"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."