The sound grew and as it came closer it became more clear that what was coming was not human. There was a scrapping and clawing to the sound, like huddled masses packed together. There were growls and barks; animal sounds the like of which he had never heard before and the very sound sent chills down his spine. This was not something he would be able to negotiate with. It would seem that Ezra had chosen war. Taking his helmet he placed it back on his head and snapped it back into place just as the door to the hall slammed open and in poured a dozen creatures like nothing he had ever seen beard. Square to the ground with scaly, muscular bodies and faces full of fangs and horns. They reeked of the darkside; a pungent smell that he could feel in the force. He had only felt it one place before; in the laboratory of Baralai Lotus.

Sithspawn.

With a flourish of movement he jumped from the dais he pulled free his weapons. The two lightsabre hilts slipped from their hooks at his belt. One black, one silver. Both with non-standard long handles, wrapped in leather straps with decorative crossguards. The blades flared to life, throwing light and shadows across the dark chamber. One red. One Silver. There would have been a moment of reflection upon how long it had been since he had used his second blade, and how fitting it felt to use it in the purging of such evil, but this was not the moment. There would be time after. For now he was raising the blades above his head as his body rotated forward, bring both blades down in a waterfall of calamity that tore through the leading creature and cut it nearly from head to tail.

He didn't stay long enough for the creatures to regroup. Instead he spun the side, the claws of one barely sliding across his shoulder paldron; desperate for purchase it could not find on the smooth Mandalorian design. Using his two blades he used one to guard, and the other to attack. Battering off the leaping beasts who never tired or stopped in their relentless attack and waiting for opportunities to counter attack. Retreating constantly and moving around the room, using the pews and large candelabras as barriers, he began to analyze his opponents and learn their tactics. Pack based, one attacking while the others circled around so they could attack immediately afterwards. Primitive but effective, and unstoppable if they were in larger numbers.

The initial strike came, the leap was sidestepped and he brought his blade up from below and cut through each of it's limbs and sent it to the ground immobilized. Then the next two attacked together. Spinning to get the angle, Zereth raised his blades and skewered each through their open maws. Their body weight carried them through the blades, slicing their bodies into limp mass that smashed into his armor to be shrugged off before the next wave came. Each was dispatched as it came, and when he was done, a mound of bodies littered his last stand. There was near silence for a moment, only punctuated by the sound of his own heavy breathing, the hum of his blades, and the sound of cauterizing flesh. A roar startled him, sounding from the distance. More would come, he knew. He could not fight them all. These had been a challenge, and his armor bore many scratches and cuts. He could not keep it up forever.

It was time to pull this curtain down. He had to let the world see what was down here.

But how could he, when he could not even feel the world above?

He had to find what was keeping the catacombs silent.