Boxed in

Posted on Fri Feb 16th, 2018 @ 11:02pm by Bomoor Thort & Thane & Loren† & Morgo Le'Shaad

2,701 words; about a 14 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Armoury, Jericho
Timeline: After "Visions, Masters and Gales"

OLD

One of the voices was cut off suddenly and an alert in Mando'a confirmed that the light had been noticed and footsteps became heavier. At this moment, another wave of the Force broke through the senseless void and allowed Bomoor to see the figures in the hallway as if he himself were standing in front of them. Five armour-clad Mandalorians approached - all human besides a tough-looking Cerean female with a deep scar across her large forehead. Not all of them were armed with projectile weapons but all carried some sort of blade or staff that would make overwhelming them a challange, particularly since their presence was already suspected.

Being unable to clearly mouth to the group, Bomoor raised his unarmed left hand, extanding all five fingers clearly to advise his companions. Looking at his hand, he wondered whether he could yet channel any Force powers; such abilities could give them the needed edge in this inevitable conflict. Keeping his arm raised he twisted it towards the doorway where one of the human Exiles had just poked his head to scope it out. Before the man could utter an exclaimation, his skull was compelled backwards to hit the doorframe with a clunk and the rest of him fell to the ground, giving in to the sudden pain. He dropped the pistol he had been holding.

In reaction, the Cerean Exile jumped through the door and rolled with great agility into the armoury before anyone else could react. The others quickly followed and everyone in the room became engaged in the struggle.

NEW

With one member of their group down with likely concussion, the attacking Exiles found themselves evenly matched with the unexpected armoury looters, at least in terms of numbers. While they had the advantage of their opponents being already trapped in the room by their own design, with the Force seeping back to those that could channel it, the surface thoughts and actions of the Mandalorians betrayed their honed battle reflexes.

With the surprise of his own regained Force abilities and the resulting influx of agressors, Bomoor jumped backwards into the corner closest to the doorway, feeling his aching muscles complain as they were forced to perform the basic aerobic feat. He landed with the edged pike crossed defensively across his body, adapting his lightsaber techniques to suit the new weapon. His stance was closest to the Soresu form in the way he held it ready for an incoming blaster bolt that the non-energy weapon was terribly unsuited to deflect.

Some of the newcomers to the room quickly pressed themselves up against the walls of the room, spreading themselves out tactfully and making them harder targets to pick off. Bomoor was impressed how Morgo, as the only person in the group with an effective ranged weapon, quickly took to firing the small blaster she had acquired towards the group. Her surgical precision seemed to apply to aiming as well as she caught one of the more-headstrong brutes right between the eyes and sent another to the ground with a shot to the kneecap.

However, the blood-thirsty scientist's tunnel-vision accuracy came at the cost of her awareness of her close proximity as Bomoor watched the Cerean who had first swept into the room edging towards her, hoping to take out the greatest threat in the room. The Ithorian was too far away to act but he knew that his fellow Jedi were aware of the problem as well.

Standing off to the side of Morgo and out of a clear line of fire, knowing full-well that whilst the cortosis weave in his Outer Rim Alliance war trophy would block a lightsaber, it would find no fortune in trying to redirect blaster bolts. Deciding that discretion was key to any form of victory, especially as the throbbing of his ailing half-hand intensified with the adrenaline battle brought, and still mindful of their recent humiliating capture, he only raised his blade to strike at a foe when they grew too close.

As one bold Exile flung themselves towards the Dromachean, so too did Thane lurch forward, jumping with the blade of his weapon arched directly at the split in his foe’s ramshackle Mandalorian armour by his right armpit. Revealing himself before the other Exiles who were stood further back, Thane caught his target perfectly, with the blade sliding in seamlessly into the soft tissue between the man’s arm and torso, erupting through the backplate of his armour and drenching Thane’s left hand in thick, warm blood.

A light cracking of bones splitting and a wet gasp greeted Thane’s success. Although helmeted, the Mandalorian had arched his head to face his killer, and Thane was certain he was looking directly into the eyes of the dying man through his blackened visor. In that moment, the Caanan was not sure what he felt as he held the man’s gaze until his body went completely limp, sliding away and leaving blood smeared across his blade.

“Thane!” Loren called to the former Jedi with a sudden urgency, already jumping towards him with her golden-bladed lightsaber held high, assuming the early stages of a defensive posture.

His eyes darted to where hers were – another warrior, incensed by the death of their comrade, had levelled his rifle at Thane. In that second, feeling the life finally leaving his last target through the Force – an invigorating, and disturbing, experience, particularly after all that had befallen him and his Ithorian friend – he also felt the anger emanating from vengeful Mandalorian. After having spent what felt like an eternity unable touch even the barest of life essences, to be without even the barest whisper of the everlasting river that sustained him, to feel the man’s hatred, pure and unrefined, was exhilarating.

For the first time since their capture, the Caanan felt that thundering roar of the Force surging across the waves of the galaxy. No more glimmers or shades presented themselves. Instead, clarity befell him. He could feel the Mandalorian. He could see the Mandalorian.

As that eternal second finally seemed to pass, Loren still leaping to assist him, Thane’s left hand jutted out towards the Exile, still gripping his vibroblade as his index and middle fingers were raised, and he reached out with the Force to grasp the man. To grasp his ribcage. An urge he was unable to resist as he gorged on the man’s pure hatred, as he allowed himself this warranted indulgence.

“No!” Loren called, halting as with one swift flick of Thane’s wrist, the warrior was flung into the ceiling of the armoury, bits of grating and sparks crashing about Thane’s quarry as he turned the Mandalorian’s own anger against him. And just as quickly, Thane’s fingers closed again around his weapon’s hilt and a sick crunching was heard from inside the Mandalorian’s armour as the rogue Jedi’s intentions travelled through the Force, before he was finally thrown with speed down into the deckplating, his body now entirely motionless.

Loren had only a moment to look with aghast at the way Thane dispatched the warrior, her expression more communicative than any words could be, before one of the final two Mandalorians raised both of her arms, one pointed at each Jedi. Sensing the danger, an experience itself that reminded Thane more than ever that he was alive, he jumped to the deck beside Loren to avoid being scorched by the Exile’s wrist-flamethrower, small tendrils of flame just licking at his calves as he collapsed beside the Sentinel.

Unable to close the distance, Loren in turn brought both of her hands forward to blast the other woman with a sizeable force of energy, knocking her backwards. Clearly one of the more experienced in Zrad’s army, she did not fall, but was nimble enough to spin herself away into cover.

The final Mandalorian that had stuck himself against the wall was creeping dangerously close to the Jedi Consular holding his defense in the corner. While Bomoor's peripheral vision still blurred slightly from swollen eyes, he perceived the threat quickly as he sensed the life form brace his muscles, preparing to attack to his right. As a weathered but heavy blaster began to rise and angle towards Bomoor's face, the blunt side of his pike was flung against the wall with tremendous, and Force-aided, velocity, carrying the armour-clad Mandalorian with it and into the surface that he had clung to just a moment before. With an inorganic crack, several pieces of armour fell away and the squishy brute inside peeled down the wall and onto the ground where he stayed. Wrenching back the pike, Bomoor's hand felt along the length of the weapon, finding a long fissure in its surface.

Certainly not suitable for Force work, Bomoor thought to himself, feeling another ache tensing his right arm from the blow he had delivered, But it will last long enough. Hopefully so do I.

The skirmish had quickly turned in the favour of the escapees and their liberators, which had become readily apparent to the remaining conscious Exiles. The human who had taken one of Morgo's early shots to his knee sheltered behind a large plasteel container close to the entrance. Feeling the sting of such an early defeat, he tore his hand away from where it had been clutching his wound and found his dual-action blaster rifle again at his side. Switching it to its plasma round functionality, he took aim at the locking mechanism to the explosive's cabinet set into the far wall of the room. The rare and unstable plasma cartridge fitted into his rifle could only fire one round so he spun onto his belly, wincing as his knee made contact with the metal grated floor, to better aim. His intentions were not sensed in time by the Jedi and he pulled the trigger. An intense ball of charged particles danced across the room, buzzing with such high energy that it barely maintained its projectile form in the time it took to short out the lock on the cabinet and send a large number of dangerous thermal detonators and explosive packages tumbling out just to the rear of Thane and Loren.

Thane had only a second to react as he saw the grenades rattling towards him and Loren. The searing pain of his calves had distracted him enough to fall victim to one of the remaining Exiles’ ploy with the plasma round. As the heat and destruction wrought by the Mandalorian’s gambit met with the spherical explosives, he clenched his teeth and drew upon the Force, returning to them as it was, with as much might as possible to brace himself for the inevitable explosion.

And then it happened.

The explosion started between where Thane and Loren stood, and where Morgo and Bomoor stood on the opposite side of the room, and the two pairs were flung either way as the thermal detonators tore the room apart as the entirety of the station jolted with the force. The female Mandalorian, who had been positioned closer to the explosion than the rest, was vapourised instantly a brilliant flash of exterminating white light, too quick for her scream to be heard.

A maw erupted between them, splitting the floor in two, as deckplating melted and fell away into the various ancient systems that made up Jericho’s lower levels. The intense heat of the explosions and resultant fires tore away at the ceiling, shattering lights and casting a disturbing red and orange glow across the obliterated armoury. Debris collapsed between the two pairs, effectively closing Thane and Loren, as well as the one exit out of the amoury, off from Bomoor and Morgo.

Although his head was thumping, Thane was keenly aware that he was still alive, crumpled though he was on the metal floor, his face once again smeared with the grime of Jericho’s plating. It only took a moment for his eyes to focus, and they immediately fell upon Loren, who was now stood over him, looking relatively unscathed from the explosion.

His survival, he surmised – yet again – had been courtesy of Loren, and whatever power within the Force she had managed to call upon. Once more, he had been distracted and it had nearly cost him dearly. However, as his eyes locked upon her own blue ones, shimmering as they were with the reflections of the flames dancing about them, he knew she could see him. All of him.

Perhaps, he mused darkly and with sadness as his mouth grew yet drier and his stomach sank, for the first time.

Although Loren said nothing, the lines on her face had grown deeper, accentuated more by the shadows cast by the crawling flames all about them. Her lightsaber was gripped in her hand, and Thane could hear the leather grip creak as her fingers tightened their hold. She looked ready to say something, but the expression she wore suggested that should anything actually come tumbling from her mouth, so too would the tears.

As he saw her now, towering over him, in a position to end him now should she so choose, as was mandated by her role as a Jedi Shadow, Thane knew that she knew. Enough of it, anyway. He said nothing as he kept her gaze, his reddened and dried eyes unwavering.

Would she do it? He wondered, once again noting how wearied he was from the weeks of torture and turmoil, troubled as he was that he was now thinking he might have to face this woman. This woman who was so close so as to be his sister. Could she do it?

His mind wandered to the holocrons nestled safely aboard the Red Raptor, to the grand legacies he had opened himself up to – to the majesty and power that could so easily be lost to the whims of a moralistic woman. A woman he thought could understand.

Could I do it? He mused as he considered what it was she seemed ready to deny to the galaxy. What the Council would deny to the galaxy. Not looking away from her, he let the Force extend from his body subtly, feeling about the chaos around them to locate his vibroblade, but all at once, he felt an almost overwhelming presence envelope his mind. Immediately familiar but distant, like that final embrace given to a relative soon to die.

It was Loren, and he saw her, what she intended to do.

And she was leaving – without him. For Coruscant. To the Council.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but before Thane could react, she spun quickly on her heel and darted out of the remnants of the armoury.

Panic gripped the rogue Jedi as he launched himself onto this feet, drawing as deeply on the Force as he could, as he could sense it more loudly with every passing minute. Allowing himself to hear Bane’s words echoing within his mind, Thane finally capitulated to one teaching he had resisted, and let his fear fuel him. His fear of discovery. His fear of loss. His fear of having his destiny, and that of those around him, torn away by Loren’s loyalty to the Reborn Order.

His muscles tensed, his vision sharpened, and his heart began beating faster and harder. He summoned the blade to his one good hand and paid little heed to Bomoor and Morgo, as he could feel his friend’s presence on the other side of the debris, just as he felt that void that was the Dromachean nestled beside the Ithorian. Torn only momentarily between using the Force to pull the debris away from his allies and pursuing Loren, he made the only decision he could, and made chase, even as his body screamed against Morgo’s drugs and the unnatural torment of the dark side fuelling it forward, ravaged as it had been by the Exiles’ whims.

The Jedi had to be stopped.

TBC

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