"Blackwind's messaged us." Leena snarled, crouching down behind her droid for a moment, fingers flying across the device in her hands. "Ciara's asking for aid."

The light spilling from his sabers was all the answer that was given.

"This is what I was born for!" Doc laughed, sliding his shoulders sideways as he retrieved his riot shield. Planting his feet, he tucked himself behind it, overlapping it some with the durable armor of Leena's Blastromech. She looked up at him, trading her datapad for a blaster.

"I'll echo that sentiment." Chromed fingers closed around a repeating blaster as Hekate stepped to Doc's side, completing a formation they had performed more times than any of them would have liked to admit. None of them had ever dreamt that they would have to use it on the Nesolat. Doc chuckled at the droid, finger caressing the trigger of his pistol as he waited for the enemy to come around the corner.

Muz stood apart from them, slightly ahead, sabers held casually in his hands. His warcoat moved unnaturally at the waistline, the snap of holsters opening almost lost in the din. The footsteps grew closer yet, Muz turning sideways and lowering his center of gravity as the gilded hilts swam out from under his coat. They drifted lazily away from him, carried on currents of thought to lay in wait at about chest level along the corridor walls ahead of them.

Their armor was black and red, the old imperial era armor seeming somehow familiar to him. He blinked, and his will was received. Amber fire ripped from the sabers, finding the soft fabric seal between helmet and gorget and drinking deep. The helm fell to the ground, the body taking another step before falling forward, the movement shuffling the soldier's head from its armored shell. He was ugly. Pale and bald, the soldier's face seemed like it was somehow artificial, but not. Muz's lip curled as he saw it, the deep lizard part of his brain screaming that something was wrong, sick.

And he was only the first. The second one dodged the blade as it tried, but from the other side, the trap having less efficiency with additional iterations. A blow glanced off, deflected obliquely off of a vambrace, leaving a line of smoky char on the otherwise glossy armor. Muz's eyes narrowed as he saw that, mind formulating the next steps. Two more turned the corner, dodging the sweeping blades as easily as children skipping rope, the dull throbs of blaster fire echoing down the hall at them.

Muz took a step forward, a blaster bolt searing past him by mere inches as he called his blades back to him, his wrists twitching fine arcs of light as if to challenge them to come closer. The three of them spread themselves backwards, filling the hallway with light that he simply batted away as if it was sport. He sent the occasional burst back at them, the impacts doing little more than charring their armor. One of them let the carbine droop, raising his other hand, the miniature missile leveled at the Keibatsu.

The Force whispered in his ear, singing stories or woe and suffering, of love and loss, and of those things which had yet to pass. Muz listened to them all, let them flow through him and fill his mind with what he knew all along.

He just loved the melody.

Muz let two fingers raise from his saber, ensnaring a blaster bolt in the grip of his mind, It crackled in the air menacingly, bits of red static reflecting off of their black helmets, twitching in abject rage at being imprisoned. The missile left the troopers wrist launcher, screaming toward the man. As soon as the ordinance passed the frozen bolt, Muz released it, turning somewhat to shield himself from what he knew was the next verse of the song.

The bolt screamed into the missile, igniting the explosive, shrapnel tearing one of the troopers helmet and cuirass apart, sending him to the ground with a dull thump. They shook off the daze, watching the Lord straighten up, releasing his saber as he stretched his fingers, the corpse pulled up to hover before him as he stepped forward, the blasts from their weapons shaking the body and armor of their fallen comrade as he grew closer. A flick of the wrist, and the corpse crashed into them, pinning one to the wall for a moment before golden light sheared into the soft undersuit at his armpit, drawing a line of ruin through his lung and heart. The helmet garbled his last words, if that was what they were.

The survivor rolled out from under the weight of the dead, quick movements bringing him to a crouch, his carbine brought to bear in mere heartbeats. He had performed the maneuver countless times over his career, the muscle memory making the movement as natural as breathing, as smooth as antique Alderaanian silks, and faster than most could even blink. His own finger caressed the trigger, bringing the soft recoil down his senses. He watched the bolt scream forward as he recognized something very important.

It was too slow.

The blade came from behind him, burrowing its way through his side, the gap between plates filled entirely by cauterizing pain, as the Lion of Tarthos cut his heart. He reached to his belt, the detonator primed for this sort of final irony. Fingers never reached their goal, the hand sent twitching to the floor by a flash of crimson, the movement smoothly arcing toward his neck as the Lord ended his suffering, then turned away from their corpses.

"Hey, what do you think, maybe leave some for the rest of us next time?" Doc chuckled as they broke their protective formation, moving up to join him. Muz kept moving, his stride unimpeded by the dead, the ruined bits of wall panels or flooring warped from the battle. Leena glared at Doc as if that would ever quiet his mouth. They moved together for a few more moments in silence, before Doc cleared his throat with a half laugh, breaking the tension. "Hey, what do you think?"

"I think..." Muz kept moving, eyes facing forward, toward the sound of more mayhem. "Lyspair at least had a spa."

Note: This continues from where my entry for In Opposition ended.

All that could be seen around him was red, the occasional white flash. All that could be heard was a blaring alarm.

With his BR-5010 raised and a knife held close to his chest, he stepped in puddles of blood created by allies and enemies. Against his better judgment, he gazed upon the corpses of his allies. The wrinkles created by his dour expression softened and his brows raised, seeing the bodies of individuals he could note was much younger than he. Though a lump developed in his throat, he trekked forward.

Suddenly, his ears perked. The sounds of his steps did not much the speed in which he walked. They seemed… Accelerated. Heavy. Just as quickly as Zodac noticed, he turned the corner and pressed his back against the wall, head just beside the corner.

The heavy steps continued. With every moment that passed, they became louder, nearly echoing the halls. The human gripped the slugthrower just a bit tighter, finger planted firmly on the trigger. When he peered around the corner, he cursed beneath his breath.

Bloody footprints turned the corner and only ended just below him.

Zodac slowly stepped back and pointed his slugthrower at the hall, ready turn whatever turned that corner into a bloody mess. The heavy steps that were tailing Zodac grew louder and he waited with his finger already beginning to squeeze the trigger. As a figure turned and looked down the barrel of the slugthrower, it was instantly met with a bullet. The shot thundered off the walls and the helmet the marine wore was shattered where the slug entered and exited. Its shoulders fell back and the rifle it was holding dropped to the ground.

It fell rather ungracefully and hit the ground with a loud thud.

Despite the now dead marine, he still heard the ominous footsteps he thought belonged to the poor soul… or whatever it was, who now lay on the ground. Zodac cursed under his breath and peeked the corner, to see three more marines walking straight at him. Before he could even blink an unholy amount of bolts were fired, and he fell back behind safety. Grabbing the riot shield off his back and holding it before him, he walked backward to find a more defendable position. A marine turned the corner and laid siege to the old man’s shield, each bolt leaving a crack. Zodac yelled and responded with a flurry of his own, all hitting center mass, the entrance of the slugs leaving holes in the armor.

With any well-placed shot, he knew the shield would shatter. He couldn’t reload, he needed his off-hand to do so. In other words, he was screwed with no way to defend himself. Zodac saw something roll just behind him- It was small and black with a blinking red light. He ended his retreat and sighed, looking back at the thermal detonator then the unrelenting marines. As the beeps quickened, he closed his eyes. Then, detonation.

To his surprise, he hadn’t been turned into a puddle of gore. Towering over him was Cato, who had picked up the grenade and returned it to the marines. It exploded mid-air, the force powerful enough to knock the foes back. The droid grabbed Zodac by his arm, nearly dragging him through a doorway and into a dark room.

“Are you hurt?” The droid asked as the door shut, leaving the two in the darkened room. All that Zodac was able to make out were the glowing eyes of his ally. His large frame bent to observe the human, and with no glaring issues, he observed his surroundings.

Unable to recognize anything around him, Zodac removed the lightsaber from his harness and activated it, raising it into the air. Endless boxes, stacked to the roof, and shelves with more supplies than one could count. He immediately knew that there was only one way in. He sighed and looked at the door, pointing at it with his thumb. “Maybe they didn’t see us come in?”

Suddenly, a murmur from outside the door. Zodac knew that hiding in this room wasn’t an option. They had the upper hand, with their cybernetics and fancy weaponry. They would either have to fight here with a chance to make it out alive or die hiding like cowards. Without so much of a second thought, Zodac stabbed through the door and pulled back. The floor before him shook just a little.

The man laughed and pressed his ear against the door, trying to hear what else was happening. The steps of retreat made him all the happier, but his face of content turned to that of shock as a familiar beep echoed. Zodac turned tail and dove over some crates at the door erupted into hot metal shards, soon followed by blaster bolts- many of which penetrated the crates and nearly struck him. The marines slowly made their way in, blaster rifles at the ready to shoot anything that dare moved. As much of a crack shot Zodac was, he knew it was a death sentence to challenge the almost perfect soldiers. He waited for his turn to strike, not with his firearms… He was going to have to get down and dirty.

As a marine checked for what he thought was a casualty, he was met by the glancing blade of a lightsaber that had suddenly ignited. The soldier dodged the first and was grazed by the second swing- but quickly took advantage of an opening. The marine hit him with a left hook, staggering Zodac. With the opportunity granted, the marine took out a vibrodagger and swiped, striking the aged man across the belly, leaving a decently sized slash and quite a bit of spilled blood.

He yelled in pain and swung his lightsaber single-handedly down at the soldier, who blocked it by pinning his forearm against the crease in the man’s elbow. Similarly, the soldier tried stab Zodac in the gut, but was narrowly stopped by a hand that leveraged itself against the marine’s bicep. Now at a standstill, it was a battle of might. The pain in Zodac’s stomach grew as more blood spilled, and he felt the vibrodagger itching closer to his abdomen to put him down for good.

Among the fighting between the two, Cato was handling the second marine. He pushed the soldier, sprinting with both hands extended outward. He shot at the droid, the bolts penetrating Cato’s plates but not stopping him. He grabbed him and lifted him far above his head, throwing the poor thing so hard at the ground there was an audible crack. Had it been any normal being, they certainly would’ve been knocked out or dead. Cato lifted his leg high into the air to stop the soldier, the marine dodged by the skin of his teeth. He rolled and unsheathed his vibrodagger, swiping at the droid’s leg.

A miss.

Cato pulled his leg back up just in the nick of time, and stopped down on the arm. This time, a much louder crack, and the knife dropped. Without time to waste, Cato picked up the marine by his neck and held him with a tight, barely breathable grip. He lifted the soldier above him and squeezed as hard as his lanky, metal fingers allowed. Apparently, it was quite hard as the struggle ended and the marine hung limply. Cato threw the body to the side and saw the struggle between his friend and the final soldier, and rushed to help.

Zodac felt the dagger slowly enter his abdomen, and he tried to yell in pain and was unable to. He wasn’t strong enough to prevent it from happening. It slowly cut deeper, and Zodac became weaker. The droid grabbed the arm that held the vibrodagger was in and pulled back, it sliding out of Zodac’s abdomen. Cato placed his hand over the marine’s hand and pulled it into the his chest slowly, as he had did to his friend. Zodac fell onto his back, weakened by the loss of blood, barely conscious. The soldier whimpered in pain and the blade stabbed deep into their chest, and they fell to their knees. They looked down at the handle and grabbed it, but suddenly stopped moving.

Cato stepped over the body and went to Zodac, picking him and the lightsaber up swiftly. “Stay with me, now. We’re gonna get you better, alright? You’re going to be okay.” Zodac felt the cold embrace of his friend and shivered. His head felt heavy and wanted to rest, the same went for his eyelids and limbs. That’s all the human wanted, just to rest for a few moments to regain his strength. The alarms that had filled the air in the corridors had seemingly silenced, replaced by a ringing in his ears. He saw Cato looked down at him more than a few times, but couldn’t hear. He fought to keep his eyes open, fought to keep his head upright. Suddenly, a final cold chill shook him.

He finally received the rest he wanted, and it all went black.