Csilla's Orbit

Having dusted off from the Deployment Hangar of the Resurgence, and cast itself out into the battle-scarred void beyond it's shielded curtain, the Atmospheric Assault Lander soared through the bespeckled darkness towards the Ascendancy's Flagship. Brilliant trails of ionic sapphire light trailed after the small vessel, clashing with the radiating illumination of the System's Star and the manifested spears of death cast out from every warship hanging in orbit above the world of Csilla.

:: Fifty Kilometre's to Target. Ready Condition; Crimson. ::

With those words, twenty Stormtroopers within the Lander's interior began preparing themselves for what was to come. Rifles were primed with killing energies while several soldiers at the front of the vessel began affixing themselves with boarding shields. These protective slabs of metal were crude devices, yet, with what they were to face within the Hangar Bay - a few inches of Durasteel between one's self and the enemies guns would be a welcome reprieve. Like the Stormtroopers themselves, these uninspiring tablets of metal were enamelled in the same colours of their bearers, only to be broken by the fanged crimson maw - the sigil of the First Order.

Sohei himself paid little heed to the events transpiring around him. Instead, the fibre bundles of his armour purred with inaction, as the Knight of Ren was withdrawn into his mind and replayed the events of the past, to prepare himself for what had yet to pass.

---

The water danced on the razor's edge, and Lucius watched as it ran along the surface of the perfectly still blade. Above him, the dark iron clouds rolled wet curtains of rain across the ruined landscape. Fires still blazed nearby, holding to what life they could as they fought against the ceaseless downpour. A silent throng of corpses had carpeted the lip of a nearby crater; faces turned towards the shrouded heavens with sorrow carved into their lifeless features. The scene had been set, and at the epicentre of that dwindling carnage stood two figures - both clad in the woven threads of night. Lucius was barely aware of the flooded tapestry unfolding before him, the shadowy figure opposite him was the only thing that had mattered now. Every twitch of the man's blackened cloak. Every breath between his hidden teeth. Every raindrop that scattered down the thin-lipped smile of the duelling blade. Lucius saw and had felt them all. The world was closing in around the Swordsman, narrowing to a point that held only the flash of steel and the instant thereafter. This was his realm, as much a part of his existence as the air that filled his lungs and the iron flowing through his blood. The movement of time became sluggish, like thick oil spreading outwards over ice. Lucius had not wanted to do this, but the Master had insisted. It was not enough that they had bathed themselves in the blood of this long forgotten world.

The Inquisitor had not expected the Master to be there, sharing the same battlefield with the same enemy. He had not expected to share the victory, and that left something that honour had demanded to be resolved. The Master had revealed himself, leaving Lucius to look from the blade to his secret smile, and knew that there was no choice. There was never a choice. The Swordsman flexed one hand upon the hilt of the duelling blade and felt it's weight shift in his grip. He raised its edge above his head and relished the sensation of the muscles in his shoulders settle, listening all the while to the steady rise and fall of blood in his veins. The Master had spun his weapon, slicing apart the downpour, before snapping it to stillness. Dirty rivulets of water washed down the sharpened edges of the blade and held jealously tight to the cloth gauntlets the man had worn. The midnight clad figure held his sword below, and at his side, with its tip nearly kissing the mud beneath. Lucius watched him, weighing the rhythm of his stillness, listening as the instant stretched out. A single droplet of water formed on his blade's point and his pulse had stilled within his breast. His heart had paused between beats.

The drop of water fell, and the Swordsman snapped into action. The Master whirled forward, as Lucius had brought his blade down. The shadow pirouetted away from the killing edge of the sword and danced further into the mud's suckling embrace. Lucius swung his sword again and again, the smear of steel scattering the torrent of cascading water with every swinging arc. He scythed low and high, weaving a deadly web of whistling metal before his person. The Master laughed as he ducked a decapitating blow and leapt into the air. His opposite's blade winked as it stole through the shower, arcing down. Lucius froze, only to jerk aside as the killing swipe had sighed past his shoulder. His sword flashed out and the Master pulled back with an almost serpentine swiftness, blade ascending, and for the first time - both weapons clashed with a ring of drop forged steel. Lucius had smiled a mere instant before he came forwards, hammering blows down one after another, feeling the weapon shudder with every strike as the rain streamed past his gaze. The Master's hidden features had locked into a snarling visage, the smile gone. Soaked hair whipped within the bounds of a darkened cowl as the Master bowed and spun aside. His duelling sword was a razor blur. The play of weapons was a spiral of slices and parries.

"You are everything they had said you are."

Lucius saw the slight twitch of the Master's wrist and slid past an immediate riposte.

"And you are more..."

The words had washed over the Inquisitor, like the rain that had fallen from the iron dark clouds. In the man's mind, there was only the metallic caress of his sword, only the portrayal of cuts, angles, and balance that flowed through him like blood and breath - like life itself.

"But, you are missing something. For all your skill..."

The Master sprung forwards, twisting like a bladed hurricane. He was fast. Inhumanly fast. His duelling sword had flicked out, scything down as his blackened feet touched the ground. Lucius brought his blade to bear, only to see at the last second that the Master had turned the cutting edge and brought it down on his forearm. Cold and rainswept steel tore through his covering, exposing the blood-soaked flesh beneath. The Swordsman's conscious mind had barely registered the wound, but as the Master took a spiralling step back and flicked his blade to the side, Lucius' sapphire eyes fell upon the gushing fissure.

Without hesitation, the Inquisitor lunged. Having seen such retaliation in the skeins of fate, the Master swayed like a tree caught in the wind, leaving the sword to slice through the empty air. A leather bound heel, caked in a layer of attached earth, flashed out and shot Lucius' head back with the crack of bone and a spray of blood. Explosions of colour detonated behind his eyes. Reeling, with his blood mixing with that of the deluge to blind him, the Swordsman fell back to bring his blade up to guard. His mind flooded with tidal waves of anger, doubt, pain, and...

Everything was still. Lucius let the thunderous drumbeat of his raging heart roll through him. His world was the moment. His very existence was the sword in his hands. There was nothing else. There needed to be nothing else. The Master's next move was already unfolding, telegraphed by things that the Inquisitor couldn't see. In truth, he couldn't see anything. However, he could feel it - like the silence before the storm. His sword met the blow, the impact shaking the teeth in his skull. He felt his blade move of its own accord, ringing as it deflected attack after attack. Lucius sensed his feet were taking him backwards across the ruined landscape, skidding in the mud, and still his vision was a clotted obscurity. The Master had woven a threshing corkscrew with his weapon, connecting blow after blow. He was fast. Quicker than the rising bite of the wind, and swifter than the blink of distant lightening. But there. Suddenly, like a shaft of sunshine spearing forth through the storm clouds was an opening. His sight had slowly begun to return as the rain washed away the crimson fluids of life, allowing the Swordsman to see this gap in the Master's defence. He shifted, cutting downwards as the shadow's duelling blade pulled free. Lucius savoured the impact and struck twice more before the reverberating clang of the first strike had faded. Then the Master was gone, whirling out of reach. Lucius paused, reigning in the bestial instinct to follow the Master. The Master stood near the edge of the crater, haloed by the billowing stench and the sight of the recently slain.

The duelling sword was still held steady in his grip, but what laid beneath the fabric had been laid bare for the Swordsman to see. Obsidian armour shone in the dim light of the fading battlefield, and cracks spidered across the impact points. Blood spilt freely from his crushed gorget and leaked out from beneath his revealed breastplate, diluting in the rain as it pooled with the drenched soil below. The dancing glimmer that had once been hidden by the dark cowl was gone from his glittering eyes, replaced by something suddenly older, patient, knowing.

"I cannot beat you. I know this, and you know this too."

Between haggard breaths, Lucius spoke for the first time since they had met and begun with this deadly dance.

"I claimed victory, only because you lacked focus."

The shredded cowl shook, as the Master of the Knights of Ren, sheathed his sword in the drowned earth.

"And before your blood was spilt, you lacked conviction." The man paused, taking a moment to tear the broken seal from his armour, before casting it aside. "While your brothers and sisters preach of Order, and discipline, a man such as you can never amount to such heights. They're above you, and always will be. You may have the talent of a swordsman, and the focus to match it, However, there is one thing that you have that they do not; one thing that might just be your saving grace. Emotion, the very power you feel within your soul, makes you the strongest of all my Knights. Not the sword you wield, nor the powers you claim mastery of. Emotion. Shape it to suit the moment, and all will tremble before your wrath."

---

The memory faded with a retroactive purr of his armour joints, as Sohei's hands clenched into fists. The Master had always believed him to be Unworthy of joining the Knights of Ren, and unlike the others who had excelled under the wretched man's gaze, Lucius was cast aside at every venture. There were many times he was forced to train alone and forgotten, in order to succeed where they could not. That was but one reason of many, why many of his fellow Knights had looked down on him, not because he was a haughty soul, but because he was the Outcast Knight - the Lone Wolf, who hunted alongside the Pack. His heart pulsed with quickening anger as the thought passed through his mind, giving him the strength to do the impossible.

"What the Frack?"

One of the Soldier's exclaimed as he saw what was taking place, drawing the gaze and disgust of several others. They didn't move. They couldn't move. There wasn't enough room for that within the Lander's bowels, yet, they tried to back away from the inconceivable events taking place before their very eyes. They were indoctrinated to believe that the Force was a permitted religious understanding within the bounds of the Imperial Sector, nothing more than fanciful stories of insane mages and their wizarding ways. Now, as the Black Ichor dripped from the Knight's arm in lengthy strings, to pool at his armoured feet, the Twenty Stormtroopers found themselves questioning their secular beliefs.

Sohei fed off their revulsion, adding their emotion to the swirling pirouettes of his own, thus thickening the broth falling freely from his arm.

:: Ten Kilometre's to Target, Priming Pintle-Mounted Cannon, Prepare for Deployment. ::

The chatter of the Lander's F-Z0 Antipersonnel Blaster Cannon echoed through the troop compartment, giving rise to the sensation of elation surging through his veins. Such a feeling had despoiled the darkened hue of the ichor, turning it into a mottled pink - almost taking the tone of newly born flesh. He relished the Stormtrooper's odium, and couldn't wait to see how his new-found foes would react. Mere seconds later, the vessel was bracketed by maser fire, and the pilot himself was cursing over the boat's interior comms unit. Apparently the volume of enemy fire had surprised him, and Sohei found himself feeding off that too. Every flickering emotion felt by the men at his side had fueled the ichor pouring from his arm, and what came next caused the Knight to twist his gauntlet through the trickling broth and grasp onto his manifested soul.

Then, the boarding craft touched down, and the assault ramp slammed onto the flight deck of the Ascendancy's Flagship. Exploding out from the interior of the Lander, Sohei blindly rushed into the enemy lines. They had ample enough time to prepare for the Imperial's arrival and had made makeshift barricades out of whatever they could find. Loose collections of cargo crates, blade-swept Clawcraft, and various other selections of detritus. Dozens of Charric Rifles were levelled at the AAL's assault ramp, and every discharged shot had missed the ebony-clad warrior that rushed their lines. It was impossible. How could a being adorned in such armour, move so fast? The thoughts reeled within their mind as the warrior rapidly closed the distance between their forming lines. The midnight black and pink ichor trailed after the Knight as he ran, flowing along the surface of the debris studded deck.

This was where he would showcase his power, the one that the Master had taught him so long ago. To the initiated, the power was known as Darkshear - or Spear of Midnight Black. However, in it's present form, what spilt from Lucius' arm wasn't a Spear, nor resembled any conventional weapon a warrior like him would wield. Instead, the sweeping liquid hardened into a flesh-hewn lash and had become spiked by the man's rising spite. With a flick of his wrist, the impossible substance around his gauntlet had been given life and snaked through the air. It coiled around the exposed neck of a Chiss Soldier, one who Sohei had noticed held some authority over his comrades, and choked the life out of the man as the lash had punctured the man's armour and his body thereafter.

Crimson fluid sprayed outwards as the lash coiled around its victim, coating the Chiss Soldier's behind the makeshift barricade in their commanders blood. Their bubbling fear was oh so delicious and inspired the Knight of Ren to inflict more. He tightens his grasp upon the spiked lash, causing the length snaking out from his arm to tense in response. Torrents of crimson fluid, alongside what seemed to be a vital organ or two, exploded out of the Chiss Commander's body, bathing those around him once more. A sadistic smile of pleasure curled upon Sohei's lips, and for a fleeting moment, the Lone Wolf had drank in the image of horror he had painted. Like the Stormtroopers surging onto the deck behind him, he too was an artist. The lash was his brush and the vile azure filth became his canvas.

With another flick of his wrist, the Scourge withdrew from the Chiss lines, carrying the victim aloft within it's lashing grasp. The mangled body of the Commander had spun through the air, as the lash released the figure during the flight - only for his corpse to splatter onto the nose of a descending Lander mere heartbeats later, painting the assault ramp of the craft a vital red.

Laughing with perverted glee, the Knight allowed his attached squads to form a shield wall around him and marched behind their protective grace as they advanced on the fortified enemy lines.

The First Commissar had been standing just beyond the cockpit inside her AAL as it touched down, so she had been witness to the mangled body of one of the alien savages splattering on the windshield viewport of her craft. Looking in the direction from whence the body originated, she swore she saw one of the Knights of Ren, Sohei, as he plowed through the enemy forces.

The second her AAL, and the one that accompanied it, touched down; she was quick to disembark with Alpha Squad. The crimson blood of the enemy rained down upon her as it dripped from the upper casing of the boarding ramp of the assault craft, rivulets running down her chromium chestplate. Alpha Squad was quick to slip into formation around her with the slightest wave of her hand. Splitting into two fire teams, one afore her and one aft, they organized into wedge formations and began to move forward. Around them, the squad of Imperial Knights rushed to the fore of the battle and charged straight through the front lines, impaling Chiss left and right with their lightsabers. Several were cut down by maser fire and the casualties continued until the squad of commandos and marines from the second AAL made it to the frontlines.

The Imperial Marines moved in tandem with one another, perfectly at home in their element since they had trained to serve as the first wave boarding party on any captured starships. Executing a shock assault, they shot several riot-control smoke grenades into the thick of the Chiss forces. Detonating on impact, these grenades produced a brilliant and blinding flash akin to a flash-bang before filling the area with thick grey smoke. Given that the Chiss were not in atmospheric-controlled suits sealed like the First Order troops, they began to cough and lose focus as the Commandos surged forward. All troops wore helmets with filters capable of circumventing the smoke and preventing inhalation while the lenses were equipped to automatically change their UV tinting in response to the surrounding environment. As the breach point filled to the brim with smoke, most troops switched to infrared scanning to locate the Chiss soldiers.

As the Commandos took their cue, their matte black armour not only allowed them to move silently through the smoke thanks to sound dampeners, but the finish also reduced their sensor profile to almost nothing. This enabled them to sneak up behind enemy lines to quickly and quietly do away with their forces. The rest of the First Commissar’s force took cover behind whatever they could find and began the chore of picking off any enemy insurgents that deigned to show their faces for they could not simply waltz into battle much like the Imperial Knights or the Knights of Ren. Noting a reduction in the blaster fire, Azria catches the attention of the fire team nearest in proximity to her and motions for them to follow her lead. Signaling to the fire team opposite to her, she instructs them to create a distraction.

Branching off from Azria and the other half of the squad, this fire team heads up along the east wall, taking out several Chiss soldiers along the way before they find themselves pinned down behind some cargo crates. FN-2532, the fire team leader, pulls out a sticky grenade and looks to his other team members for confirmation. Nodding, several of them produce identical sticky grenades and each of the four tag two of the Clawcraft, near their fuselages, that are seated just beyond their reach. Crouching down behind the cargo crates, they wait for the inevitable. The sticky grenades detonate within mere seconds of one another and send the Clawcraft bursting up in flames.

BOOM!

            BOOM!

Spying the distraction she ordered, the First Commissar advances with her team as some of the Chiss soldiers retreat to the east wall. Jumping a stack of cargo crates, Azria and her squad bear down on the remainder of the Chiss defensive line within their proximity. Shooting several of the alien savages, her blaster rifle suddenly jams. Soon finding herself too close for comfort, the Imperial resorts to more aggressive tactics, smashing the head of the nearest Chiss soldier with the butt of her rifle, as she fires off an electronet at another group of soldiers – her squad quick to finish these off.

Squeezing her free hand into a fist, she extends the blade attachment on her crush gauntlets and slices one of the Chiss across his cheek. Within seconds, the Chiss soldier she had just introduced to her blade is writhing about on the ground as the First Commissar spins, allowing several blaster bolts to dissipate against her armour weave cape before slicing several other soldiers. All of which were quick to join their brothers-in-arms rolling about the ground. Devaronian blood-poison was truly a beautiful thing. "Traitor..." The Imperial mutters looking down at her chromium rifle. She leaves the remainder of her fire team to finish off the rest and stand guard while she shoulders her rifle and steps up to a computer terminal lining the wall. Waking the terminal from its slumber, she activates her Psicom 1260 Interface to allow for a direct uplink to the Chiss command computer. Uploading a remote copy of her Imperial AI, Commodore, directly into their systems, she shut down the interfacing session as a blue-beamed maser bolt impacted the wall directly aside her head. Turning on her heel, Azria took cover behind a cargo crate, “Comm, get me what you can from their systems. Deck info, personnel records; whatever you can get your grubby little paws on.”

The AI almost sounded as if he scoffed in her ear. “I assure you, First Commissar, I do not own these grubby little paws you speak of…. Nevertheless, I shall inform you the moment I break through their firewalls.” Azria chuckled and peeked up over the top of the cargo crate, she had stashed herself behind, to shoot one of the blue-skinned alien savages right in the middle of his forehead with her blaster pistol. “Nice shot, sir.” FN-5503 complimented her as he, himself, laid into one of the xenos scum. “That is number twenty-two. Do see if you can catch up, boys. I will be sorely disappointed if I outpace you all again this round.”

Tearing his gaze from the acts of systematic butchery that played out before the advancing Order's lines, Sohei turned his gaze back towards the shielded portal, now filled with the sight of dozens of assault landers touching down on the enemy flagship. He cared little how many of the boarding shuttles had landed beside his, for he was the first and that was all that mattered. Sohei, Swordsman and... what was the word that miserable wretch had used? Ah, yes. Prancer. Sohei, Swordsman and Prancer, had slammed their iron-shod boots onto the grilled deck of the enemy flagship before anyone else had cared to join him in this billowy pirouette. Now, as his glittering sapphire eyes stared through the protective lenses of his battle armour, he was the first to see what lay beyond the Warships' embrace.

The light of distant stars hung in sickly folds of gas and dust. The sight, though partially ruined by the electromagnetic field saving them all from an unelegant death in the void, was strangely alluring. How many could say the same? He doubted that anyone ever would, especially here and most certainly now. The minds that surrounded him were blunt beyond all comparison, unable to grasp the profound depth of beauty that unfolded before them as they waged an uncivilised war against a relatively peaceful people. That was where his momentary distraction had cost him his ornately wrought battle helm. The one that he had favoured the most, and the one that had reminded him of an ancient Sith Lord - who was considered to be the greatest of all the Jedi and their undoing in ages past. A charric round had smashed into headgear, shearing a massive rent in the silvered filigree. With his face now exposed to the filthy air, tasting it's stench as he breathed slowly, Sohei tore the ruined helm from his head and tossed it's remnants at the nearest Chiss soldier. The sundered helm struck a mighty blow against the man, as he had lost his footing and nearly slipped on the corpse of a fallen ally.

Enraged by the sudden loss, and even more so that his temporary period of reflection had caused said loss, the Swordsman lashed out with his spectral whip - catching the soldier off guard as the ethereal spikes drove themselves into his torso. Spatters of blood flew from his mouth as he coughed, painting Sohei's face a vibrant shade of crimson. How dare this cretin take the advantage! Anger surged through his veins in a rushing tide, empowering the weapon that snaked from his arm, and coiled tighter as the dark armoured man slowly turned his wrist. The spikes of spite that had manifested along the length of his darkshear lash dug deeper into his azure flesh, causing the man to scream in horrendous agony - something that went far beyond the usual shrieks that littered the battlefield. While he would've wished to continue this excessive bout of torment, his mind had reeled in his emotions and had focused them towards their true aim in boarding the enemy flagship.

How better to ruin the enemy's morale, than deprive them of their most prized vessel.

Sohei's lips curled into a serpentine grin as he flicked his wrist, casting the bound soldier against the carbon-scored bulkhead, painting the enamelled wall behind with his bloody spatter. Now freed, the coiling lash began to dissipate, as the sting of concentration began to take hold. He could only manifest such a weapon for so long, and already he had claimed an innumerable count in the rising tally of the Ascendancy's dead. As the black ichor sloughed from his fingers and fizzled upon the deck, the Swordsman withdrew his favoured weapon from his belt. An ornate lightsaber that had been handcrafted by the man that now bore it into battle. The overhanging light, though dimmed by the heat haze of discharging blaster weapons, glinted across its lavish surface. With a depression of the activation stud, the ivory hilt spat forth a blade of molten silver - bathing the dimmed surroundings in its spiteful light. They had robbed him of his helmet; it was the time that they had met a genuine terror that would rob them of their spirit.

Without formal salutations, the Knight of Ren surged from the somewhat orderly ranks of the First Order and fell upon the enemy like a bladed hurricane. They did not expect such ferocity and were treated as chaff before Death's sharpened scythe. Carved apart with every arcing flash of his molten weapon, Sohei danced among the Chiss lines, shattering any hope that they had in repelling these alien invaders. Charric bolts were cast aside by his humming blade, as it danced to an unknown tune, but as the cunning soldier's had expected their bolts were not reflected. Instead, they had slain several of their own, and more of the man's allies with every swipe. One soldier had dared to laugh, thinking that this man, this terror amidst their ranks, was killing more of his men than he was of the enemy. He died seconds later as Sohei's blade rent him asunder, and his halved pieces slumped to the ash-strewn floor.

The enemy was broken here; He thought as his sapphire eyes scanned through the dying din of battle. They would not hold for much longer, and as such a truth began to unfold before his gaze, Lucius tore his omnipresent gaze away from the ringing clash of steel and the scent of seared ozone, only for his vision to fall upon the slowly opening door near the end of the Hangar Bay. If the schematics were correct, and this ship's design had differed little from the last time they had encountered it, that entrance would see him on a direct path to the central command bridge. He could end this in a single stroke, and thus Csilla would fall soon after. How they would laud his efforts then! No more would he be considered the untested one, nor Sohei the insignificant. The Master himself would be pleased! Perhaps then, he would truly be able to call himself the favoured son - despite the fact Lucius had done so without his Mentor's knowledge.

With the dangerous blade of pride spearing into his heart, Sohei broke away from the shattered Chiss formations and burst through the small opening created by means beyond his understanding. As his armoured form had passed through the grinding crack of broken metal, the parted doors slammed shut behind him. His smile faded then, as his mind believed that this was now a trap, rather than an opening. Lured out from his allies, and minutes away from aid, he was the prideful wolf about to be slain by his hubris - manifested in the arms of the enemy. For several thundering beats of his heart, he waited for his tragic end to come. Sohei knew that such a corridor was a perfect kill zone, one in which there was little cover and no room to escape the inevitable. However, as a muffled silence began to descend upon the metallic hall, the Swordsman knew that nothing was coming. He bit back the urge to laugh, as he distinguished his blade and sprinted through the grated corridors.

How foolish, he chided himself as he ran.

Seconds began to blur into minutes as he raced through the iron intestines of the Ascendancy-Class Star Destroyer, ducking into half-lit alcoves and bypassing several of the patrols that scoured the decks in search of the enemy. While the rest of the embarked soldier's had funneled towards the boarded Hangar Bay, the rest were sent on regular routes to ensure no-one had passed their eroding containment. Such a laughable attempt to slow him down, he thought as he ducked into yet another doorway and seemingly melted into the shadows. They would soon learn the error of their ways. Had they just laid down their arms - No. Such a route would be unbelievably boring, and Sohei forcibly ejected such a thought from his mind. He liked this deathly dance far too much, and a part of him never wished it would end. Yet, that thought too was expelled from his mind as he now stood before the blast doors that led into the proverbial consciousness of the warship.

The Command Bridge.

Igniting his blade with the signature sound washing over his aural senses, Sohei plunged the molten silver blade into the locking mechanism of the heavy metal door. Speared through the impurely refined epicenter of the Chiss' salvation, the blade's heat liquefied the blast door's interior, causing the two pieces to slide back into their housings with a deafening screech. He hated the sound and wished his failures had not deprived him of his helm. Biting his tongue hard enough to refocus his thoughts, the Dark Warrior plunged his blade once more into the now unshielded door and begun to slice through the last pitiful defense that obstructed him from the prize.

Summoned by the sound of the Blast Doors swiftly retreating, one of the nearby patrols had rushed to the scene with their rifles raised. As his saber was otherwise preoccupied, Sohei found himself in an awkward position. He offered the Chiss a sheepish grin, as his blade continued to carve a circular pattern in the door.

"Gentlemen, I swear this isn't what it seems," He said mere seconds before they opened fire. Deary me, he thought, before sweeping his hand across the gathered squad and watched with relish as their bolts were casually tossed into the wall, annihilating its ivory perfection. Annoyed by such a disgrace, the Knight of Ren lashes out at his attackers with ethereal constructs of his hand, only to crush their windpipes a heartbeat later. They were loud and clumsy, and their shouldered rifles had telegraphed their intent. Did they think they were sneaking up on him with how foolishly they scampered in the dark?

"Pitiful show, Xenos Scum," Sohei said, making a meal of every word.

With the circle now complete, the doors blew open with a mighty howl. Sohei took one step onto the primary bridge of the Legacy and was instantaneous beset on all sides by raised firearms. Laughing now, harder than he had ever thought possible, the Swordsman took yet another step forward before saluting his foes with a flourish of his lightsaber.

"I'm afraid that this vessel now belongs to the First Order. You all may exit my ship at your nearest airlock, and you may yet live to tell the tale of how a single man took the Ascendancy's most prized possession by himself."

Their rifles cycled live. Clearly what he had proposed was not an option.

"No?" He gave them a second chance, but they answered by spouting some words in their native language that painted Sohei in an unflattering light. "You dare, my mother was a Saint!"

And then, without warning, the Swordsman breathed in the swirling chaos that choked the air - and violently let its energy explode outwards from an extended palm. The dozen of rifles and those that bore them were flung back from the doorway, cast aside like discarded toys. Several landed badly, their armour unable to protect them from the hard edges of a terminal or a rail guard. The others that crashed onto the open grating cried out in pain as shock flooded their nervous system. It was delicious, the agony he caused. Sohei wanted more. Nay, he craved it. With his active blade bathing his surroundings in liquefied silver, he set about butchering the entirety of the Command Crew, sparing none but the Admiral, that watched with a mixture of spite and fear glazing her eyes. She was stuck in her chair, forced to witness the death of everything and everyone she held dear. Oh, my. Was that her cousin?

Oh well.

As the last Crewmen fell, the Knight of Ren spun his blade in yet another respectful flourish as he saluted the enthroned woman atop the command dais. Quenching the light of the silvered sword, and hooking the extinguished hilt upon his armoured belt, Sohei began to ascend the marble stairs to her basalt throne. Each step shuddered in the deathly gloom, seemingly rippling within a realm of impossibilities as he slowly marched towards her seated figure. Had she not been tainted by the curse of Xenos blood surging through her fear stricken heart, Lucius would've considered her beautiful. However, she wasn't human and would never be; that meant she was impure and would never experience the dizzying heights of Human perfection. Or would she? It was just as he came to stand before her that his mind raced with the possibility of purging her of this taint. Extensive and excruciating agony awaited her, but when they were complete, it was possible that her imperfection could be erased from the annals of history itself.

"Your name," Sohei commanded, as he raised a gauntleted hand to brush along the length of her azure cheek. "I wish to know it."

In response, and as he expected, She spat at him - adding yet another colourful shade painting his face. The brushing hand soon lifted from her cheek and forcibly removed her figure from the command throne with a hearty slap.

"When one is defeated, at least, show some dignity. You are the Commanding Officer of this Warship, are you not?"

She didn't respond, and then again, Sohei doubted she ever would. Grabbing her starched collar and yanking her to her feet, the Knight threw her door the stairs and began to follow her tumbling form. End over end she went, spiraling down the marble stairs and crying as something broke under the impact. Another imperfection that would soon be remedied He thought with a subtle shrug. It was then that Sohei's detachment of Stormtroopers had stormed onto the bridge, with their rifles raised. With a dismissive wave, he bade them to lower their weapons. They did as he wordlessly commanded, knowing that the man that stood before them had this situation well in hand.

"Well done, Troopers," He said as he stepped towards the crumpled Xenos female. "We've dealt the crippling blow to the Ascendancy. Secure the bridge, execute any survivors, and inform those aboard that their Commanders have fallen and to submit themselves to our custody. The day is ours!" A small cheer erupted from the Squad before they set about doing what their assigned Master had ordered. However, as the last of the Stormtroopers from that Squad filtered into the room, One brazen soldier had approached the Swordsman with a cocksure grin curling his lips. Confident that his bold nature was hidden behind his alabaster war helm, the man's exterior vocabulator crackled to life.

:: Sir, you've got a bit of red on you. ::

Sohei's eyes narrowed, flecked with the rising tides of anger...

Popping her head up from behind the cargo crate affording her cover, Azria takes aim at another Chiss soldier. The blaster bolt spat out of her hand, a blazing line of crimson in the darkness of the smoke that choked the battlefield. It hit the enemy combatant in the head, dead center, propelling him backwards into an awkward cartwheel as he fell to the ground at the feet of his fellow soldiers. Having made short work of this particular soldier, the Imperial was quick to duck back behind the safety of her cover as charric fire rained down on her current position. Apparently there was another group of soldiers close enough to be able to ascertain their approximate positioning despite the heavy cover of the smoke from the riot-control grenades that the Imperial Marines so generously laid out for them.

Several moments passed by as the two groups of combatants – First Order and Ascendancy soldiers – traded shots. Entrenched as they were, Azria was loathe to relocate their position just yet, even though it may afford them a more advantageous angle of assault. She was still waiting on her AI to get the information requested. “Commodore, what is the status of your retrieval operations? We are taking heavy fire here.” She could have sworn the Imperial AI scoffed in her ear as he responded in a lackadaisical tone. “I am well aware of the current combat situation.” He stated plainly, pausing for a moment as if he were examining the area beneath his fingernails for dirt. It was then that she decided Commodore was beginning to develop quite the attitude with her. “You now have full access to their systems.” Commodore intoned as his avatar popped up in the corner of her HUD. “Excellent. Mark all of the senior officers for me and plot a path to the command bridge.” Azria commanded the AI distractedly as she took out another Chiss soldier with the familiar ZOTT ZOTT of her SE-44C blaster pistol reverberating around her. “Acknowledged.” Commodore responded before falling silent. A “sir” would not kill him, the First Commissar thought.

Bolts of bright blue sailed overhead, sizzling as they crashed into the environment around the Westerly-located fire team. The suppressing maser fire directed their way was withering once more and with her back against the cargo crate – the only thing standing between her and a casket – Azria could feel the impact of the masers through her chromium armour as they punched into the durasteel crate with an incredible amount of force. Turning and stealing a glance around the side of the cargo crate, the First Commissar noted the almost-constant stream of data flooding across her HUD. The combat system calculated the metrics between her position and the current object of interest as judged by where her gaze lingered – feeding her the coordinates of the salient object or person, the distance in meters, and her current rate of movement. Information pertaining to telemetry data, firing solutions, environmental and atmospheric conditions was juxtaposed alongside even the status and ammo count for her current weapon. As Commodore began carrying out her orders, Azria noted individual ID tags as they began to appear – coming into focus as her gaze shifted from combatant to combatant on the battlefield. It was easy to differentiate the ID tags of friendly forces from enemy soldiers given the blue and red colouring, respectively. The ID tags of Ascendancy senior officers also began to stand out more prominently as she surveyed the expanse separating their forces. According to this same stream of data, the most senior Ascendancy officer present on the battlefield was located approximately 139.7 meters from her fire team’s current position. She could just barely make out his outline with the aid of her HUD’s targeting systems. The First Commissar raised her blaster pistol and looked down the front sight, but she knew even before her on-board targeting system confirmed it that she was out of range.

It was then that the fire team the First Commissar had sent up the East wall finally reunited with them once more. “Commissar. Good to see you are still with us.” FN-2532 said, acknowledging Azria with a nod of his head. “FN-2532. Adequate work.” And that was likely as close as she would get to complimenting the soldier and his fire team on their performance, for now. Commodore’s hololithic human avatar sprung forth from the display on her visual wrist comlink and it was difficult to tell whether her gaze focused on him, given how her helmet shrouded any social cues from perception. “Commissar, Ascendancy forces appear to be in the process of withdrawing from our general vicinity. They are focusing their attention on the Knights of Ren that have entered the battlefield.” The Imperial AI informed both her and the rest of her squad. She remained silent and drew her gaze across the battlefield to confirm Commodore’s assessment, though she knew he was correct even before she saw the distance to the red forces exponentially increase. “That’s our cue then.” The First Commissar announced as the AI disappeared from her comlink display and reappeared on her HUD. “Plotting the most efficient course to the Ascendancy senior officer now, sir.” So the AI was aware of proper military decorum, but he seemed selective in when he chose to employ it. “Alright, look alive…” She began as she looked around at her squad members. “We are going to head up the West wall and it appears as if we can sneak around the Ascendancy front lines then come up behind them. Follow my lead.”

“Yes, sir.” They all acknowledged her orders as one. Rising from a crouch, the Stormtrooper squad followed Azria’s lead as she took them up along the West wall, ducking and weaving through parked Clawcraft and other miscellaneous cargo crates scattered about the area. True to his programming, Commodore routed them around enemy forces and brought them up directly behind the Ascendancy’s forces. Taking cover behind several crates, Azria assessed the situation. The commander in charge of the forces here in the hangar bay only appeared to be surrounded by four soldiers in his immediate vicinity. Brazen and bold, she waltzed out from her cover and walked up behind the commander, who was crouched down speaking to several of his subordinates in what appeared to be a frenzy, judging from his erratic hand movements. As one, the rest of Alpha Squad moved and held the barrel of their rifles to the back of the Ascendancy soldiers’ heads. Azria would see to the commander personally, as she leveled her blaster pistol on him, applying more pressure than necessary to the back of his head. “Weapons down. Hands up.” The Chiss looked startled as they began to process what had just happened. Hesitation was never a smart move when Azria gave an order. With nothing more than a glance at her squad, the Stormtroopers knew her orders.

ZOTT!
    ZOTT!
            ZOTT!
    ZOTT!

The four Ascendancy soldiers dropped to the ground, smoke wafting up from the craters in their heads as the smell of burned flesh filled the air. “I will not tell you again.” This time the Chiss commander was quick to drop his blaster rifle as he put his hands in the air. “Wonderful. You filthy creatures can be trained after all.” The First Commissar said with a chuckle. The Chiss just looked back at her with wide eyes full of fear as he swallowed nervously. However, he smartly remained quiet. “Order your soldiers to stand down. You are outnumbered, outgunned, and have no hope of escape or rescue. Tell your troops to ceasefire and surrender to First Order forces.” Sighing as if it pained her to say it, Azria paused before speaking once more in a calmly authoritative tone. “If they surrender, I will show mercy, but any resistance will be met with force. The Ascendancy is now beholden to the sovereignty of the First Order.” In that moment, the commander gazed up at her and knew he was defeated. A Knight of Ren had already surged past their forces and taken the command bridge, all was lost. Nodding in acquiescence, the commander gave the ceasefire order over an open comm channel simultaneous to Alpha Squad’s communications specialist relaying Azria’s orders to accept their surrender. It was not long before additional First Order Stormtroopers caught up to her squad’s position and the First Commissar relinquished the commander to their mercy before marching off toward the command bridge with her squad. Much as Commodore had narrated to her after she was relieved of the commander, one of the Knights of Ren had indeed already been through here. The carnage was evidence enough.

Marching onto the command bridge at the head of her squad, the First Commissar strode into the room with an air of authority – the same authority and flawless precision with which she seemed to do everything. Azria stood out from her squad for her armour was as reflective as a mirror and as she moved to the front of the bridge to greet Sohei, her surroundings reflected back at those present, distorted and warped over the curves of her body. Flanked by her squad, their white armour dirtied by combat, stood in contrast to her own – though, it still remained a symbol of unity and power, a display of strength, and demonstration of skill that was a First Order Stormtrooper. The First Commissar faced the Knight of Ren, surveyed his adjacent troops, and then looked down at the Admiral. “Acceptable.” There was no preamble and with the First Commissar, there usually never was. Her helmed head shifted almost imperceptibly to the left. It would be easily noticed, then, that it was impossible to ascertain precisely who or what she was looking at. The Imperial fell quiet after delivering her initial assessment of the way in which Sohei had handled the situation. The silence stretched out over several extended moments, and as it was prolonged, it changed. “There is always room for improvement to reach perfection…” Azria spoke in a rather detached and clinical tone. If her squad could have visibly recoiled at the way she spoke to the Knight of Ren afore them, they probably would have.

Tennyson turned his gaze from the view screen and back to the command bridge of Noble.

Send a message to the Moff's office, inform him I have returned home and will be coming by his office once my shuttle is cleared for landing. Then inform the rest of the fleet to remain in orbit till further notice. You humans may think we're in the middle of nowhere, but their are more horrible things than Republic scum out here. Now, get to it.

As he finished speaking he was already striding off to the turbolift that would take him to the hanger and his shuttle. His crew snapped into action, some a little insulted about the human remark, but still they didn't wish to be accused of being insubordinate, so the comm officer opened up communication to flight control.

Captain Tennyson of the Noble requesting premission to land in Shuttle-01. Can I get conformation?