Namyr let out a small sigh and shook her head in fustration, when she had heard that shot go off over the comlink she had stopped breathing, then Riqimo had to go and be a jerk and tease her for being worried, yes she would make him pay later. Namyr threw a hand out to steady herself as the loose, crumbling walkway slipped underneath her feet. Regaining her footing Namyr walked on, her blaster at the ready just in case something decided to jump out at her. Biting her lip she glanced down at the viewpoints of the rest of the squads, all of them were black, earlier she had heard Tanus, Marka, and Arn yelling then explosions, but other then that she could only guess if they were alright, and surprising herself she hoped they were. How odd that she was caring for the soldiers on Lambda, usually it took her much longer, she must be getting soft.

Namyr stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the path in front of her, the skin on the back of her neck prickled. Something about the path just wasn't right and she didn't like it. From the ground Namyr picked up a lose stone and threw it onto the path, for several seconds nothing happened, then the path itself opened up leaving a gaping hole into nothingness. Seems this path was one of the older ones, unsteady and ready to open up into the caverns below. Holstering her weapon Namyr flattened herself against the wall and inched her way along the wall until she made it onto the other side.

"Nams, you alright, thought I heard something?" Riqimo's voice echoes in Namyr's ears over the the music coming from her music pod.

'Yeah everything is f..." Namyr stopped in mid sentence as movement from a tunnel to her right distracted her. She turned her head in time to see a large red beast come charging at her and slam a club into her side throwing her up the passageway. She hit the ground, bounced a few times and came to a halt. Through the helmet cam flickered on and all that was seen was a red blurr and then the passageway coming to a stop. Namyr's breath was knocked from her lungs and as she tried to draw a breath her right side burned and stung from a sharp pain. Damn, felt like a coupled of ribs were cracked if not broken.

"Nams, get out of the way!" she heard Riqimo's voice scream and Namyr's eyes came back into focus to see a large alpha male gundark coming at her again with the club. Namyr threw herself into motion right as the club came down where she had been laying. Namyr rolled to her feet, she reached for her blaster only to find the frayed remains of it's shoulder harness, "Schutta,' Namyr cursed, throwing herself backwards again to miss another swing. Namyr's eyes glanced behind the male gundark to see another smaller female gundark coming out of the tunnel two large rocks in her over sized fists. Namyr's eyes grew large, she knew when to run, dodging again Namyr began to run down the passageway, the gundarks close behind.

"Nams, Namyr'eswo come in!" Riqimo screamed to her, Namyr winced again her side throbbing in pain, tears sprung to her eyes from the pain. She limped as fast as she could down the passageway, the ragged breath of the gundark echoing around her. She saw a light ahead, she half prayed that it was the same room that Tanus, Arn, and Marka were in, but she was horribly mistaken.

Namyr ran out into the light, skidding to a halt seeing the ground end about a hundred feet away. She gulped, looking over the edge of the cliff she saw the black glittering surface of water and who knew what else. A roar from behind her cause Namyr to spin around, her hands reaching for her blades. The two Gundarks shoved their way through the small opening and stepped out into platform.

"Nams, come in, what's going on!" Riqimo's voice crackled over the comlink, suddenly the video came back on as the Gundarks advanced on Namyr.

"Nothing Riq'eswo, I can take care of this on my own," Namyr said through gritted teeth.

"Are you insane, those are two fully grown Gundarks, stay there fend them off, I'll..."Riqimo spoke his voice filling with desperation.

"Riq," Namyr spoke her voice filled with steel as she readied her blades, "Get the mission done, you know what's important, I'll be fine," she the threw up both of her blades in time to block a rock and a club.

"Nam'eswo," Riqimo murmured.

"Go on get rid of the cultist," Namyr growled her arms shaking against the pressure being put on the blades as the Gundarks began forcing her back inch by inch. The gundark swung his club around again, Namyr managed to block it again, it hit her blades so hard she felt her left side go numb. Then there was a loud crack and Namyr's arms dropped a little. Both of the Gundarks attacked at the same time, Namyr threw up her blades again, but as the Gundark's weapons hit Namyr's blades shattered into thousands of little pieces. Several of the pieces pierced through the coveralls of her armor and embedding in her skin causing her to cry out it pain. Over the video link, the sword shards looked like thousands of stars flying around. Namyr looked up to see the club coming towards her head, she leaned back, but not enough the club came in contact with her helmet, jarring Namyr's teeth and skull and sending her off of the cliff. Her helmet slide off of her head as she fell from the force of the glancing blow. It spun around in the air and as Namyr's throbbing head closed into darkness, she could just barely hear Riqimo's voice.


Cold water shocked Namyr out of her unconsciousness, he rhead pounded, her nose was bleeding, and she was pretty sure the fall had broken some ribs. Namyr coughed trying to get a breath of air and sucked in water. A few dull seconds and she realized she was sinking, her armor was pulling her under. Namyr struggled with the clasps to find that one side was dented in and impossible to unhook. Blackness surrounded her as she sunk deeper in the water and Namyr furiously pawed at the clasp, a sudden pop freed her of her armor, rolling it off of her shoulders she began to remove the rest of it as she swam to the surface. She breached the surface gulping in as much air as her hurt side could hold.

Namyr ducked under the surface of the water and paddled over an overhang and watched one of the gundarks walk along what looked like a black sand beach leading up to a series of opening to different passages. Namyr's teeth began to chatter as she watches the gundark finally leave, she waited even longer to make sure it was gone before swimming to the 'shore,' and throwing herself onto the black sand and breathing in small gasps of air, she was alive, but for how long?

OOC:

Here it is. Long. Kind of. Long for my norm.

With an audible crunch, the assailant finally came to a rest, his head having connected with the wall. Blood pooled around the split in his skull, staining the flag stones of the brightly-lit hallway a deep crimson. Small streams of blood trickled their way in between the floor stones and over to Arnaut’s boots. Quickly shaking them away from the dark liquid on the floor, Arnaut resumed wiping the dead man’s blood off of his gauntlet.

The twisted, mangled remains that surrounded Arnaut were all that remained of the cultist group that had jumped him and his fellow squad members. They hadn’t even stood a chance. After the battle with the…unnatural…cultist, everything else paled in comparison. Sort of. Arnaut rubbed the chink in his shoulder guard where one of the cultists’ mad flailing of an axe had penetrated his defense and hit him.

On the ground to the left of him, one of the cultists made and inhuman growl and started to claw at Arnaut’s leg. Arnaut aimed his rifle down and blew off the man’s head. Tanus walked over, took a look down at the body, and looked up at Arnaut.

“Really now? Was that necessary?” he asked simply.

“He clawed at me!” Arnaut said in mock-defense, raising up his hands to his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get moving. Marka, you ready?”

“Yeah, hold up.” He swiftly wiped his blade clean of the bits intestine of one of his victims and joined back up with Arnaut and Tanus. “Let’s roll.”

They were making good time along the hallways. The resistance seemed to have thinned after their little incident in the sacrificial room. Every few minutes or so, another small party would find them, and a few seconds after that, the small party would be dead. Their armor was quite the match for the blunt weapons the cultists had brought to bear so far. When they started shooting, however.

Arnaut didn’t want to think about that. That would be a sand dune to climb when they came to it, as the saying went back on Tatooine. With a start, he suddenly realized how silent the hallway seemed around him. He looked around. He was alone.

“Guys?” Arnaut asked hesitantly over the comm. No reply.

“C’mon guys, we have a mission. This isn’t funny,” Arnaut said again.

“I’ll let you have the bed back at the hotel!” Arnaut exclaimed, now alarmed that he was getting no reply. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Arnaut began to walk down the hallways, speeding up with each step. The hallways started to whip past. No, no, no, not lost down here. Not here. Not now! He calmed down, catching his breath. The hallways looked exactly like the one he’d just left.  It curved into the distance. Into the unknown. Into, most likely, death. Arnaut’s throat clenched up.

“Marka, Tanus, where are you!?” Arnaut screamed into the comm. This time, he did get a reply, but not the one he’d expected.

“Too many! Too…” static crackled through, “Marka, keep…back…running out of round…Hold them back! Where’s…naut?”

“Tanus? Where are you?” Arnaut asked hopefully,

“Too many, too…” the signal was cut off abruptly with the sound of human screams and gunfire.

Arnaut quickly let the helmet’s scanner try and locate where the signal had come from. It whirred, stopped, and bleeped signaling it had found the relative location of the signal. Arnaut thanked the stars for the technology the ARCs had and raced down the hallways. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late.

He wasn’t. Close, but not too late. Arnaut rounded the corner, sliding on the flagstones, and almost lost his head because of his haste. The sword swished over his helmet and returned back to the cultist that wielded it. Arnaut reacted almost without thinking. The knife slid out, Arnaut pivoted on his left foot and then lunged at the cultist. The sword came down again, but Arnaut easily side-stepped. His knife slashed the man’s jugular sending him thrashing and bleeding to the ground.

The scene around him was utter chaos. The hallway was a mass of writhing bodies, both human and not. Two gundarks passed through the crowd, muscled arms tossing cultists aside as they tried to get to the source of the problem. In the center, Tanus and Marka stood back to back, slashing, parrying, blocking, lunging, parrying, and slashing again as they battled the crowd.

So far, that crowd hadn’t noticed Arnaut yet. He took advantage of that.  He ran forward, cutting down cultists in his path. Here a man fell, clutching an eye socket missing the eye. There a man doubled over, intestines starting to leak out. Here a man died before he hit the ground, the knife having gone right through his skill. There a …woman… The thought gave Arnaut a pause. Women. He was fighting men and women. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t do it, it wasn’t right. He just couldn’t…

Her club came directly for his face, and he had to fight to keep it away. Jabbing the her in the chest, he went back to his cutting. No time for morals, for regret, for sorrow. He had to stay alive.

He found himself suddenly next to Tanus and Marka. They nodded to him, but that was all. Marka didn’t so much as slow his next sword strike when Arnaut appeared, continuing the motion right until it took off a cultist’s arm. Back to back they fought, trying to keep the clubs, axes, swords, limbs, claws, and other various objects from getting them. And then the gundarks fell upon them.

The only warning Arnaut had was that the cultist nearest him suddenly was thrown bodily down the length of the hall revealing an intensely muscled, red-furred beast behind it. Arnaut paused to look up and down the creature in disbelief.

“Crap,” he muttered. The gundark charged.

Arnaut was thrown backwards by its initial jump. He landed atop a squirming heap of bodies, all anxious to get at his blood. Stabbing downward furiously, he got them off of him, just in time to be swatted aside by another sweep of the gundark’s arm. This time he managed to regain his footing quickly, but the blow had hit his broken wrist. Crying out in pain and drawing out his pistol simultaneously, he blasted away at the creature. It didn’t so much as flinch. He dove aside as it charged again, coming up directly in front of another group of cultists. They grabbed both his arms and attempted to hold him, like bait for the great lumbering beast.

Arnaut had other plans. Jumping up, he flipped over his captors and shoved them forward, right into the gundark’s path. It knocked them aside into bloody, broken messes, sure. But it gave Arnaut the chance he needed. Arnaut was prepared for the next charge. Sidestepping it, he dropped low and lashed out with his knives. The beast roared in pain as it fell, its leg’s tendons cut. Arnaut went over slowly, keeping out of the way of its thrashing limbs, and put three rounds into its head. It groaned and died.

Relief flooded through Arnaut. He’d killed it. He’d actually killed it! In a matter of seconds, his relief was replaced by cold, hard determination. He’d just killed a five hundred pound, fully grown gundark. Nothing - nothing - was going to stand in his way.

Arnaut punched the next man he saw square in the face, breaking his nose bone and jamming it straight into his brain. The man fell silently. As Arnaut limped between the bodies, he raised his pistol and blew off the face of another cultist. The crowds had thinned leaving only the last desperate cultists behind. Easy pickings. He sniffled up the small flow of blood coming from his nose and stabbed the next cultist in the gut. He limped over more bodies. A man tried to grab hold of Arnaut’s leg from his position on the floor. Arnaut cracked his skull with a fierce blow from his metal splint. The strike hurt Arnaut’s wrist, but it got the job done. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. There was someone behind him. He twirled, knives ready to stab. But it was only Marka. Behind him, farther down the hall, Tanus was wrenching his claws free from the other gundark’s back. If it was possible, it looked more dead than anything around it. Most of the beast’s blood hadn’t stayed inside the body. One of its arms and a large chunk of it’s thigh were missing. And it was peppered by the multiple burn marks of blaster shots.

“Oh, they aren’t so tough,” Marka commented, noticing Arnaut staring at the body. “All it took was a little…persuasion. After that, he basically just rolled over and died!” Marka laughed and patted his sword.

“Whatever,” Arnaut mumbled. Obviously, their gundark had been much easier. Obviously.

“We might as well keep moving, no point in staying here. And you try to keep up from now on, Arnaut!” He laughed causing Arnaut to glower beneath his helmet. He wouldn’t have gotten lost if they had been paying attention. Or if you had been paying more attention, a tiny voice in his head said. He pushed it away.

A quick glance at his map showed Arnaut that they’d strayed way far away from the known routes. His helmet has auto-mapped the hallway they were in, but it was quite a ways back toward the one they had been in. Arnaut didn’t feel like retracing their steps, which meant…they were going forward.

“Let’s move,” Arnaut growled, still annoyed by Marka’s jab. He sensed Arnaut’s mood and laughed again.

The halls were starting to get downright repetitive. Arnaut didn’t know how many more yellowish stone, torch-lit hallways he could take. Maybe it was that way on purpose. Maybe it was used to confuse and disorient the intruders, to the point where they couldn’t fight. Maybe it was just that all the cultists were basically shells of their old selves with no sense of style.

A kid came wandering out of a side hall and stared up a Arnaut with big, glazed over eyes.

“Guys, hold up! There’s a kid here!” The kid started to emit a soft beeping noise.

“Aw, the cultists must’ve gotten him,” Marka said, strolling over. “He looks harmless enou—why is he beeping.?”

“Uh-oh.” Arnaut took a step back, eyes widening. And the world erupted into flame.





With grimy, dust coated eyes, Arnaut took a long, stunned look at the world around him. The walls were all gone, revealing even more, adjacent hallways. It felt almost like a room, not like a detonation crater that had blown Arnaut twenty yards down the hallway. He turned to look around. Marka lay a few yards to the left of Arnaut, in a heap, covered by bits of rubble and materials. He was breathing, so that was a good sign.  Just knocked unconscious. Opposite Arnaut, on the other side of the room the bomb had created, Tanus was shakily trying to pull himself up. There was blood flowing from his nose and mouth, and he was gasping for air. His helmet lay discarded next to him.

Arnaut was about to call out, but suddenly he movement flickered in the corner of his vision. Arnaut looked to the nearest open hallway, the one they had been in before the blast. His voice caught in his throat.

The figures in the doorway had to be the largest, scariest, and most deadly men Arnaut had ever seen. And he’d been places. Each standing just under eight feet tall, their helmets nearly brushed the ceiling. Their identical, segmented, bulky armor looked nigh impenetrable. Covered in blood and human bones as it was, it was a sight that chilled Arnaut’s soul.

Their helmets were twisted pieces of metal and more bone, two massive horns penetrating directly through the top and more, smaller spikes, surrounding them. The eyes of each were just two, small blood-red slits. Luckily for both Arnaut’s health and his sanity, the beasts weren’t staring at him, but at the ghostly apparition in front of them.

It was dressed in flowing robes, or at least took on the appearance of flowing robes, and it’s face was covered by a hood. It seemed awfully familiar, somehow. Its face wasn’t visible, but Arnaut could hear its voice as if it was whispering right into his ear.

“Find them,” it hissed, “Dispose of them. They’re becoming a…nuisance. The master doesn’t take to nuisances well.”

Across the room, Tanus started to rise. They’ll see him! Arnaut quickly opened up his comlink channel to Tanus.

“Grab your helmet, put it on, and stay still,” Arnaut commanded quietly, but firmly. Tanus, in his dazed state, did as he was told. As soon as he noticed Marka was awake too, Arnaut relayed the orders.

“W-what are they?” Marka whispered back. Arnaut looked around. Next to Tanus, there was a small hallway, clear of debris. All the other exits he could see were either choked with debris or would be suicide to charge. Arnaut averted Marka’s question, and started formulating a plan instead.

“We’re going to run on my signal, got it?” Arnaut asked, switching the channel to reach both Marka and Tanus. “As soon as we’re up, you run as hard as you can and get out that door. Oh, and don’t get caught.”

“We could try to take them,” Tanus whispered back. He still sounded a bit fuzzy, but the shock was obviously starting to wear off. Arnaut glanced over to him, and Tanus casually patted one of the grenades on his belt.

“No, too unstable in here. We’d bring the roof down on our heads. Plus, their armor could probably take a tank shell.” Tanus nodded slightly.

“And see to it that you do it well,” the spectre hissed into Arnaut’s ear again, closing the unheard conversation with the two armored men. Tanus and Marka stiffened slightly, obviously hearing the voice as well for the first time. They relaxed only slightly as the apparition disappeared. The two giants strode forward, seeming to sniff the air. It was now or never.

“Now!” Arnaut yelled. They jumped and ran. And were pursued. The beasts came after them, running faster than something that size should be able to manage. Should was the key word.  Arnaut had misjudged the distance to the nearest, unbarred doorway – most of the others being choked by debris – and found himself becoming ever closer to the giants. One took out what looked to be a giant pistol, and squeezed off a shot in Arnaut’s direction. The blast caused Arnaut to jump. The round had a blown a crater right into the ground, inches from Arnaut’s running feet. He didn’t pause to look at it twice, increasing his speed instead. Marka and Tanus had made it to the doorway and were catching their breath, ushering Arnaut forward. He might make it to the doorway, but he would surely be caught not seconds after that. Unless…

“Tanus, prime one of your grenades. When I make it into the hallway, drop it and run!” Tanus cocked his head, but he knew now was not the time for questions. Sliding out a grenade, he flicked off the pin and held it in an outstretched hand. Marka retreated back into the hall. Arnaut ran, passed the threshold of the hallway, and jumped. He was followed by Tanus, and together the fell behind one of the larger piles of debris in the hallway. The grenade went off, there was a creak, and then with a roaring crash, the ceiling of above the hallway splintered and fell. The shockwave blew out all the torches and left them completely submerged in darkness. Arnaut switched on his night-vision and took a look around.

“Tanus?” He called. “ Marka?”

“Here,” came one reply, followed shortly by the other.

“Did it work?” Arnaut asked as Tanus peered above the rubble.

“Yes! We’re free! We did it!” he screamed joyfully. Arnaut peered over. Sure enough, the hall entrance was securely blocked. Arnaut let out his breathe, not realizing he’d been holding it. Too close. For the third time that day, he felt extremely lucky to be alive. It did have its price, though. He subconsciously rubbed his wrist. It throbbed with pain, most likely from the blast. He’d have to be more careful with it; all this excitement was going to damage it even more.

“Well, there’s no going back now,” Marka interjected simply, nodding to the block. “Only way is forward.”

“Then we’d best be off. I don’t want to run into those again,” Tanus resigned. They moved on.

Namyr let out a small sob of pain as her body decided to puke up all the water she swallowed.  Her ribs burned and hurt so badly her side became numb and tingly, putting her hand to her side Namyr brought her hand away to see blood on her fingertips.  Just great what she wouldn't give for a medic pack right now.  Namyr then forced herself to her feet, she didn't know if those Gundarks would return anytime soon and laying on the ground next to her own puke would make her a good target.  With one foot Namyr covered the puke up with sand then she looked around for any weapons at all.  She saw nothing but sand and doorways that had been carved into the cave's walls.  Slowly, she limped her way to one of the doorways, preparing to go into the nearest one when she froze, she heard sobbing, a child crying nearby.

"Hello?' Namyr spoke taking a step towards the crying, looking for the child.

In a small groove in the cave's wall Namyr found a small quivering pile of clothing, "Are you okay?" Namyr whispered to the clothing putting her hand on what she guessed was a shoulder.

'Go away!" the child, a girl Namyr guessed said throwing her arm violently at Namyr.

'do you need help?' Namyr asked again, she stared at the red arm that had been revealed by the swing.

"No, no I don't need help, I helped myself, I escaped," the voice cracked and the figure withdrew the cloth over it's head, revealing a young Twi'lek, her forehead covered in blood, her yellow eyes looking feverishly at Namyr, she let out a high pitched giggle.

"what's so funny?" Namyr demanded her hands shaking, this girl looked like her, but it couldn't be.

"You, you're an idiot, you managed to escape him once and look at you now," the girl laughed again, her skin slowly melting from her face leaving a bleached skeleton huddled in the cloth.  The skull opened it's mouth and let out a terrible wail that chilled Namyr to the bone.


Namyr's eyes flew open, she blinked several times and looked around, she was lying face down on the sand on the other side of the beach.  She must have passed out as she was walking towards the doorway.  She shook as she pushed herself into a sitting position, what had it meant, had it meant anything.  But it had seemed familiar, was there sometime in her past that had caused her to be so bitter and to be injured like that?  She felt as thought the answer was on the tip of her tongue. 

"Thud," Namyr's head whirled around as she saw a figure slam into a wall and fall to the ground.  Taking one last glance at the door, Namyr limped and quickly as she could towards the person who had pulled off his helmet before falling over, passing out.  As she drew nearer she recognized the hair and the short stature.

"Riq'eswo!" she yelled out and dropped to his side, ignoring as her side buckled in pain.  She grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently, biting her lip she struggled to keep her hand steady. 

"Please don't be dead Riqimo," Namyr whispered looking at Riqimo's face that looked oddly at peace, she felt tears form in her eyes as she stared at his face.  She shook his again, feeling as though it was hopeless, she felt a sob in her throat before Riqimo's eyes opened and looked directly into her own.  Namyr let out a breath of relief, thank goddess he was alive.

"Nam...I found you," Riqimo he spoke his voice was weak, and Namyr had to wonder how hard he had hit his head.  His face broke out into a large smile and Namyr found herself smiling and then frowning in the realization she probably looked like hell, then she was wondering why she was even thinking something like that,  "I wondered...if I was ever gonna find you...and I did," Riqimo spoke up his eyes looking a little cross eyed and dazed as he grinned at her.

"Actually I think I found you," she chuckled, “Heard a rather loud noise back here and decided to recover my tracks and find out what it was.  Apparently you were trying to kill yourself,” she joked pulling Riqimo up by the shoulder into a sitting position, she bit her lip hard against the pain in her ribs.  She began going through his medic bag and pulled out a stimpac.

"I'm fine," Riqimo replied as Namyr handed to him, and looking a child not wanting to take his medicine, after a glare, he injected it into his leg, "That's better, so what's been going on?" he then asked grinning up at Namyr.  She took a deep breath of air her ribs groaning in protest, she was trying to control her anger.  First off he could have gotten himself killed, and here he was just shooting the breeze with her like they were on vacation!  Not to mention she had told him to continue on with the mission and that she could take care of herself!  Not to mention he seemed to have noticed that she was wearing only the shorts and white t-shirt that was standard worn underneath the coveralls on mission, and she was still wet. 

"Whump!" went Namyr's hand as she cuffed the back of Riqimo's head, "What do you think you're doing coming after me!" she yelled her face turning dark red in anger, "I told you to go on with the mission and that I would be fine, and here you are with your skull dented because you didn't listen!  What did you think that I needed help from a man, that you were going to swoop in and save me like some sort of human fairy tale?  Didn't you for one moment think that just maybe this was one of the reasons why they don't allow relationships on the same squad in the corps?  Because one of them is going to be a dumbass and try to save the other.  You should have went on with the mission, I'm a soldier Riq I can handle myself," she growled darkly crossing her arms and standing up, ignoring her ribs and she glowered at Riqimo.

"Nam'eswo," he managed to say reaching for her arm.

"Don't eswo me, you don't even know what that means, a true eswo would value the decisions of the other," Namyr said yanking her arm away, 'And this isn't a time to discuss these things, we're on a mission remember and we need to get going, the others are probably almost to the center of this maze," Namyr began walking before her body protested and she dropped to one knee in pain.  The cold from the cave make her skin prickle with goose bumps, her wet clothing freezing to her skin

"Namyr you're hurt," Riqimo murmured getting to his feet and crossing over to her.  He placed his warm hands on her shoulders, "and you're freezing!"

Namyr squeezed her eyes tight for a moment to get a hold of herself before shrugging off Riqimo's hands and standing up straight, "I'm fine, let's go," she said coldly and began walking again towards the archway she had first chosen to go through.

'Namyr," Riqimo began before she glanced back at him, her eyes so cold that he stopped himself from saying anything more.

"I don't need to be mothered by you Riqimo," she hissed as they walked through the archway, distantly Namyr could hear crying, wailing, and screams of pain.  Her eyes narrowed as the passageway narrowed and began inclining, behind her Namyr heard Riqimo's boots crunching against the gravel.  Occasionally, she could get a nose full of a foul, death smell, that made her stomach churn.  They stopped in a doorway before continuing through to see a large room, in the center was a large, deep pit surrounded with a metal fence of some sort. Then the smell hit her, Namyr had to stop as she dry heaved.  The putrid smell of rotting death, fecal matter, blood, mixed with the growing screams and wailing were over whelming Namyr's sense.  She could taste the fear, anger, depression, insanity, everything.  She then looked up as there was another scream, louder then all the others, then a body was shoved through a small hole, making cracking noises before falling into the pit.  A splashing noise made Namyr swallow her fear and walk up to the fence.  Below in the dim lighting she saw a shallow pool of filth that held a green/brown glow to it, the broken body rested in the pool.  Movement drew Namyr's eyes away from the body as a few figures came away from the wall and scurried towards the body.  Namyr watched in horror as a few creatures, once they were in the light she saw that they were people of different species, dragged the body out of the festering pool and back into the shadows were a sickening cracking and gnawing was heard.  There were more screams and wailing from the pit, from a doorway in the pit light split out revealing the sides of the pit were covered in blood, pieces of people, and more creatures that were looking at the light with fear.  A man dressed in a robe that was covered in blood walked into the pit and grabbed the nearest quivering person and dragged them out of the room.  As the light faded the wailing continued as well as the crying.   

'Oh goddess," Namyr managed to choke out covering her mouth, turning away as her eyes filled with tears.  She gasped for a clean breath of air, but couldn't find one, she crouched down putting her head between her knees to keep herself from passing out. 

"Namyr?  Nam'eswo?" Riqimo said gently, touching her shoulder.

"I'm alright, it's over whelming that's all," Namyr managed to choke out before she stood up straight and looked at Riqimo, 'Well we know where to go now, that door probably leads right to the center chamber," she said darkly looking around for a weapon of some sort.  Guns wouldn't be useful in short range battle, and she didn't know how to use Riqimo's whip.  She looked around and saw a few poles and spear-like weapons against the wall, probably used to quell the prisoners below.  Namyr walked over grabbing two of the poles and a spear that she tied to her back she turned to Riqimo, she then looked past him to see the body of the prisoner that had been taken fall through the hole.

"come on, let's go," she growled darkly finding a gap in the fence and slipping through.  She waited until Riqimo had tied some rope to the fence and went to the bottom of the pit before following after him.  Her expression was dark as they quietly passed through the small clumps of cloth and flesh.  Namyr's teeth grinded together as a small child gazed up at her in amazement, these cultist would pay.  Namyr froze as a woman grabbed onto her leg, Namyr looked down and the woman mumbled something in a language she didn't know before letting go of her leg.  "Any chance you know what she said?" Namyr asked running to catch up with Riqimo and keeping close to him as they walked.

"Not much, only picked up something about you being a goddess," Riqimo murmured both of them waiting on either side of the door for it to open.  Light once again flooded into the room and Namyr rushed forward to slam her spear into the guy's chest, he throw out his arm hitting her in the chest throwing her back a few feet.  Namyr black out for a second as her ribs ached painfully again.  When she opened her eyes again she was still stand and dodged out of the way as the cultist threw Riqimo, the cultist grinned and threw Riqimo's whip to the ground and advanced towards Namyr.

"Here pretty, pretty girl," the cultist hummed happily, before a hand reached out and grabbed his leg stopping him, "Let go you worthless amount of flesh," he managed to say before a piece of the pit's wall came out from the group of prisoners and slammed into his skull.  Blood began dribbling down the cultist's face, he looked furious, then fear etched his face as the prisoners began stepping out of the shadows and walking towards him.  "You all get away," he screamed before one of the prisoners bit down on his arm and ripped away a mouthful of flesh.

"Riq'eswo," you alright?' Namyr asked helping the smaller man up.

"Yeah," Riqimo nodded, "Let's go, they might still be hungry after him,"  With that Namyr and Riqimo ran for the door, she picked up her spear and he picked up his whip before they continued up towards the light that could only belong to the middle chamber.

The man vanished. Arnaut stared in shock at the place where he’d been, where the energy that had been flowing around him was now starting to shrink away, where Tanus’ well placed shots flew through open air. The bodies of the children still stared lifelessly at the sky, their gazes reaching on forever, but other than that, there was no trace the man had even been there. Arnaut guessed it had probably just been a hologram, even though later searches turned up no holoprojector. No one simply vanished, though, he reasoned.

“What just happened?” Marka asked, walking into the room. Tanus still stood where he’d shot from, breathing heavily, hands holding the two smoking pistols. Underneath his helmet, Arnaut could see his murderous glare.

“Nothing,” Tanus breathed, finally relaxing. Arnaut didn’t know what had been running through Tanus’ mind, jumping out like that, but no harm had come of it, that they could see. Arnaut added the strange man to the list of things he never wanted to see again.

* * *

Arnaut cleared the rubble pile, cresting over the ten foot high top, and came down the other side firing. His first shots sprayed the ground in front of the cultists, kicking up pebbles and fractured flagstones. They didn’t even flinch, but instead stood and returned fire. Slipping on loose gravel, Arnaut slid onto his back. The fall saved him. Not a second later, sustained fire vaporized the air above his head.

Arnaut turned his slip into a full slide, shooting down the steep hill and underneath the first nearest cultist. The man lost his balance and fell right onto Arnaut’s gauntlet knife. Arnaut blew the body off with his A280 and stood up, blasting away at the cultists again. One of his rounds clipped the arm of one, blasting away the light flak-armor and spraying the man’s tainted blood all over the ground. He paused, looked down at the bloody wound on his arm, looked back at Arnaut and fired. Arnaut almost avoided the shot. It grazed his boot as he dove out of the way. The small force sent him tumbling, coming down hard on his head and left arm.

The pain that shot up Arnaut’s arm was more than anything he’d felt from the wrist since it had been broken. Gritting his teeth, he stood up and shot the cultist through the throat. The man backpedaled now, furiously grasping at his throat, eyes bulging. Arnaut stared at the scene a split second too long. A blow caught Arnaut on the shoulder guard and sent him spinning around to face a new cultist. The man’s face was contorted into a mask of hatred, even though his eyes remained unnaturally glossy and passive. Arnaut raised his gun to fire, but the man’s club knocked it out of his hand. Arnaut punched him in the jaw, pushing him backwards. He came at Arnaut again. Arnaut parried the first blow, grabbed the club on the second, and had the man skewered on the end of his knife before he could attempt a third. Two more came for Arnaut.

He dove for the rifle, scooping it off the ground in midair, and turned to face the aggressors. The first shots tore one man to shreds, but the rifle clicked as he went to spray the other. All out. He blocked the man’s swing with his rifle and swung it around to connect with the man’s skull. He went down, bleeding from his ears, alive but down for the count.

Arnaut slammed a fresh clip home and turned to find more targets. But there was no one left. Marka shouldered his rifle and yanked his sword out of the corpse it had been stuck in. Tanus silently wiped his blades clean. They didn’t even spare pitying glances toward the corpses anymore. This scene had been repeated dozens of times in the winding halls of the extended ‘Cathedral’.

The chamber they were in was roughly rectangular. It looked like it was still being dug out. Piles of rubble covered the all but invisible floor. The ceiling above them wasn’t so much a ceiling as rather the remains of the natural cavern the room had once been. Two crude doorways marked two rough-hewn hallways leaving the room. There was mining equipment scattered around the room. From the brown stains on some of it, Arnaut could guess how it’d been obtained.

“Alright…left or right?” Tanus asked, walking up next to Arnaut. Arnaut nodded to the closer one, the one on the right. Tanus said nothing, but simply raced toward the door frame. Arnaut was about to follow, when Tanus stopped suddenly. Frozen, he stared at something just around the corner. Arnaut approached slowly.

“Tan—“

“Run,” he whispered. There was a mixture of shock and hysteria in his voice. There was something very bad around that corner.

“Run. Now,” Tanus restated. He started to back away slowly, out of the hallway. Marka cocked his head at Arnaut inquisitively, but they made for the other doorframe. Tanus was still backing up slowly, still staring down into the hallway, still almost entirely frozen. He was almost out of the hallway, almost gone. And then there was a roar. Inhuman, guttural, it roared through the chamber seeming to make Arnaut’s armor vibrate.

“Shit,” Marka said into the comlink. One word, but it summed it all up nicely.

“Run!” Tanus screamed. He was already pounding out of the hallway, his legs working. He didn’t even bother to draw his rifle. That was bad sign number one. The second one came when the lightning bolt came and struck the wall not a foot from his head. Arnaut didn’t need to be urged a second time.

Arnaut sprinted, passing Marka almost immediately. He was running as fast as he could, running, running, and then...he was falling. He didn't hit the ground though, but seemed to pass right through. In fact, it was the ground that had given way under him, and now he was falling down a narrow shaft in the darkness. He flailed his limbs uselessly, grasping nothing in the darkness that surrounded him. Air whistled past his helmet as he hurtled toward what seemed like an inevitable death. And suddenly he was submerged under water. The startling cold of it brought Arnaut to his senses. He pulled his hands through the water, trying to get to the surface. He lashed out with his feet, and was surprised when he met the ground. Pushing himself up into standing position, he found himself in a chest high river of flowing water. The tunnel around him was completely stone, blocky bricks laid together seamlessly.

He was in some of the city’s original sewers. They’d remained undisturbed, deep under the city above, untouched by time as the buildings and land above them were shaped and rebuilt. Undisturbed…ntil now. Marka came stumbled over the edge, plummeting down before finally ending up at the bottom, sodden wet.

Marka looked up, then down at the water, then back up to the small opening in the floor they’d fallen through and finally at Arnaut.

“What the-“ he began, when suddenly the ceiling overhead exploded. Tanus ran up to the edge of the pit, looked back behind him, and jumped.

A large, dark shape loomed over the edge of the pit. His pitted, bloodied armor flickered with the light of the hall torches. Arnaut’s heart caught in his throat. Either the two they’d seen before had found them, or this was a new one. Arnaut didn’t like either prospect.

A single round exploded the water in the middle of the three soldiers causing them to all jump back. Not a very good shot. Either that, or it’s so dark it can’t see us. Even so, Arnaut dredged his way through the water away from sight of the hole. He wasn’t taking any chances when it meant he could get his head blown off. Marka swam up next to him, as did Tanus.

“Now you see why I ran.” Arnaut looked over at Tanus. He swam along, staring perfectly straight ahead. His hand shook a little with each stroke.

“We’re at the bottom of the sewer, out of his reach. That hole was too small for him. Get a’hold of yourself.” Tanus retorted with something, but he was drowned out by the noise of two tons of steel, blood, and bone falling down through the narrow tunnel behind them. With a thunderous crash, the monstrosity fell out the end of the shaft, rubble from parts of the tunnel falling around it. It displaced most of the surrounding water, sending it out in a wave that pushed Arnaut forward.

“Oh,” was all Arnaut could manage. With a great, lumbering step, it moved closer to them. The water, so high on the three normal sized ARC troopers, barely lapped at the beast’s waist. It took another step, the water parting around it’s armor. By then, the three troopers were already swimming as hard as they could, grasping, jumping, and running through the water. Fear drove them, keeping them going every inch of the way. They clambered up alongside a rusty, rung ladder that led up to a permacrete platform rising from the water.

The monstrosity behind them had no fear driving it, but it was fast. It cleared the space between them in a matter of seconds. It raised it’s gun to Arnaut’s back, but suddenly Marka’s sword was whistling through the air. The armor of the monstrosity’s glove was too thick for the sword, but it did manage to cut a deep gash on the thing’s wrist, where the armor separated. Black, inky blood seeped into the water as the thing howled and dropped its gun into the water. It gave Arnaut all the time he needed to grab hold of the ladder and pull himself onto the platform.

The monstrosity wasted no time in coming after them again, its wound mostly forgotten. Its breaths came a bit more raggedly, and it clutched the wrist to its chest, causing the blood to make streaks down the armor. It followed, though, one hand now clutching a giant, rusting sword, instead of its gun.

Arnaut ran down the corridors of hat used to be a service tunnel to the sewers. Faded electronic lamps hanging from the ceiling provided a comfortable, not flickering light source. Nothing but torch-lit hallways for the past hours had really taken its toll on Arnaut’s vision. His foot caught on a bundle of wires, causing him to stumble for a second before regaining his balance. In that moment, the monstrosity’s sword flew over head, barely missing Arnaut. Arnaut turned his stumble into a crouch that soon became a roll, keeping him away from the things next swipe. The roll left Arnaut vulnerable, though, lying on his back in the middle of the hall. It charged Arnaut, sword raised high, ready to land the killing blow. Sustained fire burst around its chest plate, stopping it in the middle of the hallway. The heavy rounds of Tanus’ Acklay rifle kept it at bay, not puncturing it’s armor, but keeping it from moving forward. And in that instance, Arnaut seized upon his chance.

With a mighty flame, the monstrosity lit on fire, burning from head to foot. The stream of fire from Arnaut’s flamethrower raked up and down its body, leaving no place untouched. The fire found it’s way into every crack, chink, and separation in the armor, crisping the man in seconds. Finally, the armor too gave way, melting to a metal sludge on the ground. Soon, that was all that remained on the thing. It let out noxious smoke fumes, occasionally popping or hissing as the heat burned fused the lump even closer together.

“Wow,” Arnaut whispered, standing up and shouldering the flamethrower. “I wasted an entire can on that?” Arnaut pointed toward the lump on the ground. Marka chuckled.

“Just be glad you killed it,” he said gruffly, already turning away. Tanus pushed a fresh clip into his rifle and muttered something about ‘running out’ before turning away as well. Arnaut picked himself off the floor and followed.

“A little gratitude would be nice,” he muttered.

“Thanks. Now hurry up and don’t fall behind again.” Arnaut glared at Tanus’ back. He must still be angry about the bed.

The hallways they traversed now were no less a labyrinth than the more recent tunnels above their head. They basically tried to steer themselves in the direction of where the cathedral sat, a few hundred feet above their heads.

Every now and then, they’d come to a rickety old ladder leading to a hatch that opened up into a series of sewers above them. They went up three or so of these levels before they finally got back to the series of tunnels the cultists had dug, along with the sewer system that was being used currently. They were significantly closer to the cathedral now having traversed so many feet without being slowed down to fight. The hallways around them took on a more ordered, neat look, and the runes and symbols on the wall became more frequent, as well as better drawn. Arnaut looked at some of the more intricate patters, drawn in precious gold and silver, right on the wall, The symbols had long since stopped making Arnaut feel queasy. He didn’t know whether that should scare him or not.

The ground beneath their feet became smooth. The flagstones fit into each other perfectly, and were worn smooth with the feet of hundreds of thousands of cultists passing through these tunnels. They didn’t see many people on their way through, which Arnaut found odd. He expected their to be a ton of people this close to the cathedral, guarding it. He half expected to see two more of those armored abominations come running toward them from around a corner. But they never did. The eerie silence and calm that seemed to fill the air became disquieting. Arnaut had an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades. The whole scene just didn’t seem right. They turned into an incredibly long hallway, one of the main arterial halls, one that should take them almost to the cathedral.

There was a sound off to his right, and he whirled around, looking for it. But there was nothing there.

“Did you guys hear—”

“No.”

“Nope.”

They continued on, Arnaut looking around, Marka and Tanus warily staring ahead. Idly, Marka swatted at his helmet, and looked at his hand. Shaking his head, he swatted at it again. And then again. And again. And again. He was really getting frustrated now, swatting furiously at his helmet.

“Make it stop!” he screamed.

“Make what stop? What are you doing?” Tanus asked, staring down at Marka who was on his knees swatting at his helmet.

“The buzzing! The terrible, terrible buzzing noise! How can you stand it?”

“But I don’t hear anything!” Tanus protested. Marka had his helmet off now and was clutching at his head. A small trickle of blood fell from his nose, making a spot on the floor.

“It hurts! By the Emperor, it hurts!” Arnaut looked around for something, anything that could be causing the buzzing. And that’s when he saw the man. The man they’d seen with the dead children, except here, in the flesh. He was tall, with a pinched, angular face and narrow eyes. And he was staring right at Marka, standing a fair ways down the hall. Arnaut didn’t know how he could tell that he was staring at Marka. He sort of…felt like he was. The feeling wasn’t a pleasant one.

Arnaut raised his rifle to shoot the man. He rested his finger on the trigger, aiming his shot. One shot, one kill. Suddenly he was plummeting through the air, Marka’s weight shoving him sideways. The shot went wild, bouncing off the ceiling. Arnaut yelled out as he bumped into the wall. Marka stood over him, his chest rising up and down as he breathed. Tanus was on the floor, unconscious, with the stone Marka had used to knock him out lying by him. Marka’s eyes were blank, but there was a smile on his face. He had his sword in his hand.

“Oh frig,” Arnaut said jumping aside. The sword scraped off the floor sending sparks flying into the air. Before Arnaut had even landed, Marka was on him again. Arnaut had both knives in hand, blocking, parrying, doing everything he could to keep the sword away. His left knife pushed away the sword stiffly, still hampered by the brace it had, and Arnaut brought up the right to keep the sword from taking off his head on the next swing. The blades locked, and for a second they were at a standstill, Arnaut gazing helplessly into Marka’s glazed over eyes.

Arnaut took the moment to flip his pistol from his belt into his hand. If it was necessary, he would kill Marka. The mission came first. Always. The blades broke. Arnaut kicked out, pushing Marka backwards. He raised the pistol up and fired.

The bolt flew past Marka, down the hall, and hit the man at the end in the shoulder. His eyes widened in shock as the bolt tore apart the upper right part of his torso. With an agonized wail, he fell to his knees and then finally to the floor, rolling around, clutching his mangled wound.

Arnaut coughed and winced in pain. Looking down, he saw Marka’s blade was stuck almost halfway through his arm. He whimpered a little and looked up at Marka. With a wild jerk his limbs, Marka rose limply into the air, shuddered again once, and then collapsed. With a spurt of blood, the sword fell out of Arnaut’s arm. His left arm. He sank to the knees, his hand clasping the fresh wound.

“You…have got…to be…kidding me…” he breathed through clenched teeth.

* * *

The man was gone by the time any of the three of them were able to stand up much less run over there. Only a stain of blood marked he had ever been there, just like the time before. Arnaut’s arm was tied up, and he was given a dose of pain killers to help him continue on. For the most part, the other two were unharmed, though Tanus had a bit of a headache.

Neither one remembered what had happened. The last thing Tanus remembered was looking over at the man at the end of the hall. And then it had gone black. Marka remembered even less, with holes in his memory all the way back to entering the underground sewer system. He apologized over and over for stabbing Arnaut, and Arnaut merely grunted in reply. It hadn’t really been Marka, after all. Still, every time pain shot through his arm, all he could think about was how Marka had assaulted him with the sword.

“We should be pretty close to the cathedral, now,” Arnaut said, reviewing his map after they’d packed up their med kits again. “Within two miles. There isn’t much resistance now, here, but I expect there to be a lot more once we get a bit closer. Start saving those ammo clips, we can’t run dry now.” Speaking of which, he looked down checking his ammo. He only had three more for his rifle, and one for his pistol, not counting the half-used ones already in them. He had really expected to use his knives more. He might have to grab one of the cultists’ guns soon. He still had two small canisters for the flamethrower. That could last him a while, if he rationed it. He sighed. He wasn’t fooling himself. He was running extremely low. He would have to snatch a cultists’ gun here soon, next time he got the chance.

“Alright then,” Tanus said after a bit, closing down his map on his HUD. “ Let’s get a’moving.”

They moved on, Marka out front with his sword, Tanus wielding his pistols and claws, and Arnaut taking the rear holding his left arm close to him and holding out his rifle with the other.

OOC:

A bit short. I had a minor writer's block. Hopefully, though, we can get this mission going again.

Arnaut took the steps two at a time, entering the first of the hallways that made up the Cathedral. His rifle scanned the area round them for any more threats. Not like he was going to waste a shot on a simple cultist, though.  He was down to his last clip for the rifle, and although he had his pistol left, he didn’t necessarily feel good about senselessly wasting his last few shots.

His left arm pained him to no end. The painkillers he’d taken were starting to wear off and a sharp pain was starting to grow in his two wounds. It was like an itch just where you can’t reach it. It doesn’t kill you, but it’s pretty annoying. This itch just happened to be the broken wrist and sword wound he’d sustained while traversing the halls.

But besides those two points of aggravation, Arnaut was excited. After the entire time spent on this mission, fighting off the legions of cultists, making their way through the complete maze of the underground passages, almost getting their heads blown off on numerous occasions, they were finally here. The Cathedral. The stone hallways around them took on a different color. A dark, almost black stone, that was perfectly smooth and glimmered in the light. The torches had been replaces by ornate glow lamps. They, like the hallways, were drenched in blood, but that did nothing to stifle the expensive, sophisticated air of the inner sanctums of the cathedral they now were entering.

None of the bodies that had emptied their blood to decorate the hallways were still around, leaving wide open spaces of…nothing. No rubble, no bodies, no blunt weapons. Just plain blood-soaked hallways, stretching away until it reached the next turn. Which led to yet another hallway. In a way, if it hadn’t been for their maps and the fact that the hallways had changed color and appearance, this was almost exactly like the labyrinth they’d just left.

At least the whole squad was together again, though, or Arnaut would’ve been even more alarmed than he was at the moment. Doc and Namyr hung towards the back of the group, evidently prepared for more cultists that had been following the trio to pop out at any moment.

Marka took point, blade drawn, ready for the worst. Tanus came after, brandishing his claws, and then came Arnaut. Should they be attacked, Arnaut knew he’d be the last to see action since he was in the middle. Riq had done that on purpose. Arnaut, with his injuries, was on the verge of becoming a liability. If he failed to work efficiently in battle, he could cause the death of them all. So he got the center where he’d have see the least action. Arnaut realized and accepted this, but he didn’t have to like it.

There was an eerie calm in the hallways. Everything was quiet. No hoots and hollers of wild animals, no screams of cultists. Perfectly silent. Arnaut checked his map often, and every time it told him the same thing. They were getting closer to the main cathedral.

Arnaut would’ve expected there to be more resistance this close to the cathedral, but there wasn’t any of that either. Just the silence, the squad, and the squad’s fears. The hairs on the back of Arnaut’s neck stood constantly on end.

“Anyone else feel like they’re being watched?” Arnaut whispered over the comlink. He didn’t have to whisper; no one outside the suit would be able to hear that. But it just seemed appropriate for the situation.

“Yes,” Marka whispered back into the comlink. The others assented quickly after, all in hushed tones. Their answers didn’t make Arnaut feel any better.

The next hallways they entered stretched on into the darkness. There were no glow lamps or any other source of light, forcing the ARCs to switch on their night-vision. Tanus fired suddenly off into the gloom, over Marka’s shoulder. There was an explosion, accompanied by the sound of burning metal, and something approximately the size of a head fell from the air and landed on the ground with a thud. They hurried over to it.

As Arnaut looked on, he realized why it had looked about the size and shape of a head; it was a head. Or at least used to be one. The skull of some unfortunate victim lay in the middle of the hallway floor, still smoking from where Tanus’ shot had hit it. The inside was filled with various sensor equipment. The sockets of the skull had been filled with two cameras, one normal, the other infrared. They were about the same type the ARCs had found in their hotel room. The whole thing was held together by a repulsorplate on the underside of the skull That’s what had kept the skull aloft in the air.

“Well, now they know we’re here,” Tanus commented, looking down at the wreck.

Tanus smiled as the cultists charged. He spun both pistols out of his holsters, opening fire as red bolts of death streaked out of his twin barrels. The cultists charged from all directions, but by now, it was nothing new to Tanus. He had gotten to know where the combat was, regardless of his own position. Soon the cultists were trying to surround him, and it was working. As they got closer, Tanus saw a jet of orange flame leap out from behind the wall of bodies. Arnaut stood there, clearing a way for Tanus’ escape. As Tanus ran past Arn, he smirked.

“And there’s your ‘Thank You.’”

He heard Arnaut chuckle as they stood, side by side, dropping cultists to the cold stone floor. Tanus turned for a split second to see how his comrades were doing: Namyr and Marka were in melee now, smiting all those that got to close to their ferocious strikes; Doc was behind them, supporting them with his rifle. The battle appeared to be in their favor. However, it would become chaotic; out of nowhere, more tuskcats and gundarks entered the fray.

Tanus cursed to himself as his pistols ran out of ammo. Tanus drew his sword and charged the nearest tuskcat, lopping off its head. He kicked the tuskcat’s head into the face of the nearest gundark, stunning it. Tanus charged a second time, laying several sword slashes into its torso and abdomen. Tanus finished with a kick, dropping the corpse of the beast onto several cultists behind it. Tanus turned, and saw that Arnaut was getting mobbed, and quickly.

Tanus ran forward, slashing at the backs of the cultists, dropping them forward onto the legs and backs of those in front of them. Arnaut had managed to prop up his A280 and opened fire, raining death on everything that moved, save Tanus, who was crouched down so close to the floor he actually saw in between the cracks. When Tanus got up, he looked around and saw piles of dead all around him: men, women and children. It made Tanus’ blood boil to see so many dead kids around him. And then the voice rang out again:

“I asked you once to surrender yourselves and be our spies, but I can see that you won’t be joining us in life, so join us…” As he finished two behemoths in black armor came out of the shadows. “…In death.”

Each behemoth produced a large pistol and started to open fire. Tanus dived behind a stone pillar for cover as bolts of energy the thickness of his arm flew past his helmet. Tanus could see as the others dived for cover as well. Tanus looked for Arn and caught his eye, and he nodded toward the behemoths. Arn nodded and got up to aim and fire, but was simply put back in the shadows by the hail of blaster bolts. Tanus swore under his breath then realized what he had on him: Thermal Detonators. He took out his Acklay-12 and loaded a detonator in the secondary barrel, priming it to detonate on impact. Tanus said a little prayer before standing up and turning around the pillar. The behemoths saw him as he fired the grenade. There was a click of the trigger and then a whizzing sound as the detonator sped through the air. Tanus dived back behind the pillar just as he heard the deafening explosion and the ripping of metal, then a violent thump.

When the ARCs turned out form their cover, both of the behemoths were on the ground, dead, gigantic craters where their heads used to be. Tanus stood there, looking at their corpses, cradling his Acklay-12. He then looked up to where the voice had come.

“We aren’t joining you in life or death. We’ll join you when hell freezes over.”

And with that, Tanus stepped over the corpses, Marka and Namyr quickly taking the lead, with Tanus and Arn in the middle and Doc taking up the rear. They stepped further into the darkness of the cathedral once more.

A deathly calm had settled once again in the hallways of the cathedral, punctuated only rarely by the occasional scratching in the distance. Arnaut’s breathing became more ragged as he sucked air into his lungs more painfully with each breath.  His pains were finally getting the best of him. Looking down in silence, wincing occasionally, he wiped down his blade and resheathed it.

His armor felt too tight. Huffing, he readjusted the individual segments, trying to allow for as much room as he could. It didn’t help much. The air around the squad became more stifling as they went on. Heat penetrated through the armor, along with the sticky humidity, even though the sensors read that the out-of-armor temperature was only moderately warm and the humidity was low. The kind of stuff the armor’s heat dampers could -- should -- be able to handle. Yet there they were, sweating rivers.

The heat did strange things with their mind. They were near-delusional, seeing things that weren’t there, or missing things that were. Their vision hazed over or blurred at times, and they had to blink away sudden dizzy spells. Either way, they still were one of the best trained squads the Vast Empire Army had to offer. They marched in perfect unison, boots clacking down on the polished floor, even if they couldn’t see exactly where their boot would land next. All they knew for sure is that it would land.

Resistance was minimal. Arnaut kept his rifle out, but mainly did his dirty work from behind his knife. They left few bodies in their wake. A cultist sprawled in the hallway, a claw wound ripping into his torso. Two corpses stuffed in a side hallway, their throats slit cleanly. Another cultists leaning against the wall, almost relaxed in his manner, blood trickling from the knife wound just underneath his jaw. The cultist who bled to death on the ground, his arm severed from his body. They were quick, clean, and brutally efficient kills, not really a challenge. Arnaut had the feeling that they were just a distraction, an effort to slow down the squad as the maddened clergyman prepared their demise.

Arnaut looked up to see Marka standing over his latest masterpiece. The cultists flailed on the ground, throat crushed courtesy of Marka’s boot. His sword put the cultists out of his misery.

"However much I enjoy this 'blind killing of everything that moves' mentality, I think we should be hurrying it up,” Tanus said sarcastically.

"It’s pretty hot. I don’t feel like run--" Arnaut began to protest. He didn’t get the chance to finish. At that moment, the wall next to the flickered and disappeared, revealing at once a both astonishing and frightening sight. The sheer enormity of it was awe-inspiring. Just a foot from them, where the right wall of the hallway had been, there now was the edge of a seemingly bottomless pit, stretching down into the darkness below. The former hallway stretched around the entire circular pit, all the way to the other side, almost four hundred feet away. There were only two doors connecting to the walkway.

Arnaut hesitantly peered over the edge, down into the blackness. The smooth, black stone of the pit stretched down until it blended in with the darkness below. It could be a few hundred feet or a few miles. He couldn’t tell. The only other thing he could see was a ring of small holoprojectors, running just below the lip of the walkway. They’d been the ones projecting the walls, then, Arnaut decided. His vision started to blurr, and Arnaut rocked unsteadily on his feet. Backing away, he decided he’d rather not fall in.

That’s when he noticed the pillar. It was in the direct center of the pit, a glossy black finger jutting out of the darkness, its bottom stretching downward infinitely. The smooth, flat surface of its top was on level with the walkway the ARCs stood on. And on top of the pillar stood a lone man, dressed in clergymen’s clothes and wearing a sadistic grin on his horribly misshapen and disfigured face. His voice was smooth and unnerving at the same time; Arnaut got the impression of oil sliding over water.

“Hello,” his whispered in his slippery voice. It boomed in the squad’s ears. Painfully. “Welcome to my Cathedral. Are you prepared to die?”

Arnaut dropped a cultist. And another. And another. But before the bodies had a chance to hit the ground, they had passed from Arnaut’s sight, jostled by the immense crowds of people. The stench was almost unbearable, but Arnaut had little time to notice. He slipped on a nasty patch of blood. In that split second, three or so cultists found their chance. A club to the shoulder pressed Arnaut against the wall. One to the stomach knocked the breath out of him. And the third axe would’ve taken off his head had he not ducked.

He hunched over and propelled himself forward, into the man wielding the axe. The force toppled them both. It also ran Arnaut’s blade straight through the man’s heart. Arnaut brought himself up to a kneel, slashed away a hand that came for him and finally regained his footing.  Just in time to be hit in the head by another blunt force object. His vision swam with black dots as he tried to push himself off the floor. All he managed was to turn himself over, face to face with the cultist. His mouth was contorted into a grin, but there was no emotion in his eyes.  He was holding a sledgehammer, getting ready to smash Arnaut very thoroughly.

Luckily for Arnaut, the priest chose that moment to join the battle. With an immense shockwave, the center of the now circular room seemed to explode outward. Everyone in the room was flattened.

The cultist with the hammer fell onto Arnaut’s upturned knife. Another fell hard on Arnaut’s left arm, splintering its brace. Arnaut would’ve cried out in pain except that he found he could utter no sound. His mouth opened into a silent scream, covered by the writhing bodies of cultists.

When he could breath and move again, Arnaut wasted no time in cutting down the thrashing, jumbled cultists and making it to his feet again. He felt tall. All around him, the room was in turmoil as hundreds of densely packed cultists pushed, shoved, and twisted their way back onto their feet. Easy pickings.

The priest struck again, though. Lightning struck from air above, killing with impunity. Bodies went flying. People burst into flame as tatters of clothes ignited. The closely cramped quarters, however, soon extinguished the flames, but not before they’d mortally burnt the unfortunate victim. None of which were ARC members, thankfully. The priest may have been powerful with his strikes, but his aim was, at best, random.

The stench of the dead , burnt, and dying started to overwhelm Arnaut’s helmet air scrubbers. It filled Arnaut’s nostrils, every pore of his face and being. Bile rose in his mouth. It was one of the worst things he ever had the displeasure of smelling, practically tasting. His eyes watered, not entirely because of the pain in his left arm.

He took a step forward, slashing as he went. His boot crunched down on something, and he realized it was a human skull. Bodies littered the floor, and not just ones Arnaut had killed. Many had been trampled or crushed outright in the pseudo ‘explosion’. He forced himself to take another step forward, onto the center platform. Cultists flowed around him, being cut down as quickly as Arnaut could. He didn’t get his rifle out. He was saving the last rounds in that now for a very, very special person. One who happened to be laughing maniacally as he hurtled lightning from the sky.

Arnaut could just barely see the priest in the center of it all. His head was thrown back, mirthless laughter echoing through the chamber, louder than the fighting. It was the laugh of a mad man, pure and simple. Someone whose mind had slipped off the cliff of sanity long ago. In a way, it made Arnaut pity the priest. He wondered if the man even knew what he was doing now. A man landed on Arnaut’s left arm, bringing his thoughts to a close abruptly.

Tears welling in his eyes from blow, Arnaut pushed him off. Stabbing relentlessly at the enemy around him, he tried his best to ignore the lightning strikes and the men flying through the air because of them. He just hoped the priest’s aim stayed bad.

His knife and armor began to tinge with crimson as the battle wore on. A ways away, he could see Marka slashing furiously with his sword, his armor similarly stained. Surrounding him was a space the length of his sword where no living thing stood. He was cutting through the cultists almost like grass. But fatigue was setting in, too. there was a slump in his shoulders there hadn’t been before. His strokes became less refined, sloppier. It was all he could do to keep the cultists at bay.

Arnaut was feeling fatigue too, mixed in with his mounting pain. A rusty knife took out a chunk of his right thigh. A club of stone hit him on the other side, accompanied by a very disturbing crack. Arnaut probably broke a few ribs there. He stabbed them both down. But two more took their place, four more, eight. He stabbed at them. More took their places. His stabs were now getting loose; there wasn’t much force behind the blows. It took more than one slice to kill. The cultists swarmed in. He couldn’t keep them back. He couldn’t win. He just couldn’t.

And that’s when his anger began to grow. In all his years smuggling, in his little over a year with the army, he’d never been so outnumbered, so overspent, so powerless. Now, here he was, about to die at the hands of cultists who wouldn’t even remember him the second after he died, the second he was dying. That was no way to go. He hadn’t worked through all those years, all those missions, just to die like this. Not like this.

His anger swelled. His vision narrowed. A red mist began to creep in on the edges of his sight. His arm was no longer tired. The next blow landed directly in a cultist’s face. The force caved in the man’s skull, leaking brain matter and fluid onto the ground in equal measure. Arnaut was already turning as the man fell backwards. A swipe of his knife swung around and tore out the throats of two adjacent cultists. He spun again. His left arm swung out. The fractured, twisted metal of his former brace punctured the torso of another man. When Arnaut pulled his arm back, most of the man’s chest cavity came with it.

He didn’t even grimace. There was no pain any more. There was no tiredness. There were only cultists, cultists to die. Hundreds upon hundreds of living, struggling bodies to kill. Arnaut bellowed loudly and spun again. He would not be killed. Not today.

As Arnaut killed, he didn’t even notice the small voice in the back of his head, laughing. Nor did he notice that with each kill, a part of his sanity eroded away.

OOC:

So my guy is possessed, one way or another, by one of those spectre thingys. Fun times.

Left swing, right swing, duck, parry, duck again.  Riqimo was making a mental chant to keep his focus on the battle at hand.  There were children and adult cultists fighting without a care for their own lives.  What could possibly, duck, get people, parry, so brainwashed into a cult?  Duck, dodge, trip, stab.  I cannot imagine.  Riqimo had abandoned his whip earlier in the battle, it was not effective in such intense combat, now his vibroblade and sai.  A perfect compliment to his elegant, deadly style.  Duck, oh jump!  Parry, disarm, coup d'état

There was a dark, sinister laughter just to his right and Riqimo span towards it, withdrawing his sai from his latest victim, a 12 year old girl wielding a rather dented yet sharp dagger, in the same motion.  The priest was only fifteen feet away, his back towards the Squad Leader.  Perfect, let's finish this.  Screw bringing him back alive, just frigin' kill him and go through the damn questioning. Sidestep!  As Riq moved to his left to avoid a rusted axe swung at him, he tripped over a deceased cultist and tripped.  Oh sh... Riq rolled to the side quickly, and threw his sai at the axeman, who had just cleaved the axe into the ground where Riq was moments earlier, missing the medic by mere inches.  The exotic weapon hit its mark and Riqimo didn't bother to wipe it off as he removed it and regained his feet.  The priest was still facing some of the others, who Riq couldn't see, just a stupid disadvantage of his height.  However the advantage of a surprise attack on the back of the priest would be worth it...

Just five feet away from his prey, Riq raised his sai and positioned his vibroblade to quickly finish the priest, who span around knowingly and an invisible force pushed Riqimo onto his back.  With a narrow gaze, the priest seemed to inspect the depths of Riqimo's soul and then he collapsed.  What the frak?  A black-semitransparent cloud seemed to linger where the priest was standing an moved towards Riqimo.  Wha...? There was not a fragment of a second left to finish his thought before his mind went blank at the shade passing into him.  His mind was pushed back, a heavy force keeping him there.  Riqimo tried to shake his head but instead found himself rising, chuckling.  You are a most excellent host

Host?  Riqimo willed his mind to push out this uninvited presence.  In a flash, he gained knowledge of what he was dealing with.  Space Wraith.  Just as quickly as this insight came, his mind was pushed back.

Oh, strong mind here, much potential I have not seen for a long time...  You are perfect.  You will learn to obey me.

Riqimo watched the scene before the body's eyes No! My eyes! My eyes!  It was almost like watching a holovid, the camera sweeping to the priest's collapsed body.  Sente was breathing heavily and Namyr was at his side, with Tanus fighting off a few cultists.  Namyr raised her head to Riqimo who was standing perfectly still, save for the soft chuckling, "Riq?"  Her eyes were filled with confusion and worry.

Riqimo attempted to open his mouth to scream for some help, but instead the muscles phrased something much more calm, "Riq'eswo is fine Namyr.  Just resisting me with no progress."

No!  You know my thoughts!

Of course I do puny mortal.  Pity your companion will die before you can tell anything.

No! With one sudden mental push, Riqimo collapsed to his knees and muttered quickly, "Namyr, I have brief control, find the priest's chambers, find a statue, destroy it.  The space wraith uses it to store his energies."  The was a maniacal laughter as Arnaut came towards them, killing cultist in his wake.  "Oh, Arn is possessed as well, just a less pow..." Riqimo jerked his head up.  "Nice effort, I will have to keep my guard up."  The vibroblade in his hand started to glow a bright red and suddenly covered itself in crackling, scarlet sparks and turned to the ARCs,  "You will not do that."

Namyr picked up the nearest weapon she could find, which happened to be Riqimo's discarded sai and a sword.  She jerked her head towards the stone stairwell to the cathedral, "Marka, Tanus go find the staute that the real Riqimo told us of.  Arnaut... or whoever you are... watch my back."  The grinning man let out a howl of laughter and threw himself back at the cultists.

Riqimo smirked, "You are going to fight Riq'eswo?  Kill Riq'eswo?" He stressed the last part of the name.

Not giving her a chance to react, Riqimo lunged at her, and some force caused the cultists to start and chase Marka and Tanus who were rushing towards the stairs.

OOC:

Space Wraiths

OOC:

Boo-yah! This story is moving! Let's get this thing done!

Arnaut watched Namyr fight, a grin splitting his face. Silently, he rocked back and forth on his heels. He was practically bouncing with anticipation. However the duel ended, Arnaut knew it would end with blood and tears. And that was good. More than good. Hilarious. Arnaut let out a small giggle.

But the duel didn’t end quickly. In fact, Arnaut grew rather bored of watching the trained killers go at it in the middle of a now almost empty room. The priest was nowhere to be found. Arnaut kicked away an arm of some small child and mumbled to himself.

+Go upstairs.+

The voice in his head was little more than a whisper, but they could be heard quite clearly. Brilliant idea! Arnaut thought. Namyr and Riqimo would probably still be here when he got back, Arnaut reasoned. He could go have fun with Tanus and Marka and still be back in time for the epic conclusion. Arnaut liked that idea. A lot. He sprinted for the stairs.

Tanus and Marka weren’t hard to find. Just a few flights of stairs up they were finishing the last vestiges of an attack group they’d stumbled upon. The main stairway twisted and turned its way up to the priest’s chambers. Sprouting out from it like branches were assortments of other side hallways leading to practically every part of the maze of tunnels the cultists had created. The priest could go anywhere, anytime, from the tunnels connected to his stairwell. The tunnels also offered ample cover for cultist ambush parties to wait. It made Tanus and Marka’s trek upward a slow deal.

Arnaut came up from behind, still grinning beneath his helmet. As soon as he was level with the troopers, he jumped to a stop landing between the pair.

“No lolly-gagging!” he said cheerfully. “Let’s get up there! I’ll lead!” Before the other two could ask about Namyr, or why Arnaut was here, or even form a coherent sentence, he was off.

Arnaut laughed maniacally, taking the stairs three at a time. He just laughed and laughed. His sides started to ache. He laughed anyway. There was a flurry of motion as a behemoth appeared at the top of the stairs. Arnaut didn’t even pause as he lunged, blades ready. The behemoth didn’t stand a chance. Before it had taken its first step, Arnaut had both knives through its eye slits. By the second step, Arnaut’s blade arced around, underneath the less armored arm joints, directly beneath the shoulder. He sliced and the behemoth screamed. Its arms fell to its side useless. Arnaut danced backwards, now behind the monster, cackling. It turned to face him, blind and disarmed, grunting furiously. And that’s when Marka’s blade came out through its throat. Arnaut was still laughing as it hit the floor, face first.

Marka was looking at Arnaut, head cocked to the side, Arnaut realized. Tanus was too.

“What?” Arnaut giggled. Marka continued staring.

“I’ll lead from now on,” he said gravely, pushing past the still giggling Arnaut.

+You should kill them.+

That brought a stop to Arnaut’s laughter. What? he thought to himself, enjoying a small bit of sanity.

+He doesn’t trust you. Kill him.+

But Marka is an ally. I can’t kill him! Arnaut thought furiously at himself.

+Actually, that makes it easier. Just walk up behind him and--+

No! I’d never…heh…hehehe…do you think he’d make a lot of blood? Arnaut’s mind started to slip back into his state of insanity. The wraith inside him giggled too.

+Yes, he’d make quite a lot of blood. Just wait until we get to the statue. Patience.+

Arnaut laughed. The wraith laughed. They continued laughing as they skipped after Marka.

The priest’s chambers were unnecessarily large. The large ceiling spanned above the three troopers heads, much like in the last room. The sparse furniture that populated the room consisted of a bed, a nightstand, two desks, two potted plants by the door, a table with a holoprojector on it, and one statue.

It was unlike any statue they’d seen before. It was made out of some rock Arnaut couldn’t quite identify. And the statue didn’t stand still, either.

You could look at it, probably for hours, and the thing would appear to be still. But a blink, a glance away, and when you looked back it was…different. Somehow. It seemed to move, flow, reassemble its shape. But at the same time stand still. It made Arnaut a little nauseous.

"Let's blow this thing. It's making me sick," Tanus said, clapping his hands together. Marka nodded. Arnaut started to laugh again.

+Don’t let them do it.+

“I…can’t…let you do…that,” Arnaut squeezed out, grinning wildly. His helmet hung limply at his side. His eyes held a crazed gleam.

“What? We have to, Arnaut. There’s no choice,” Marka rebuked Arnaut, already lining the statue with grenades.

Both knives locked into place, sliding out from his bracers, and both of Arnaut’s guns were in his hands.

“I can’t let you do that,” he repeated.

“Arnaut…Arnaut, what are you doing? We’re going to blow this up, and that’s that.” A shadow passed over Arnaut’s face, and for a moment the insane grin faded.

“Well then, I’m sorry.” He pounced, and his laugher began anew.

*    *    *

Darengon slid through the shadows, his ruined stormtrooper armor barely clinging to his wilted body. Around him, other cultists swarmed in various states of being. None looked too good. Darengon didn’t notice, though. Everyone around him was a fellow member of the sacred cult; their appearance mattered not.

Up ahead, one of the leaders of their sacred order marched. His pinched, angular face was contorted into pain, but he did not falter when giving commands to them. His shoulder was a mess of bloody rags, rendering his left arm useless, so he pointed with his right, leading the multitudes of cultists through the hallways.

Darengon feared the man, as much as a man like Darengon could fear anyone. Unlike the behemoths, which were just giant, lumbering muscle, and the wraiths, just clouds of smoke in the air, this man held power. Darengon had seen him use it on the cultists that were too slow to get out of his way. The man held the very power of lightning at his fingertips, enough to kill a man on the spot.

Darengon knew to tread lightly around such people. Darengon figured if he lived long enough he could wield power like that. Darengon felt giddy just thinking about it. All he had to do was survive.

Up ahead, there was some source of threat to their order, something that required all the cultists the Priest could muster to deal with. If Darengon lived through the fight, a fight this monumental, he knew he’d get the powers that the man in front of him used. He knew it. He would survive no matter what.

Arnaut fired three shots in Marka’s direction. Two of them missed cleanly, but the other glanced across his side. It did little more than shake him, though, and he dived away behind one of the desks. By that time Tanus had done the same. Arnaut smirked as he ran towards Tanus’ position, firing at the desk as he went.
  Marka had dropped his rifle back at the pit; it was now hidden amongst piles of corpses and rotting flesh. He knew Arnaut would try to take out Tanus first, as Tanus was the one with the rifle in his hands, and the detonator for the grenades now placed around the base of the statue.

Tanus dived out and fired at Arn, aiming for the legs. Each shot missed, almost as if the shots didn’t want to hit him. Tanus froze for a moment when he heard a dreadful click and all three ARCs realised Tanus was out of ammo.
  Arn lifted his pistol at head height, in front of the kneeling Tanus. It looked like an execution; a defenceless victim on their knees facing death. Arn made a deep guttural sound and then groaned. Both Marka and Tanus believed that Arn was fighting back from the inside. It was a battle they would have watched, if Tanus’ life had not hung in the balance.
  Marka spun from behind the desk and covered the ground between himself and Arn quicker than he had thought he could. At the moment Arn, the real Arn, lost the internal struggle, Marka swung his vibrosword at Arnaut, knocking one pistol from his hand. The possessed trooper turned with anger and was close to firing the other pistol at Marka when Tanus launched himself forwards, tackling Arnaut to the ground and knocking his remaining pistol away.

The two tumbled to the ground, and Marka heard a pained grunt. Tanus had received a gauntlet blade in the upper thigh, but it didn’t seem to affect him hugely. They rolled away from each other, and soon all three were standing as if they were at the points of a large triangle drawn on the floor. Tanus now had his sword unsheathed, and the three of them faced off without a sound other than the occasional chuckle coming from Arnaut’s possessor.

In a very swift motion, Arnaut bolted at Marka, both hands lifted, blades ready to sink into whatever flesh they could find. Marka straightened and lifted his guard, watching, from the corner of his eye, Tanus circling.
  Arnaut struck Marka’s vibrosword with great strength, following it with a quick jab at Marka’s lower region. Marka had to jump backwards to avoid the second attack, and was struggling with the ferocity of the strikes before Tanus swung his sword overhead at Arn. Arn barely had to look at Tanus to deflect the strike; something very few people could have done. The controlled, possessed form of Arn was an incredible challenge to defeat.
 
The three exchanged blows and hits, swinging and stabbing wildly. Arn blocked another overhead strike, this time from Marka, and kicked backwards at Tanus, connecting with his wounded leg. Tanus fell and Marka forced himself to attack more frequently, to keep Arnaut from taking advantage of Tanus’ vulnerability. But Arnaut ducked under the neck-high swing that came next and thrust his right gauntlet-blade through the calf of Marka. As an act of cruelty, Arn jolted his gauntlet at a right angle to the blade, and the blade snapped off, lodged in Marka’s leg. The trooper fell to the ground.
  Tanus rose again, somewhat shaky on his feet and swung at Arn, clipping his shoulder. Arn grunted and arched his back, his teeth clenched in his tight closed mouth.

Marka crawled away from the two, his eyes watering at the pain in his leg. The remains of the blade scraped against the marble floor of the priest’s chambers. It was a horrid sound, like a dull and rusty blade being dragged across bone. Marka glanced behind him, to see Tanus standing proudly as he watched the wounded Arnaut back away.

Arnaut stopped retreating, as if spurred on by some unknown force. Tanus stood his ground. And Marka crawled towards the pistol, discarded near the desk Tanus had been behind.

A well placed shot could detonate those grenades... Marka thought, turning back once more to find Tanus and Arnaut locked together, face to face, neither willing the step down from the fight.

Tanus ignored the wound in his leg as he crossed blades with the insane Arnaut in front of him. Although it didn’t feel quite like Arn, like there was someone pulling some invisible strings. He noticed that Arn’s left wrist didn’t seem to be bothering him at the moment, which Tanus curse to the stars above. Figures, he’s totally healed when he fights me… Tanus thought to himself as he threw Arn back from the blade cross. Tanus stood there, trickles of blood going down his armor where Arn had stabbed him.

Tanus charged again, slashing at Arn’s chest. Arn dodged effortlessly, which was just what Tanus wanted. As he ducked, Tanus clipped Arn in the chin with a kick. The force of the blow sent Arn into the air and falling back to the earth with such force that no one should have gotten back up. Unfortunately, whatever was controlling Arn didn’t appear to be human. Arn almost floated back to his feet and stood in place for several seconds. Shadows flickered around him as he landed silently on the ground. When he did, he looked straight at Tanus and gave a deranged smile, then to the crawling Marka behind him. Tanus looked and saw he was reaching for one of Tanus' pistols.

Tanus barely had time to turn back around before Arn had charged at Marka. Tanus jumped in the way at the last second and deflected the death blow.

"No, Arn, we have our orders. We have to do this."

Arn let out a high pitch shriek. "Then you'll do it dead!"

Arn charged again, swinging his blade wildly, Tanus blocked blow after blow as they circled around Marka, the sparks of their blows lighting up the dark. After some minutes, Tanus was starting to fatigue. Unfortunately for him, Arnaut seemed to be coming in faster and faster. Tanus decided that it was time for the defensive fight to end. Tanus took a step foward and pushed Arnaut back. Arnaut charged again, but this time Tanus was ready. As Arnaut launched an attack with his blade, Tanus wedged the jilt of his sword in between the blade and Arn's wrist and thrust up. A small sound was heard as the steel blade fell to the ground, useless.

Arnaut merely looked at his wrist and then looked at Tanus again. And again he charged, this time knocking Tanus' sword out of his hands and tackling him onto the floor. As he hit, Tanus saw Marka reaching his pistol. Just a few more seconds... Tanus thought as Arn attempted to throttle him. Tanus looked over again and saw Marka take aim and fire. First, there was a red bolt streaking through the sky, and then a bright light filled the area. The shockwave of the explosion sent Arn, Tanus and Marka flying through the air and skidding across the floor.

Tanus was the first to get up, He grabbed his blade and moved over to Marka, who was groaning in pain. Tanus knew the shock from the blast would have numbed Marka, and wrenched the blade out of Marka's leg. Before he could scream, he put a bacta pad on the leg and sat him up against the wall. Tanus turned to see Arn getting up. Tanus grabbed his pisol and aimed it at Arn's heart. Arn looked at Tanus and Marka, and then at the wall.

"What the hell did I miss?"

Tanus holstered his pistol and walked over to Arn. "Arn, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

Riqimo struggled with all his might not to punch Nams.  He wanted to stop that nose bleed that he, no ot wasn't him.  It was the wraith thing.  Not the best  roommate you wanted to have in your head.  Fighting with all his will, Riqimo was completely unable to gain control.  Nam's weight was starting to press down pretty hard and the wraith couldn't do anything about it.  Suddenly Riqimo's body went limp and his eyes rolled back.  Namyr cautiously loosened her pinning grip on his wrists and muttered, "Riq?"

...  ...  ...

Meanwhile

“Tell them I’m shtill shleeping,” Arnaut mumbled weakly, his head still a little fuzzy from it's previous occupant suggesting him along.

Tanus and Marka glanced at each other and nodded an affirmative slightly to each other That's more like the real Arnaut both shared the exact thought.  Tanus guided the trio carefully back towards the chamber where Riq and Nams were supposedly but he saw no opposition whatsoever.  It was almost as if everyone had kneeled over or vanished.  Soon they were seeing Nams shaking Riqimo vigorously.  Tanus made a wisecrack, "I think she hit him a little to hard and is regretting it."

...  ...  ...

Nearby

Darengon awoke slowly.  As he pushed himself up, memories pushed back by some shadowy force started to flow back.  He was Darengon, altar boy to Abbot Sente.  The Abbot!  He glanced around furtively, if his own space wraith was gone, chances were than the Abbot's would be as well.  Shaking his head, jostling those swimming thoughts around into a more settled location Darengon squinted his eyes as he scanned the area.  He caught a flash of the white robes that Sente wore and hustled over immediately.  Abbot... he felt for a pulse, it was extremely faint but it seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.  Soon Sente was sitting up with Darengon's assistance.

...    ...  ...

Riqimo fluttered his eyelids a moment then they jerked wide open as if he had just awoken from a horrid nightmare.  He was still vibrating strangely... it took Nams a moment to see that Riq was conscious or unpossessed, or whatever term applied.  She seem to had ignored her nose bleed which had left a few deep redish brown rivers of dired blood on her face and neck.  Riq hadn't noticed that just yet, instead he was staring at the glands that had just stopped jiggling from the shaking.  He blinked a few times and raised his eyes to her face, expecting a disapproving glance or more likely a punch waiting for him.  Instread he was greated by a warm, crooked smile, "I have no doubt you are back now Riq'eswo."

The team lead mumbled something, "air ..ver... ult...ray tuh-tuhs" After a few more tries he managed to rasp out the whole thing, "There was never a cult, it was the space wraiths."

Namyr nodded slowly, seeming to pretend to understand, which Riq doubted highly that she did.  Arnaut, despite his tired appearance, nodded with weary eyes.  Tanus and Marka just shrugged casually.  Once back on his feet, Riqimo saw a young man kneeling beside the white robed priest a little bit away on the other side of a few bodies.  Riqimo stumbled over a few times and finally regained his full balance by the time he reached them.  Darengon looked up, "Abbot is mentally tired, he needs rest."

Riqimo nodded, still not quite out of it himself, "We are taking him with us."

Darengon didn't question it at all but simply nodded, "I shall come with him."

OOC:

Yes it doesn't seem to be that very 'conclusive' ending most seek, but there is a reason.