Hostile Takeover
Posted on Fri Oct 23rd, 2026 @ 5:24pm by Darth Serus & Bomoor Thort & Mentis & FA-1S
5,552 words; about a 28 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Mid Levels, CEC Industrial Complex, Coronet, Corellia
Timeline: Evening (Local Time), Day Twenty-Two
A succession of increasingly unwelcome notifications upon Orwole Sal-Varrin's desk informed him of the unexpected deterioration of things.
Many external approaches had become impassable, two municipal security cordons had collapsed and the corporation's transport arrangements were being disrupted by demonstrators whose enthusiasm for political confrontation evidently exceeded their concern for the livelihoods of those employed nearby. A particularly irritating report concerned the temporary suspension of several manufacturing operations after employees had been unable to reach their assigned stations. Orwole examined the figures with a displeasure which had little to do with the injuries being reported outside. CEC constructed vessels capable of traversing the galaxy, maintained supply arrangements extending across hundreds of worlds and coordinated industrial undertakings whose complexity would have defeated the administrative capabilities of most planetary governments. Yet, its operations were now being inconvenienced by citizens throwing objects at one another over political differences they scarcely understood. He had anticipated unrest, certainly, and had considered the demonstrations potentially useful in distracting attention from movements within the complex. He had not anticipated quite this degree of collective stupidity. There was a considerable difference between exploiting public disorder and allowing it to interfere with the functioning of one's own enterprise.
The subsequent reports were more troubling, although initially for reasons of an altogether different character. An explosion had damaged one of the temporary accommodation sectors, apparently after unauthorised activity within the adjoining maintenance infrastructure. Several occupants were missing, others had reportedly been seen carrying weapons, and a number of security personnel were complaining that recently transferred employees had begun disregarding perfectly reasonable instructions. One report contained an extraordinary description of creatures emerging from the ventilation apparatus, which Orwole read twice before closing it with an expression of profound distaste.
The displaced adherents had become a perpetual administrative burden, and their increasing inability to distinguish between an industrial establishment and some squalid provincial sanctuary was beginning to exhaust even his considerable patience. He did not doubt the sincerity of their devotion. Indeed, the survivors of the destroyed enclaves were often amongst Axion's most committed servants, having sacrificed possessions, companions and occasionally substantial portions of their own anatomy in pursuit of enlightenment. Unfortunately, spiritual conviction did not necessarily confer the social refinement required to exist within a respectable corporation.
Orwole had accommodated their peculiarities because their loyalty and knowledge remained useful, but he had never intended to provide a permanent refuge for every mutilated fanatic incapable of conducting themselves appropriately in public. He opened a communications channel to his security coordinator.
"Contain the accommodation incident and instruct the transferred personnel to remain within their designated sectors!"
Yet, even as the instruction was acknowledged, additional information began accumulating which resisted such a convenient explanation. Freight-control irregularities had been traced to deliberate interference, several security officers had failed to report from the administrative levels and somebody had apparently attempted to penetrate restricted corporate communications through a terminal ordinarily concerned with routine operations. Individually, each incident might have been attributed to incompetence, opportunism or the general disruption spreading throughout Coronet. Together, they suggested something rather less accidental.
Orwole set aside his irritation and examined the reports again, his expression growing thoughtful as he considered the speed with which concealed personnel had begun responding to disturbances they should scarcely have known existed. Somebody had entered his establishment with a degree of purpose, and elements of the organisation he had spent years constructing were now acting without reference to the procedures intended to govern them. That was unacceptable. He had not transformed a collection of obscure religious networks into a sophisticated industrial apparatus merely to watch its occupants behave like cornered animals whenever an unfamiliar creature disturbed their hiding places. His fingers settled upon the edge of the desk as he regarded the complex schematic suspended above it, several amber warnings now interrupting the orderly distribution of production and security indicators.
"Find the source of the interference," he instructed the coordinator, reopening the channel. "Quietly, if there remains anybody capable of understanding the distinction. And unless the building itself is coming down, I expect production to continue."
They had already moved considerably farther into the administrative complex by the time Darth Serus found himself observing Bomoor at work.
The room was smaller than the offices they had previously traversed, evidently belonging to somebody whose seniority afforded him a private workstation and access to restricted corporate systems without granting him the considerable luxuries enjoyed by the corporation's executive leadership. Its occupant was presently seated awkwardly beneath the Ithorian's imposing presence, his face drawn into an expression of profound distress as the invisible pressure upon his thoughts appeared to make even the simplest movement an undertaking of considerable difficulty. Two other figures lay upon the floor nearby, their abandoned weapons suggesting that whatever confrontation had preceded this interrogation had been resolved without much ceremony.
Beyond the closed doors, alarms continued to sound intermittently throughout the industrial complex, their urgency increasing as reports of disturbances and unauthorised movement accumulated across the security network.
Serus regarded the proceedings with considerable interest, although his attention rested more upon Bomoor than the unfortunate administrator beneath him. The Ithorian had developed considerably since the days when such an intrusion into another being's consciousness would have offended his sensibilities, and whatever reservations he might once have entertained appeared to have diminished alongside the gradual transformation of his relationship with the Force.
Serus understood the attraction well enough. The mind was an extraordinarily vulnerable instrument, capable of concealing information from ordinary scrutiny whilst remaining susceptible to pressures which its owner might neither perceive nor comprehend. Axion had exploited that susceptibility with remarkable effectiveness, binding followers to his purpose, corrupting their loyalties and cultivating an institution whose members frequently appeared incapable of distinguishing their own convictions from those imposed upon them. It was difficult to imagine that the Cult could have acquired its present reach without their 'Dark Master' having his considerable aptitude for such manipulation.
"Observe him, Mentis," Serus instructed quietly, turning his masked features towards the Rattataki without interrupting the Ithorian's concentration. "You call Bomoor your mentor. Watch how he approaches the mind, how he discovers resistance and how he works to overcome it. Understanding the manner in which such power is exercised is the first step towards recognising its application against yourself." His organic eye returned briefly towards the trembling administrator. "Axion has made an art of employing these techniques to subjugate others, but that does not render the knowledge itself worthless. The better you understand what may be done to another consciousness, the better equipped you shall become to preserve your own. And, should circumstances require it, to navigate the thoughts of those who would otherwise seek to deceive you."
Serus allowed the observation to settle, his respirator maintaining its steady mechanical rhythm as he returned his attention towards the interrogation. There was no particular satisfaction in the administrator's suffering, although neither did he consider it sufficient reason to abandon an opportunity of such immediate importance.
The Rattataki's attention settled briefly upon Bomoor's work only to shift away again. His eyes found the floor, then one of the wall displays, then the unconscious guards nearby. Anywhere except the administrator seated beneath the Ithorian's hand.
The reaction was subtle, but Serus recognised it immediately: it was not fear of Bomoor but rather a recognition of something he had seen before, performed by the hands of his dark master.
For several seconds, the younger man remained silent. Then his shoulders straightened and he drew a slow breath.
"No," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
His gaze returned to the interrogation.
"You're right," he confirmed, "I asked to be trained and I must not turn away from this."
Mentis folded his arms and gazed fully at the mind probe.
Before him, Bomoor continued his careful excavation of the man's thoughts; the administrator sat rigid within his chair. His limbs no longer trembled as they had at the start, instead having become unnaturally still. His eyes remained open but unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the office wall as though watching events visible only to himself.
Bomoor's own appearance had changed as well: the Ithorian's eyes had become noticeably paler, the colour drained from them almost entirely. Fine veins stood out around the eyes and across the surrounding flesh, pulsing rhythmically beneath the skin.
His breathing had grown also grown deeper and heavier. One broad hand remained raised beside the administrator's head, fingers moving slowly and twisting as though tightening an invisible screw.
The seated man's expression twitched and Bomoor reacted too.
"That's it," the Ithorian murmured, his voice was smooth and reassuring on the surface, "I see him."
The administrator's pupils shifted fractionally.
"There - in the corner of your eye," Bomoor's fingers turned slightly as he spoke, "Who is he? Who is responsible for all these strange new employees?"
The administrator's lips parted yet no sound emerged.
Bomoor leaned in closer.
"I know they frustrate you," the Ithorian continued pressing, voice melodic and comforting, "Arriving suddenly. Taking positions that others spent years working towards. Wouldn't you like to see them disappear? Hm?"
The administrator swallowed.
"That's it. Just show me who we should talk to," Bomoor's eyes widened, although he was not looking at the man before him, but at what lay inside, "Then you can rest. Just like your friends."
The administrator's mouth moved. A faint sound escaped.
"S-San..." His eyes flickered violently. "...V..."
Then whatever thread Bomoor had found abruptly snapped. The man's head drooped forwards.
Mentis swallowed, "Seems like you almost had it there..."
Bomoor gently guided the administrator sideways. There was a strange tenderness to it as though helping an exhausted patient into bed. The man slid from the chair and settled quietly beside the unconscious security personnel.
Alive, breathing, but somehow more empty than before.
Bomoor rose.
The veins in his eyes were still visible, but they began to darken once more as his body released the exertion of the mind probe. There was something else in those pupils as well: a quiet satisfaction.
"Oh, no," he replied serenely, "I heard it in his mind before his mouth failed him."
The Ithorian folded one hand behind his back, while stroking his elongated chin thoughtfully with the other.
"We are looking for an executive called Orwole Sal-Varrin." He continued, sparing a brief glance towards the unconscious administrator.
"The other two did not concern themselves with who issued the orders." A faint amusement entered his voice, "This one, however, notices things and he also builds resentment."
Bomoor nodded with a quiet satisfaction, "The name was lodged in his thoughts rather firmly."
Mentis looked down at the administrator.
"And now?" the Rattataki asked.
Bomoor looked back at Mentis.
"He may still remember the name," his tone remained perfectly calm, "But not why it mattered. More importantly, he will not remember us."
Mentis became unusually still. Serus noticed the distant look that crossed his features.
"I wonder if Axion used the same technique..."
The words were barely audible.
Bomoor either did not hear or chose not to acknowledge it. Instead, he gestured towards the ceiling.
"Come." The colour had more firmly returned to his eyes now, "We need the top floor. The turbolifts and main stairwells are now locked down."
Bomoor pointed towards the unconscious contractors.
"Retrieve their access passes," he requested, "There is still a secure access stairwell available to us."
The identification passes were collected without further difficulty, although they doubted that the credentials of the unconscious security personnel would remain useful for particularly long. The corporation's increasingly frequent announcements suggested that access permissions were being revised throughout the administrative complex, and the disturbances spreading through its industrial levels had evidently begun overwhelming whatever arrangements ordinarily governed movement between departments. Nevertheless, the secure stairwell identified by Bomoor represented their most promising route towards the executive floors, and the trio had little reason to remain amongst the offices of managers whose authority appeared to extend no farther than the departments they supervised. Serus allowed the Ithorian to lead them towards the adjoining corridor, following with the measured, unhurried stride which had characterised his movements throughout their infiltration. He had not forgotten the interrogation, nor the revelation that Orwole Sal-Varrin apparently occupied a position of considerable importance within the Cult's Corellian operations.
Their progress carried them into a broad connecting passage overlooking one of the manufacturing galleries, where the immaculate surfaces of the executive decor gradually surrendered to the more practical materials of the industrial side of things. Reinforced transparisteel windows lined one side of the corridor, revealing enormous assembly platforms suspended above the construction floors and the partially completed hulls of vessels whose dimensions dwarfed the machinery surrounding them. Cargo movers continued traversing the lower levels, although several had been brought to a halt beside loading stations now abandoned by their operators. Elsewhere, security personnel were moving through the galleries in increasing numbers, attempting to impose order upon employees whose ordinary activities had been interrupted by contradictory instructions. Serus could distinguish occasional flashes of blaster fire amongst the distant structures, accompanied by the indistinct movement of workers fleeing from areas which had evidently become dangerous. The Cult's concealment was deteriorating with remarkable speed. Whatever contingencies had been prepared for an intrusion of this nature, the surviving adherents appeared considerably less interested in preserving their corporate disguises than the administrators responsible for maintaining them.
The first security detachment appeared at the far end of the connecting passage, emerging from a junction beside one of the principal lift banks. Five officers advanced in a loose formation, their dark uniforms bearing the insignia of CEC's contracted security division and their weapons carried ready across their chests. Two wore heavier protective equipment incorporating angular armour plates whose design suggested a manufacturer more accustomed to military engagements than industrial security. Their commanding officer raised one hand upon seeing the three figures approaching from the opposite direction, immediately bringing the remainder of the group to a halt. There was nothing particularly remarkable about their behaviour. They had evidently been dispatched to investigate reports of unauthorised personnel, and the presence of three unfamiliar individuals moving through a restricted corridor was sufficient reason to challenge them.
"Stop where you are!" the officer called, bringing his rifle into a more deliberate position. "This sector is under emergency restriction. Identify yourselves and place your hands where we can see them!"
Darth Serus slowed, his organic eye moving briefly between the armed contractors and the adjoining junctions. Their approach had not been especially discreet, although the increasing disorder elsewhere in the building made it difficult to determine whether they had been specifically directed towards the intruders or had simply encountered them whilst attempting to secure the administrative level. He was considering the distinction when a considerable commotion erupted somewhere behind the security formation.
A guttural voice sounded from the junction, followed by an angry protest from one of the officers who had remained nearer the lifts. Something heavy struck the wall, producing an unpleasant metallic reverberation, and the carefully arranged security formation abruptly lost whatever cohesion it had possessed. One contractor staggered sideways, colliding with his companion, whilst another turned to confront an enormous figure forcing its way between them.
The newcomer was a Togorian, easily towering over the Humans whose positions he had so unceremoniously displaced. Even amongst a species renowned for its considerable stature, he was an imposing specimen, his enormous shoulders filling much of the passage and his broad, feline head nearly brushing the overhead lighting fixtures. His fur had been dyed a remarkably vivid shade of purple. Several portions of CEC security equipment had been attached to his immense frame with little apparent regard for their intended arrangement. A protective breastplate sat awkwardly across his chest, whilst the remains of a corporate uniform had been stretched over his shoulders and torn along the seams to accommodate his proportions. Additional strips of dark fabric hung from his arms, their surfaces decorated with symbols whose angular arrangements possessed an unpleasant familiarity.
"Get back into position!" the commanding officer demanded, momentarily forgetting the three strangers ahead of him. "You are not authorised to advance!"
The Togorian ignored him completely. His great head moved slowly from side to side, nostrils widening as he examined the figures beyond the security formation. There was something distinctly predatory about the attention he paid them, although his interest appeared to settle almost immediately upon the Ithorian and Rattataki rather than the hooded Human standing nearby. A broad smile parted his muzzle, revealing immense yellowed teeth beneath lips drawn back in unmistakable anticipation. His tail moved once behind him, striking the leg of an unfortunate contractor who had been attempting to manoeuvre around his bulk.
"Found you," he growled, the words emerging from deep within his chest.
Mentis immediately reached under his cloak and grasped his weapon, causing several of the security officers still observing the group to tense, although Mentis did not immediately reveal what he had concealed. Bomoor's arm came forward across the group, steadying his nervous acolyte as well as placing him slightly between the aggressor and their small party.
"Another cultist reveals themselves," the Ithorian stated plainly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the discoloured fur and the heavy rise and fall of the beast's chest as his rage spilled out.
The officer nearest him attempted to seize the Dark Jedi's thick arm. The Togorian threw him aside with a contemptuous movement of his shoulder, sending the man sprawling against the reinforced wall. Another contractor raised his weapon uncertainly, apparently unable to decide whether his orders required him to restrain the enormous creature wearing the corporation's security insignia or confront the strangers towards whom it was advancing.
Serus recognised the nature of the creature's anticipation. There was an eagerness to his movements which extended beyond the ordinary aggression of an individual anticipating combat, accompanied by a faint disturbance within the Force that suggested something altogether more troubling than a hired enforcer. The symbols upon his clothing, the extraordinary colouration of his fur and his apparent recognition of the others were sufficient to identify him as another of Axion's displaced adherents.
The situation deteriorated further when a second security team emerged from the junction behind them. Four armed contractors advanced into the passage, approaching considerably closer to Serus than the detachment confronting Bomoor and Mentis. Their arrival completed an accidental encirclement, leaving the trio positioned between two groups of armed personnel whose attention had become increasingly difficult to divide between the intruders and the enormous creature apparently determined to disregard his own comrades. The newcomers were less hesitant. One recognised the security alert transmitted through his communicator, glanced towards the unfamiliar figures ahead and immediately raised his weapon.
"Armed intruders! On the ground!"
Serus turned towards the voice. He could sense the decisions being made around him, the nervous anticipation of contractors who understood that something was profoundly wrong without possessing the knowledge required to distinguish their enemies from their allies. Some were frightened, others eager to assert control over a situation escaping their authority. The Togorian, meanwhile, scarcely appeared aware of their existence.
One of the officers behind Serus fired. The crimson discharge crossed the short distance between them with the familiar, violent report of a military-grade blaster. Yet, it never reached its intended target. Serus raised his right hand and the bolt arrested itself in the air approximately a metre before him, its brilliant light illuminating the contours of his hood and casting a sharp reflection across the dark surface of his artificial eye. For the briefest instant the corridor became strangely quiet, several of the contractors staring at the suspended energy as though uncertain whether their weapons had malfunctioned.
Then another fired, followed immediately by the rest. The passage filled with the concussive reports of blaster discharges. Crimson bolts streaked towards the Sith Lord from several directions, their overlapping trajectories casting violent flashes across the polished walls and reinforced windows. Serus neither retreated nor reached for the lightsaber concealed beneath his clothing. His hand remained extended, fingers slightly separated, whilst the Force gathered around the approaching projectiles and arrested their movement one after another. Some stopped abruptly beside the first, others hung farther away at awkward angles, their luminous forms suspended in positions which reflected the changing movements of the men firing upon him. Within moments, two dozen brilliant points of energy occupied the space between Serus and the security detachment, then considerably more as the frightened contractors continued their assault.
The corridor appeared to fill with a grotesque constellation of crimson light, each suspended discharge retaining its furious illumination whilst deprived of the momentum which should have carried it into flesh or metal. Their collective radiance spread across the ceiling and windows, staining the surrounding architecture a deep, unnatural red. The officers continued firing for several seconds before the futility of their efforts became apparent, their expressions changing from determination to incomprehension as every successive shot joined those already hanging motionless before the hooded stranger. One attempted to adjust his aim towards the Sith's exposed flank, only for the resulting discharge to halt alongside the others without Serus so much as turning his head.
Maintaining the growing collection demanded considerable concentration; the pressure of each additional projectile registered through the Force as another violent impulse requiring containment, and Serus' fingers moved almost imperceptibly as he distributed that pressure across the invisible field surrounding him. The effort was not insignificant, particularly when several bolts arrived simultaneously from different directions, but neither did it approach the limits of what he had begun to understand since Sleheyron.
Whether the contractors understood the danger or merely exhausted their immediate courage was impossible to determine. Several lowered their weapons, whilst others remained frozen with their rifles shouldered, staring at the suspended energy separating them from a figure who had made no attempt to defend himself in any conventional fashion. Darth Serus regarded them without moving, his raised hand continuing to hold their own violence before them.
At the opposite end of the passage, the Togorian had evidently reached the limit of his patience. He released a tremendous, guttural roar which reverberated through the corridor and overwhelmed the shouted instructions of the security officers surrounding him. His enormous shoulders rolled forwards, powerful claws extending from beneath his fingers as he lowered himself into a predatory crouch. The violet fur along his neck bristled, and his eyes settled upon Bomoor and Mentis with an expression of unmistakable delight. Whatever commands his supposed colleagues attempted to deliver were entirely lost upon him now.
Then the monstrous feline sprang forwards, hurling his immense body towards the Ithorian and his apprentice with a speed wholly disproportionate to his size, a double-bladed lightsaber produced, twin red blades igniting and carving their way through the air, walls and ceiling towards his quarry.
Time seemed to slow momentarily and Serus sensed Bomoor just barely turning his head towards him. He said a simple word, though the remaining meaning was conveyed through their bond as he reached out a hand.
"Hold."
A spark of ghostly white energy ignited in his palm as light expanded outwards in a silent wave.
It passed through Serus first; the Sith Lord felt the strange resonance immediately. It brushed across flesh and machinery alike, inducing a brief distortion in his artificial vision and a momentary flutter through the cybernetic systems embedded throughout his body. For an instant, he very nearly flinched.
Yet he maintained his grip.
The growing sphere rolled onwards through the corridor and into the suspended constellation of crimson blaster bolts hanging before them.
Then, like the sparks thrown from a metal grinder, the frozen bolts began ricocheting away wherever the ghostly field touched them. Each impact sent a captured discharge hurtling free once more, its contained violence suddenly restored. Within moments, a cascading wave of blaster fire erupted in both directions as dozens of suspended bolts were violently deflected from the advancing Force bubble.
The Togorian was struck once in the arm and once in the side as he advanced, forcing him to spin his wide blade up as he shot forwards in order to deflect further strikes.
"Mentis!" Bomoor boomed, calling him to action and, on command, the Rattataki's hand peeled out from under the tunic that cloaked him containing his still-uncased hilt, which erupted into a shimmering blue beam of light that came to meet the now-altered trajectory of the advancing saber pole.
Cast downwards, the Togorian let out a guttural growl as the lower portion of his crimson plasma dug into the carpet tiles lining the corridor. He immediately thrust forward, carving a rain of charred fibres out of the ground and attempting to force Mentis back.
Yet the momentary hesitation was all Bomoor required. Diffused viridian light descended from above, forcing the enormous feline to abandon the attack and wrench his staff horizontally between the two Jedi. Blue and green struck crimson in a shower of sparks, the impact reverberating through the corridor as the cultist suddenly found himself trapped between the pair of duellists.
Around them, contractors threw themselves for cover as Bomoor's reflected storm of blaster fire tore through the passage, the carefully maintained security cordon collapsing into confusion.
For several seconds, the security troops appeared incapable of understanding what they were witnessing. The enormous Togorian who had forced his way through their formation was now wielding a double-bladed lightsaber, its crimson shafts carving through the corporation's expensive flooring as he struggled against two equally improbable opponents whose weapons had erupted into blue and green illumination. The spectacle might ordinarily have been sufficient to command their undivided attention, had the passage not simultaneously been filled with the consequences of the extraordinary power exercised by the hooded Human standing amongst them. Several officers were already lying amidst shattered wall panels and damaged furnishings, having been struck by the violent release of the blaster discharges which had moments earlier been suspended in the air. Others had thrown themselves into more covered positions, their weapons still trained upon the intruders despite the unmistakable evidence that something profoundly beyond their ordinary experience was taking place.
"What in the blazes is that thing doing?" One contractor demanded, staring at the Togorian as the creature's enormous frame twisted beneath the opposing lightsabers. "He's supposed to be with us!"
"All units, weapons free!" the commanding officer shouted, recovering sufficiently to recognise that his attempts to impose discipline upon the enormous feline had become entirely pointless. "The four of them! Engage all four!"
The instruction produced a moment of confused hesitation, several contractors evidently reluctant to open fire upon a figure who had entered the passage wearing their own insignia. Yet the Togorian's weapon and the violence with which he was attempting to overpower the two strangers left little room for maintaining the fiction that he represented an ordinary colleague. The security personnel began spreading towards the available cover, careful to avoid firing directly into the opposite detachment as they attempted to establish overlapping lines of attack. Those positioned nearer the turbolifts concentrated their fire upon the three combatants, whilst the officers behind Serus continued directing their weapons towards the comparatively isolated Sith Lord. Crimson discharges filled the corridor once more, several passing dangerously close to the Togorian as the contractors struggled to distinguish legitimate targets amidst the violent movements of three lightsabers.
Darth Serus observed the renewed assault with considerably less interest than he had afforded the first. The brief interference caused by Bomoor's unusual application of the Force had disrupted his control over the accumulated projectiles, sending their suspended energies ricocheting through the passage and forcing several of the contractors to abandon their positions. It had been an impressive demonstration, although one whose effects he would have preferred to anticipate. His artificial vision had recovered almost immediately from the disturbance, and the faint irregularity registered by the machinery within his chest had already subsided. The Force remained readily available to him, flowing around the immediate confusion with a clarity which the security personnel could neither perceive nor hope to resist.
He had little intention of repeating the exercise of collecting their fire. The first renewed volley struck an invisible barrier before him, several bolts scattering against the walls and ceiling whilst others burned through the furnishings abandoned along the corridor. Serus extended his right hand towards the nearest security detachment, fingers spreading slightly as his attention settled upon the reinforced architectural panels behind their position. The structure had been constructed to withstand the ordinary pressures of a large industrial establishment, its internal supports secured beneath ornamental coverings which disguised the substantial engineering required to maintain the administrative levels.
A deep metallic complaint passed through the wall. One of the officers glanced towards the sound just as a section of decorative panelling tore away, carrying several lengths of reinforcing framework with it. Serus swept his hand sideways and the entire assembly crossed the corridor with tremendous force, striking the security position before its occupants could properly react. One contractor disappeared beneath the collapsing material, whilst another was thrown backwards against the adjoining wall, his weapon discharged uselessly into the ceiling as he fell. The remaining officers scattered, abandoning their firing positions as fragments rained across the passage.
Serus advanced several deliberate steps. The enormous windows overlooking the manufacturing galleries trembled within their frames as another pressure travelled through, wrenching portions of the suspended ceiling free and sending them crashing down across the route by which the second detachment had approached. The effect was not intended to bring down the corridor in its entirety. He required its continued existence as much as his companions did, and destroying their own passage towards the executive levels would have accomplished little beyond satisfying the immediate demands of violence. Instead, he attacked the structure selectively, converting its decorative features, supporting partitions and elevated fittings into obstacles which deprived the security personnel of their ability to move and fire freely.
One officer attempted to retreat towards the turbolifts, only for the floor beneath him to buckle abruptly as the framework supporting a raised section of the passage twisted out of alignment. He fell heavily, scrambling for purchase upon the sloping surface as several flooring plates tore loose and rose into the air. Serus sent them hurtling towards the adjoining contractors, forcing two to dive behind a damaged reception terminal whilst a third lost his footing entirely. Another raised his rifle and fired a desperate burst towards the advancing Sith, the discharges passing harmlessly aside as Serus redirected them into a structural column already weakened by the earlier destruction.
"Control, this is Security Team Four!" somebody shouted into a communicator, his voice nearly overwhelmed by the reports of blaster fire and the grinding collapse of damaged architectural fittings. "We have multiple armed hostiles in the executive access corridor! Lightsabers, repeat, lightsabers! One of our own personnel ha-!"
The transmission dissolved momentarily beneath the noise of another impact. The officer crouched lower behind his cover, one hand clamped against the communicator whilst the other retained an increasingly unsteady grip upon his rifle.
"Request reinforcements and a forcefield lockdown of the entire junction! We can't contain them! Taking casualties!"
Elsewhere, the Togorian appeared delighted by the disintegration of the passage around him. The great feline had scarcely acknowledged the blaster fire passing dangerously close to his enormous body, his attention remaining fixed upon the two lightsaber-wielding opponents who had interrupted his advance. The wounds inflicted by the earlier ricochets had darkened portions of his violet fur, but neither appeared sufficiently serious to diminish his ferocity. Indeed, the pain seemed to have sharpened his enthusiasm, his breathing emerging in tremendous, guttural bursts as he drove the double-bladed weapon through a succession of violent, sweeping movements.
He was not an elegant combatant. His immense physical strength allowed him to employ methods which would have been difficult for a smaller duellist to contemplate, forcing the long weapon through broad, aggressive arcs intended as much to overwhelm his opponents through sheer momentum as to secure an immediate killing stroke. The twin blades passed dangerously close to the walls and ceiling, severing fittings and scattering incandescent fragments of molten material across the surrounding floor. Where the weapons met, he pressed forwards with extraordinary force, his enormous shoulders bunching beneath the strained remnants of his corporate uniform as he attempted to drive the opposing blades backwards through their wielders' defences.
A particularly vicious exchange brought him close enough to the Ithorian that the Togorian suddenly abandoned any pretence of maintaining the proper distance between lightsaber combatants. His jaws opened enormously, exposing the full extent of his yellowed teeth, and he lunged towards Bomoor's exposed upper body with the unmistakable intention of sinking them into flesh. The movement was almost bestial in its abruptness, his immense head thrust forwards even as the double-bladed weapon remained engaged, demonstrating an apparent willingness to risk injury if it permitted him to tear something from his opponent. His claws extended simultaneously, seeking whatever purchase might be found upon the Ithorian's clothing or body, whilst the thick musculature of his neck strained against the force of his own momentum.
"Come, little heathens!" he snarled, spittle catching the violent red illumination around his muzzle. "I will wear your bones!"
TBC
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