME/?" Like she didn't just push Oran into the wall first. "You're the one with the problem. /You/ are the problem, and I see it now. I see it." It's unclear even in her own mind exactly what she sees, other than Oran's face with the word PROBLEM written over it in big letters, it makes no sense, but logic isn't at play here. Logic can come later. First she has to take care of the problem.

<<"They're quibbling is their own. The Supreme Leader will handle it.">> Hadrix barks back at Saanvi, his voice more raw aggression and low-laying rage that the Medic knew back before she decided to test combat drugs on him... and after she did. He's come a long way, or he had. Now he sounds like he just wants to open fire...

Karys... She's glaring, he can feel it. He knows. She wants his spot. She wants to get rid of him. "NO! YOU'RE NOT GOING TOO!!" voice gutteral over his externals and he is moving - the flame rifle sweeping up and spraying white hot immolation at the gunslinger.

How does one -glare- with a helmet on. Well they don't. Karys is briefly distracted by the bantering going on between the Knights. Her adrenaline starts to bleed through as weapons are drawn. Tension spreads across her form as swiftly as the crack of a whip. Hadrix' growl forgotten in that split second proves to be her undoing.

Plasma fire slams into her center mass and throws Karys back a step, a loud grunt and cry of pain coming through the comms as she draws her pistols up with a wince to try to focus fire on the lead of the Vanguard. <"Frakking walking tin can!"> She growls through the pain, heaving in deep breaths while her vision swims and every shot misses.

Saanvi UUGHHHNSSS! "ENOUGH! Children! ALL of you are CHILDREN! Logic-stiffling idiots! So be it!" She declares lifting her pistol at the nearest who happens to be Erisi-and yet the relative distance doesn't matter! She STILL misses shooting her bestie in the face.

With one smooth movement AV-1004 snatches the helmet from his head, dropping it to the side as his hatred focuses sharp. Burning emerald eyes narrow on the flaunting Knight leaning on the statue as sheer chaos erupts around them. "You've been /waiting/ for this?! I knew you weren't to be trusted from the start!" The rookie screams an instant before depressing the trigger on his rifle and sending a couple of red hot bolts screaming toward the gloating force user. As if his rage isn't enough, bits of enamel pop from his mouth as he grinds his teeth in frustration, the blaster fire richocheting off the wall behind her. "DIE YOU BITCH!!!"

CINEMATIC. There is a brief flash in corner of Erisi's eye as the first shot of Averys' slams into the stature beside her, sending bits of stone erupting out into the air, dust feathering onto her greying black robes -- the second shot leaves an echo of what COULD have been -- a shot right through her chest, careening in between ribs and muscle to cause the delicate flesh of her lungs to wrinkle and tear away with the force of the blast. Death is but a breath away. Instead, the flesh of her right breast ripples as if branded, a curdled snag of flesh where the echo would have been, his next shot sending more stone flying as she broils with literal rage.

All of the anger she's allowed to flow through her erupts and her features drop into a snarling rage, Saanvi saved only by Averys' use of the word 'bitch'. The rest of his screamed words? Eh, true, she would have given him that, but bitch? "I AM A QUEEN, YOU MINISCULE CRYPTID, AND YOU /WILL/ BEND KNEE TO ME." Her skin GLOWS through sweat and dirt, veins golden red as hazel eyes darken in ox blood which weaves and snakes it's way through the iris, rippling into the sclera as she gives in to that which has been whispering to her even before Kylo came into her life in a stand in Ko Hentota all that time ago.

Then all is flame, a large ball erupting into the air around Avery, sustained longer than needed as she screams out, "YIELD TO ME. DECLARE ME ABOVE ALL." Hands outstretched in front of her, fingers splayed wide as her snarled lips curve into a wide deranged smile, the intensity such that the flesh on her own hands blisters.

Chaos reigns! Friends fire on friends! Unkind words are shot forth, and also unkind fire! Everyone is seized with the power of the Dark Side delusion, the horrible certainty that these "allies" are, as Dreman Bryce so succinctly stated, traitors. He was right. Dathomir may be a predator... Dromund Kaas is a trap.

Hadrix lights up Karys in a fit of delirium, and she isn't quite able to return the favor although she sends a fearsome storm of red bolts to keep the big man pinned down. Saanvi takes aim and fires at the threat she sees in Erisi, and the firekeeper seems to be similarly identified as dangerous by Avery. Sweet, charming rookie Avery! How the dark energy here has had its way with him! And with his tooth enamel! If anyone here was in their right mind, they'd be horrified. But, nobody is. Especially not Erisi, whose nuclear explosion of her own darkside energy sends the rookie trooper into damage sufficient to vanquish him.

Oran, meanwhile, releases a scream at Ravelyn that sounds like he's identified her, personally, as the reason why he's been dirty and in low key substance withdrawal for a week. It's a serious offense, Rave. Their blades clash in a shower of white sparks and hate!

Recognition of what was said and what was done flashes in his eyes in a moment and perhaps an apology would have been the next utterance from his lips. Instead a long and horrendous scream breaks the air as Avery is literally cooked alive by the fireball that forms around him, his skin blistering and peeling instantly from the immediate heat that surrounds the poor rookie. Thankfully, the bloodcurdling cry is cut short as the trooper falls forward and collapses into blissful unconsciousness, the raw and acrid smell of burning flesh spiking sharply in the air.

Bryce rises quickly, narrowing an exposed eye as data filters in through his systems. It was Rey's voice in his head now: he will betray you. Did Bryce think it would be here, of all places? "Luke never feared me," Bryce says, as the red glow of the sabers casts against him and he readies. He was reading Kylo's movement, letting the tension build. All the while he played the strings of deception, letting his possibilities of attack flow outwards from him. He knew Kylo could sense them. Which was the true strike? Deception and Emptiness, those were Bryce's allies in the war on Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. They were his to wield.

"Astrid killed her on your command. Put a blade through her heart, all while you knew I would find her first. She was a mother to me and you needed your second to march on your orders..." His words were ice. "Say it," he demands, once, at an even tone. Then, following, a scream of rage erupts from him. "Say it!" Bryce's eyes deliberately turn, wanting desperately to torture one of Kylo's toys, in the moment. The hand holding Bryce's lightsaber suddenly erupts in a crackle of red-tinged lightning. It arcs away from him, aimed at Saanvi.

"No!" No what? Just no, and Kylo comes on hard and fast at the other man, the lightsaber in his hands swooping out in an arc of sizzling, spitting plasma to crash into one of the weapons he holds. Rebounding back from the collision, he pummels his attack forward again, smashing into the block a second time, whirling in a tight circle that sends the tip of his weapon hurtling past Bryce withut making contact with anything, anger hot in his eyes as a wordless shout rips out of him. The time for discussion on the finer points of past events may be past.

Blaster bolts slamming into his chest, his stomach, at the clavical, and a lastly the shoulder pad. He's twisted, bent back, impact furrows are dug in, deflected by the plate curves. Plasteel runs like tar and the dissipation mesh glows merrily as the lug stalks towards Karys.

"Sweets sucking GUT-WORM!" Hadrix berates, the nozzle of the rifle continuing to belch and hiss, a coil like a sun-flare leaping and twisting. Something creaks as he grits his teeth, and for a moment they almost crack from the pressure. Something snaps. Something gives way and a flood rushes through the body. Cords in his neck standing out as he raises the nozzle and the spray line of fire, a fountain of heat and light emitted from the end of his arm. A rain of death intended for a close companion, a sibling. His one eye widens, and the shadow rushes in.

The rage is on, in control. It was angry before, hungry, screaming for release, it was starving beneath 'morals', forcing the old anger, the old hate. External speakers practically explode with the unbridled fury unleashed. There is no Hadrix in this pit of viciousnes, this manipulation by the Dark Side. Even AO-904 is buried. It's a war machine, like theyt always called it. It's a killer. It's a murderer. Skulls of its' enemies taken from the field and ordered left behind. Blood soaked.

It's hate. It's always been hate, and battle lust, a thing built to crush life beneath a plated boot-heel. Everything else to this point has been a mask.

Ravelyn doesn't make a sound in the face of that scream, but there's a subtle shift of the way she holds herself, relaxed the way a fighter is relaxed when they know a fight is inevitable. It's not until their blades clash that a bestial roar answers him, her blade swinging up to meet with his in a shower of sparks. The saber swings up and catches Oran's blade a second time, making that electric sound as the blades press together in a battle of strength. Then things begin to move quickly, clash, clash, clash, they appear to be on even footing because not a single swing lands. "You're /weak/!" she spits out at him, angry and also inadvertently insulting herself, but again, who really needs logic.

Even in the haze of paranoia that paints everyone around her as foe instead of compatriot, Karys can fear. Fear when that nozzle and steady steps of an enraged Hadrix begin their death march in her direction. The plasma rifle eeks out another hit upon her, flaring against the already decimated and and scorched armor straight through the body glove as it catches against her artifical arm as well. The plasteel is not enough to buffer or save her from harm this time around and Karys is a mess of melting body glove and stench of burning flesh as a choked sound leaves her before the cry bleeds through.

Her pistols clatter to the floor on either side of her before the jarring fall to her knees sends a shudder through her damaged form. She grunts and reaches a hand out to stop herself as she tries to catch her breath. Up comes her hand for the helmet that feels like its suddenly choking her - the heat from the shots and the pain gathering upwards and causing the slight claustrophobia. She blinks a moment as her eyes adjust and the helmet hits the ground to rock beside her. "HADRIX!" She cries out, or she thinks she does but the sound is strained as her other hand lifts to try to halt him.

Saanvi snarls as Erisi is Nearly gunned down and then Avery is actually gunned down. She lifts her pistol to fire but the shot goes so wide it's not even clear who the intended target was as the pistol drops from her grip and she stagges back, slamming against a pillar and then giving that trademarked stupid, confused look of disbelief the greviously injured get as they try to figure out why their bodies are no longer following her command "Oh DEAR." She declares before her eyes cross and her body sliiiiiiiides down the pillar then topples sideways.

"All of you think to bring me down, just because you have /cool/ armor and a stupid brotherhood and sisterhood that I can NEVER BE A PART OF." Her voice raises in anger as she watches Avery fall, Karys' scream for Hadrix refocusing her on the last remaining Trooper. Hadrix. "YOU. Are. A. Liar. You. Promised. Me. Baked. Goods. AND TEA." All her fury is released again as she drops her shoulders, snagging her hands through the air as if she were gathering objects unseen, hands snapping out to reach towards Hadrix, "Take your brotherhood and BURN. I NEED NOTHING BUT THE FLAME." SWOOOOOOSH! The fire erupts again, this time around Hadrix, Erisi throatily laughing as it does what it's meant to do, "Well, maybe those cookies after this, but I'll buy them myself, because you are all //liars// and //snakes//." Hiss. Crackle. pop.

Avery, Saanvi, Karys, and then Hadrix fall -- as they do, the spell shatters, and this fight can be seen clearly through their eyes for the grotesquerie it is. This is madness. Their force users have gone crazy. They themselves went crazy! It's horrible, it's sad and dark and strange, it shouldn't be this way. This shouldn't happen. But at least they're alive, and they're awake, and maybe they can find a way to get through to some of their friends before someone takes a lightsaber through the gut.

Oran and Ravelyn continue to be evenly matched, clashing their blades over and over again in a flurry that would make their teacher proud if he wasn't currently trying to skewer Dreman Bryce. "You lack AMBITION," Oran spits back at Rave, in the same tone she used to call him weak.

Each of Kylo's strikes bring a reaction from Bryce. His own saber is held underhand in a vertical shaft of crimson light. He moves arounds it in place, minding his feat as each blow is slipped around. The cadence to Kylo and Bryce's dance seems to be dominated for a moment by Kylo, as he presses and presses and presses upon Bryce's position. How many had Kylo cut down with that blade? Scores. Innumerable men and women had fallen beneath it, across all walks of life: Kylo was indescriminate in his hatred. That's what made him dangerous. Bryce had killed, too. For him. If they were fighting the aspects they hated in themselves, Bryce was focused on severing the only thing Kylo truly held over him: loyalty. Duty-bound, Bryce had given himself to Kylo in service, despite the paranoia. Even after Rey's warning, Bryce remained with the First Order, marching to his Master's call. The cadence changes as Kylo overextends--Only slightly--Only just enough for Bryce to turn and take control of the dance. He leads, now, driving and driving the dance. "You were my brother," Bryce whispers, in the close proximity of the pair's shuffling movements.

The false gripped saber draws a line of vaporized fabric across Kylo's shoulder, blistering the skin beneath with its proximity, and the big man takes a few rapid steps back away, glancing down at his body to reassure himself that it's still in one piece, taking his focus off the fight for a moment, backpedaling further to recollect himself, a semi-gloved hand swiping at the sweat on his pale face. "I don't have a family." He sniffs, wiping at his face again. "I don't have a brother. Just you, standing in my shadow. Clinging to the back of my cape. Holding me down." The words are spat like lead bullets between them, and with a snarl he closes the distance between them once more, lashing out in a rapid flurry of blows that feed one into the next, his aggressive style relying as ever on his size, strength, and connection to the force to beat aside his opponent's defenses.

"You think that /I/ lack ambition?" Ravelyn sounds beyond outraged that this person, of ALL the evil and conniving people that she's going to have to kill here today, that /he/ is the one who said it. "You lack all of the qualities to become anything worthy of the power that you stumbled upon," she shouts at him, words interrupted and punctuated at odd points with grunts and growls as their lightsabers connect. "And you're poor!" Going for the aristocrat's throat with that one, but they're playing for keeps tonight. The saber cuts through the air, this time not stopped by his, cutting close. Too close. They clash again, and then, finally, her saber makes contact with Oran. She is breathing hard, it's not carried through the mask, but it can be seen in the way her shoulders rise and fall while she rounds about to look at the others still standing.

She falls. Good. It's good. She wanted to take what it had... Karys. Karys screaming. That word.

'You ignore that!'

'But it means something! It's me?'

'YOU ARE WAR!'

'But'

'NO. BUTS. We're out! FREE! We can march, we can kill. Drink blood, breathe screams!'

'Karys. That's'

'THAT'S MEAT! AND IT WAS IN OUR WAY'

Then he's being screamed at, tea... pastries. He was. Then they went to this damned planet. He. They were.

Flame. He is coated in it, covered. His helmet, by design, keeps his lung from scorching in the heat - flame troopers. But his armor melts around him, running plasteel of his plates together. He breathes out a ragged grunt.

'STAY UP. STAY UP WEAKLING!'

"Karys!" Hadrix hits the ground on hands and knees, the name forced out on a wave of pain as every inch of him wails for shock to steal his consciousnes. Mind racing- wavering there a moment before getting enough base though to try rolling to smother the flames.

'GET. UP.'

'We deserve this...' Curling into a ball on the ground, Hadrix feels the glass and metal in his right eye pop from the heat. He deserves this. He's a traitor. Turned on his own. Darkness

UGH it hurts! Karys' hand that was up to try to forestall Hadrix but is no longer needed goes to her chest where a rather impressing webbing of melted materials and skin rests. Her forehead drips of every increasing sweat and her cheek shave gone red as she strains. Gritting her teeth as the room swims again and she is forced to delay blink each eye after the other. She glances up at Hadrix when her name sounds out somewhat distantly. SLowly she tries to push up, getting to one foot, then ..NOPE. Just one foot as the other knee rests on the ground and leans heavily into the angled lower support.

Her eyes wander the room and the mess of chaos going on. Is she the only Vanguard up and functioning? "Stop...uuuugh," she grumbles out, wheezing through the mess of her chest pain as the room just swims. There is nothing to see but lightsabers and people on fire.

Who else can Erisi focus all of her anger on now? All the troopers are out for the count, so now the search is on to refocus her feelings of inadequacy on someone else. Breathing heavily as the wind seems to deflate from her rage flags she'll turn on one foot to toss a look over her shoulder, Oran and Ravelyns' clash taking her attention immediately. The two people she at times wishes she were, the ones who make her feel the most unworthy out of everyone with well-timed insults and too perfect arses, "Poor //and// from poor breeding from what my mother has shared, and /her/ breeding is questionable if you ask my father - so coming from her ..." KILL WHAT YOU LOVE. Until Rave's blade seems to do the job, or at least hits him hard enough that Erisi is refocusing once again on Ravelyn, sending an angry mote of pouty fire floating through the air, the thing dropping to the floor like a sniffing puppy as Erisi rages, "WHY ARE YOU SO PERFECT, RAVELYN. YOU HAVE TO TAKE ORANS DEATH FROM ME, //AND// have a perfect body and such a freaking //cool// aura of UNCARING while also being a killing machine - You ALWAYS have to ONE UP ME." And the flame sniffles around the floor, Eri's rage not strong enough to touch dat ass, "I HATE YOU." Teeth clamp together as her nose wrinkles, fists balling up at her side as she readies another volley, "So. Effing. Perfect. You. Genderless. Effin'. Wonder."

Oran dodges a miss from Ravelyn that very nearly takes his dirty little head right off, but that's not the worst of it -- she just went for the kill and called him poor! POOR! "WHAT?!" he gasps, furious, as she injures his pride! And then a half moment later that petty little distraction costs him, as she injures a lot more than his pride and sends her saber through the middle of his chest, maiming ribs, lung, everything in its path. He falls, his own blade extinguishing, and spits up a gobbet of blood onto the feet of one of those silent statues that seem to mock them from above. Everything is clear now. Everything is clear, and... it's not Orderly. It's not ORDERLY at all. Oran's lawful little heart is broken! Chaos! The worst.

He can't get up, or stop the fights that still rage, but maybe what's left of the Vanguard can help. "The cube," he rasps at Hadrix and Karys. "Take the cube. Take the cube."

It sits there on the pedestal shaped like a carved slave, bathed in eerie light, beautiful, vicious.

That was all that remained between the pair. Kylo's words end whatever content any discussion could have for them, and what was a back-and-forth degrades. It was just a brawl, now, with the pair of them hacking at each other. Neither was willing to yield to the other. Bryce could never match Kylo's strength, so he compensated with agility, ducking and weaving around the Supreme Leader to keep him guessing. All the while, Bryce continues to focus his thoughts on a thousand angles of attack, flooding whatever focus the Supreme Leader mustered at sensing what was coming. That he lasted at all against Kylo Ren was surely a mustering of luck. Every blow dodged, and every blow that slips just out of reach is another nail in Bryce's coffin. He had to beat Kylo before Kylo ran him through. He had to win, or face being murdered in his sleep.

With just the one saber, it might seem as though Kylo might be outmatched, but a preternatural sense of when and where keeps the fiery blade always just ahead, just at the right angle, just barely catching the various attacks that come slanting out at him and forcing them aside in between flashes of light. One blow is caught at the last moment by the edge of one of his side quillions, sputtering in front of his face for a moment before it too is shoved away. Dialogue has broken down, his hair is slick with perspiration, clothes heavy and damp. In the fury of his counterattack, a statue is undercut, the base glowing with a newly carved detail as the saber passes partially through it.

"It was my fight first, girl," Ravelyn's tone carries an edge as the focus goes from a broader assessment narrowing on Erisi. The helmet cants to the side as the woman rages on, observing in that detached way that Erisi finds so infuriating. The genderless wonder offer no witty retort, no cutting reply, not at first. Instead the words are answered in violence, a long stride closing the distance between them quickly while the lightsaber swings down. It's a brutal, ruthless hit that carves away Erisi's arm from her body, cauterizing the flesh that's left behind at the shoulder, while the dismembered limb hits the ground. "That's because I'm better than you," she answers, then turns away to size up both Bryce and Kylo.

Hadrix just lays there, hears nothing but eighteen years of screaming in his ears. He tastes blood, smells it, but he isn't bleeding. One eye staring dully at the lens where he would normally see his HUD, but now just sees a world warped and distorted through the half-melted band-visor. Or was that how the world really was, and no he only just now came to realize?

Karys is about ready to just let that dark edging her gaze win until that call for the cube causes her head to jerk up. She sees Hadrix laying there as her once restrained hair is pooling around her face, sticking to the sweat that layers her skin. She grumbles and then strains, gritting her teeth as she makes a sound of complete strain getting to her other foot.

"I loathe these offworld trips that involve anything to do with the Force," she utters below her breath. Each step feels like she's dragging weight behind her and not to mention having to get around two psychotic figures dancing in a dazzling lightshow. It takes her few moments but that damnable cube is in reach.

She reaches to her hip for her blaster wanting to shoot it to pieces. Kriff it. But those are left behind as she reaches out with her hand to grab at it, both hands slapping around it somewhat sloppily as her depth perception is a little off. Goal achieved! It tumbles forward into her grasp and against that damaged chest. HISSSSS.

The spell is lifted just as her arm is sheared off from her body, along with her shoulder and part of her collarbone. It's a gnarly injury, but it's weird. A release is felt, both physically with the actual act of Ravelyn culling her down and emotionally it's just ...wonderful. As the spell lifts she sinks down onto her knees, sitting back on her heels, wearing a queer smile upon her face as she sits with her head tilted back, exhaling out as her eyes slide closed, "Of course you are." Breathed out, chest rising and falling with the shock of the wound, hazel peepers flickering open, anger still swirling within her, but it's /her/ anger now, and not some outer forces infringement upon her, "But I'll learn .."

A shakey half-breath melding with a soft rueful laugh, one shoulder lifting with the laughter, the other, well. It's laying with her arm which splays on the ground to her side, palm up, fingers gently curled. Letting her head roll to the side she'll give a sidelong glance from above at said arm, a symbol of her weakness. Of that which she needs to burn out from herself. And today is the day it starts. Or tonight. Her concept of time is completely out the window.

Exhaling out shakily she'll lick her lips which are dried and dessicated from their time in the elements, fingertips on her left hand twitching from their place on her lap to raise up to her lips.

They purse as she blows a kiss (what a drama queen), fingers of the attached arm unfurling to send the heated kiss forwards. The shorn arm begins to twitch, fingers closing into palm and palm pulling in towards the forearm, skin blistering a furious red and crackling into black while laying on the floor. The arm withers and erupts into soft blue-white flame which burns slowly. a part of her gone. Forever. And the beginning of new growth erupting within her chest to follow. Change.

As soon as Karys reaches for that damnable cube off the pedestal, she feels herself suffused with incredible power -- something dark, but something /strong/, a ferocious, somehow feminine presence that burns through her body and her mind with the whispers of a cruel creature long dead. It feels unlike anything else she's ever experienced, awash for a moment in deep magic beyond her ken, probably beyond that of the Force users she's with, for that matter. Then it fades, and everything drops back to reality, harsh, cold, painful.

There is blood all over the floor. The Vanguard and the Knights are varying degrees of broken, and the statues are chopped up with saber cuts, some of which still glow eerily. Erisi is missing a whole arm. They're alive, they will escape, and they will abscond with an interesting new prize. But the dark side has exacted a terrible cost... as it does. This is the nature of darkness. This is the price of power.

When the spell is broken, those strange feelings of hate and mistrust immediately vanish -- except, perhaps, for the little seeds from which the Citadel's evil drew its influence. Those doubts, they'll keep, and remember...

The stormclouds close in behind the ships as the group and the lightning picks up again. The bombers will do their best to erase this place, but Dromund Kaas has survived worse than that.

The trap resets, and waits.