The Battle of Jericho, Part III

Posted on Wed Mar 14th, 2018 @ 9:42pm by Zrad Rezer† & Klav Thurn & Bomoor Thort & Sev Rezer

2,466 words; about a 12 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Throne Room, Jericho
Timeline: The Battle of Jericho

OLD

For the first time in decades, Zrad Rezer felt fear.

Already turning on his heel, his suit pumped its remaining supply of stimulants into his bloodstream. With that and his panic, Zrad felt his heart thudding at an inhuman pace in his chest as he abandoned the fight with his cousin and began fleeing to the hall's entrance. Through the implant embedded in his skull, he was already priming his ship to leave - and Jericho for destruction.

He could claim victory of the Battle of Jericho when there was no one else left alive to say otherwise.

NEW

"Hut'uun", bellowed Sev. "Running from a challenge. You're not a Mandalorian! You're a farce! The Galaxy will know", he added.

Zrad halted. In one deft movement, he swung the huge Baragwin heavy repeating blaster that was clasped onto the back of his armour round towards where Sev had just stood, and loosed a large barrage of blasts in his cousin's general direction, laughing loudly as he did.

"Ash'amur!" He screamed as dozens of red bolts sprung forth from the oversized weapon, tearing away at everything in its path without precision or discrimination.

Numerous blasts zipped past their intended target and crashed into several of the fighters in the room, cutting each down regardless of whether they were Cartel or Mandalorian. Several of the shots whacked into the grotesque chair Zrad called a throne, chipping away at the bones and weapons that passed for its frame, most melting on impact and left red from the sheer heat.

After almost a full minute of his finger pulled firmly down on the trigger, spraying without care anything in the vicinity of where he had seen Sev, the barrel of the weapon made a loud thudding noise, and the Exile leader was forced to abandon his prized weapon with yet another deep, chesty growl.

Smoke which obscured nearly all vision rose from the corpses that littered the area Zrad had fired at, the stench of melting flesh, metal and acrylic just about being filtered by those fortunate enough to be wearing serviceable helmets. A banner with Zrad's own garish standard fell from the ceiling, burning as it collapsed atop the melting remnants of his old throne.

"Are you dead yet, ad'ika?" He called, advancing slowly, two pistols now pulled from his holsters and aimed at the clearing haze.

"Up here,aruetii," came a voice from above. Whilst Zrad had been going berserk with his pistol, Sev had taken to the air with his jetpack. Without pause, Sev released from his wrist weapon an explosive dart at Zrad, knowing very well his cousin would jump away.

As the dart flew, so too did Sev, coming down with a swift dive towards where Zrad's roll would be taking him, the Exile leader's weapons spinning away in either direction as he dodged the projectile.

"Argh!" The older warrior growled as Sev crashed into him mid-roll, only Zrad had seemingly anticipated the move; as the green-armoured Mando landed on his target, so too did he swing both of his arms around Sev's legs, dragging him to the floor with him the inertia of his roll.

The two Mandalorians rolled across the metal floor of the throne room, their armours clanking and scraping against the grime- and rust-ridden surface, the noise only just drowned out by the song of battle around them; the groans, screams, scrapes and blasts only just leaving the cousins' conflict barely audible.

An explosion to their side where the Jedi were fighting did nothing to distract Zrad as he managed to roll himself atop Sev. He was just about quick enough to grip Sev's wrist as his younger foe produced a blade, smashing it down hard enough so that he lost his grip and it clattered away. With his other gauntleted fist, the Exile leader smashed it straight into the front of Sev's face, the cartilage of the bounty hunter's nose shattering under the numerous impacts Zrad laid into him, roaring as he did so.

Audibly panting from the exertion of pummelling Sev's skull, Zrad only stopped when Sev's arms slackened at either side. Zrad then took the moment to begin removing his own helmet, his opponent seemingly exhausted and disabled from the Exile's onslaught.

"You know, I always hated that jetpack," he growled, a light hiss seeping out from the edges of his blue helmet as it disconnected from the bulk of his hulking armour. Having revealed his ravaged, sweat-slicked face visage once more, Zrad tossed the piece of armour away and brought his face up close to Sev's owns, a shattered reflection of his cousin's younger, broken and bloodied portrait.

"I wanted to see the life leave that one, grotesque eye you have left with my own." The menacing words were a near-whisper, spittle and sweat dripping from Zrad's lips onto Sev's face. The drops blended with the claret liquid that bubbled around Sev's mouth and nose, the younger Rezer's breathing sounding a mere grim hiss of escaping breath.

Zrad placed both his hands around the half-exposed neck of his uncle's son, only tightening his grip slightly as he brought his icy blue murderer's eyes up to Sev's. "Care to beg for your life, Rezer'ika?"

Sev made no sound, but, all of a sudden, his left arm rose and in his hand was the ornate but deadly beskad. Zrad had not seen Sev's hands pluck the blade from his hip as they had rolled on the floor. That would be known as his last and final mistake.

"Honour or death!" Roared Sev as the blade plunged deep into Zrad's throat. Sparks flew everywhere as the blade crossed Zrad's armour, through his exposed throat and then out of his nape. Zrad's hands desperately grabbed at the hilt of the beskad. A gurgling sound was all he could muster as he fell down to his side, liberating Sev from his hold.

Sev slowly rose, watching as Zrad contorted and blood quickly spread around from his destroyed throat. "You've forgotten what it means to be Mando. And yet, you still are my blood; you deserve a good death," he said, pulling the blade from Zrad's throat and swiftly piercing his heart.

With one final look at his little cousin, the penultimate Rezer looked upon Sev, just briefly, with a glint in his eye not unlike the one he had first shown him when training him as a boy - the barest hint of pride the hulking mass had ever managed to show another with genuine honesty. And then, with that glint fading, Zrad stopped moving entirely, one final gasp of wet, bloodied air escaping his lungs.

The would-be Mandalore died before his reign had ever begun.

Sev pulled the blade and looked at it. Holding on to that hilt, it was but a mere blade, but it meant everything to a man of Clan Rezer. It meant that he was still the Mandalorian that was exiled from his home so many years ago. It meant that no Mandalorian would look at him as though he was an outsider. He was a true Mando.

The Mandalorian gripped his clan's blade, as his attention returned to the ongoing battle.

"Gev!!" he bellowed, with a great power behind his words, willing all who heard to listen. "Bic kyr jii!!"

There was a moment of confusion and those still engaged in battle stopped, turning their attention to Sev Rezer. "The challenge is done. I command this war-party. No more dishonour! I declare this battle over. Any who disagree should claim this blade from me. It still drips with the aruetii's blood!"

In the relative silence that Sev's words ushered in, several of the so-called True Mandalorians stood forward, "Ner alor!" spoke one and quickly several other voices followed suit. Seeing the way the winds were blowing, almost every remaining Mandalorian stepped forward and paid their respects. Several brought forward bruised and beaten members of Grogga's party, some still attempting to struggle as they were thrown at Zrad's feet.

One Mandalorian, garbed entirely in armour of rusted blue hues, sidled up with confidence to stand beside Zrad's killer. Although he showed no indication through the visor of his helmet, Klav Thurn placed himself next to Sev, equal in height if not in build, and looked across the sea of survivors before them in Jericho's hall, ignoring the unceremonious corpse of their previous leader just feet away.

"My kin!" He shouted, still holding his rifle as though ready to march into yet another battle. "The False Mandalore lies dead, defeated in his dishonour by his own blood; Sev of Clan Rezer. Zrad cheated you; he lied and twisted our ways to serve grim masters of ill repute, claiming to be a True Mandalorian. Maybe, once, this was who he was - but not for a long time."

Thurn began to pace around Sev, stopping only briefly to shunt the cadaver of Zrad briefly. "I had believed in Zrad's words, his cheap rhetoric and Hutt's promises, that he had truly meant to restore the Old Ways to our people. But no! He sought glory for only himself! He sought war only to glorify the Fable of the Grand Zrad Rezer! All he did was for himself and not the Mandalorians; he courted with dar'jetii and sold us to serve as common killers and thieves, preying on the weak as they ferried their meagre livelihoods across the space lanes of the Outer Rim."

The Jericho second brought himself to a stop, once more reclaiming his position alongside Sev, who had remained stationary during Klav's speech, as if some great immovable object. The crowd of Mandalorians, most of their uninitiated members having fallen in the recent battle, began to murmur approvingly amongst themselves, although a few remained silent, staring with stony or unconvinced expressions as both Zrad and Thurn, who continued to speak.

"Glory awaits us in the stars, but not in the shadow of an alor like Zrad." Finally, Thurn's helmet visibly shifted its eyeless gaze over to Zrad's cousin. In anticipation of what the rally master was about to say, several Exiles began to slowly nod, already whispering the name. "It is with True Mando. It is with Sev Rezer!"

Most of the Exiles, those garbed in the old armours of Manda'toma or grizzled to have spent long enough to know the code of their people, began to roar in approval, echoing Sev's name and raising their fists in salute. A few of the more aggressive and excitable cracked their gauntleted fists into the skulls of some of their prisoners, whilst a couple of others fired their blasters upwards, sparks showering from above.

Of course, a few remained silent, offering knowing, suspicious glances to one another. Ever since Sev's arrival, even under the false pretences he had come with, there had been those who had been wary, viewing him as nothing more than an outsider. However, for most of the warriors, sighting the brief cowardice of Zrad and how deftly Sev had ended him had been enough to draw them to Thurn's way of thinking. Some, perhaps, just longed for the promise of a war with meaning, to no longer prey on travelling merchants and cheap bounties that proved no challenge to a true warrior.

Piercing through the crowd of Sev's new supporters, like the parting of a great sea, Bomoor strode forwards to join his allies next to Zrad's gruesome corpse. He had searched around the room for any trace of Axion's cultists, but he could sense that they were already long gone and on their way back to their repulsive master and his cruel judgement.

Looking down at the lifeless Rezer, Bomoor saw that a compartment had opened in his armour's side, similar to to where Klav had retrieved Thane's lightsaber from. Reaching his lengthy fingers inside, he immediately found what he sought and pulled out the comforting sight of his own familiar lightsaber, which housed his precious viridian crystal.

With the recovery of both blades, Bomoor felt a sense of completion, as if things were back where they should be. He was even beginning to have some measure of control over the power that still surged forth from the Kaiburr shard. He was able to dissipate some of the energy, now that the fighting had concluded. Even so, as he looked towards the crowd, he could feel the emotions of almost every single being; some truly seemed to revere their new lord, while others seemed less convinced but were tempered by their fear.

Much of the crowd continued to ignore the Ithorian, save for those who had seen the extraordinary power he had clumsily wielded during the heat of the battle, with their focus remaining on Thurn as he continued to parade Sev Rezer, slayer of Zrad Rezer.

"The True Mandalorians have long lost their way," Thurn went on, "divided across space as smatterings of guns-for-hire, not even thinking to pay heed to one another. Most of the so-called war-parties, made up as they are of goons and lost killers, are nothing more but excuses for the slaughtering of easy quarry, marauders and raiders who are just as guilty of betraying the way of our people as the farmers of 'Manda'toma', not fit to call themselves Mando - who have no concept of our culture. Do not let Manda'toma have a monopoly on honour, but never again let us be deceived into believing the lies of paper tyrants. We are not mercenaries. We are not slaves. We are not cannon fodder. Oya Veman manda!"

Bomoor played up the grandeur of his presence to match that of his companions, particularly as they echoed Thurn's roar of patriotism, and because he truly felt somewhat grander in his current state. "While myself and my fellow Jedi have suffered greatly at the hands of your "True Mandalorians", it is clear that you were misled by a self-centred and misguided individual. I claim this relic as recompense for your crimes and leave you with the memory of what you witnessed here today. May you never again see fit to treat another in such a way."

And with that parting comment, Thurn gave a deep bow of his head to his newfound ally, the expression making clear his own assent to Bomoor's words, before turning back to Sev and the Mandalorians, letting the consular march solemnly towards his hard-earned freedom.

After all, the new Alor Rezer had yet to say his piece.

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