Combat Master’s Note: Because you are matches against a member of your Clan, this battle takes on a unique format. You will be encountering Synin Torin with an ally. Treat Synin Torin as you would any other ACC opponent. You WILL be judged using the ACC rubric, so the person posting the best story will move on to subsequent rounds. If you wish to fight your Clanmate as well, you may, but this is not in any way a requirement.

Begeren. Once a prosperous Sith world, it has been the site of numerous battles throughout the millennia. Grand halls and monuments were torn down and re-purposed by looting Republic forces thousands of years ago, before they were driven from the planet. Isolated settlements still dot the planet's surface, but the inhospitable, craggy, and desert-like terrain, along with the beasts common to many desert and Sith worlds, have kept most humanoids from colonizing. Occasional skirmishes have left debris scattered throughout the desert, and battles were fought here as recently as the Galactic Civil War. The planet is now under the control of the One Sith and is rumored to be full of all manner of priceless, ancient Sith artifacts.

Begeren’s plunder has been rich, and the Clans and Houses have been bolstered, both by the favor they are currying with the Grand Master, and with their own triumphs against rivals. More fighting seems to have occurred between the Clans and Houses than against the One Sith, and the stream of priceless artifacts has slowed to a trickle as of late. The invasion of Begeren has now entered a wholly different phase, and though the end goal of capturing the world’s precious secrets remains the same, the methods of achieving it have changed. At least for now. The Dark Council has identified several settlements and key military objectives to seize, both for use as staging grounds, and to quell any revolts against Brotherhood authority before they begin. It has fallen to the Clans and Houses to seize these objectives, with large accolades and bounties to those willing to undertake dangerous missions, alone, into hostile territory. Despite the recent inter-clan aggressions, the Dark Council has made it clear that the bounties for taking objectives cannot be shared between units.

One such objective, a V-150 Planet Defender ion cannon, lies nestled in one of Begeren’s northern mountain ranges. The inhospitable and semi-arid region is known for its relatively cooler temperatures compared to the rest of the planet, and is home to one of the only active spaceports on Begeren. Though most of the region is patrolled by local militias, a sizable One Sith presence is thought to be in the area. An enormous feminine stone face, carved into the side of a towering cliff side, overlooks both the ion cannon and the neighboring spaceport, paying homage to a long-dead female Sith Lord.

You and an ally stand in a massive scree field beneath the adorned cliff side. The dark side is almost palpable here beneath the monument, but your true goal is the installation and the massive ion cannon immediately to your west. The installation is lightly guarded, and can be accessed by a natural, mountainous tunnel entrance. The entrance is well-lit and quite large for a tunnel access shaft, big enough for the heavy machinery needed to construct and maintain the massive ion cannon. The tunnel itself splits a few hundred yards in, leading to two separate objectives.

There are two main objectives: the fire control and targeting room, and the main power generators. Intelligence reports indicate that the fire control and targeting room is manned by two gunners and two-to-three militiamen from the local settlement. Intelligence also reports a light contingent of three guards and a slew of power droids around the power generators. Finally, there is a One Sith engineer thought to be working in the installation on some kind of upgrade, and he is likely to interfere with your mission. Which objective you choose depends, in part, on whether you wish to take or destroy the ion cannon. A barracks is not far from the ion cannon, and it’s possible that the One Sith could be lurking closeby should you arouse suspicion.

You and your ally cautiously enter the tunnels, unsure what exactly awaits you beneath the giant stone monument.

Atyiru grinned impishly. “You should have told me you were into bondage and role playing--ow!”

The electro-cuffs around the Miraluka’s wrist sent a sudden jolt of tingling numbness through her arms.

“Focus, Atyiru,” Marick repeated for the fourth time in under an hour. Atyiru wiggled her arms behind her back and pouted, but the Consul did not seem to notice. At his feet lay a guard with a single, clean puncture wound in his neck. Still as the ancient stone of the tunnel, the guards brown eyes stared lifelessly up at the rough ceiling.

Marick knelt down and studied the guard intently, taking in the details of the Human male’s face and fixing it firmly in his mind like a portrait. When the Hapan rose back to his feet, his black hair had faded into a sandy-blond. His nose was longer and hooked at the tip. His crystal blue eyes became dark like mud.

“You don’t look half-bad a blond.”

“You don’t have eyes,” Marick countered briskly, and Atyiru’s jaw dropped ever so slightly.

“I don’t!?”

“You know what I mean,” the Hapan replied absently as he stripped the guard down to his underwear and began to remove his own robes.

“Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can’t tell when you’ve changed your face. It’s subtle, but I can tell. Your color shifts, and you even went so far as to flatten that pretty accent of yours.”

Marick said nothing as he adjusted a lightly padded chest piece over his shoulders. He pulled the matching helmet over his ears and tucked his long hair back inside the helmet, and then pulled on the pants.

“Hehehe.”

“What?”

“I saw your underwear--ow!”

Another shock from the cuffs. Gooseflesh prickled along the Miraluka’s tanned skin.

“Look, I’m all for this grand plan of yours using me as a hostage, but could I at least have your cloak?”

“That’s what you get for dressing like that on a mission,” Marick said tersely. He glanced over her medic uniform and shook his head slightly. The corseted top with split skirt, matching shorts, two belts, and matching knee-high boots left the rest of her legs and arms exposed to the cool air. The shock must have drawn her attention to the chill of the tunnel, which would be stark in contrast to the dry heat of the desert they had spent hours combing.

Atyiru had grown used to running into a brick wall when trying to read her Consul. In his current disguise, however, his walls seemed to be slightly less dense. She could sense his mild smugness through the Force, which could have almost counted as a smile. She filed the small victory away.

Progress.

-=x=-

“Ho there, Jack! What do you have there?” a tall, dark skinned guard called from up ahead.

“Caught this one snooping around. Could be another one of those Dark Jedi folk the boss’ warned us about,” Marick-as-Jack replied.

The dark skinned guard nodded once, narrowing his eyes and studying the Miraluka. Atyiru played her part, keeping her head down at the ground. All the while, she stretched her thoughts out towards the guard and subtly probed at the corners of his mind. Once there, she eased away his suspicions while flaring his sense of trust.

“Alright,” the guard said with an easy nod. “Take her down to the cell block.”

Marick-as-Jack nodded once then stepped close to the guard as he walked past.

“Also,” the disguised Hapan whispered in hush tones. “Can you not tell the boss right away? I’d like to have, ah, minute alone with this one.”

Atyiru jerked her head around angrily at her captor, but retained her soothing of her target almost subconsciously. She pressed down hard on the guardsman’s desire to please.

“No worries, Jack! You can count on me!”

Marick-as-Jack nodded and shoved the Miraluka prisoner forward. “Alright, let’s keep moving, wench.” The two Arconans entered the lift and then descended below the giant dome cannon and into the heart of the facility.

-=x=-

“You’re getting much better at your soothing,” Marick said offhandedly, speaking again in his usual accent.

Atyiru huffed and turned her head away. The Hapan shrugged as he tapped his fingers on datapad that had been in one of the pouches on his commandeered belt.

“Alright. According to these schematics, the control room is down that corridor and then up”

“I thought we were going to disable the power generators and wait for Legz and the others,” Atiryu countered.

“This facility isn’t as heavily guarded as I thought. They are undermanned, and the security so far has been--”

Alert, a robotic voice screeched. Alert-Alert! Intruders detected on the maintenance platform.

“Hah! So much for that,” Atyiru said smugly.

“Keep that up and the cuffs can stay on,” Marick’s voice went cold as he tossed aside the helmet, shook his hair free and pulled his lightsaber out of the pouch on his belt.

“But--”

The cuffs disengaged and Atyiru shook the shackles free and rubbed her wrists. Marick handed over her lightsaber, DL-18 and Soro-Suub blasters.

“Thank you kindly,” she said with a grin, snapping the blade to life.

A pair of mismatched droids exited a room at the far end of the hall. One looked like it belonged in a post-apocalyptic holonet action drama: metal framing exposed and a skeletal headpiece with eerie, glowing amber eyes. At the terminator-droid’s side was a second droid that looked like a floating, over-engineered holoball.

Neither droid appeared friendly, and both opened fired. Atyiru dove for cover behind a terminal while Marick simply vanished in mid-air, becoming a ripple of translucent air. The nozzle of the floating droid’s laser-tip swiveled, tracking Marick despite his Force-cloak. A single bolt of concentrated energy shot through the air and tore into the Hapan’s arm. His body shimmered back into plain sight as he stumbled behind a metal crate with a grunt.

“Marick!” Atyiru cried urgently, rolling out from behind her aegis and to her feet, saber scintillating to deflect another volley of shots. She took three quick steps to her left and ducked down next to her Consul.

“It’s fine,” the Hapan responded with dispassionate composure as plasma bolts soared overhead, pitting and blackening the walls like a meteor shower. “A flesh wound.”

“Let me close it anyway. It’s too near the artery for my liking,” the Miraluka insisted, curling her fingers gently around his bicep and embracing the Force. “That was awfully mean of them, the bumblefluffs.”

“They’re programmed attack droids,” Marick stated with more dryness than the desert air back outside. He paused. “And that isn’t a word.”

“For one, it so is. Check the holonet when we’re home. For another, being programmed has nothing to do with it. Droids have feelings too!”

“Atyiru.” The Primarch said her name flatly and coldly without emphasis, yet the stress of reprimand could be no clearer. “We are not debating any semantics in the middle of a mission.”

“It’s not semantics, it’s AI rights activism,” the Priestess replied archly. “Mechanicals are people and are to be afforded the same rights as any species.”

“That is semantics.”

Atyiru grinned. “Hey, hey, guess what? You’re arguing semantics.”

“Atyiru,” Marick hissed. “Focus.”

“I think I liked your whole giving orders thing better when there were cuffs involved—” A blaster bolt hummed over her head, singing her hair. She yelped. “Okay, okay, I’m done.”

She finished healing his arm and they resituated themselves more strategically, crouching close to the edge of their cover. “I meant, though, that these droids really do have feelings. I can sense them, Marick. They have the Force in them. It’s almost like they're…alive.” She shuddered at the last, clearly disturbed.

“They’ve likely been infused as part of their modifications,” the Consul asserted, his whisper cut-glass, ice eyes seeing every detail rather than simply looking as he peered around a crate at their attackers.

“Yes, well, they’re not just programmed, they’re motivated. Team spirit, maim the intruders, rah-rah-rah. Y’know, the fun stuff.”

“Get ready to take out the assassin model,” Marick ordered mechanically. “I’m going to cover you and then move in on the floater. Cover me.”

“Copy,” the Krath responded as she stowed her lightsaber in favor of the rifle across her back. She clicked a charge into place, resting the weapon over her shoulder, and nodded to her Consul. He gave an infinitesimal nod back.

Marick darted out of cover and there was a great flare of the Force, its power shining as it enveloped the short hallway in an incandescent blaze for an instant. In the space of that burnished heartbeat when its sensors would be confused, Atyiru whirled around the crate, aimed for the humanoid droid’s head, and fired in one smooth, precise motion.

The powerful shot exploded through the droid’s metallic skull. It toppled in a heap of clanging limbs, and before it had even hit the ground, Marick was gone from her side.

Ghosting along at a preternatural speed, he was before the other droid in the space of two breaths. He raised his saber, but instead of lunging as expected, he let the blade fly from his hand, an aquamarine star spinning out of orbit and heading straight for the robot.

The droid’s swiveling turret turned from the Hapan onto the incoming blade and shot it out of the air in a hail of sparks. The assassin wasted not a single step as he feinted aside. Quicksilver, Marick’s arm flowed as he activated his second lightsaber, slashing at the droid before it could lock onto him a second time. The short blade sliced cleanly through the perfect sphere of the droid’s body with a blow that embodied the power of his flexing arm, the pivot of his turning shoulder, and the weight of his heel on the ground behind it.

The bisected machine gave a single scream of static, its two halves dropping as its anti-gravitational field failed. A slight, tremulous quiet suddenly reigned in the hall, kept from silence by the hum of their weapons and the klaxons that resounded on.

Atyiru rose from her sniper’s position, holstering her blaster, and jogged up to Marick. The Hapan called his martyred saber back to him and stored it, leaving the other free.

“Control room?” the Miraluka asked, gesturing to the elevator at the end of the hall.

“Move out—” the Shadicar cut off, grabbing her shoulders and wrenching her forward, just as a horrible sensation in the Force spilled cold down her spine.

Agony bit into her calf and she screamed, buckling in Marick’s hold. Something sharp and terrible carved through her flesh, sawing against bone as the blade was dragged away. Supporting her against him with one arm, the Consul reached around her and severed the forgotten assassin droid’s arm before it could attack again. Its head shortly followed.

Marick lowered her to the floor and Atyiru bared her teeth around another wail of pain, clamping her hands down on the wound. Blood gushed hot and slippery around her fingers, her head swimming as she tried to gather the Force to her.

“Damnation,” she spat. “The Force take these karking machines and me both!”

“You need to be more alert. Can you heal yourself?” Her leader’s voice was frigidly sure as ever, yet she could feel the slight frustration beneath Deadheart’s exterior as he removed his cloak and tightened it around her injury.

“If you give me some time,” she gasped as he dragged her into the empty room the droids had come from. It was full of monitors and munitions, yet appeared more like a workshop.

Just then, a manic scream, wild and sharp around the edges, ripped down the hallway, ringing like a broken bell. It was no human sound.

The caterwaul was followed by a presence in the Force: immense, maddened, festering with poisonous darkness and heralding death.

“MY DROIDS!”

Atyiru sucked in air through her teeth as the flesh beneath her fingertips stretched like elastic across the open wound. Her skin began to knit back together. The pain faded to a dull ache, but her chest moved rapidly with her racing heartbeat.

“Marick,” the Miraluka said with concern as she looked through the wall and into the direction of the manic cry. “Whoever that is, something is terribly wrong with them. I’ve never seen colors like that-”

“Stay here,” Marick said without looking back at the Aedile.

“Oh no you don’t! We face this togeth-”

Marick was already outside the room, his fist jabbing a button to close the metallic door. Before Atyiru could reach the control panel, the sound of plasma hissing against metal filled her ears. She could see Marick clearly on the other side of the door as he welded it shut.

Atyiru’s fist pounded against the door. “You can’t protect me forever!” He was shutting her out. Again. The Miraluka grumbled.

“Hello,” a mechanical voice greeted. Atyiru spun and came face to face with the floating droid that could have served as a holoball-sized replica of the Death Star.

Atyiru ignited her lightsaber but the droid zipped and circled behind her. A prick against the back of her neck caused her to yelp. Her muscles tingled as if infused with lead.

The floating droid retracted its syringe. “I am IT-O, but you may call me Teeoh.”

-=x=-

“YVH-1!”

A gaunt Bpfasshi kneeled over the fallen battle droid Atyiru had beheaded earlier. Whoever he was, Marick noticed a lightsaber hilt on his belt.

One Sith.

Marick’s knuckles tightened on the hilt of his saber. He started to move, but something caught his eye. The battle droid was pushing itself back to its feet. The severed hand that had struck Atyiru before he could kill it twitched before flying towards the droid like a magnet. The limb melded back into place. Similarly, the fragments of its skull reformed. Amber eyes sparked to life.

Mechu-duru, the Consul surmised. Quick as blinking, Marick darted forward and closed the distance. His lightsaber whipped across the droids chest, drawing a molten gash in its plating. Unperturbed, the hunter droid countered with a left jab and right cross. Marick leaned away from both swings, retreating backwards.

The gash in the droid’s chest began to repair itself. YVH-1 raised its hand and a minirocket zipped free with guided precision. Marick sidestepped the rocket, but knew it would be circling back. He made a hardline for YVH-1.

YVH-1 redirected the minirocket into another full circle. It extended a robotic arm to catch Marick before he could break away at the last second. Except there was nothing to grab.

Marick shimmered back into view behind YVH-1. His lightsaber severed the droid’s head from its shoulders. Without the head, it had no way of controlling the minirocket.

The Consul darted away from YVH-1’s body as the minirocket detonated in a nova of intense heat. Marick was thrown through the air like a ragdoll. He landed hard and skid across the stone floor until crashing into the door of the room he had locked Atyiru in.

Marick climbed back to his feet slowly. He couldn’t find the lightsaber he had been carrying prior to the explosion, so he pulled its twin free from his belt. There was no signs of YVH-1. He did, however, notice set of plasma-cuts carved into the door to the workshop.

“Shouldn’t’a done that,” came a deranged voice.

Marick turned to see the Bpfasshi holding an amethyst lightsaber to Atyiru’s neck. The woman’s body seemed meek, arms hanging limply at her sides.

The Bpfasshi bellowed, ““You killed my mate! Now I kill yours!”

“Seems fair,” Marick replied without so much as blinking.

Atyiru scowled. With her back to her captor, only Marick was able to notice the subtle gesture. The Hapan’s face remained stoic.

“Indeed! You will surrender to Synin and-what?!”

“I killed your mate, you kill mine.”

“No, you’re not supposed to say that!”

Marick activated his lightsaber. “I will still kill you. You can’t even keep your creations from being blown to bits.”

The crushing despair of his failure and inherent mania threw all logic to the wind. Synin released his prisoner and charged the Consul with a guttural, inaudible scream.

Marick waited for Synin’s saber to descend. He caught the violet blade in a lock, his eyes looking past the One Sith and to the Miraluka climbing back to her feet. The woman’s arms were no longer loose but held her lightsaber.

Atyiru raked her blade across Synin’s back. Midway through her swing, however, she hesitated. The notion of ending a life, no matter how twisted, made her sick.

Synin spun and leaned away from the half-hearted strike. He cackled with glee for a moment before the tip of Marick’s lightsaber punctured through his chest from behind. The Consul had not hesitated.

Synin crumpled bonelessly to the floor between the two Arconans. Teeoh zipped over to its fallen master. “How can this be!?”

Atyiru pointed her lightsaber at the interrogation droid. “You failed to factor Miraluka physiology, and gravely underestimated my pow-”

Marick coughed. Atyiru was a prodigy medic, but he had little patience for exposition.

Atyiru furrowed her brow as her saber flashed. Teeoh let out a shriek as it short circuited and fell, inanimate, to the floor.

“I thought droids were people, Atyiru.”

The medic had filtered the toxins in her body by drawing on the dark side permeating the complex. Combined with her talent in healing, it had been enough to shake the dilibating drug. The effort had taking a toll on her spirit, though. “Let’s just finish this.”

Marick nodded and watched the Aedile walk away, saber still gripped at her side. Since she was not watching, he let the corner of his lip quirk upward. Perhaps he did need to stop trying to protect her.

“Frak,” Atyiru whispered as a metal figure hovered menacingly in the doorway. A spectacular arrangement of weapons pointed at them.

Marick was up and striking in a heartbeat. He twisted aside of the droid’s narrow front as blades lashed out at him, crouched, and thrust his lightsaber into its processor.

The modified courier fell as the Hapan closed the single cut on his arm offhandedly. He turned back to Atyiru, exuding cold resolve. Outside, the wailing crescendoed.

“Stay here,” he ordered, maneuvering out the door before she could shout after him.

“Ashla and Bogan,” the Miraluka hissed, frustration and worry boiling. She channeled the emotions into healing her injury.

But it would not close.

“What…?” She threw her mind into the Force, centering her divine vision on the cells of her body. She could see blood, bone, and—

Ice ran through her veins. She gasped in horror.

Gods, no…

Atyiru let her mind go, sinking deep beneath the waters of the dark, until she knew only blackness and stillness. There, she began to knit herself back together.

-=*=-

Marick observed disinterestedly as a haggard man in stained rags clutched at the YVH-1 droid and wept.

Synin Torin. One Sith, enemy.

Torin murmured a string of hysterical nonsense: “It’s okay, daddy’s here. We’ll get up and go kill the bad men and then we’ll have a-a party! Do-doesn’t that sound f-f-fun?!”

He raised his gaunt, corrugated face, aiming the question at the Shadicar, sunken eyes smoldering pits of hateful coal, snarl rictal. “Y-you killed them, didn’t you?! Say it!”

The Bpfasshi leapt up, saber unfurling as he charged. “SAY IT!”

Aquamarine and amethyst met and locked in untamed succession. Torin struck wide and wild like a child in tantrum. Marick stepped quickly but firmly one way then the other, dodging by a hair’s breadth.

Contorting smoothly, the assassin parried the Elder’s blade and moved in close. So close that their chests brushed. Then he was disengaging suddenly with a burst of preternatural speed, sure as stone, seamless as shadow. His expression cut-glass, he caught Torin’s wheeling eyes and held them.

“I destroyed them, as I will you,” he intoned impassively. Torin snarled—

Between one heartbeat and the next, the activated thermal detonators on the One Sith’s belt exploded.

A maelstrom of heat and light filled the tunnel. It rolled towards the Hapan, tossing him like a windblown leaf. Vision bleached, Marick staggered back to his feet, disregarding the agony in his likely burned arm.

His vision slowly cleared, revealing warped walls and settling smoke. His senses hummed and his mouth thinned into a grim line. The Primarch reignited his saber.

The haze thinned, exposing Torin untouched, enclosed in a spherical barrier. The Elder dropped it, cackling maniacally.

” DIE!” He yowled. The Force shifted, signaling impending disaster.

Torin screamed and the storm came from his fingertips.

Radiance. Whiteness. There was a sharp noise too hot and quick to hear. Something impacted and he was falling—

Marick crashed to the ground, Atyiru atop him, pressing his body into the durasteel. Darkness swathed them protectively. Agony bit where the dark did not reach, along his hands and legs. He smelled burning flesh and heartbeats crashed, stretching on.

Then it was over.

For a moment, nothing. Then, he drew Deadheart around him and focused. Atyiru was tenser than beskar above him. He grunted to her and they sat up, throwing off their coverage. Marick realized it was his cloak, though the fabric was covered in a thick adhesive substance.

The Primarch glanced at the munitions room, then to Torin. The Elder was panting, sobbing, burns mottling his skin.

Too much, too soon, Marick concluded, rising to his feet though his legs and arm felt aflame. His first saber lost, he took up his second. Atyiru stood, igniting her own blade.

But she faced him, not Torin.

The Hapan spared her a look. Her face was smooth as if she had never smiled, her brow furrowed.

“Maz-zz…tr,” a robotic voice garbled. The assassin droid, melted and broken, was slowly regenerating itself. “Maa..ster…forget the intrder-er-erz…help me—”

The One Sith mechanic cried out, rushing to his creation. He turned his back on them, cradling the droid while reaching for his tool belt.

Marick’s eyes widened. He looked to Atyiru.

She’s soothing the droid, he realized, stunned.

The assassin droid’s arm lifted and drove its bloodstained blade through the underside of Torin’s jaw. The Bpfasshi choked as blood gurgled around the weapon. He collapsed atop his precious YVH.

Just then, Atyiru whispered: “I’m sorry, Marick.”

She moved. Her blade flashed. Pain followed.

Marick watched his severed arm fall to the floor. The Consul fell to his knees with a short, hard grunt, clutching at the afflicted stump below his shoulder. Betrayal burned in his gut and turned his blood to ash.

But it lasted only momentarily. Atyiru immediately knelt and clamped her hands around the wound, already tending it with the Force. Her visage was grim.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But it had to be done.”

Marick closed his eyes, sheer willpower alone keeping him lucid. “Why?”

The Miraluka spoke tiredly: “There was a technovirus on their weapons. I had to purge what was in my body, and I’d already been bleeding a good amount of it out besides. But it was already taking your hand. Look.”

Marick’s gaze went coolly to his lost limb, noting the metallic substance growing along the fingertips. He nodded once as Atyiru continued.

“I’m a medic. I know I’m still learning to be the leader you and Arcona need in many ways, but making the hard choices isn’t one.”

“You did well,” Marick stated. He glanced at Torin’s corpse, then to the control room door. Atyiru finished and pulled away.

“We need to move, rendezvous with the others,” the Arconae ordered.

The medic gaped. “You just had an amputation!”

“I’ll live,” he replied as he stood, starting forward.

She scrambled to follow. “That isn’t a valid argument!”

“Stop arguing semantics.”

“I…you…Marick!”