The End

Kit

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"I suppose this was always inevitable, wasn't it?"

Lightning flashed in the sky above. Rain flashed down all around, and yet, Coruscant still burned. The Hutts were determined to see the Republic burn.

Yet, he had no time to notice.

"After all I did for you."

Larellan was too busy watching the boy... the man... that he had pulled out of the gutter, that he had forged into something more worthwhile. The man that had come to kill him.

"So..."

He stood motionless, impassive. Even his words were filtered out, the tinny mechanical voice coming from the suit's speakers failing to convey his rage.

"What now?"
 

Will

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''How very...cinematic.''

The front plate of his suit was open as he grinned at the man who had given him everything, and now stood in his way, their own battle a microcosm of the war raging around them.

Don Barrington, Raoul Scalia, the Dervish, his name mattered not, stood in the rain, his protective armour encompassing his body, ten feet of metallic destruction. It was the culmination of his research, the pinnacle of his skill. Once ensconced within, he could stand against artillery barrages without a scratch. With this, he was a god, dispensing justice as he saw fit.

''I suppose I do have to finally test how well your augmentations work, Larellan. You gave me the tools that made me the man I am today. I have that to thank you for. But you remember what you caught me doing? Trying to steal from you. You can never iron out my desire to take from others, to be the top, the best.''

The plate descended, and his voice issued as a synthetic growl.

''I suppose now we kill each other, my great teacher.''
 

Kit

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"Quite."

He was tempted to lift his face plate, look his student in the eye one last time, before one of them died. Raoul, Don, Dervish... Whoever he really was. He was smiling. Happy. The bastard was looking forwards to this.

Which was why today, he wasn't Kitaara. He wasn't the sentinel. He wasn't a hero; watching and waiting as Coruscant burned. No, today he was an avatar of war. A creature of death and retribution.

A machine purpose built for war.

He wore a new suit today, as did Raoul. Never the subtle kind, Raoul had built a monstrosity of a suit. He had not. His suit was... subtler. Much, much subtler.

"I suppose you're right. You were always greedy, desperate to climb that little bit higher. It's a pity that you had to rely on me to get you there."

He stood tall and firm, though only just over half as tall as Raoul's behemoth of a suit.

"Because the thing is... I know all your tricks, because I helped you learn them. But you haven't seen half of what I can do."

He took a step back, stood exactly on the endge of the rooftop. He felt... empty. As if his innards had smply ceased to be. No hurt, at the betrayal. No fear, at his most dangerous enemy in years. Just... nothing. Almost at peace.

"You suppose correctly, you little shit."

Almost.

Taking another step backwards, his jets kicked in instantly, gently, to keep him in place; hovering exactly at the level of the rooftop.

At the same moment, a gatling cannon folded out of his left shoulder, and within milliseconds, ruby red fire poured from the tips of its six barrels. A river of fire, directed where his eyes pointed.

Directly at the Dervish.
 

Will

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''How positively verbose of you.''

He smirked as Larellan flew up into the air, weapons sliding out of the armour to rain fire upon him, no doubt. He smirked again within his fortress.

As the shots struck, the air shimmered, and Raoul stood his ground, the shots not fazing him. While Larellan had focussed upon ever more intricate armour systems, Don had taken a lot of interest on the emerging shield technology. The best of these systems, crafted by his own experienced hand on the budget of a multi-system company and secret organisation, shrouded him in a wall of almost invisible barriers. His suit moved then, within it's protective bubble.

His free hand whipped out, pulling a weapon from an array mag-clamped to his left side. A pistol in shape, it was more of a cannon in the hands of the titan. The cartridge curled around his fist, the huge muzzle swinging up to the avenger in the air. The gun roared, a huge slug thrown through the air, screaming towards the armoured figure as heavy-calibre Gatling cannons opened fire into the heavens.

''I don't need to see what you do. I have learnt beyond you. Surpassed you.''

He continued to squeeze the trigger, unleashing explosive-shelled death into the world, hurling it all at his old teacher.
 

Kit

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The Sentinel was done talking. He would trade no more words with this enemy of his own creating. That time was at an end. Where the Jedi would scramble to prostrate themselves before a friend-turned-foe, the Sentinel would do no such thing.

Oh, he had the capacity for forgiveness. But not the will.

His eyes flashed within the suit, his gaze moving for a fraction of a second, changing the path of his stream of fire. The flood of blaster bolts simply tore the shell from the sky. And the next. and the next.

No, the only issue was the Dervish's own cannons. He had learnt too well, mimicking the man he now sought to kill. The Sentinel was not fazed.

Three new subsystems activated within the armour. The first was simple; a second turret folded from his right shoulder, unleashing even more ruby fire, the two streams converging to hammer the behemoth's shields.

The second was his own take on the shielding issue. A translucent blue disc sprang from his right forearm, rapidly lengthening into a large rectangle. Brought to bear in front of his body, the Sentinel now had his own set of formidable shields to rely upon.

Finally, one of the many features unique to this particular suit whirred to life. an advanced electronic warfare package; a collection of various sensors, across multiple spectrums, but more relevant, a collection of some of the galaxy's most advanced agressive electronics.

Signals and transmissions, some designed to interfere with scanners, some for optical inputs. Others attempted to worm into the programming of nearby machines. In all, without countermeasures of unparralelled sophistication, the collected effect would be catastrophic.

Without wasting a moment, however, the Sentinel was on the move. in the blink of an eye, he shot upwards, into the night sky. Within moments he was lost to the night sky, with only the tiny blue pinpricks of his repulsors keepin ghim aloft betraying his position; were it not for the constant stream of red fire flashing from his shoulder-mounts, hammering his enemies shields.

There would be no respite. No mercy. Only war. This would only end with one of them broken, and cast down.
 
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