xl. revival

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FORTY.
revival!
。・:*:・゚ 。・:*:・゚


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Rubble sprays across the floor from the shredded window. Zoya picks her way quickly around it as she follows close behind Cara, pressing against the wall and out of view of the enemies littering the empty square outside the building. Din and Greef shield themselves on the other side of the opening, blasters at the ready. As she watches, Din inches slightly forward to examine their opponents, Death troopers encased in slick, obsidian armor. It barely gleams underneath the sunlight, as if the sun itself is afraid to touch the onyx figures, heavy weapons held at the ready.

            Zoya nearly trips over the limp body of a fallen Stormtrooper propped up against the wall, her boots slick from the crimson mosaics scattered across the floor as she fumbles to move back out of their line of sight, eyes wide and shocked and painted every color of an exploding supernova as she finds Din's visor. She's sure her fear is sketched in plain lines across her face, but in the moment, she can't find it within herself to care enough to wipe it away.

            Whirring engines and the hiss of brakes signify the arrival of an Imperial Troop Transport slipping into the barren square. Ivory troopers cascade from the opening doors, blasters aloft and pressed against their shoulders. As soon as their boots hit the dirt, they advance towards the cantina where Zoya and the others hide.

            Cara's eyes are angry, the violent surge of a thunderstorm. They lock onto Greef. "Four Stormtroopers?"

            Zoya's jaw is a hard line, her teeth clenched together so hard that they feel like they might crack into pieces. "I think he must've meant four hundred." Her stare has the razor sharpness of gleaming silver knives.

            He has the slight decency to look ashamed for a split second, but he doesn't answer as the wave of new troopers pour into the empty space behind the Death troopers. They're a sea of shining pearl, a massive threat unlike any Zoya has ever seen. At the most, she's been on the receiving end of two blasters. Maybe three. Never this many, never this many weapons pointed her way, ready to burn and slaughter, bloodlust thick in the air.

            Zoya's fingers dig into the handle of her blaster, feeling the grooves in the metal cut lines into her palm. She offers a prayer upwards to whatever gods may be listening.

            Please.

            Please.

            Please.

Cataclysm ─── The Mandalorian. ¹Where stories live. Discover now