Garqi's Open Terrain

*Movement at last, as the door between cars opened, revealing a fiery-haired woman. The way she carried herself with authority, clearly she had rank. And a dangerous cast of cronies from the look of it. Troopers were no issue; even shadowtroopers were manageable. But the larger ones... Keith was aware of the Dark Trooper program; how could he forget all those lessons about other attempts at modifying foot soldiers to become more powerful, and how, ultimately, they were inefficient compared to himself and his own unit?

If only he knew what had happened to the program.

But they did not attack. Neither did Keith, for some inexplicable reason, though his rifle stayed pointed at the new potential target. Perhaps this was the VIP Corinne had mentioned? That could have made her valuable... but as a hostage, or as a casualty?

Then it spoke. Flourishing words as though they were weapons. Dull weapons, blunt in their use. Propaganda. Keith despised it. Tools to control the weak of will, poison their minds to a perverted cause. The Empire, the Republic too, both were guilty. Keith served neither; Keith served justice, something no Imperial could bring. He'd seen behind the enemy lines, witnessed their dirty tactics. And yet this being seemed to speak of the Empire as a separate entity. But Keith only saw Imperial before him; the uniform, the trooper, the same lies their entire foundation was built upon.*

"Stow the garbage," *Keith growled, rifle still leveled upon her.* "You struck first. Forget about the live execution on Muunilinst? If you're attempting to usher in 'peace' and 'order' through force and violence, that's not any peace anyone deserves. You brought this upon yourselves; don't blame us for your shortcomings."

*The instant he finished speaking, he disabled his external comms with a mere glance before speaking through the team's comm system only.* "Got a situation up in car twenty-two. Six shadowtroopers, pair of Dark Troopers... Glory-class if I had to guess. We'll hold out long as we can, but prompt assistance would be nice."

*As he spoke, he examined the situation once more. He could probably quickly drop the "Smilies," as they now seemed to be called, and he could occupy the shadowtroopers long enough. The Dark Troopers... That was the real pickle. Perhaps he could blow out part of the wall and force them out somehow, but he'd have to create that opening first...

In a lightning-fast movement, he aimed for the Smilies farthest to the left, firing off two quick shots aimed directly for their chests. However, the shots found a different mark: A ray shield, harmlessly absorbing the bolt. Keith's finger paused before the third shot could be fired. What was this? They clearly outnumbered them; why did they not engage in battle? Perhaps they weren't underestimating their foes. Regardless, Keith's rifle remained leveled and he scowled behind his visor.* "Scanning for danger," *Corinne reported in his internal comms,* "but nothing's coming up."

"Cowards," *Keith muttered back, external speakers still disabled.*

This was starting to erode his patience. She spoke meaningless truths that further cemented his earlier thought of her being intoxicated, which in turn made her slurring and clipped words all the more annoying. Were he not accompanied by his Jedi compatriots, Alpharius would've pressed the nozzle of his beam weapon against the granular surface of the thick wood, and pulled the trigger. She would've then, been truly light headed, as whatever remained of her corpse slumped to the floor. However, as he was with the Jedi and a powerful child that would no doubt have nightmare's about this excursion for weeks, such a thought would be inappropriate. Or perhaps she wouldn't have such terrible night terrors; Alpha didn't know her that well, and it was possible that she had been through worse. The Galaxy wasn't such a peaceful place anymore, and anything could happen.

Pushing that guarded thought aside, the former Assassin slides his pistol into the holster lashed at his hip, snapping the cover closed with the sound drowned out by the rushing winds pouring into the lounge car. It was as his fingers unconsciously reached for the blaster pistol, that the message from Spartan had come through. At first, his words trickled through his micro-bead, leaving the Infiltrator to depress the audio device implanted in his ear, allowing the Supersoldier's words to be heard clearly by the intended parties. Dark Troopers. First rampant Artificial Constructs gunning down people left and right; A drunk and armed barmaid looking for dresses in the wrong shopping mall; and now, Dark Troopers? Geeze, He thought, They went all out in drafting the defense of this train.

Sighing heavily, the Infiltrator tore his hand away from his second holster and slipped his fingers behind his back. He had not wanted to use these, nor would it ever feel right in wielding what was never his in the first place, but - with the dangerous additions of such formidable foes - circumstances called for desperate measures. Pulling the cloth covered batons out from their oil-blackened webbing, Alpharius pulled them into sight. With his back against the dark wooden wall of the booth, he held the rods out before him and gripped their cylindrical surfaces tight. Alpha knew that his team would need him, but he hesitated longer than he ever thought himself capable of as he held the metallic pieces within his silk-shrouded grasp.

"I made a promise to get you back," Alpharius whispered as he touched the batons to his forehead. "And with these weapons, I will keep my oath."

Never before in his life had Alpharius' fingers trembled, but as he brought the batons down from his head, they began to shake. It started slowly, at first, rising further with every aching second that past. He cursed silently as his covered digits missed the fraying ends of the bound knot. How many times had he lovingly wrapped these Relics? This should've been easy for him. A simple task. And yet, here he was, fumbling with an interconnected weave of string and paper. Alpharius scoffed in amused disbelief then, as he made the attempt once more. Breathing heavily, clearing his mind of all doubt and the tingling sensation that began to pool in at the fringes of his consciousness, the former Assassin peeled back the beige wrapping paper, only to toss aside its tattered remnants into the howling current of the wind.

Now revealed, the two ivory hilts with a polished silver inlay glimmered beautifully in the light bathing the sundered lounge car. With tremulous hands, now stilled by an iron will, Alpharius connected the two hafts with a satisfying click. On either end, the emitter shrouds - wrought in the frozen likeness of a beast long thought extinct, silently bellowed their draconic rage. As the two halves became one, the Infiltrator stood, clutching the saber-staff loosely in his dominant hand. It didn't matter if the woman shot him now, nor did she matter any longer. He had done what he needed to do, and now, like the woman whom once held this same weapon; knew that something greater had waited for him.

"Look," He called out to the wind-swept car. "I'm walking through that door. Stop me. Shoot me. Hinder me in any way, and I will not hesitate to cut you down."

Taking it on faith; He surged forward into the protective housing of the car connecting corridor - expecting the woman to shoot him in the arse on the way out.

That was when he palmed the first of the two doors open, revealing the scene just behind the flexisteel glass and the events transpiring within the Twenty-second car. Imperial Scum and their enhanced robotic toys stood proudly behind a transparent wall of crimson, and his team were waiting at the edge of the abyss - eager to finish what those who stood opposite of them had started. Gripping the weapon tight, Alpharius activates his wrist mounted device. While many things happened aboard this bloody train were unexpected, the former Assassin had planned for something like this. An Evasive-226-R Field Disruptor. It was almost considered ancient by the standards of modern force fields, but the tech itself was solid. More so than the primitive Evasive-13 model. When the activation code had been swiftly entered, and the projection shells were slid away from one another, the device was instantaneously flooded with power.

A devilish smile curled across his lips, as the arm-mounted unit projected an intense bubble of resonating energy that enveloped his person. He had pushed the device to its maximum settings, know that what awaited him behind this door was a Ray Shield - something that would vaporize his wretched figure on contact. Punching the access panel with an energy sheathed fist, the door before him rattled open, permitting him access to the action beyond.

Alpharius didn't hesitate when the door had parted. He silently dashed through the opening and charged headlong into the stillness beyond. The Infiltrator ignored his comrades as his shrouded eyes locked with those of the Imperial Commander, or, at least, the pompous witch that looked like she made others dance to her twisted tune. She was his target. She would pay for what was done to those people. Anger, red and hot, boiled his blood as he surged through the car - passing ally and civilian alike. His steps were silent as his padded feet thundered into the steel, and with each bounding stride, Alpharius came one step closer to his seemingly suicidal goal. He heard something, a distant voice - long forgotten, but pushed it from his mind as yet another pulsating rush of adrenals blanched his mind.

Like the moulded emitter shrouds of his newly unveiled weapon, the shielded warrior roared as he vaulted from the deck of the covered train car. His wordless cry echoed within the enclosed space, as he leapt towards his apparent death. As his body became airborne, the Infiltrator felt the rising tempest of emotion flow through his veins, forcibly thrusting his fist forward as the two energy fields connected with a loving embrace. The device he wore on his wrist had held the same harmonic frequency emitted by the Ray Shield, and thus, allowed the object it's field enveloped to pass harmlessly through. With a fleeting moment of satisfaction, Alpharius poured his seething rage through his clenched fingers. He wouldn't falter, not this close to his newest target.

Strike.

That voice again. With that momentary distraction, of the oh-so-familiar voice resounding within his skull, Alpharius' target was skewed. His fist veered from its intended path, one that would impact her face - shattering every bone beneath her souring cocky smile, and instead connected with her chest. That was when the field evaporated, expelling it's energy through the thunderous punch, and exploding outwards into the intended target. The impact would be painful, however as Alpharius had hoped, there was a chance it could also be fatal.

Sever the head, and the body withers.

The fire-crowned devil was cast back into the depths of the car, beyond the assembled ranks of soldiers and their hulking machine-bred monstrosities. He couldn't tell if she was dead or alive, and to be honest - that didn't matter now. Either way, she wasn't getting off this train in one piece. The dead still cried out for vengeance, and he would be their instrument. Spinning the saber staff about in his dominant hand, the Infiltrator thumbed the activation plates, allowing the engraved dragons to spit forth two columns of ivory-hued light. He spun the two connected blades again, slicing through the Ray Shield emitters and starving the crimson barrier of its sustenance. With the force-field down, and his comrades now free to engage the enemy, Alpharius twirled the dual-bladed lightsaber before him, carving molten rents in the deck as the humming colourless beams came to rest behind his person.

As if guided by hands that were not his own, the former Assassin shifted his feet across the heat-seared floor; silently preparing himself for what was to come.

Car 22

Alpharius' fingers fanned across the breadth of the ornate Saberstaff, tension melting from his grip as each digit gently wrapped around the textured hilt. His free hand began to clench, as he watched the Crimson Devil stand - No - She staggered as she rose. The blow, sadly, didn't slay her, nor did the sudden burst of the collapsing energy field stop the woman's heart cold. It was possible she had been adorned in some sort of Ion Mesh, that she wore beneath her clothing. That was the only possible conclusion his mind could conjure. Such reasoning had fit with the devious nature of Imperialists. Thus, that meant he had to change his method of approach, to sweep and sever - rather than puncture and pierce. That was fine by him, for it seemed that an Old friend had returned from the Jaws of Death to take control, supplementing his athletic prowess with wisdom and experience. The Infiltrator was decent enough with a plasmatic blade, but Arcanus Sunstrider was considered to be one of the Masters of such a deadly weapon.

And so, as the Copy had come to this reality to replace the Original; the Original had come to Command the Copy. A bond forged by blood and sustained by the rolling tides of the Force. Alpharius had then become an Observer ensconced within his flesh, watching as Arcanus rolled his wrist, sending the twin argent blades spinning in a baleful arc.

He watched on as the Woman armed herself with the over-sized, and clearly weaponized Tonfa. His gaze did not waver as she advanced upon him, nor when she had squared her footing to match his own. Whoever this Fire-touched Witch was, she had taken the time to study the Jedi Arts. That wasn't surprising. It was one of the first rules within the Atrisian Art of War. To defeat your enemy, One must understand them. Alpharius cocked a sly smirk beneath his skin-tight mask. This meant she might be a challenge, one worthy of his full attention.

Hubris and a seething rage coated her every word as she spoke, though through a carefully crafted veneer - such emotional cantrips had spilled past her lips and her lips alone. The Jedi Arts weren't the only ancillary training she had undergone. His smile had faded, as her mouth began to mirror his own. She tried to entice him, to bait him into a trap of her devising. Alpharius would have none of it.

Then, that was when she had mentioned the entire purpose that had formed the foundations of this raid. His eyes, hidden behind the expressionless facade of his visor, widened in surprise. Now everything had made sense. This was all a trap. One meant to lure him, and anyone else that may be interested in that box into one locale - so she may kill them all with a single stroke. Cunning little Schutta, He thought, as the Crimson Devil had finally finished her taunting tirade. Flesh would heal, Bones would mend, and a Mind could be repaired. So, as much as his primal instincts raged within his breast, Logic had outweighed emotion in this matter. That and all sensation aside from his metaphysical being was slowly being suppressed by the slain Weaponsmaster.

"A sword feels no anger, nor contempt. It is merely cold and unyielding, for a pliant weapon will never strike true."

Those words were not his own, nor had they ever truly been his to begin with. Even as they passed through his mouth, they felt foreign. Arcanus. So the spirit had spread. Wonderful.

With blade at the ready and the minute preparations made for the opening bout - Alpharius gaze was drawn from his foe and noted the arrival of a curiously garbed midget that had slipped into the Train Car. Her aura reeked of Chaos, foretelling the Possessed Assassin that the diminutive companion was touched - if not wholly embraced by the Darkness. His eyes widened further as her plasmatic blade ignited with a hoarsely reverberating thrum. Crossguards. Someone's been watching far too many Holodrama's.

It was a poor choice in weaponry when facing an enemy versed in the nuances of fluidity that Saberstaff combat presented. Perhaps this, Woman, Midget, Thing, was an apprentice of sorts. However, that mattered little. If she was unskilled in the Jedi Arts as she had displayed, her life was forfeit the moment she would engage. A sword shows no mercy to those that oppose it's killing blow. There was no safety to be found the in sharpened edges of a blade. A sword brings only death; thus, it could never bring life. This was his curse. One that spiraled through his mind every time he had drawn the blade against another. No. That wasn't true. That mantra only existed in the spirit of the Other, not Him.

Clearing his thoughts and twirling the brilliant Ivory-hued beams about in a loosened grip.

"This ends," Alpharius had said, with two voices pouring through a single throat.

Without hesitation, the possessed Bladesman surged forwards - his muscles flowing smoothly underneath taut flesh - and brought the ignited beams of his purloined plasmatic weapon down upon the Crimson Devil in a murderous, decapitating arc.

"Behead the Serpent," He whispered, "And the Corpse shall wither."

Their battle was over, and Alpharius had won. It was a deadly dance of cunning thrusts and brilliant ripostes, all accumulating in a blinding pirouette that ended with the Imperial woman's defeat. He was breathing heavily by the time she had raised her hands, seeking to prey upon his mercy. It was a simple gesture, most likely hollow, as everything the woman had spouted thus far had been. She believed him to be a Jedi, or at least close enough that the distinction between the two differing viewpoints would result in the same conclusion. This woman thought that she would be subdued and taken prisoner. While under normal circumstances, that's exactly what would've happened, however - the battle that ensued aboard this train was far from normal. Dark Troopers, the wholesale slaughter of innocent people. This skirmish was far from conventional, and thus, the standard rules of warfare wouldn't apply here. With both targets defeated, Alpharius deactivated one of the blades, allowing its ivory light to retreat into the ornate housing.

"I'm not going to strike you down. Death is far too good for the likes of you." His words were an octave away from being considered a primal growl, and the Assassin was doing all he could to ensure that the rising tides of rage spiking within his breast were kept under wraps. "No. I'm going to consign you to a fate worse than death. Mockery, humiliation, and permanent reminders of the horrors you've wrought this day. Yes, what I'm about to do will make me a monster, but I don't care. If I am the one to bloody my hands, so that others won't have too? It's a price I am willing to pay."

The Epicanthix knew that the woman wouldn't dare to incur his wrath this early into her prostration, as she was unarmed and could do little against the thrumming lightsaber he now held. It was a tactical impossibility for her to do anything more than glower at him from behind her unkempt fiery mane. Were he not on the precipice of falling into his anger's embrace, Alpharius would've smiled. He had her dead to rights, and she was unable to do something about it. Even her comrades were dead to disabled. She had no choice but to comply with whatever fate he had chosen for her. And choose he did. In the fleeting moments, that passed since his proclamation; his shrouded eyes had spotted some spilled silverware that was callously discarded after the events of the fierce, but thankfully brief firefight. He bent down, angling the plasmatic blade so that it wouldn't sear the upholstery, the Assassin gripped one of the many ruined spoons and roused himself to his full height.

"There's an old saying among my people. One that I think perfectly suits the situation at hand." Extinguishing the last blade of his pilfered Saberstaff and clipping it's silvered surface to his belt, Alpharius removed his goggles and pulled off the shadow silk mask that concealed his face. He didn't care if the woman memorized every angular detail about his unshaven face. He didn't care if she knew that this was the face of her Killer. All the Assassin bothered himself with, was that she would go into whatever afterlife she held true, knowing that his face would be the last thing she would ever see. His sapphire eyes glittered with a barely contained menace, as the man's lips began to peel back into a sly serpentine smile. "Do you want to know what that saying is?" He said as the Assassin planted a padded foot between her breasts. "Of course, you do. I bet you're dying to know. It must be agony for a woman like you, who knows everything and believes her cause to be just, to not hold all the cards as we play our little game."

Kicking her onto her back and forcing the arrow to push through the meat of her sculpted leg, Alpharius straddles her midriff with the spoon in hand. She wouldn't be going anywhere, not with his knees pinning her arms to the ground and his covered feet supporting his weight just above the puncture wound. "The saying my people have is simple. An Eye, for an Eye." His smile widens as cloth-bound fingers swiftly stab the blunted edge of the spoon into her eye. The angle of entry wasn't pleasant, nor ideal. In fact, it nearly carved her eye in Twain through the sheer force of his penetration alone. However, this was to be his greatest masterpiece, and it wouldn't do him any good if the canvas couldn't handle the brush.

Spinning the spoon about within her socket and gouging out her eye, the Assassin popped the sapphire orb out of its socket and tossed the spoon aside. His back was facing his comrades, and though they wouldn't likely be able to see the horrors he was inflicting upon the woman, her screams had most likely given the message. Freed from its fleshy housing, Alpharius firmly tugged on the thickly corded cluster of nerves as he pulled the eye towards the heavens. His smile grew ever darker, as his glittering Azure eyes had never left the pained gaze of the Crimson-Crowned Imperial beneath his gait. A small chortle of laughter burst from his throat, as he tugged and pulled upon the nerve - sending jolts of agony down the connective tissue and causing the woman to scream.

"This is for the Innocents you've slain."

With those words hanging heavily in the silence, Alpharius tore the nerve asunder and squished the orb between his fingers.

Car 22

---

*... there?! Her arrow had lodged itself there?! In spite of the situation and all that happened around them, Morgan squeaked in sympathy pain, her hands clenching her backside protectively. Ouch... the arrow had been called for, and she probably would have shot it on her own anyway, but she hadn't expected it to strike there! That was just painful! ... why did she care anyway? That woman was the bad guy! She deserved the shot to the choobs!

Morgan brushed it off, releasing herself and taking up her bow, but by now the car had been mostly cleared out, all troopers downed, and Keith... Keith still had the other large trooper in his range, grappling with it, battering it. The hulking black mass seemed to realize blasters were a lost cause at this close range with a powerful supersoldier and was attempting to match blows, and indeed even landed a few strikes that caused Keith's armor's shields to flicker and even caused the man to flinch somewhat. But the large armored man never relented, forcing his opponent toward the large opening he had created earlier, then at last shoving the behemoth out into the roaring winds, meeting a fate much like his comrade's.

Keith then turned to survey the room before settling his gaze on Alpha, who now had the Imperial woman at his mercy. Morgan at last felt safe enough to turn and stand, keeping an arrow in her lowered bow as she watched Alpha force the woman down; this in turn caused the arrow to fully protrude through her leg, causing Morgan to wince and hiss. Alpha had... a spoon? He was saying something to her, but Morgan couldn't hear it over the screaming winds. What could he possibly be doing with a sp—

His hand fell. Though Morgan couldn't see it, the woman's reflexes and screams told the whole story. Morgan gasped in shock and stammered, taking a step back, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene of the predator holding his prey in his grasp and mutilating her. Her own chest began to burn as the golden-scaled creature turned away from the Imperial to leer at Morgan. Her scars burst with flame as she fell to the ground limp in a pool of her own blood, writhing in pain for a moment before falling still.

But that hadn't been enough for Psallo Kyrie. Even now he took her by the arm and pulled her from the ground, planting her feet on the ground, though she had no life in her to even attempt to stand. The Maelibus held her upright under the arms, for what sick, twisted purpose she did not know.* "Stand," *it demanded.* "Fight it." *Fight what? She was useless against his superior grasp. What kind of cruel game was this?*

"Morgan..." *came the voice again, only slower this time.* "Psallo is gone. I chased him off. I'd never let him get to you again." *The voice had slowly morphed, no longer the sickeningly lyrical tone, but gruff and concerned. Her eyes focused upon Keith's helmetless face, and suddenly she found strength in her to stand.

But she shook. Her mouth worked silently, gasping breaths and suppressing sobs. She was once more standing within the ruined train car, which... all things considered wasn't too much better than where she had just been transported, but she at least was alive and intact, with no beast in sight. Shaken, but alive. Her gaze slowly turned to focus on Keith again, and, after fumbling over her words, managed to hoarsely croak,* "Thank you, Keith."

*The soldier watched her silently for a moment, seemingly in contemplation, then he said,* "You're going back to the ship. You're not suited to be here."

*Morgan's eyes widened and she shook her head.* "What?! No, I—"

"That's two breakdowns. You're both vulnerable and a liability. And remember, soldier, I'm your commander."

*Morgan was lost for words. He was right, after all, but she wasn't going to admit that! She'd fought back, she'd supported the mission, she'd disabled the Imperial, and she tossed one of those dangerous hulking troopers out the opening in the car! She was doing so well, and he was just focusing on the negative?!* "But—"

"No retorts," *Keith curtly cut over her.* "When Alpha's finished here, I'm requesting you be put back on the ship immediately."

*She wanted to cry. How could he command that of her?! She wanted to protest and fight and demand she be allowed to continue to fight. But... she'd agreed to follow his orders. She'd agreed to temporarily suspend their friendship during this mission. It was in her nature to protest this, but she forced herself to swallow her pride and nod, responding,* "Y-yes, sir." *But that didn't stop the tears from stinging her eyes.*