The Voyages of Targon Karashi

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Two

 

Targon had lost all sense of time and direction. From the moment he had stepped through the portal, he was tossed about in a sea of chaos and confusion.

 

First, he could still feel the heat of Tattooine, the twin suns, the sand…he could smell the bodies that had paved the way to the gate.

 

But then he was falling through the air, a cloudless sky with no sight of ground anywhere. He just kept falling and falling and falling.

 

He was getting sick when all of a sudden he was floating on his back in an empty sea. Waves rose and fell, pushing him along some unknown current. There was no faint hope for land or a ship or anything.

 

A wave tossed him around and slammed him into the depths. He was rolling and swirling in the surf. There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to stop his continual tossing.

 

And then he stopped. He was lying face down in sand.

 

Spitting out the dust and brushing himself off, he rose to his knees.

 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he groaned.

 

It looked exactly like the dust ball of a planet he had just come from. Endless dunes stretched on for miles in all directions. The blaring solar heat was frying him.

 

He felt himself grow faint, and then he collapsed again.

 

Now he was somewhere completely different.

 

Targon was lying in a grass bed, surrounded by ferns and shrubs. Towering over him, great trees turned the sunlight into a dappled field of light and shadow. The soft gurgling of a creek sounded from nearby.

 

“If things change again, so help me…” he grumbled to himself.

 

Finding the strength, he stood and took a few steps around. Nothing changed again. He was still in this jungle. The air was humid, not dry, and there were bugs swarming around flowers in the branches.

 

“Am I on Tython?” he asked aloud, to no one in particular. “Or is this some vivid hallucination or vision?”

 

“What do you want it to be?” an old familiar voice asked from behind.

 

Targon whirled around.

 

“Master Tieru?”

 

His old master was standing before him, dressed in his recognizable deer skin and leaning on his hooked staff.

 

“Hello Targon,” he smiled.

 

“Now I know this isn’t real,” Targon sighed.

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Because you are dead, master. This is a vision…or more likely a dream.”

 

The Jedi Master nodded. “Perhaps, and yet, perhaps not. It may be that you are dreaming…but how does this feel?”

 

He bopped Targon on the head with his staff.

 

“Ow!” Targon grabbed his scalp.

 

“Hmm,” Tieru smiled. “Real enough?”

 

Targon rubbed his head and sighed.

 

“The Force is vast and mysterious, Targon. Life and death are opposites, and yet they are connected in sequence. One brings the other.”

 

“Master,” Targon growled. “I’m already confused and now hurting on my head. Could we skip the cryptic talk, please? There is important work ahead.”

 

“Indeed,” Tieru nodded. “You are here for a purpose.”

 

“What exactly is ‘here’?” Targon asked then, glancing all around. “Am I still on Tattooine? Am I in some other plane of the Force?”

 

“You’ve left your known realm behind, Targon,” his master replied. “This is Syris Thaal, one of the special places that are immense nexus’ of the Force. Here…here is where my friends and I discovered the possibility of eternal life through the Force. This is the secret we had guarded for so many years.”

 

Targon looked around again, grasping the thought that this jungle was an unknown world…and the source of power so coveted by horrible beings.

 

“Is it a real place?” he asked.

 

“Indeed,” Tieru answered. “A world like Tython and Coruscant. But it is not the planet that is the source of power. It is what is in it.”

 

Targon frowned. “Two Sith came in through the gate before me. I have to stop them before…”

 

“Patience, Targon,” Tieru put a hand on his shoulder. “They will be as lost and confused as you, for a little while at least. They will need to understand before they can find what they seek. You must understand too, if you are to stop them.”

 

Targon sighed. “Very well, what must I do? How do I find out?”

 

“I will tell you,” Tieru assured him. “Come, walk with me. There is much you must learn.”

 

Tieru turned around and started walking down a dirt path that had miraculously appeared in the brush. Targon followed quickly and the two of them were walking side by side.

 

Targon felt an odd feeling rise inside of him. It was so familiar, walking with his master. But for some reason, it wasn’t as calming as it had been before.

 

---

 

Draakis groaned as he sat up. He had been lying in a thick bush patch, and the stickers were everywhere.

 

He grumbled as he picked the thorns out of his arms, legs, neck, and robes. Finally, he stood and brushed himself off as thoroughly as he could. The little points hurt like crazy, but he was able to push past it.

 

Cracking his neck, he began to walk around, making a circle around the bush. He studied the trees that towered over him, the soft grass beneath his boots, and the stream that trickled by only a meter away.

 

“I suppose this could make a decent vacation spot,” he nodded to himself. “And I got here more or less unharmed…Oh, where has my new friend gone?”

 

“Up here,” Arachne’s voice answered him.

 

Looking up, Draakis spotted the Zabrak hanging from one of the tree branches above. It looked like she had made a rough landing on the wood.

 

“How’d you get up there?” Draakis scratched his head.

 

“Just popped in here, I suppose,” the girl shrugged. “Figured it was a nice view so I stayed.”

 

“Why don’t you come down?”

 

“I kind of like it up here.”

 

Draakis chuckled. “If that’s what you want, though I didn’t exactly bring you here for sightseeing.”

 

Arachne jumped down from the branch, landing gracefully on her feet.

 

“What did you bring me for?” she asked. “I’m not even sure why I followed you. I don’t know you, I don’t know your angle…so you’d better start explaining.”

 

“Gladly,” Draakis nodded. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am…”

 

“Draakis,” Arachne cut him off. “I heard it mentioned.”

 

“Ah, and you are Arachne. Good, we have each other’s names down. Moving on then…”

 

“What is this place?” Arachne asked abruptly.

 

“A good question to start with,” Draakis smiled. “This is Syris Thaal, a world unknown by both the Republic and the Empire.”

 

“And we are here…why?”

 

“Why, my dear, this world holds the secret to immortality.”

 

Arachne recoiled slightly on hearing that. A skeptical look of suspicion filled her features.

 

“It’s quite true,” Draakis assured her. “This is an ancient place, created before either Sith or Jedi had formed.”

 

“I take it you know all this stuff,” Arachne frowned. “How?”

 

“Books,” Draakis shrugged.

 

“You’d better start from the beginning.”

 

“That would take some time…”

 

“I’m not busy.”

 

Draakis laughed at that. “I suppose you’re right. Well, let’s see…I’m no historian or expert…but I’ll tell you what I recall from my studies.”

 

Arachne leaned against the base of the nearest tree.

 

“Well, in millennia past, there was a civilization on this world. The name is unknown, as well as the culture. They were…colleagues of the Infinite Empire. A vassal or ally, of sorts. They were quite powerful, and they harnessed the primal nature of the Force. Unlike the Rakata, though, they used the power for enhancing themselves physically and mentally, instead of subjugating primitive races.”

 

Arachne stared at him dully. “Yawn. I hate history. Could you skip ahead a little bit?”

 

“Certainly,” Draakis shrugged. “That was about all I knew about that subject anyway.”

 

The Zabrak wasn’t laughing.

 

“Alright then…It turns out, this race learned how to be immortal by continually drawing on the Force. This world – and certain qualities within it – are highly Force-attuned. However, it wasn’t long before things changed for this race.”

 

“Destroyed, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” Draakis nodded. “But not quite as you might think…”

 

---

 

“…Not long after the Infinite Empire fell, all those millennia ago, a being came to the people of Syris Thaal.”

 

“What kind of being?” Targon asked.

 

“Something unlike any this people had seen. It was a strange creature, intelligent and wise. It taught them space travel, something the Rakata did not share with them. It taught them how to exert power through the Force on other objects – on other beings.”

 

“Who…or what…was this?” Targon frowned.

 

“I think you will find that answer yourself as I continue,” Tieru smiled. “This being was interested in the concept of immortality – and the ability to change itself through the Force. So, both sides shared their knowledge…and their deeper secrets.

 

“In time, the civilization of Syris Thaal began to fall apart. Brother turned against brother, all sought after more power over their fellows, and the strong conquered the weak.

 

“You see, the stranger had tapped into this primal concept of the Force, and it had twisted it by its own perspective. It held a vast desire of changing many into one. As it grew in knowledge and strength, it fed on the degradation of the people. Soon, it could exert full power over them all…and they became nothing more than monsters.”

 

Targon’s eyes widened.

 

“Are…are you saying…it was Selendis?”

 

Tieru nodded. “That is what she is known as now. The creatures the people had become were now her first collective swarm. With the knowledge she gained, and the power of flight, they spread across several planets.”

 

“This…this is absurd!” Targon shook his head. “This is…impossible!”

 

“It is the unspoken history, the truth that has always hidden in the shadow. However, the corruption did not spread as far as it might have.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Another being appeared to stand against them. One that used the Force for peace and harmony, fighting against the primal nature of the Force with order. This being broke the infection by sacrificing himself to destroy the creatures and trap Selendis inside the core of this world.”

 

“This doesn’t explain…how does this lead to us now?”

 

Tieru paused and rubbed his chin. “The time for history and explanation is over. Back then was a battle, not of good versus evil, but of order versus chaos. With you it is different. Now, it is you, a Jedi, fighting to preserve light against a will of darkness.”

 

“Why me?” Targon asked.

 

“Why does destiny choose any of us for anything?” Tieru countered. “You don’t have to do this, Targon. You have a choice, but can you disregard doing what is right?”

 

Targon sighed. “No.”

 

“Then I’m here to guide you through this task.”

 

“Well, at least this isn’t Kronos I’m facing,” Targon smiled with relief.

 

Tieru frowned. “I’m afraid not, Targon.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“Khan Arc-Saal was in your mind. His spirit is in you since his defeat. You’ve brought him here, Targon. You will need to destroy this last fragment of him before you can stop these Sith.”

 

Targon’s face grew pale.

Edited July 15, 2012 by TargonKarashi

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Three

 

The cantina was quiet, and mostly empty. Only one table was significantly occupied.

 

Rick, Greyhawk, Gabrielle, and Sorgal sat around it. Each had a bottle in their hands. Melancholic expressions were plastered on their faces.

 

Rick raised his bottle.

 

“Here’s to the finest first mate I’ve ever had…”

 

“Not now,” Greyhawk snapped at him.

 

“What? I thought it would be appropriate…”

 

Gabrielle pointed towards the bar counter, where Xana sat alone, brooding over a glass of some strange concoction the server had gotten for her.

 

“Oh…” Rick sighed. “It’s been a week, guys. How long is she going to remain so quiet?”

 

“She’ll talk when she’s ready,” Greyhawk replied. “We all need time for this.”

 

“There’s no guarantee that he’s dead,” Sorgal groaned. “Why are we all just moping about like we were just at his funeral?”

 

“He might not be dead,” the old soldier nodded. “But he’s gone now…and I don’t see how he’ll be coming back.”

 

They all spoke in hushed voices, but by the way Xana slumped even more, it was apparent that she had heard them.

 

“Maybe we should go somewhere else to talk about this,” Gabrielle suggested.

 

“What more is there to talk about?” Rick countered as he took a long swig. “We’ve been sitting here in Anchorhead for a week, hoping that Targon might show up here sometime. We’ve got nowhere to be…and nothing to do. We might as well just drink and try to forget what happened.”

 

“Forget?” Greyhawk frowned. “Were it anyone else, I might expect that from you. But Targon?”

 

Rick laid his head down on the table. “He was the first good friend I had…but he’s gone…just like all the others.”

 

Gabrielle placed her hand on his. “We’re still here.”

 

“Let’s not start with the cheese here,” Sorgal growled.

 

Greyhawk kicked the Sith’s leg under the table to shut him up.

 

The door to the cantina opened and Tygus walked in. He leaned against the table and glanced at each of the crew.

 

“Well, I took care of the ship’s fuel,” he said. “I saw to repairs and refurbishing. The Lone Eagle is as good as new.”

 

Rick looked up at him. “Thanks for that,” he sighed. “Looks like you’re trustworthy after all.”

 

Tygus shook his head. “It’s been a week, guys. Targon’s loss is a real shame…especially so soon after that other incident. But how long are you all just going to sit around like this?”

 

“That would depend on Xana,” Greyhawk replied. “She’s the one hit hardest.”

 

“Really?” Tygus turned towards the Falleen sitting alone. “Well, if you’ll excuse me…”

 

He left the table and sat down in the chair to Xana’s right. She was still staring into her glass. The drink had hardly been touched.

 

“How are you holding up?” Tygus asked.

 

Xana didn’t answer.

 

“I…I’m sorry about your teacher and…friend. It was a real shame…after getting him back.”

 

“What do you want?” Xana asked sharply, not taking her eyes off the glass.

 

“I’m just trying to be a comfort,” the bounty hunter shrugged. “You can’t just keep going on like this. You have to continue on with your life.”

 

“And where do I go?” Xana finally looked at him. “Where do any of us go? Before any of us came together, we had nothing. Rick was a deadbeat, Greyhawk was out of the Republic army, Gabrielle was working for criminals, and Sorgal was probably headed for certain death by other Sith.”

 

“There’s still plenty to do with ourselves,” Tygus sighed. “You’re a Jedi, you can keep doing what you do…same with everyone else. Smuggling, mercenary work, gambling…life doesn’t just end all at once.”

 

“Maybe not for you,” Xana shook her head. “I wouldn’t expect a bounty hunter to understand.”

 

“Apparently you think Gabrielle does,” Tygus countered.

 

Xana sighed and turned back to her glass.

 

Tygus shook his head.

 

“You can’t just stop living because of one friend,” he said. “You’ve got others, you know. Some sitting over at that table, some back in the Republic…one sitting right next to you.”

 

A tear was forming in Xana’s eye. “You don’t understand. You weren’t there to hear Targon’s last words to me.”

 

“No, I suppose I wasn’t. What did he say?”

 

“He wanted me to go. He wanted me to leave, even after I made it clear I was going to fight alongside him for as long as possible. He couldn’t let me…he wouldn’t.”

 

“Sounds like he wasn’t listening to you,” Tygus sighed. “You are a person able to make your own decisions. You don’t have to listen to what orders men give you.”

 

“He told me…” she choked then. “He told me that the only thing that kept him wanting to live…was me.”

 

Tygus was silent for a moment.

 

“I was under the impression that Jedi didn’t love,” he said at last.

 

“You would be wrong.”

 

“Well, they weren’t allowed to love, is what I mean.”

 

Xana shook her head. “He was gone so fast…I hardly registered what he said until he was gone.”

 

Tygus scratched his head. “The only reason he had to live…and he just left? That doesn’t seem right.”

 

Xana stared at him. “What are you implying?”

 

“Nothing,” the bounty hunter shrugged. “Let me ask you this…do you care about him the same way?”

 

She didn’t have an answer to that. “When I see him again, I’ll know the answer…”

 

“If you see him again,” Tygus pointed out.

 

Greyhawk appeared at the counter.

 

“Listen, sorry to interrupt kids, but we need to be going.”

 

“What?” Xana looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

 

“Just got a call,” the old soldier answered. “A call from our Jedi friend, Ryner Sanpo. There seems to be a problem and he needs our help.”

 

“What kind of problem,” Tygus frowned.

 

“The kind that usually follow us,” the soldier replied to him.

 

“But…Targon…” Xana muttered.

 

“He’d want us to keep going,” Greyhawk placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find him, I promise. But Sanpo needs our help more than Targon does. And we can actually help him.”

 

Xana sighed and then nodded.

 

---

 

It was abnormally crowded in the cantinas and sports’ bars on Nar Shaddaa. Everyone was drinking and screaming, all while watching the screens.

 

Everyone from across the Empire had appeared to converge on the Smuggler’s Moon to watch the Huttball tournaments. Everywhere else, the holonet was dominated by Imperial war propaganda.

 

Shazzar couldn’t blame them for wanting to get away from that prattle. He himself could only handle a few minutes of the monotone speakers and the constant call for loyalty, duty, and service to the Empire.

 

But he didn’t care much for the vulgar brawl that the Hutt cartels called a “sport”.

 

He was just here for a drink as he was passing through. Alen Heigren was finally able to come out of hiding, and Shazzar had offered to escort him to the core worlds so he could set up shop again.

 

Now he was making his long trip back to Shili. Unfortunately, Nar Shaddaa was a necessary stop along the way.

 

So he came into one of the shadier establishments to get a drink quickly and without any disturbance. The lowlifes would know better than to disturb a man as armed and reputed as him.

 

More shouting at the game. It would appear the favored team was…losing.

 

Shazzar took another drink, finishing off the glass of brandy.

 

“Haven’t retired quite yet, I see?” a voice asked him.

 

Shazzar growled. What stupid idiot was going to bother him?

 

“Look, pal…”

 

He stopped. He recognized the voice.

 

“I heard about what happened,” he said, not bothering to turn to face the speaker.

 

“Planning to gloat about how one so mighty could be brought so low?” Viruul asked.

 

“Not at all,” Shazzar shrugged. “Titles and positions don’t make a man. His strength does. And you proved yours to me a while ago.”

 

“Perhaps then you’ll be willing to listen to my offer?”

 

Shazzar turned to face him. Viruul was not in any sort of disguise. Perhaps merely having a black cloak and a lightsaber kept anyone away. Lots of Sith looked like that, after all.

 

“Require my services, do you?” Shazzar sighed. “Planning for revenge and to take back your position on the Dark Council?”

 

“Not so loud,” Viruul warned. “Even in the filthiest of pigsties the Emperor’s Wrath has ears. I don’t want him catching wind of my survival.”

 

“He thinks you’re dead?”

 

“Perhaps,” Viruul shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I’m not taking chances.”

 

“You’ve been cast down,” Shazzar stated. “Stripped of your position and publicly condemned. How do you plan to strike back? You have no friends on the Dark Council, no ties with Imperial Intelligence of the Moffs.”

 

“I have my apprentice,” Viruul countered. “Admiral Gerald will also fight for me, I am sure.”

 

“That’s two.”

 

“With you it would make three.”

 

“Three against the Emperor’s assassin and his countless resources and lackeys? Viruul, I’ve never thought you insane until now…”

 

“Not insane, determined.”

 

“Whatever you call it, it’s suicide. Unlike you, I have a wife that I have responsibility for…I can’t get myself killed and leave her alone.”

 

“I’m not asking you to,” Viruul replied.

 

“You’ve got no chance,” Shazzar shook his head. “I’ve been watching the Imperial news. Your old pal, Hades, is dead on Tattooine. The Mandalorians aren’t fighting the new rule. A lot of your peers on the Council are gone now, too. Jadus is missing…some are dead…Fuhron’s started naming his allies to replace them. Have you seen that lot? The worst are Darth Cthulu and Lady Vorra. A pawn and a consort if I ever saw one.”

 

Viruul nodded. “I won’t deny things are rotten. The Dark Council has lost its supreme authority over the Empire. Things are turning in a bad direction, and I’m going to fix it.”

 

“By taking back your seat?”

 

“I will tear this new regime down to the foundations,” Viruul hissed. “Fuhron and all who follow him will die. I want your help in this my…friend.”

 

“Friend? That’s new…”

 

“No point in denying,” the Dark Lord shrugged. “You’re the finest hunter and most faithful ally I have yet seen.”

 

“You know I don’t work for free…”

 

“You will be well compensated. But before you say you have enough from the last job, understand that I mean more than just credits. There is much and more that will be yours when things are restored to how they are meant to be.”

 

Shazzar sighed. “I guess I’ll have to accept your offer. There’s no guarantee that Fuhron won’t come after your friends and associates. But if you’re gathering allies to counter him, you’ll need a safe place to rally. My place is out of the question.”

 

“I can help you there,” a stranger said taking a seat next to Viruul.

 

Both Shazzar and Viruul readied to grab their weapons.

 

“Choose your next words carefully, sir,” Shazzar warned him.

 

Viruul frowned. “I know you, don’t I?”

 

“Indeed,” the stranger nodded. “Here’s not the best place to talk. Why don’t we each get a drink, find a table away from the rabble and talk about an abandoned planet called Dakara.”

 

“Who are you?” Shazzar peered at him.

 

“Ah, we haven’t been introduced,” the man held out his hand to shake Shazzar’s. “Lord Viruul and I only met ever so briefly. My name is Draco.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Four

 

Targon had been following his old master for what must have been several hours. The forest had grown thicker as they had walked, the trees getting tighter together and the brush grew denser.

 

“Master, where are we going?” Targon finally asked. “We’ve been walking for a long time.”

 

“Long?” Tieru stopped and turned to him. “Really? I hadn’t noticed. Hmm…”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. “Is this a test? Some vision of you that is keeping me from making progress?”

 

Tieru laughed at that.

 

“No, Targon, this is not a test. I am simply…remembering the way.”

 

“I thought you and the other masters were never here…that you only discovered the secret…not follow it through.”

 

“That is correct,” the Jedi Master nodded. “But I’m dead…so I’ve had time to get to know this place and much of the mysteries of the Force.”

 

“Oh,” Targon sighed. “I should have figured as much.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there. I remember now.”

 

Tieru sped up the pace, moving surprisingly fast along the path. Much faster than a man of his age had any business going.

 

But Targon figured that since Tieru was no longer in the mortal realm…he could walk as quickly as he darn well pleased.

 

At last, they came to a large clearing in the jungle. The trees had parted, creating a near perfect circle as large as a starship. Old stones and pillars stood erect in even spacing around the perimeter.

 

They were very similar to the ruined ones on Tattooine.

 

“What is this place?” Targon asked. “Is this the source of immortality?”

 

“Not at all,” Tieru shook his head. “This is a place of meditation and training.”

 

“And why are we here?”

 

Tieru looked at him, suddenly with very stern eyes.

 

“I told you that a taint of Khan Arc-Saal is within you. You must defeat him first, before you can reach the source. You must conquer the darkness within yourself.”

 

“How do I do that?” Targon asked. “I can’t even…feel anything of Kronos. He’s not there, otherwise I would have…”

 

“You remember your trial on Coruscant?”

 

Targon frowned and then nodded. “Yes…I thought I had stopped him.”

 

“Stopped, yes. Defeated? No. Khan has become a dark and perverse abomination in the Force. His techniques in the Dark Side, his spiritual grip on the mortal world, and his pure, unquenchable malice and desire for death… These are not things meant to be in the Force.”

 

“Then I’m supposed to restore balance?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But how?”

 

Tieru sighed. He pointed to the center of the clearing, where a small stone block sat. “Go there and meditate.”

 

“What good will that do?” Targon frowned. “How can I stop something so evil and so elusive as Khan?”

 

“You must quiet your mind and delve within yourself,” Tieru replied. “Only then can you find his taint and remove it.”

 

“And I do that just by meditating?” Targon raised an eyebrow. “Master, that seems ridiculous. I’ve meditated plenty of times since I last faced him and I’ve never encountered his spirit since. How will that change now?”

 

Tieru placed a hand on Targon’s shoulder. “You need to trust me, my old padawan. You need to have a little faith – and if not in me, then in yourself. Meditate on the stone, reach into your memories and your connection to the Force. Be patient and calm, and you will find it.”

 

Targon sighed. “I will do as you say, master.”

 

He walked over to the stone and sat down. It was disturbingly cold, but he endured it long enough to get accustomed to it.

 

He folded his legs, placed his hands on his knees, and then closed his eyes. At first, he concentrated as with normal meditation. Focusing on the breathing, letting all thoughts of the current situation float away into nothing.

 

His memories began to appear, popping up in flashing images, but in no certain sequential order.

 

Targon saw his first meeting with Greyhawk and Rick. Then he saw the encounters with Algayne, Lycos Quinn, Hellion, and the Dark Covenant. People he barely remembered flashed before him and then faded.

 

He saw every death, every murder, and every torture that he had witnessed. Both friends and enemies…and people he never knew.

 

The memories were turning into something else…feelings. Emotions. Thoughts and hopes, fears and dreams. Images became distorted and strange.

 

It wasn’t anything gradual, but a sudden shock. Everything he had been meditating vanished into nothing just as he was reaching deep within his subconscious. There was a dark presence filling the void, and Targon felt sick to his stomach.

 

He tried to push past it, even to shove it out of himself, but it wasn’t going anywhere. It struck back with equal strength. He could have sworn he heard laughing.

 

Targon gasped and he was awake. He was still where he was – sitting on the stone in the open clearing. The light had begun to fade as the planet’s sun was setting.

 

There was a major difference, though.

 

Tieru was missing. Someone else was standing only a little ways off.

 

A figure in black, ragged robes.

 

Targon stood, his hand reaching for his lightsaber.

 

“You drew me out quicker than I expected,” Kronos hissed. “You’ve gotten stronger with time.”

 

Targon’s blade sprung to life.

 

“How have you been inside me?” he demanded.

 

“Since you stripped my power with your master’s spirit in my stronghold.”

 

“But you are dead. Destroyed. Your physical form is gone, and your spirit was bound to it.”

 

“And a small piece to you,” Kronos replied. His eyes flashed with a pale green light, illuminating his skeletal face.

 

“What does it take to be rid of you?” Targon growled.

 

“More than you can hope for,” the Death Lord answered with a mocking laugh.

 

Targon glanced around. “Where is Tieru?”

 

“The old man?” Kronos hissed. “He can’t intervene. I killed him, remember? He is…what you call ‘one with the Force’. The fool can’t help you. You are on your own.”

 

Targon held up his saber. “Then I’ll make do by myself.”

 

He leapt and swung his saber at the abomination. In a flash, Kronos’ viridian blade appeared and countered him.

 

They held together, their blades crackling and sparking. Then, Targon broke free and swung again. He used swift and precise attacks, deliberately placing his saber’s edge where it would be the most effective.

 

Kronos held him off easily, as though he was hardly trying. Each swing Targon made was blocked and then countered by the evil figure.

 

The Death Lord moved with calm and effortless fluidity. He seemed to glide along the ground, as though he were nothing but an ethereal illusion.

 

Targon noticed that. He also noticed that the harder and fiercer he made his attacks, the easier time Kronos had to parry. As his strength was lessening, Kronos was growing bolder and faster.

 

“I’m looking at this the wrong way,” Targon muttered. Mentally, he slapped himself for being so careless.

 

Kronos was already dead. His physical form was destroyed months ago.

 

He was fighting a part of himself.

 

“I can’t fight myself with a blade,” he smiled, understanding.

 

With that, he jumped back to put distance between him and Kronos. Then he let down his saber, holding out his free hand.

 

A stone pillar shook slightly, and then started to budge out of place. It was lifted into the hair and hurtled towards Kronos.

 

The dark being dove out of the way, barely avoiding the crushing blow of one ton of rock.

 

Targon tried again, pulling out another one. This time, Kronos held out his own hand, turning the stone to dust.

 

Then, Kronos hurled massive bolts of lightning at Targon.

 

The Jedi raised his saber to block the assault. It was terrible and powerful, pushing him back step by step until he nearly tripped over the stone seat.

 

Targon planted his feet and held firm there. The stream of electricity kept coming, an endless pulse of dark energy.

 

Calling on the Force, Targon began to push back. The lightning no longer struck his saber. Instead, it appeared to vanish into the air in front of him. Some invisible barrier was holding between it and Targon.

 

Targon kept pushing, and the wall advanced towards Kronos.

 

“Clever,” Kronos snapped. “But inadequate.”

 

Pulling back, the dark one sent a different wave through the Force. One that ripped apart grass, rock, and soil at the molecular stage.

 

It struck Targon’s ward and shattered it completely.

 

The shockwave sent Targon flying into the air. He smashed into the ground and rolled several times, bouncing occasionally.

 

When he finally came to a stop, he groaned and devoted his strength to getting back on his feet.

 

The hum of a lightsaber was approaching. Targon rushed to strike out with his blade to block the incoming blow.

 

It was none too soon, as Kronos’ blade was mere inches from Targon’s skin.

 

Sweat beads evaporated from his pores, and tiny hairs were starting to singe.

 

“What do you mean you can’t fight with the blade?” Kronos hissed at him. “Without swordplay, a Jedi cannot match anything to a Sith – much less to me. You are weak in the Force. Your code holds you back. You meditate and protect others…but you cannot save yourselves.”

 

Targon pushed him back and got to his feet. He held out his lightsaber in a defensive stance.

 

“This isn’t about saving myself,” Targon countered. “This is about saving everyone I care about – everyone I have sworn to protect.”

 

Kronos’ laugh was a foul sound. “Is it? They are not here, but you are about to die by your own mind.”

 

“Wrong,” Targon shook his head. “I’m stopping this source of power. I’m going to end this secret that you have killed so many to obtain. Immortality belongs to no one, least of all you.”

 

“But how do you hope to defeat me?” Kronos countered. “Fight the Sith, destroy the nexus, but what then? I’m inside you, boy. To destroy me, you’ll have to destroy yourself. And I am Death, I cannot be stopped.”

 

Targon took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, calming his spirit inside. Then he deactivated his lightsaber, hooking it back on his belt.

 

“There is a foul corruption in everyone,” he said, more to himself than to Kronos. “Just as there is corruption in a forest grown wild and rotten. In order to restore balance, there must be a cleansing fire.”

 

“Spouting Jedi nonsense like Tieru, eh?” Kronos laughed. “I killed him soon after he started preaching. The same shall be for you.”

 

“Though painful, the fire will consume the evil and let the forest grow anew, clean and pure.”

 

“You can’t purge yourself of everything,” Kronos sneered. “Only I attained that. Are you willing to become me?”

 

“No,” Targon shook his head. “I’m willing to be a Jedi. I can’t cleanse myself of every impurity in me. I’m full of flaws, like my friends and my foes. But the unnatural taint within me can be cleansed. You can be destroyed from inside me.”

 

“There is no hope for that,” Kronos laughed again. “You can’t. Tieru tried. Draco tried. You tried before. I am eternal.”

 

“You are not Death,” Targon nodded. “You are but a vile and corrupt perversion of that natural part of existence. All are born, grow, and then die. But in dying, they pass into the Force and begin new life.”

 

Kronos clenched his saber with his bony fingers so tightly that they crackled.

 

Targon opened his eyes and stared at the dark figure before him.

 

“Master Tieru knew that the inner fire of conviction and truth will cleanse a man’s spirit. He could harness it and tame the kinetic energy within himself and within the Force.”

 

Targon’s hands began to flicker, and then flames appeared surrounding them.

 

“Impossible,” Kronos hissed sharply. “You cannot have learned that at your young age. You’re a boy, a pup. A child whimpering in the dark!”

 

“I am a Jedi,” Targon stated with all the power he could muster. “And I am going to purge my spirit of you. Go back to oblivion where you belong!”

 

Targon put his hands together, joining the flames. He moved them about in a circular fashion, creating a ball.

 

The flames swirled and flashed, changing color from red to blue to gold to white.

 

Kronos howled and charged. In one hand he had his saber ready to plunge into Targon’s throat, and in the other he let forth a massive torrent of lightning and dark energy.

 

Targon held his ground. The lightning encircled him, went through him, but it did not harm him.

 

“You cannot hurt me,” he announced. “You only have the power I allow you.”

 

As Kronos neared, Targon held out his hands, sending the ball of fire to intercept.

 

The flames exploded, catching every inch of Kronos’ cloak. The Death Lord howled and screamed so terribly that the trees shook and the stone pillars trembled and toppled over.

 

Targon closed his eyes. He couldn’t show fear. Fear would give Kronos power. But this was his mind. His life. He didn’t have to let this shadow of the past haunt him any longer.

 

Kronos flew into the air, a great black phantom engulfed in white fire.

 

He shrieked and flailed, lashing out at anything and everything around him.

 

In one final cry, the flames extinguished and Kronos was gone.

 

---

 

Draakis stopped in his tracks. A bright flash of light had appeared behind him.

 

He turned around to catch a last glimpse of it brightening the trees.

 

“Well now,” he said. “What do you suppose that is?”

 

“We were followed,” Arachne replied.

 

“Indeed,” Draakis nodded. “A Jedi…a powerful one by the feel of it.”

 

“I know him,” the Zabrak growled.

 

“Do you?”

 

“He’s not that strong.”

 

Draakis smiled. “I’d beg to differ, but you would know more than I, it would seem. No doubt he is here to stop us from reaching the nexus. That can’t be allowed.”

 

“So why don’t you go stop him?” Arachne smirked.

 

“I would,” Draakis nodded. “But there isn’t much time. We must reach the nexus before the sun sets. It will take time to enact the…ritual…for lack of a better term.”

 

“Time to start explaining this whole mess,” Arachne frowned.

 

“I thought we covered it…and that you hate history lessons…”

 

“Cram it, slave,” Arachne hissed. “Where is the nexus and what does it do?”

 

Draakis sighed. He pointed to a large hill on the horizon.

 

“There,” he answered. “The source of immortality is a crystalline structure atop that hill. At midnight here on Syris Thaal, a pool of water forms in the center. Drinking from it will grant us the power to live forever.”

 

Arachne snarled. “Why couldn’t you have said all that in the first place?”

 

Draakis frowned. “No sense of drama, hmm? What a shame, considering your…unique lust for blood.”

 

“You’ve been testing my patience,” Arachne glared at him. “I don’t know why I haven’t killed you already. I’ve been getting quite thirsty this evening.”

 

“Tell you what,” Draakis smiled again. “Take care of our Jedi follower and you can have all the blood of his you want. Then, meet me at the hilltop and we can change the fate of the galaxy together.”

 

Arachne kept her eyes on him.

 

“Fine,” she bore her teeth. “No tricks, now.”

 

“Would I do that?”

Edited November 19, 2012 by TargonKarashi

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Five

 

A lone Republic transport was drifting in the asteroid field.

 

“Sensors show that shields and primary power are down,” Greyhawk pointed out.

 

Rick turned to him. “Thank you, I noticed.”

 

“Just trying to be a decent copilot,” the old soldier shrugged. “Sorry I’m not as good as…”

 

“Zip it,” Rick snapped.

 

Greyhawk frowned at him.

 

Rick sighed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that…”

 

“Bah, what do I care if I get chewed out by a kid half my age? Folks in the army were doing it to me for years.”

 

“What do we got?” Gabrielle asked, leaning on both of their chairs.

 

“Looks just about dead,” Rick shrugged. “There’s been no response to our hails.”

 

“Maybe we showed up too late?” the Twi’lek frowned.

 

“Too late for what?” Greyhawk asked. “There’s no signs of battle on the ship, nor structural damage. It might just be they’re having power trouble.”

 

“Ryner wouldn’t have called us if it were that trivial,” Gabrielle countered.

 

“True, but then, we don’t know that. Maybe the kid is trying to pull a fast one. Even if he is a Jedi…he never struck me as the too serious type.”

 

“What are scanners picking up?” Gabrielle turned to Rick.

 

The captain frowned. “It’s difficult to make out. There seems to be something jamming the signal from reaching into the ship. I’ve counted a few life signs…not many, though. Not enough to account for the crew.”

 

“Could there have been an accident?”

 

“Or something worse?” Greyhawk sighed. “With the way things have been for us… it might be pirates, or contagions, or Sith…”

 

“I thought you of all people wouldn’t care what it was,” Gabrielle winked at the old soldier.

 

“Heh. I don’t, but I don’t like running into this kind of situation so soon after…”

 

“Yeah, we got it,” Rick cut him off. “We’ll go in for a landing and check things out. We’re not too far from Corellia here, so we should call in our position to the Republic.”

 

“Wouldn’t they have done that?” Gabrielle inquired.

 

“They probably didn’t have the chance,” Greyhawk replied.

 

“I know people say this way too often,” Rick sighed, “but I have a bad feeling about this.”

 

“Tell that to someone who really cares,” Greyhawk punched his shoulder.

 

“I figured Gabi cares,” Rick glanced at the Twi’lek.

 

“Sorry, hon,” Gabrielle smiled. “I’m with the geezer on this one.”

 

---

 

While the ship might have looked fine from outside, inside was another matter.

 

Sparks were bursting from the walls, and scorch marks painted the walls a charcoal black. Bodies were lying all over – crewmen of the transport and soldiers that were being carried.

 

The crew didn’t like the scene. The lights were flickering out, so they each had to pull out a flashlight. There was a foul smell in the air – a mix of smoke, ozone, and blood.

 

“Of course it’s one of these situations,” Sorgal groaned.

 

“Quit complaining,” Greyhawk snapped at him. “It could be worse.”

 

“Worse? How?”

 

“There could be no bodies at all,” Tygus replied.

 

Everyone glanced at him.

 

The bounty hunter shrugged. “You guys aren’t the only ones that have happened on weird stuff in their travels. I’ve run into plenty of derelict ships. Just saying…”

 

“Well, if you have anything else to say,” Gabrielle frowned. “Keep it to yourself.”

 

“You all sure know how to make a crewman welcome,” Tygus sighed.

 

“Ignore the snarky ones,” Xana told him. “Their opinions don’t matter for much.”

 

“What was that?” Sorgal asked.

 

“Nothing,” the Falleen shook her head. “You must be hearing things.”

 

“And she’s calling us snarky?” Rick muttered.

 

Tygus held in a chuckle. He turned to Xana.

 

“I’m glad to see you’re coming more alive now,” he smiled.

 

She shook her head. “Don’t look too much into it. Now is not the time for brooding or moping. There’s a job to do.”

 

“You’re mature beyond your years,” Tygus nodded.

 

“I’m a Jedi,” Xana replied.

 

“Ah, that too.”

 

“Alright, listen up!” Greyhawk called. “We need to split up to cover more ground faster.”

 

“Who died and made you captain?” Rick growled.

 

Gabrielle smacked the back of his head to shut him up.

 

Greyhawk continued.

 

“Rick and Gabrielle, take this hall.” He pointed to the nearest corridor that led towards the medical bay. “Sorgal, you and I will head for the engine room.”

 

“And us?” Xana asked.

 

“Make for the bridge,” the soldier answered. “We need to see if we can get power restored in this ship. Everyone, keep a comlink open and ready. Anything pops up, anything at all, speak up. There’s no reason any of us should get into trouble without the rest knowing.”

 

“Whatever you say, gramps,” Rick sighed.

 

“As if we could really pull that off,” Sorgal concurred. “It’d be a miracle.”

 

“Lose the attitude, both of you!” Greyhawk snapped.

 

The pairs broke off and went their separate ways. Everyone had their weapons ready in one hand, and the light in the other.

 

“Funny how we’re always getting stuck together,” Tygus observed as they climbed up a maintenance ladder to the upper deck and to the bridge.

 

“Funny that you keep track of things like that,” Xana replied.

 

“I’m just saying,” Tygus shrugged. “It seems…an odd coincidence.”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

Tygus smiled. “I thought Jedi didn’t believe in coincidences or chance.”

 

“I’ve had experience enough to know better,” Xana countered. “Spending time amid the galaxy’s lowlifes in the underworld will change a few perspectives and preconceptions.”

 

“You? Hanging with criminals and con-artists?”

 

“Surprising?” Xana glanced down at him on the ladder. “Not all Jedi are clean and tidy like in the holovids.”

 

She opened the door and climbed out. Tygus was right behind her.

 

The hall was dark, but a few lights were still blinking down the hall around the door to the bridge.

 

“Well, I never thought that of you,” the bounty hunter said. “You’re too…pretty and special…to have been locked up inside a temple for twenty years.”

 

Xana stared at him. “What was that?”

 

“What was what?”

 

“Was that flattery? You should know that it won’t get you anywhere.”

 

Tygus laughed aloud at that, realizing too late he should probably have kept it down. “That wasn’t the case at all. I was just…pointing out something I had noticed.”

 

“Uh huh,” Xana nodded, skepticism dripping in her voice.

 

“Shall we continue?” Tygus suggested, gesturing towards the hall.

 

Xana led the way. In a few moments, they reached the door.

 

“Hmm,” Tygus frowned. “Looks like it’s stuck. Hold on, I’ll try to get it open…”

 

“Way ahead of you,” the Falleen sighed.

 

With a wave of her hand, the doors slid open and they stepped in.

 

Warning lights were flashing sporadically on the consoles. The ones that still worked. Most were exploding with sparks and electricity.

 

There was shattered glass littering the floor, as well as several bodies of crewmen.

 

But there was also something else.

 

Ryner Sanpo was hanging from the ceiling, tied with chains around his arms and legs. He was breathing, but only barely.

 

Xana immediately moved to cut him down. Tygus took him then, gently laying him on the ground.

 

The tall, lanky Jedi was in really rough shape. His robes were torn and sliced, and his face was covered in bruises. He was bleeding in several areas – the chest, the arms, the forehead, and his gut.

 

“What happened to this sorry fellow?” Tygus frowned. “Looks like he got in an argument with a rancor.”

 

Xana grabbed the comlink and switched it on.

 

“I found Ryner,” she stated.

 

“Is he alive?” Rick asked.

 

“Barely,” she replied. “He’s hurt badly. Several wounds…beaten and bleeding. He was chained to the hanging from the ceiling when we found him.”

 

“Find anything else?” Greyhawk inquired.

 

“The bridge is trashed,” Tygus answered. “No other survivors on our end. You?”

 

“Just coming to the engine turbines now,” Greyhawk told them. “No one else alive for us either.”

 

“Same story here,” Rick sighed. “The infirmary is a morgue.”

 

“Lots of blaster shots,” Gabrielle pointed out. “There was an explosion, too.”

 

“We’ve got stabbings around us,” Sorgal stated. “That’s odd.”

 

Xana and Tygus turned their attention to the wounded Jedi as he started to groan. His head moved slightly and his eyes slowly began to open.

 

“Easy now,” Xana said calmingly. “You’re safe, but you’re hurt. Try not to move.”

 

Ryner’s lips tried to utter something, but it became gurgled and faint.

 

“Don’t try to talk,” Tygus ordered.

 

“N…no…” the Jedi gasped. “It…it’s a…t…trap…”

 

There was a sudden commotion on the comlink. Greyhawk was shouting and Sorgal’s lightsaber activated.

 

Shooting and yelling emanated from the speaker, making Xana shudder. Then came swearing, the humming of a lightsaber in action, and then a different sound.

 

The sound of Sorgal’s yelp in pain.

 

Greyhawk’s howl soon followed. Then things became quiet.

 

“Greyhawk?!” Rick exclaimed. “Greyhawk! Are you there! Speak to me, old man!”

 

A stranger’s voice came onto the comlink.

 

“I’m sorry, the old man is too busy bleeding on the floor to talk right now. Can I take a message?”

 

Something cold and hard pushed against Xana’s head.

 

“Don’t move, Jedi,” a woman’s voice ordered.

 

Tygus remained still as well. There was a blaster at his temple as well.

 

“Guys?” Rick’s voice was weak and scared. “What’s going on?”

 

“Look out!” Gabrielle shrieked.

 

Blaster fire on the comlink was deafening.

 

Then things were quiet again.

 

“You all done down there, Reev?” the woman holding the guns asked into the comlink.

 

A new voice came on.

 

“The fool and the girl are incapacitated.”

 

“I’m sure you did the best you could,” the other voice mocked.

 

The voice of the man called Reev retaliated, “You knew the plan, Ravat! Take them out, but leave them alive.”

 

“Why bother? We’re just killing them anyway.”

 

“Because it’s not honorable,” the woman answered him.

 

“You and your naïve sense of honor,” the man sighed. “I learned long ago that there is no ‘honor’ in battle. Glory yes, but you there’s no such thing as a fair fight…or reprieve for the enemy. Now get your jobs done and let’s get off this junk heap.”

 

The woman growled. “Understood.”

 

She whipped Tygus and Xana on the backs of their heads with her guns.

 

They dropped to the floor and were out.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Six

 

Targon had kept a slow pace, but he had kept walking ever since he finished the trial. The sun had gone down, and stars were filling the night sky.

 

He didn’t have time to relax. No time to rest.

 

The Sith had to be stopped. They were getting close – he could feel the tremors in the Force.

 

He kept thinking back on what had happened in the clearing. There was a great deal of relief and…personal satisfaction of defeating Kronos for the last time. The galaxy was now much safer with him gone.

 

Still, he was perturbed at how the piece of Kronos’ being had infected his spirit. And if he had been there…might there be other dark powers inside as well?

 

He shook his head. Now was not the time to get wrapped in that kind of worry. He had to keep focused.

 

And yet…could he afford to ignore the possibility?

 

The trees were getting thick again, some of the trunks were only a few meters away from each other. Some came close to inches. Their canopies hid the stars, and now things had grown terribly dark.

 

Targon shivered. There weren’t any strange sounds in the forest. Nothing at all. It was just…dead. Silent.

 

That was more disturbing than any strange howls or growls might have been.

 

He had been alone the whole time. Tieru had never returned, Kronos was gone for good…and there were no other signs of life on the entire planet.

 

Being alone was bothersome. On worlds like Dromund Kaas and Korriban, Targon had at least known that people were pursuing or threatening him. Here…there was absolutely nothing.

 

It was like he was the last person in existence. A ridiculous notion, he knew, but it felt profound and true nonetheless.

 

That all changed the moment he heard the sharp snap of a twig.

 

He stopped.

 

The silence resumed…but there was something out there. He could feel it. A presence was nearby…one dark and familiar.

 

Targon was suddenly lifted into the air and slammed against the trunk of the nearest tree.

 

Before he had time to gasp or shout, he was thrown into another one. He dropped to the ground, groaning and fighting for air.

 

There was a loud crack. Targon looked up in time to see the tree start to collapse, toppling over.

 

Right above him.

 

He rolled out of the way before the tree crushed him. He stood and reached for his saber.

 

His fingers barely brushed the hilt before he was again thrust into the air and pinned against the base of another tree.

 

Terrible pressure of the Force pushed against him, trying to keep his body moving, but the tree was not budging. So the resistance simply crushed into Targon’s body.

 

He groaned and struggled to break free, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe.

 

A person emerged from beneath the shadows of the trees and came into the faint light.

 

Arachne had a cruel smile on her face.

 

“Here we are yet again,” she hissed. “You and me, crossing paths and wills. You’re a resilient one, I’ll give you that, Jedi. But you aren’t strong. You don’t have the will to win.”

 

Targon couldn’t say anything. His muscles, even his bones, were strained to the limit.

 

“We’re going to finish this game now,” Arachne snarled. “You’ve cheated death for long enough.”

 

With the hardest of concentration, Targon broke free of her grip. He sent out a giant shockwave through the Force that sent her sprawling.

 

He landed on his feet, nearly toppling over. He was sore and hurting everywhere.

 

“Sorry,” Targon sighed. “I’ve been around my friend, Rick, too long to just give up now.”

 

Arachne was back on her feet in a flash. Her saber was in her hands.

 

“I should have killed you the moment I first saw you,” she hissed. The red blade came alive, lighting the forest in a bloody glow.

 

“I should never have gone to Korriban,” Targon countered. “But both our mistakes are in the past. Nothing to be done about them now.”

 

“Except kill you now,” Arachne’s teeth flashed. The fangs were dark, still stained with blood from her many kills.

 

Targon pulled out his lightsaber, filling the area with a contrasting green light.

 

“You’ve killed a lot of people,” Targon sighed. “I feel it is all my fault. I regret not being strong enough in the past to stop you earlier. Hopefully I can change that now.”

 

“You’re still a weak pup,” Arachne sneered.

 

“Maybe,” Targon nodded. “But I’ve conquered the dark power that infested my soul, and you’ve given in to yours. We shall see who is stronger.”

 

Arachne howled and leapt at him. Her speed was just as terrible and unbelievable as it had always been.

 

Targon took a step back and then swung to counter her attack. She had the offensive, striking one blow after the other. Targon had no choice but to consistently give ground to her in order to keep up with her movements.

 

The Sith kept coming, getting faster and faster as he assault continued.

 

“Stand your ground and fight,” Arachne snarled at him.

 

Targon had an idea. Instead of staying toe to toe, like she wanted, he should be trying to tire her out the way she always did to her opponents in the past.

 

He made a feint to the left, causing her to swing that way. Then he darted in the opposite direction, headed straight for the nearest tree.

 

She was on his tail, charging and snapping at his heals.

 

Targon reached the tree and ran up it as far as he could. Then he kicked off and caught hold of a low branch on a nearby tree.

 

Climbing up, he balanced his feet on the narrow surface. Arachne leapt up for his branch, and to respond, Targon bounded for another one.

 

She followed, just as he hoped.

 

He then dove for another tree, reaching up higher into its branches. The limbs were thinner, and they started to bow under his weight.

 

Targon was about to jump towards the next tree when he heard something that made him pause.

 

It was the sound of a lightsaber cutting through wood.

 

The tree jolted and then started to collapse. He lost his balance and tumbled out of the branches.

 

He caught the lowest limb of a different tree just in time. Wasting no time, he climbed up it and stood.

 

Arachne had given up the chase. Now she was just slicing through the tree he was on. Her blade made quick work of the dense wood base.

 

Targon leapt to the ground and rolled. When he was back on his feet, he turned to face her directly.

 

“Running,” she spat. “Trying to keep away from the fight. That’s all you Jedi ever do. It’s sickening.”

 

“We take our stands when we must,” Targon countered. “But there are always alternatives to fighting.”

 

“That kind of prattle is what lost you the last war,” Arachne hissed. “And you’ll lose this one too. And you’ll die here because of it.”

 

“Why the constant hate?” Targon shook his head. “Why the revel in blood and death? You’re letting the Dark Side twist you and destroy everything around and within you.”

 

“Don’t you start that nonsense,” the Sith roared, charging towards him. “I’ll cut your tongue out before you die!”

 

Targon caught her blade with his own. He felt the heat of sparks bounce off his skin.

 

“This has to stop,” he muttered between his teeth as he strained against her unnatural strength.

 

Arachne was staring into his eyes. There was the darkest kind of malice in her gaze that made most other Sith he had faced seem friendly and tame. This was utter darkness – like Kronos and that strange Sith he had only glimpsed on Dromund Kaas.

 

There was nothing but hate and death in those eyes. Targon then realized that there was no hope of trying to reason with her. She was lost in her wrath, and there was no way she was going to come out of it while he still lived.

 

“After I kill you,” Arachne snarled. “I’ll be sure to find your friends and paint that rickety ship of yours’ with their blood. What blood I haven’t enjoyed first, that is.”

 

Targon’s eyes widened. He felt his strength melt away from him, and he tumbled to the ground, barely able to lift his sword hand.

 

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Arachne laughed.

 

She had…and yet it wasn’t what she said.

 

An image flashed before Targon’s eyes. He could see Rick and Greyhawk, Gabrielle, Sorgal, Xana, and even Tygus. They were screaming in pain and fear. A fierce inferno was surrounding them, igniting their clothes and skin.

 

They were begging for someone – anyone – to help them. They called for him, for the Jedi, the Republic…anybody. Nobody was around, nobody could help them. Targon could only watch.

 

The fire was spreading quickly. In seconds, they were all ablaze. Their pain and screams were tortuous. They filled his soul and made himself cry in agony.

 

He saw a giant explosion and their cries were silenced. All around, he could see Imperial warships passing by. Legions were marching, led by bloodthirsty Sith Lords. Cities were burning now, towers falling, children screaming.

 

Foul laughter filled the air. It was deafening.

 

He writhed and howled, while Arachne loomed over him, smiling.

 

She raised her blade and prepared to plunge it down into Targon’s neck.

 

Targon’s eyes opened and he was back in the present. A fiery burning was pulsing through his veins, sourced around the scar on his neck.

 

He felt like his blood had turned to flame, and steam was bursting from his skin.

 

His arm was lifting, swinging the saber. But it wasn’t him. He didn’t have the strength. It was someone else moving his arm, some other source of power was making him rise.

 

He could only watch his arm. It didn’t even look like his. There were no robes, and the skin wasn’t his fair color. Instead, what he saw was fiery red scales and long vicious talons.

 

“Not this time!” he roared at Arachne.

 

It wasn’t his voice.

 

It was Succuba’s.

 

---

 

The Mandalorian ship was a safe distance away from the Republic transport. The derelict vessel seemed small and unimportant amid the field of immense asteroids.

 

“I think this is far enough,” Ravat sighed.

 

He brought the ship to a halt and kept it steady.

 

With a smile, he turned to Merani.

 

“Care to do the honors?”

 

“Just get it done,” the woman growled at him.

 

“Hey, just being courteous,” Ravat shrugged. “If you don’t want to, just say so.”

 

“Quit with the theatrics,” Reev snapped at him. “We’ve gotten real sick of them. I’ll wager the Warmaster has too.”

 

“If so, he hasn’t said anything.”

 

“Why waste all this time?” Reev then asked. “Why not kill them and then blow the ship? Why take them down and then tie them up together? What’s the point, Ravat? Just simple sadism?”

 

“You ask a lot of questions,” the one-eyed Mandalorian frowned at him. “Warriors don’t ask questions, they act.”

 

“They also don’t ramble on about stupid trivialities,” Merani pointed out.

 

“Indeed,” Ravat nodded.

 

“Then why?” Reev folded his arms. “Answer me that one question and we can call this whole thing done.”

 

“Fair enough. I knew Algayne, perhaps even better than Merani here.”

 

“I doubt it,” the woman scoffed.

 

“Shut it,” Ravat warned her, pointing at her neck with a blade. “Don’t interrupt.” He paused then to put the blade back in his belt. “Anyway, he and I fought together in battle. Real war buddies, he and I. When I heard how he died…well, it’s only fair his killers suffer for their last moments as he did.”

 

“He was thrown into space,” Reev rolled his eyes.

 

“Can you think of a worse way to die?” Ravat countered.

 

Neither of the others said anything.

 

“Well, I can,” Ravat grinned. “Stuck with your friends with a ship about to blow. Still alive, still conscious…utterly helpless.”

 

He grabbed a detonator in his hand.

 

“All’s fair in war,” he laughed as he pressed the button.

 

The transport burst into a massive flower of flame, turning all the pieces into tiny, darting sparks of light. For a single moment, it was more impressive than the giant space rocks.

 

“Time to tell Stark that it’s done,” Merani sighed. She then added, “Fitting.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Ravat nodded.

 

The holocommunicator flickered on and Rasil Stark appeared, dressed in full armor. His helmet was quite impressive on his head, giving him the complete look of a grand Mandalorian commander.

 

“Is it done?” he demanded.

 

“Yes, sir,” Reev replied.

 

“Good.”

 

“Shall we return?” Merani inquired.

 

“No,” Stark shook his head. “Await my arrival.”

 

“Sir?” Ravat frowned.

 

“Lord Fuhron has asked me to join the command for a massive Imperial task force. We are going to take Corellia in a single strike. You will join me.”

 

“Corellia?” Reev gasped. “The spirit of the Republic?”

 

“Things are changing,” Star nodded. “Fuhron is going to bring this war to a swift and glorious end. The battle shall be worthy of legend, and we are all going to be part of it.”

 

“When should we expect you?” Ravat asked.

 

“Two standard days.”

 

“We shall be ready,” Merani saluted.

 

The others saluted as well.

 

Stark nodded approvingly and then cut the transmission.

 

“More glorious battle,” Ravat grinned. His mood suddenly changed when he saw movement in the asteroid field.

 

“What was that?” Reev asked.

 

Ravat’s mouth dropped as he saw the Lone Eagle limping away from the remnants of the explosion. It was heavily damaged…but not destroyed.

 

Soon it was too far to see anymore.

 

Ravat turned to the other two, placing his hands on his belt. He fingered his blades.

 

“It was nothing,” he said sharply. “Nothing at all. Understand?”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Seven

 

There were no trees on the top of the hill. It was bare, except for the bright and vibrant grass that grew at a uniform length all around. It had never been cut or touched, and yet it remained tame and the same.

 

A small structure stood on the summit – a crystalline fountain only as large as a person.

 

It was formed in the shape of a delicate blossom, smooth and reaching out from a single point.

 

The crystal took in the starlight and reflected it at a greater intensity. It appeared to glow in a myriad of colors, bathing the hill in glittering light.

 

Draakis stood still, marveling at its beauty. It was so simple, so fragile…and yet he could feel the awesome power of the Force within it, exhuming from it. He reached out and ran his fingers along the edge. The feel was hard, but soft as well. It radiated with a gentle coolness that made his skin tingle.

 

There was a soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

 

Draakis smiled.

 

“You’ve arrived,” he nodded. “And just before midnight. We can witness the fountain’s awakening together.”

 

“I’m not who you think,” Targon announced.

 

Draakis smiled and shook his head. “Of course you are.”

 

He turned and faced the Jedi. It was almost like looking in a strange mirror. They were both near the same age, and their features were almost equivalently young and soft like a boy’s.

 

The only major differences were clothing, hairstyle, and the scars on Draakis’ face that Targon did not share.

 

“I’ll admit,” Draakis continued, “that I originally thought you to be just part of a Jedi pursuit team. I had no idea who you really were.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“Weren’t you expecting Arachne?”

 

“Part of me hoped she’d return,” Draakis sighed. “But when I learned who you really were…I knew there was little chance of that. She had no idea your true strength.”

 

“Just who do you think I am?” Targon frowned.

 

“Why…you’re Targon Karashi, the young Jedi Knight, first mate on the Lone Eagle. A lot of people know who you are – and the many adventures and battles you’ve gone through and triumphed against.”

 

Targon’s frown deepened. “I’m not that special…”

 

Draakis laughed. “No? You don’t think so? You are the Jedi that defeated the Death Lord Kronos. You destroyed the Dark Covenant and brought peace between the Republic and the Kordak League. You stopped the spirits of ancient Sith, defied the Dark Lords of the Council, and even cheated death itself.”

 

Targon took a step back in surprise and alarm. “How do you know all this?”

 

“The way you keep staring at my face tells me you thought me a slave that was taught to be a Sith,” Draakis folded his arms. “Just like everyone else that looks at me for the first time. It’s true, I was a slave, and I was discovered by the Sith and sent to Korriban. But I’m more than that, just as you are more than a simple Jedi Knight.”

 

“Obviously,” Targon nodded. “Since you knew about this…” He pointed to the fountain. “Only my master and his companions knew about this secret.”

 

“Were they the only ones?” Draakis countered. “True, I learned a lot from the records of one Master Eseri…but there are older powers that knew of this. You of course learned the history, right? The battle between order and chaos?”

 

“I know it,” Targon replied. “How does one like you know so much about this?”

 

“There’s so much you and I could talk about,” Draakis sighed. “We could spend a lifetime chatting. But it’s near midnight, and immortality is waiting. Why don’t we enjoy it and then have all the time we want to explain things to each other.”

 

“I can’t allow that,” Targon stepped forward. “Immortality is unnatural in the Force. It belongs to neither Sith nor Jedi.”

 

“Unnatural?” Draakis laughed. “When we become one with the Force we become immortal. When the spirits of powerful Sith Lords linger in their tombs, are they not immortal? Our existence isn’t as short or fleeting as this life alone, Targon. There is so much more beyond this.”

 

“Regardless,” Targon unhooked his lightsaber from his belt. “I can’t let you drink from that fountain.”

 

“Come now,” Draakis shook his head. “I’m more than willing to share. Aren’t you the least bit curious? Doesn’t the possibility of living forever appeal to you? You more than nearly died once. Could you bear the thought of dying again for good and leaving your friends behind?”

 

“I am not afraid to become one with the Force,” Targon answered sternly. “A Jedi does not fear death.”

 

“Your words lack your heart’s conviction,” Draakis smiled. “Mother told me of you, your doubts and fears. You’re not just some Jedi, Targon. You’re a man, with worries and cares and personal desires.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow again. “Mother?”

 

The crystal began to glow brightly, a soft humming emanated from within it.

 

As the light grew, glittering water began to trickled from within and pour out, filling the basin of the fountain.

 

“Ah,” Draakis smiled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Simply amazing…”

 

Targon could not deny it. The clearness, the purity, and the brilliant aura of the Force surrounding it all… There was something truly wondrous about the scene.

 

The water itself looked so inviting. So cool and fresh…he felt his mouth yearn to taste it and quench his tiring thirst.

 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Draakis grinned. “It’s almost as if it is calling to you. Think, Targon. Think of all you could do with immortality. You could protect the galaxy as a Jedi, you could discover all the mysteries of the universe, or you could do anything you wanted.”

 

Targon hesitated, but then he took another step forward. It was true what Draakis was saying. The sound of the water was as if his name was being called. A soft and inviting voice.

 

He felt something strike his shoulder and hold him back.

 

Targon turned and saw Tieru’s staff hooked on him.

 

“Don’t listen,” his master warned. “Don’t give in. The water grants immortality, this is true, but it comes at a great cost.”

 

Draakis noted the Jedi Master’s appearance. “Ah, a visit from an old friend? I’ve seen plenty of those. But what does an old man know? Hades thought he had all the answers – and I played him like a harp and cut his strings.”

 

“Listen to me, Targon,” Tieru urged. “The fountain and the water is the spirit of the champion that defeated the plague all those ages ago. It is a vessel of light and order – there can be no taint in the one that drinks the water.”

 

“What do you mean?” Targon frowned.

 

“Only the person of purity can drink and live forever,” Tieru replied. “Any hint of darkness, any lingering corruption, and the worst of consequences will ensue.”

 

“What consequences?” Targon asked.

 

“What indeed?” Draakis grinned. “What can happen to you if you cannot die? Only mortals that fear the unknown need to worry about the repercussions of their actions.”

 

“Trust me, Targon,” Tieru pleaded.

 

“Trust him?” Draakis laughed. “Your master is dead, and he kept all these secrets from you when he was alive. What truth has he told you that has helped? If he cared for you, why didn’t he aid you more often against the darkness you’ve had to face alone?”

 

His smile grew larger.

 

“What’s he hiding from you right now?”

 

Targon glanced from Tieru to Draakis and then back to his master. His breathing was growing faster as he felt torn within his feelings. Many of the things Draakis said made sense…

 

But he realized who of the two he trusted more.

 

Targon activated his lightsaber.

 

“Tieru taught me all I needed to know,” he told the Sith. “He tried to protect me from the evil of Kronos, and he helped me fight him at every turn. I’ve never been alone in my battles against darkness. I’ve had my master’s teachings, my Jedi code and training, but most of all, I’ve had my friends.”

 

Master Tieru smiled and let go with his staff.

 

“I know you’re not a fool,” Draakis frowned. “Mother knew it too. Don’t make this foolish decision…”

 

“I’m not,” Targon countered. “I am fulfilling my duty – to the Jedi and the Republic, to my master, to my friends, and to myself. You must be stopped, Draakis, and this fountain must be destroyed.”

 

Draakis sighed. “You have the right to make your decisions.” His lightsaber sprang to life. Red and green seemed to overpower the crystal’s glittering light.

 

“Thank you for understanding,” Targon nodded.

 

Draakis nodded in return. “You’ll see your error soon enough, Targon. Everyone makes mistakes…even those with destinies as great as ours.”

 

Targon charged forward. He swung his blade from the right in a long, powerful arc.

 

The Sith blocked it, pushing the sword back and making his own attack.

 

Targon parried and countered.

 

They were locked in an incessant back and forth. Both stood their ground, their feet remained planted where they stood. When one attacked, the other blocked. And then it was the other’s turn.

 

Finally, Targon changed the status. He jumped into the air, twirled around, and kicked Draakis in the jaw.

 

The Sith flew to the ground and rolled. He was back on his feet quickly, striking back with a bolt of lightning.

 

Targon held up his saber and absorbed the energy. It still pushed him back several steps.

 

Draakis took that time to charge and assault Targon with his saber. The Jedi could only block a handful of the series of flurries that the Sith swung. The others slashed at Targon’s robes and pushed him back against the fountain.

 

Targon made his counterattack. He pushed Draakis back with a wave of his hand, and then followed it up with a ball of swirling air. It sent the Sith sprawling.

 

Amazingly, Draakis recovered in midair. He spun around and then landed back on his feet. The Sith then made his march back up the side of the hill, shooting violent arcs of lightning from his fingers.

 

Targon held them off as best he could, but he was getting pushed against the fountain harder and harder. He could feel his muscles and spine straining against the unyielding crystal.

 

Draakis was getting closer, and the nearer he got, the more intense his torrents of electricity became.

 

Targon was having a harder time holding it off. It grew worse, until he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Some of the bolts were making it through, striking both him and the fountain.

 

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Draakis told him. “The water’s right there. The relief you desire – you need – is right behind you.”

 

“No!” Targon groaned, working harder to keep the lightning back.

 

There was a disturbing sound behind him.

 

He glanced back for half a second to see what it was.

 

The crystal was cracking.

 

Draakis wasn’t letting up. If anything, he was building up more dark energy to hurl at Targon. Both were stuck where they were, neither was willing to let up.

 

The cracks were spreading, and the sound was getting louder.

 

Even Draakis started to hear it over the crackling of the electricity. His eyes widened and he tried to stop at once.

 

It was too late.

 

Targon toppled backwards into the fountain. Draakis leapt after him, grabbing his robes and pulling himself forward.

 

Both of them plummeted into the water.

 

It was icy cold, much more than it had any right to be.

 

Targon’s mouth was barely open and the liquid slipped in through the gap. In sudden shock from the cold, his reaction was not what he wanted. Instead of spitting it back out…he swallowed.

 

The crystal fountain was cracking even more. Energy was spilling out, like magma from a volcano. The air was swirling and growing hotter.

 

The water, however, grew colder and colder.

 

Targon and Draakis could only glance at each other with uniform confusion before the whole hillside was engulfed in a massive explosion.

 

Everything became blinding white as they were lost into some unknown void.

 

Neither of them knew how long they remained in that vast emptiness, but the next thing they knew, they were lying in a massive crater on the ground.

 

Targon groaned in pain, and Draakis gasped for air.

 

After a moment of reacting to their body’s state, they then realized they weren’t in the same area.

 

The trees were different, and the sky was bright with day.

 

They weren’t on Syris Thaal anymore.

 

Conclusion of Episode Twenty-Two

[TargonKarashi]

Episode Twenty-Three – Unleash the Hounds of War

 

Chapter One

 

The Imperial fleet massed just outside the asteroid field. Seventeen giant Star Destroyers made up the central force, surrounded by two dozen frigates and cruisers. Eight Mandalorian warships headed the force, just behind a massive flagship.

 

Fighter squadrons swirled and circled around the ships, creating a large perimeter that stretched for miles all around in the empty space. Turbolasers were bristling, scanning the area and prepared to fire at a moment’s notice.

 

Several shuttles and transports maneuvered to the flagship, docking in the bays and unloading the passengers.

 

Gold letters adorned the side of the command vessel.

 

Invincible.

 

The briefing room aboard the Invincible was starting to fill with the invited guests. There was a large hexagonal table with six seats for the commanders of the task force.

 

Rasil Stark took his seat with Ravat standing dutifully on his right side. He placed his helmet on the table and awaited for the others to take their seats.

 

Directly to the Warmaster’s left was an Imperial moff – a lightly bearded man that had allowed himself to get a little pudgy. His uniform was adorned with various medals and command sigils.

 

All that couldn’t make up for his paunch and his glaring bald spot on his head.

 

“Eating well I take it, Moff Norin?” Ravat grinned at him.

 

Stark gave his second a glare to silence him.

 

The moff was not amused.

 

“Teach your hound to keep his mouth shut,” Norin ordered.

 

“Certainly,” Stark nodded. “As soon as you teach your agents to mind their own business and keep out of Mandalorian affairs.”

 

The moff pursed his lips and prepared to make a retort when he was interrupted by the man next to him.

 

This was a Sith Lord, no doubt about that. The charcoal armor and voice of command was enough to tell that.

 

“It’s not too late to have both of you removed,” he hissed.

 

Even Stark could hardly keep his disgust hidden at this Sith. He was a Khil, and like all his hideous race, his skin was a ghastly green and several fleshy strands – like tentacles – drooped from where his mouth should have been.

 

“I am a moff,” Norin frowned. “Not some simple officer to be dismissed, Lord Cthulu.”

 

“Take care to how you speak to a lord on the Dark Council,” Cthulu countered. “Moffs can always be replaced.”

 

Stark spoke up.

 

“Aye, and so can Dark Lords, apparently.”

 

Ravat snickered at that, and even Norin was amused.

 

A sigh filled the room as the door opened.

 

“Men,” a woman’s voice groaned.

 

All turned to acknowledge the arrival of Lady Vorra, yet another member of the Dark Council.

 

Of course, Stark knew, she was only a new arrival. Like Cthulu, she had been appointed to a seat for her…associations…with Lord Fuhron.

 

Vorra was a better sight than her fellow Council member. That was mostly because she was female, and a lot closer to humanoid standards. She was a Theelin, with white skin and gray-blue splotches.

 

Her outfit was tight-fitting, a red and white suit that allowed plenty of her significant breasts to appear. The horns on the side of her head were sharp and groomed, along with her ruddy hair.

 

A half-cape fluttered against her shoulders as she strode in and took her seat next to Cthulu.

 

“Really,” she growled. “You should all be showing a lot more maturity. You’re commanders of the finest Imperial invasion into Republic territory, and yet you still find time to taunt and heckle each other like spoiled brats.”

 

Taking a seat on the opposite side of Stark was a Sith in red robes and a golden mask. He looked completely and utterly bored to be here, and he made no attempts to hide it.

 

Stark turned to him. “You’re Lord Vinitar, aren’t you?”

 

The Sith Marauder turned to face him and nodded slightly. “I suppose my reputation precedes me. But which one have you heard? That I was apprentice to the heretic, Toxeti, before his rebellion? Or that I slew five Jedi Knights and countless soldiers at the Battle of Viserys?”

 

“I heard the latter,” Stark replied. “A fine battle, glorious and swift. No doubt a great deal because of your skill.”

 

“Kind of you to say,” Vinitar growled disinterestedly. “Especially since I’m the only one of the major players that is still alive.”

 

Stark chuckled at that. “Obviously that says something about you.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

The door opened again and everyone rose for the last of the entrants.

 

Lord Fuhron’s steps were light for him, but the boots clomped on the floor and made the table rattle with each one he took. He glared at everyone with his wrathful eyes, stroking his chin and its piercings all the while.

 

Finally, he reached the last vacant seat. Only after he had sat did the others take their seats.

 

“If you’re all done fraternizing,” Fuhron announced, “we shall begin going over the details of the invasion.”

 

The whole room was silent. It was quite possible that a pin drop could be heard…from down the hall.

 

“Much of the planet was secured through the machinations of terrorists, mercenaries, and agents,” Fuhron proceeded. “Darth Decimus controls over half of the planet, including Coronet City.”

 

“That was quick,” Stark frowned. “You told me that we were the invasion.”

 

“Such information was not necessary for you to know,” the Pureblood stated. “Much has been happening since my assertion, and as such, I have kept the flow of valuable information to a minimum.”

 

“Then what are we doing?” Vinitar inquired. “And how about the truth this time? I don’t like being lied to – or being given half-truths – any more than the Mandalorians.”

 

Fuhron glared at both Vinitar and Stark. His gaze looked strong enough to smash them both into the wall behind them.

 

“Very well,” Fuhron nodded. “Control over Corellia was absolute for a while, but the Republic has begun to strike back with a determined fervor.”

 

“I guess they don’t take kindly to losing their most favorite planet,” Norin shrugged.

 

“Obviously,” Cthulu hissed at him.

 

Fuhron ignored them both. “A significant part of Corellia has been reclaimed by Republic offensives and resistance. Even now, a large Republic fleet is approaching to reclaim the remainder of the planet. We are here to stop that and crush all resistance.”

 

“I guess Decimus can’t hold the place on his own,” Vorra smirked. “Perhaps he should be replaced…”

 

“We will deal with that later,” Fuhron snapped. “For now, our primary concern is the Republic fleet headed by Admiral Cordillian. He and several of the Jedi Council are commanding this attack – and when we destroy them, the Republic will be several steps closer to complete destruction.”

 

“Then get to the battle plans already,” Stark sighed. “Talking wastes time. Glory awaits.”

 

Fuhron punched a few buttons on the holodisplay and an image of the planet appeared.

 

“The area highlighted in red is under Imperial control,” he stated. “The blue represents Republic territory. In order to ensure a complete shattering of the enemy, our fleet will assume position contrary to the planet’s rotation. When Republic areas arrive beneath us, we will assault at once. They’ll barely have time to get out of bed before we are upon them.”

 

“And thus,” Vorra nodded, “when the Republic fleet arrives, they won’t be able to support the forces on the ground unless they can break through us.”

 

“Which they won’t,” Norin puffed out his chest. “I will see to that.”

 

“Mandalorians will make the first assault,” Fuhron continued. “Stark’s warriors will smash through their defenses.”

 

“Of course they will,” Stark nodded.

 

“Lord Vinitar, Vorra, and I will follow soon after with a three-pronged assault on the Republic’s central command. Cthulu and Norin will oversee the fleet and ensure no one gets through.”

 

He particularly stressed “no one”.

 

“Are we all clear,” Fuhron asked sharply.

 

Everyone nodded.

 

“Good, now return to your ships and await my signal to begin the operation.”

 

Cthulu stood at once, bowing to the Emperor’s Wrath. He walked out with his officers, followed closely by Moff Norin and his associates.

 

Vinitar rose. He stared at Fuhron for a moment, but his thoughts and expressions were hidden by his helmet. With a twirl of his cape, he slipped out through the doors.

 

The Warmaster picked up his helmet and fastened it back on his head. He then nodded to Ravat and made ready to leave.

 

He paid no heed to Fuhron. There would be no bowing or kneeling to the Sith, he told himself. His promise still stood – and Fuhron was yet to fully make good on the promises he had made.

 

Respect from a Mandalorian came only to those who earned it.

 

Only after this battle would the “Emperor’s Wrath” have earned it from Rasil Stark.

 

The look on Ravat’s face, just before he put his own helmet on, confirmed that he understood Stark’s thoughts full well.

 

“Time for battle,” Stark smiled to himself.

[RulithBarakis]

Woah. I'm not really sure of what to make of the end of that last episode, lol

 

But this new one looks like it's gonna be really awesome! Corellia has quite a lot to handle, even with the help of the Republic, what with Fuhron involved, as well as Mandalorians and members of the Dark Council. I'm not really sure how the Republic will pull this one off!

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Two

 

The Lone Eagle had never been in a more sorry shape than she was now. Sparks were flying from the panels in every hall. Smoke billowed out from the engines and flames filled the rear rooms.

 

The starboard crew quarters were sealed off, having lost atmosphere in them. The cargo hold had lost gravity.

 

Only the bridge and the medical bay remained relatively safe for the crew.

 

Rick and Gabrielle were in the pilots’ chairs, frantically trying to bring systems online and to keep those that were working still alive. Tygus was doing what he could beneath the control console, patching wires together and trying to avoid being electrocuted.

 

The crew wasn’t in much better shape than the ship. With a bandaged head, Xana was in the medical bay, desperately seeking a way to stabilize both Greyhawk and Ryner. Both had lost quite a bit of blood.

 

Sorgal was in there as well. He also had been wounded, but not nearly as bad as the other two patients. Instead, Xana had put him to work in helping grab supplies and keep the machines operating.

 

“Come on, baby, don’t let me down,” Rick pleaded with his ship. “You can hold together a bit longer. You’ve been through worse than this.”

 

Gabrielle turned to him. “Really?”

 

“No, but I’ve got to keep her spirit alive.”

 

“Oh for goodness sake,” Tygus growled from beneath the panel. “It’s a ship, not your mistress.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” Rick countered. “You’ve never put your heart and soul in anything your entire life, I’m sure.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Tygus’ face appeared from beneath for a moment as he reached back for the hydrospanner. “You get attached to things and it only leads to trouble.”

 

“I hate to agree with him,” Gabrielle sighed. “But he might be right.”

 

“The ship is the only thing keeping us alive!” Rick exclaimed. “If she wasn’t as tough and loving as she is, we’d have never gotten out of that explosion fast enough.”

 

“I won’t argue with that,” Tygus conceded as he disappeared under the console again.

 

Gabrielle pressed “talk” on the intercom.

 

“How are they holding up back there, Xana?”

 

There was static and then the Jedi’s voice answered.

 

“Greyhawk’s not doing well,” she said. “The knife wound to his gut is too much for the healing pads to handle. He got stabbed real deep. I’m doing what I can with the Force…I don’t know if it’s enough.”

 

“I’m doing okay, though,” Sorgal’s voice said. “Thanks for mentioning that.”

 

“You barely got nicked,” Xana snapped at him.

 

“You call this a nick?”

 

“Guys!” Gabrielle sighed. “What about Ryner? He still with us?”

 

“Barely…” the Jedi answered for himself. “You got me out just in time.”

 

“Well, we’re not out of it just yet,” Gabrielle groaned.

 

“What do you mean?” Xana asked.

 

“The engines are spent,” Rick answered. “We couldn’t make a jump to hyperspace, even if we only wanted to go ten feet. Everything is sub-light…but that’s not doing well either.”

 

“We’re going to have to try a landing on Corellia,” Gabrielle concurred. “I don’t know if we’ll make it through the atmosphere, though.”

 

“Can’t…” Ryner moaned.

 

“What?”

 

“We…can’t go…to Corellia…”

 

“Why not?” Xana asked him. “We’ve been there plenty before.”

 

“Hell,” Sorgal added, “we met you there.”

 

“The Empire…” Ryner gasped. “The Empire has taken…it…”

 

“Are you serious?!” Rick shouted. “You can’t be! If this is a joke, it’s not funny!”

 

“Rick,” Tygus sighed. “The guy was beaten half to death, and the other half is barely holding on as it is. You really think he would be joking at a time like this?”

 

The captain sighed. “I…I can’t believe it…”

 

“You’d better,” Gabrielle gasped, grabbing his shoulder. “Look!”

 

Out the window, a massive Imperial fleet was passing by on its way towards the planet. There were more warships there than Rick had ever happened on in any of his past smuggling days.

 

“What are we supposed to do, then?” Xana asked. “We can’t just sit out here in space without repairs. We’ll be dead in twenty-four hours. I can already feel the air going stale.”

 

“We could surrender to them,” Sorgal suggested.

 

“Those Mandalorians were trying to KILL us,” Gabrielle pointed out. “They’re probably with that fleet there. We try and turn ourselves in…they’ll just blow us up.”

 

“Die now or later,” Tygus groaned.

 

“That’s quitter talk, guys,” Rick snapped. “We can think of something. We’ll get out of this.”

 

“If you’re trying to sound like Targon,” Sorgal growled, “you’re doing a poor job of it.”

 

“Lose the attitude,” Gabrielle hissed at him. “At least he’s trying to do something to keep hope alive.”

 

Sorgal scoffed. “Hope. Hope is a fool’s notion. Much as I liked the boy, Targon was a fool too for believing in that. He’s gone now. We’ll soon be joining him. Forgive me if I don’t listen to the lot of you trying to preach to me.”

 

Tygus emerged from the dashboard again. “Explain to me why you’ve kept him around as long as you have?”

 

“Same reason we have you here,” Rick replied. “Because you’ve done a good job helping us in the past.”

 

“Ah, well,” Tygus nodded. “The lot of good it’s done any of us.”

 

“What? Everyone giving up?” Xana hissed. “Just like that?”

 

Everybody was quiet.

 

“Targon would be ashamed of the lot of us,” she continued. “He didn’t fight, die, and come back just so we all could give up like this.”

 

“Xana,” Sorgal groaned. “Just stop. It’s useless. You’re just getting yourself riled up.”

 

“Don’t try to destroy her spirits too,” Rick growled.

 

“At least she still has them,” Tygus agreed.

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Sorgal roared. “We’re all going to die! There’s no way out of this situation and nobody is going to save us…”

 

There was a crackling over the communications systems.

 

“L… Eagle… are you…? …Please resp…”

 

“What was that?” Gabrielle gasped.

 

Rick fiddled with the receptor to try to boost the signal.

 

“Lone Eagle, I repeat, are you there? Please respond. This is Lt. Colonel Aric Trinn. Are you there?”

 

Gabrielle’s mouth dropped, but not nearly as low as Rick’s did.

 

He fumbled for the mic.

 

“Yes! Yes! We’re here! Thank all that’s holy that you found us!”

 

“Rick?” Trinn’s voice was shocked. “You’re alive! The ship looks just about dead on our scanners.”

 

“It is,” Rick replied. “Where…? What are you doing here?”

 

A small junker flew by out the window. It was battered and poor, but through the glass of the ship’s cockpit, Rick and Gabrielle could see Trinn and his squad waving to them.

 

“We were here scouting out the Imperials,” the colonel replied. “Then we saw you on the scanners. I can’t believe it… Are you all ok?”

 

“We need help,” Rick answered. “We’re all pretty wounded, and our ship is dying. Can you help? Your…ship…seems a little ineffective.”

 

“Well, we were trying to go for inconspicuous,” Trinn sighed. “Hold on, we’ll latch on and get you aboard. Then we’ll call the fleet.”

 

“Fleet?”

 

“Admiral Cordillian’s coming with a Republic strike force,” Trinn explained. “He should be able to take in your ship and see about getting it fixed…although, from the looks of the enemy armada…that might only happen after a hard fought battle.”

 

“We’ll take our chances,” Rick sighed. “And we’ll be damned if we don’t help put the hurt to these Imps.”

 

---

 

Targon remained still for a while. He was trying to process everything that had happened.

 

He had been fighting Draakis, he remember that well enough. Then he and the Sith had both fallen into the fountain…

 

There was an explosion…

 

And now they were both lying here, at the bottom of a large crater. And this definitely wasn’t Syris Thaal.

 

His eyes scanned the area. He recognized the trees, and even the soil. There was a familiar feeling to the area as well. But what he was sensing…he couldn’t make out for certain.

 

He tried to sit up then. He failed, as he found that he had absolutely no strength to pick himself up.

 

By the sound of Draakis’ groaning, it appeared he was in the same predicament.

 

It must have been nearly an hour that they had been lying there after exiting the white emptiness.

 

Targon wondered, could it be that they were dead?

 

All of a sudden, Targon felt a sharp, horrific pain in his body. It started at his neck and then spread to his chest and his right arm.

 

It felt like he was on fire, that the flesh was burning away and the bone was crumbling to ashes.

 

He screamed and howled in pain, trying desperately to move and do anything that could stop the pain. Nothing helped, not even an attempt to calm his mind in the Force.

 

Then the pain changed from burning to an intense pressure, like his arm, chest, and neck were being crushed by a garbage compacter.

 

Scorching tears streamed their way down his cheeks, burning his skin. His teeth clenched so tightly he thought they might shatter.

 

Then, it stopped.

 

The pain floated away like morning mist. Never had Targon felt so relieved.

 

He laid there a bit longer, trying to regain his breath and awaiting the chance when the pain would be gone completely.

 

Once again, he tried to sit up. This time, he found the strength.

 

He got to his knees, but had to stop then. The short burst he had felt was gone now. He was left alone, weak and helpless.

 

Draakis was lying only inches away. The Sith was just now starting to stir.

 

“Where?” he gasped. “Where are we?”

 

Targon glanced around. He definitely remembered this place. Amid the trees, he could barely make out a settlement in a clearing. It was a small city – but it was completely dead. There was no life to be found anywhere.

 

The full recognition of the feeling he had here came at once, as well.

 

“Dakara,” he gasped. “I’ve been here before. This is Dakara.”

 

Draakis frowned. “Never heard of it.”

 

“Not that I care,” Targon sighed, “but that doesn’t surprise me. This was a forgotten human colony. It was…consumed…by the plague.”

 

Draakis sat up, but like Targon, that was as far as he could go.

 

“There were reports of a missing Imperial crew here,” Draakis muttered.

 

That didn’t surprise Targon either. He remember the Imperials…and how they were all destroyed.

 

“How do you know this place?” Draakis asked.

 

“Don’t think this new situation changes anything,” Targon snapped. “We may be somewhere new…but that doesn’t change the fact we were ready to kill each other.”

 

“I think the situation has changed everything,” Draakis shook his head. “The fountain is gone. The way to Syris Thaal is lost. Now we…”

 

Draakis stopped.

 

“What?” Targon frowned, raising an eyebrow.

 

“You drank the water, didn’t you?” the Sith gasped.

 

Targon recalled swallowing. A shiver ran through his spine…yet, he didn’t understand what the Sith meant.

 

And then he caught a look at his arm.

 

It wasn’t his arm – not the one he remembered anyway. His whole right arm was covered in black and green scales. Sharp talons replaced his fingernails, and jagged spines jutted from his shoulder and elbow.

 

Targon shrieked and toppled over. He closed his eyes, slapped himself with his left arm – it felt normal – and then opened again to see if he was hallucinating.

 

He wasn’t.

 

The monstrous arm was still there. It responded to his shaking, his twitching, and his shaking. The fingers moved when he told them too and he could feel everything that it felt.

 

“What?!” Targon gasped. “What happened?!”

 

Targon felt along his neck. The skin along the right side, even down to his chest, also felt scaly and rough.

 

“Must be that curse your master mentioned,” Draakis shrugged.

 

Targon would have hit him, but he was still too shocked with the transformation of his right side.

 

“But…” Targon looked at Draakis. “Didn’t you drink it too?”

 

The Sith nodded. “I haven’t felt anything. I wasn’t expecting to.”

 

He didn’t look any different either.

 

“No!” Targon howled. “This is a dream! This is a nightmare! Wake up, Targon! Wake up!”

 

“Unfortunately,” a voice sighed. “It’s not a dream, Targon.”

 

Targon and Draakis looked up to the edge of the crater. They found that they were not alone.

 

Shazzar leaned against his rifle. “I’ve seen a lot of crazy things in the galaxy,” he shook his head. “But this is strangest by far.”

 

“What?” Targon gasped. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I should ask you the same question,” the bounty hunter countered. “And what’s with the scales?”

 

“Don’t just leave them sitting down there,” another darkly familiar voice ordered.

 

The phantom figure of Darth Viruul appeared next to Shazzar.

 

“Get them up and see that they get some treatment. They look like they’ve been through a lot.”

 

“No,” Targon rasped. “This has to be a dream…”

 

In his heart, however, he knew it was not.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Three

 

It was a crazy mess on the bridge of the Sword of Truth. There were officers and engineers all over, seeing to holographic displays and issuing orders to the other ships in the Republic fleet.

 

Rick found it amazing that anything was actually being done.

 

In the middle of it all, he found Admiral Cordillian. He wasn’t sitting, as Rick had figured any other commander would be doing. He was walking all over, making sure everything was being done right, and ensuring that everyone on the bridge could see that he was working and struggling as hard as they were.

 

It took several minutes for Raynor to actually notice and get over to him.

 

“Welcome aboard,” Cordillian smiled weakly. “I’d have given you a better welcome, but as you can see…”

 

“You’ve got your hands full,” Rick nodded. “I understand, sir.”

 

“How is the rest of your crew?”

 

Rick sighed. “They got everyone to the medical stations and all injuries were seen to. Xana, Tygus, Gabrielle, and I were relatively fine. A few patches and we’re good to go. Greyhawk and Ryner Sanpo, though…”

 

“I got the report,” Cordillian frowned. “They were hit pretty hard. Damn Mandalorians. They like to talk about glory and honor, but they’re really a bunch of thugs hired by the Empire.”

 

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who has noticed that,” Rick chuckled.

 

Cordillian smiled, but it wasn’t for long. Soon, he was called by more of the crew.

 

Giving him a polite goodbye, Cordillian was back to work amid the chaos on the bridge.

 

Battle was approaching. The screens were laying out displays of both Imperial and Republic ships over Corellia. Formations were being made, altered, and then formed again.

 

Rick figured he had best get off the bridge and out of their way. He made a quick getaway to the back door before anybody ran into him or inadvertently gave him an order.

 

He was in the elevator and then back on the medical level. The surgeons and doctors were preparing themselves as well. Battle brought wounded and casualties. Rick knew their job was going to be as hard – if not more stressful – than the soldiers and engineers.

 

He found Xana and Gabrielle where he expected them to be – aiding the medicinal staff prepare for a massive inflow of patients.

 

They were also relieving the staff by helping with Greyhawk, Ryner, and Sorgal’s injuries. The Sith was coming along better, and the other two were actually lucid enough to hear the curses and groans they uttered.

 

“It’s looking grim,” Rick sighed, taking his place next to them in order to find a way to help.

 

Gabrielle handed him a syringe to hold.

 

“How bad?”

 

“The bridge is a mess and people are scrambling all over the place,” Rick replied.

 

“I meant the odds.”

 

“That’s not something I usually spend any attention on,” Rick shrugged. “But it’s looking bad there too.”

 

“How big is the Imperial fleet?” Xana asked.

 

“From what I saw,” Rick shook his head. “More than a dozen star destroyers… Who knows how many frigates and Mandalorian ships?”

 

Xana sighed with despair. “And the Republic has only brought a fleet of twenty battlecruisers. There is no way they’re going to hold against that.”

 

“Don’t count us out just yet,” Greyhawk groaned from his bed.

 

Everyone turned to him.

 

“Good to see you talking,” Rick smiled. “Besides the myriad of swear words…”

 

“If I ever get my hands on that Mando,” the old soldier growled.

 

“How can we fight that many?” Xana asked. “Even the Lone Eagle is out of commission…”

 

“We’d fight them even if it was a hundred to one,” Greyhawk stated firmly.

 

“It’s spirit like his that will win the day,” a voice said from behind.

 

Rick, Gabrielle, and Xana turned.

 

Standing in the doorway to the medical room was Master Cyrus. He wasn’t alone.

 

Masters Je’and, Talandar, Asha, and others were standing with him.

 

“We’ve gathered as many as we could,” Cyrus stated. “If we remain true and courageous, we may yet break through the Imperials.”

 

“Do we have any battle plans, then?” Rick asked.

 

“We do,” Zar’kun answered. “Plenty of tricks that should put the hurt to the Imperial force well enough to get to the ground.”

 

“Any secret weapons to trump the numbers debacle?” Gabrielle asked, skeptical.

 

Cyrus nodded. “We’ve got one of those too.”

 

“Care to share it with us?”

 

“We’ve made an urgent call for reinforcements,” Cyrus answered.

 

“With any luck, and if the Force is with us,” Je’and added, “we’ll be able to hold until it arrives.”

 

“That doesn’t sound encouraging,” Rick frowned.

 

“We’ll do what we can, regardless,” Master Asha stated.

 

“Of course we will,” Rick sighed. He then turned to Greyhawk. “So, how soon until you can join us in the fight against the Empire again?”

 

“If the doctors would let me get out of bed,” the old soldier growled, “I’d be fighting them right now.”

 

“Well then, let him up!” Rick exclaimed.

 

An alarm blared through the ship, filling the halls with a flashing red light.

 

Cordillian’s voice came over the intercom.

 

“All hands, prepare for engagement. This is the final warning – we are approaching the Imperial armada. Battle stations and hearts fastened. May the Force be with us.”

 

---

 

Moff Norin walked into the bridge of the Invincible without a thought. He didn’t give any mind to the looks he was getting from the crew at their stations. Whether they approved of him here or not was irrelevant.

 

He was a Moff, and they were servants.

 

The towering figure of Lord Fuhron was standing close to the front window. The Pureblood stared out at the planet below and the stars above.

 

Strangely enough, he made the air around him both extremely hot and extremely cold at the same time.

 

Norin bowed before him.

 

“My lord,” he said aloud.

 

Fuhron turned to glare at him. “I don’t recall summoning you, Moff Norin.”

 

“You didn’t,” Norin nodded, suddenly losing the courage he had mustered for himself when he walked in. “I…I thought it was important to inform you…”

 

“A simple holocall would have sufficed,” Fuhron growled. “But seeing as you’re already here, spit it out.”

 

Norin tried his best to keep from trembling.

 

“The Mandalorians have broken through the primary defenses on the ground. There will soon be a landing point for you and the others.”

 

“I am aware,” Fuhron stated.

 

“And what’s more…” Norin swallowed. “The Republic fleet has arrived sooner than we expected. They are taking up battle formations…though I don’t think we need to worry too much. They’ve brought an inadequate force.”

 

“Is that so?” the Pureblood’s voice was drenched in contempt. “Then why don’t you and Cthulu get to your task of taking them out?”

 

Norin nodded. “That was out intention…”

 

“Is that all? Or do you have some other trivial matter to bring to my attention?”

 

The Moff swallowed again.

 

“Well…it concerns many of these allies you’ve brought to bear. While I understand Warmaster Stark and his Mandalorians…wouldn’t it have been better to get a more…distinguished warrior?”

 

“Oh, you think we should have brought Mandalore himself?” Fuhron scowled. “Unfortunately, Mr. Norin, your opinions in this matter are of a great inconsequence. Stark is here, he is loyal and accomplished. The other Sith are as well, so if you have complaints about them, save it.”

 

“As you wish, my lord…”

 

“Now, if you are quite through, I’d like it very much if you got out of my sight. I intend to take the Invincible down into the atmosphere for a mobile command base and assault engine. You will not be on it when we descend.”

 

“Understood, my lord,” Norin nodded.

 

He turned around and left promptly. He was too afraid of the glare from the Emperor’s Wrath to care what other looks and laughs he got from the other officers on the bridge.

 

---

 

Cthulu tapped his foot impatiently. The fleet had taken up its position, and it was staring straight at the Republic ships across the way.

 

The only reason they hadn’t opened fire is because he was supposed to wait for that fat Moff to be present.

 

Finally, the door opened and Norin shuffled through, straightening his uniform.

 

“Everything alright?” Cthulu sneered. “Anything else you’d like to take care of before we engage the enemy? A change of uniform? A massage to relax you?”

 

Norin’s lower lip stuck out. “I’m quite fine, Lord Cthulu. I don’t need your condescension now. Why haven’t you begun the attack?”

 

Cthulu hissed. “Because the Republic hasn’t advanced. They’ve taken up a position and are holding it. Our job is to make sure they don’t get through, not engage them wantonly.”

 

He folded his arms.

 

“Besides, I couldn’t go without you, otherwise I’d have to listen to your incessant whining.”

 

“Whining?” Norin’s face grew pink.

 

“Yes, that’s right,” the Khil nodded. “I don’t know how a man like you ever became a Moff, but it wasn’t through your iron will or steel composure. You must have been from a wealthy family…or friends with the Grand Moff.”

 

Norin said nothing to that.

 

There was a beeping on one of the command consoles.

 

“My lord,” an officer announced. “The Republic fleet is hailing us.”

 

“Ah, they must have been trying to make themselves presentable in all this time,” Cthulu chuckled. “That, or they finally figured out how to work the communications system on their ship.”

 

The officer stared blankly at the Sith Lord.

 

“Shall I put them through?” he asked.

 

Cthulu sighed and growled.

 

“Yes, put them through. Let’s hear what they have to say.”

 

The screen lit up and the image of a relatively young Republic commander appeared.

 

“I am Admiral Raynor Cordillian,” the man announced. “This is the Republic battleship, Sword of Truth.”

 

“Well, for formality’s sake,” Cthulu sighed. “I am Lord Cthulu of the Dark Council, and I am in command of the Imperial Seventh Fleet.”

 

Norin spoke up. “This world is under Imperial control, admiral. I suggest you take your ships and leave while you still can.”

 

“Corellia rightfully belongs to the Republic,” Cordillian replied. “You will take your ships, and your occupying forces on the ground, and depart this system.”

 

Cthulu and Norin both laughed.

 

“You’re in no position to make demands,” Cthulu hissed. “Your fleet is small – you won’t last ten minutes against us. For the sake of your men, I recommend you leave. Otherwise, you will all die.”

 

“As flattered as I am to receive merciful terms from a Sith,” Cordillian frowned, “I’m afraid I won’t be going anywhere. If you will not withdraw, we shall engage and destroy you.”

 

The Sith and Moff laughed harder.

 

“You must be either very bold or very stupid,” Norin grinned. “I think you might be both.”

 

Cordillian sighed. “It seems we’re not going to get anywhere with diplomacy.”

 

“Your skill of observation is astounding,” Cthulu sneered.

 

“Very well,” Cordillian nodded. “You were warned.”

 

The image cut out.

 

“What sort of idiot was that?” Norin scoffed.

 

“A Republic kind,” Cthulu replied. “I’ve faced plenty of them like that one. They think they’re invincible because they’re ‘fighting for freedom’. It’s really quite insulting…but all the more satisfying when they are defeated.”

 

“My lord!” an officer called out. “The Republic is opening fire!”

 

“What?” Norin frowned. “I don’t remember them powering weapons or shields…”

 

“What would you know?” Cthulu snapped at him. “But I’ve been here the whole time. How come you didn’t report they were preparing to attack?”

 

“I think that’s what they were doing the whole time, my lord,” the man replied.

 

“Then why didn’t you…?!” Norin shrieked.

 

The ship was rocked as turbolaser fire struck the shields.

 

“Jedi trickery,” Cthulu spat. He turned to the crew. “All ships, open fire! Wipe these Republic dogs out! Send them crying back to Coruscant!”

 

The Imperial fleet began firing back, and soon the space between both fleets was filled with a glorious web of lasers and missiles.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Four

 

Targon and Draakis were led to the deserted and barren remains of the small city that Targon remembered visiting long ago.

 

It was much different now, as there was hardly any life in it at all. No citizens, and no mutant creatures.

 

The only inhabitants of the settlement were the few Imperial guards that secured the perimeter. Most looked no happier to be here than Targon was. They kept watching the forest with hesitation and dread.

 

Targon could hardly blame them.

 

They were led up the stairs of the large mansion. Targon remembered this place all too well. Dark feelings stirred inside him – fear and worry from the memories of the last time he was here.

 

The doors opened and he found it was quite different inside now.

 

There was much more lighting from holes in the walls and ceiling. Rubble littered the floor. In some rooms, however, Imperial equipment and supplies had been stashed and set up.

 

It was now a place of refuge for these new inhabitants.

 

Targon couldn’t understand why they would want to be hiding out in a place like this. Didn’t they have mansions and palaces on Dromund Kaas?

 

Most of all, what was Viruul doing here?

 

They came to the dining room. A few things had been prepared.

 

Shazzar pointed to the seats.

 

“Make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “They’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

 

Draakis nodded and pulled up a chair. He started to break open the foodstuffs and down it with enthusiasm. From all the time in the desert and on an empty world, he had missed the taste of real food.

 

If this could be called real food.

 

Targon sat down hesitantly – on the opposite side of the table and as far from Draakis as he could get.

 

He didn’t touch the food though. He had no appetite at all.

 

The only thing he could do was stare at his arm. He looked at it with horror and a lingering disbelief. A faint hope flickered inside him that somehow he would blink and everything would be back to normal.

 

It never happened.

 

He just stared at it, frowning and sighing. It was like a gruesome wound, where it bothered him to even see it for a moment, and yet, he was unable to take his eyes off it.

 

“How could this have happened?” he muttered to himself.

 

“What was that?” Draakis asked from across the table.

 

Targon ignored him. He slid the arm under the table and laid his head down.

 

After a few minutes, a door opened.

 

“Well, glad to see you’re settling in,” Viruul smiled. His shadowy figure filled the doorway and glided into the room. He took a seat at the head of the table, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them.

 

“I must thank you for your hospitality,” Draakis nodded. “But forgive me for asking…who are you?”

 

“I am Lord Viruul,” the Dark Lord answered.

 

“Member of the Dark Council,” Targon added disinterestedly. “And someone who has never given me a moment’s peace.”

 

“Well, if you want to look at it that way,” the Dark Lord shrugged. “Unfortunately, I am…no longer on the Dark Council.”

 

Targon perked up at that. “What do you mean?”

 

The door opened again and more people walked in. Succuba was one, and the other was a stern-faced Imperial officer.

 

“The Empire has been going through some rough changes,” Succuba replied.

 

Viruul nodded. “That rotten mongrel, Lord Fuhron, dared to cast me out of my position and title. He named me a traitor and a failure, and now he thinks me dead.”

 

“We are going to prove him wrong,” the officer stated.

 

“Ah, Targon Karashi and Draakis, this is Admiral Gerald.” Viruul pointed out the officer to them. “He has been one of my greatest supporters.”

 

“Mostly because the other Sith Lords are utterly insufferable,” Gerald elaborated.

 

“Enough introductions,” Viruul waved his hand. “There is business to discuss. Firstly, I’m very curious as to how and why you are here on this abandoned world?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Targon countered.

 

Succuba grinned. “I see you’ve lost your fear and anxiety from being around us, Targon.”

 

“No, it’s still there,” Targon shook his head. “I’ve just gotten better at handling it.”

 

“Good for you,” Viruul nodded. “Seeing as we were here first, let us ask you the question first.”

 

“Truthfully,” Draakis sighed. “We have no idea. Last we knew, we were on Syris Thaal.”

 

“Never heard of it,” Gerald frowned.

 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Draakis smirked.

 

“So somehow you got from an expedition on Tattooine to some unknown planet?” Viruul clarified. “Whatever became of Lord Hades and the rest?”

 

“They…didn’t make it.”

 

“I see,” Viruul leaned back in his chair. “And what exactly did we find on this mysterious world?”

 

“Immortality,” another voice answered from the doorway.

 

Everyone turned to notice Draco’s entrance. Behind him was the last person Targon wanted to see in this ridiculous gathering.

 

Draco and the Sorceress took chairs next to each other and near Viruul.

 

“Ah, gentlemen, this is Lord Draco,” Viruul pointed out.

 

“We’ve met,” Targon frowned.

 

“We have indeed,” Draco nodded.

 

“Good to see you both again,” the Sorceress smiled.

 

Targon glanced from her to Draakis. The Sith was gaping and gawking. It looked like he was seeing a ghost – for the second time.

 

“You know her?” Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“Of course he does,” Selendis grinned. “He’s my son.”

 

The whole room was deathly silent, and everyone was staring at them.

 

“Um…he looks almost as old as you,” Succuba frowned at the Sorceress.

 

Selendis removed a strand of golden hair from in front of her blue eyes. “Appearances are deceiving,” she laughed.

 

Everything was quiet again. This time, the awkward moment lasted almost fifteen minutes.

 

Viruul coughed.

 

“Ahem,” he leaned forward. “Why don’t we excuse the lady and her…um…son…to enjoy a little reunion time. Targon, Draco, apprentice, Gerald…please come with me.”

 

When they were all outside on the steps, Viruul chuckled.

 

“Well, I admit I figured this would be strange meetings,” he sighed. “But I had no idea…”

 

Targon growled. “Look, Viruul. What are you doing here? Why am I here? And what is with this?!”

 

He drew everyone’s attention to his arm.

 

Viruul stroked his chin. “Well…that’s…interesting.”

 

Succuba grinned. “You’re starting to look like me, Targon.”

 

The thought made Targon’s blood run cold.

 

“So, you found the secret to immortality after all,” Draco nodded. “And it appears there were…adverse effects.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to find it,” Targon countered. “I was trying to stop Draakis.”

 

“A fine job you did,” Gerald said simply.

 

Viruul shook his head. “You’re not going to find answers from me, Targon. Not so easily, that is. I understand what that is. It’s a similar consequence as the creation of Succuba.”

 

“It is indeed,” Draco nodded. “Both stem from the source of power that Selendis wields. It is ancient and mysterious…I admit, my understanding of it all is limited.”

 

“As is mine,” Viruul concurred. “If you want answers, Targon, you’ll have to ask it from the main source herself.”

 

Targon didn’t like that concept one bit.

 

“Then answer me this,” Targon frowned. “What are you doing here?”

 

Viruul nodded at that. “There’s an easier question to answer. I’m preparing a counterstroke.”

 

“Against Fuhron?”

 

“Of course. You didn’t think I’d let the ‘Emperor’s Wrath’ get away with such an insult to me, did you?”

 

“Doesn’t look like you have much,” Targon glanced around.

 

“Not as much as I would like, that’s true,” Viruul sighed. “Admiral Gerald was only able to gather his own Star Destroyer and a few lesser ships. Hardly a fleet. I have Succuba and Shazzar pledging their service, and Draco has been kind of enough to be an ally.”

 

“Why?” Targon turned to Draco.

 

The enigmatic man stared back at him with his snake-like eyes. “Just as we had to unite against Mortis and that horrific plague he created, we need to destroy Fuhron and end this imbalance.”

 

“What do you care for Imperial politics?” Targon countered. “You are no Sith.”

 

“That’s true,” Draco nodded. “But this goes beyond Sith and Jedi.”

 

Viruul cut in. “Now, I have two more allies. You and Draakis, the discoverers of immortality.”

 

Targon whirled on him.

 

“Absolutely not! I will not serve you! I didn’t serve you then, I won’t now!”

 

Viruul folded his arms chuckled. “I think you will.”

 

“What gives you that notion?”

 

“Fuhron is leading a massive assault on Corellia. The Republic is waging desperate battle to stop him…including your friends.”

 

Targon recoiled. “How do you know this?”

 

“Nothing of import escapes my notice,” the Dark Lord replied.

 

“Usually,” Shazzar called out from below.

 

“This changes nothing,” Targon shook his head. “I won’t fight for you.”

 

“Not for me,” Viruul sighed. “With me. We have a common foe here, Targon. Fuhron won’t stop with Corellia. He’ll smash the rest of the Republic…and he’ll make sure to kill your friends. Anything that I’ve been involved with is on his target list. That includes the crew of the Lone Eagle.”

 

Targon’s frown turned into a furious scowl.

 

“This is all your fault,” he hissed.

 

“Now don’t be assigning blame,” Viruul countered. “This is your problem as much as ours. Of course, if you don’t want to help save your precious friends and the Republic, and maybe find a way to fix what’s happened to you, I won’t force you.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t have to force you to do anything,” Viruul explained. “Succuba is inside of you. I’m inside of her. You’re tied to us whether you like it or not. I know full well that you care a great deal for your companions, and you’ll stop at nothing to save them.”

 

Targon shook his head. “I won’t…”

 

“Won’t what?” Succuba smirked. “Won’t save your friends? Won’t defend the Republic as a Jedi?”

 

All of a sudden, Targon was feeling a terrible rush of emotions and anxiety. It was all too much to handle – this whole thing. His knees started to buckled underneath him.

 

Draco steadied him.

 

“I don’t think he needs to make a decision right away,” he announced. “The boy has just had a galaxy full of confusion dropped on him. I think he could do with a little rest and some more answers before he decides.”

 

“I agree,” Gerald nodded. “My head is swimming in all this nonsense too. I think I’ll go lie down.”

 

Viruul waved a hand.

 

“Fine, fine. It’s probably best. Show Targon to some quarters, Succuba. But be gentle and leave him be for now. I think he’s had too much to endure your teasings.”

 

“Yes, my lord,” Succuba bowed.

 

Draco handed Targon over to her.

 

The young Jedi let himself be led away inside the large mansion to a bedroom.

 

True to her master’s orders, Succuba laid him down and left without a word or any sort of foreplay.

 

Targon stared blankly up at the ceiling. Every part of him had gone numb. He was overwhelmed with strange feelings and lost in utter confusion. It was like he was being tossed about in a sea, and he had no idea which way was up or down.

 

Before he realized it, he was asleep.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Five

 

Structures and towers were burning, streets were torn apart, and city walls crumbled under the heavy bombardments.

Civilians, rebels, and Republic troops were scattered across the fields and valleys of Corellia.

 

It was a quick battle, and it was insulting.

 

The Mandalorian ships flew by and made their landings, unloading the dozens of battle-ready soldiers under the Warmaster’s command. The only problem was that there was hardly any battle left to fight on the ground.

 

Stark surveyed the fields and the shattered enemy encampments. If there were any foes left to fight, they would be scattered and hidden in the forests and hills in order to regroup.

 

“It would appear the battle was hardly what Fuhron described,” he spat.

 

“This is pathetic,” Ravat nodded.

 

“Don’t be so sure,” Reev said as he and Merani arrived at their location.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Reev saluted the Warmaster. “The Republic fleet has arrived, not quite as large as Fuhron’s armada…but still strong and headed by determined leaders. The battle above is raging hard and fierce.”

 

“Well, good for the fat Moff and that ugly Sith,” Ravat growled. “But that leaves little for us. Perhaps we should head up there and join in…”

 

“We will do no such thing,” Stark cut him off. “If we disobeyed Fuhron’s orders, he would surely mark us for enemies. The only way I would allow that was if the fight was on my terms and I was sure to beat him.”

 

“You don’t think we can beat him now?” Ravat frowned.

 

“Stark is no fool,” Merani stated. “Unlike you.”

 

“I don’t need your endorsement,” Stark turned on her. “I make my own decisions. I am the Warmaster here, not you three.”

 

“We understand,” Reev said humbly.

 

“Of course,” Merani bowed. “My apologies, Warmaster.”

 

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Ravat asked. “Do we just sit here and play cards? I want to fight! That’s what I’ve been doing all my life!”

 

“It’s what we’ve all done with our lives,” Reev sighed.

 

“Really? Could have fooled me with your light-hearted attitude.”

 

“Enough!” Stark roared at them both. “You act like little boys! My men are warriors! Act like them!”

 

“Forgive me, Warmaster,” Ravat bowed his head. “I am out of place.”

 

Stark sighed. “But I understand your frustration. This battle was insulting – hardly deserving of being classified as a battle. I’ve fought skirmishes more glorious and destructive.”

 

“Then what shall we do, sir?” Reev asked.

 

The Warmaster looked up into the sky, noting the descent of the massive Imperial flagship.

 

“We await the Sith,” he replied. “They may have something else for us…they had better.”

 

---

 

The three pronged assault had converged, mopping up what was left after the Mandalorians had made their sweep. There really wasn’t much for them to do at all.

 

In the ruins of one of the more significant resistance bases, the Mandalorians awaited the arrival of Lord Fuhron’s shuttle.

 

They had formed themselves together in an organized assembly – as well as they bothered to make. Stark had little desire to turn his warriors into mindless Imperial troops, and the way he had his men stand at attention conveyed that clearly.

 

Even a blind man could sense the defiance and independence in the Mandalorian soldiers.

 

The shuttle landed with a loud hiss, and it only got louder with the ramp lowering. Before the ramp had even finished its descent, Fuhron was walking down it.

 

The moment it struck the ground, his foot struck the planet’s surface as well.

 

Fuhron was towering, even over many of the Mandalorians. He stared down at them with contempt and a hint of disdain. The only one he gave the slightest civil acknowledgement was the Warmaster.

 

“I see you dealt with the resistance quite easily,” Fuhron noted.

 

“The Republic forces hardly stood against us,” Stark nodded. “The broke and fled within moments of our assault.”

 

“Then this campaign is off to a fine start,” the Pureblood smiled faintly. “We may be in and out quicker than I thought. Good. I have many things still to attend to.”

 

Stark straightened, trying to present his full stature to Fuhron. He still stood nearly a head shorter than him.

 

“My men are eager for battle,” he said, “and the enemy hardly gave them a worthy challenge. They seek more engagement – what shall I task them with?”

 

Fuhron didn’t seem to hear him. He stood there, rubbing his chin and scanning the fields of Corellia.

 

Then he glanced down at the Warmaster.

 

“I have assigned Lady Vorra and Lord Vinitar to the Halcyon Citadel at the north end of this valley. It overlooks the cities around. Send your men to report there immediately.”

 

“My lord?” Stark frowned.

 

“It’s not as boring as it sounds,” Fuhron assured him. “There will be civil unrest in the cities, as well as guerilla resistance. I want your Mandalorians there to crush anything the rebels may attempt.”

 

“Well, that may at least prove sporting,” Stark sighed.

 

“Send two of your officers there,” Fuhron ordered. “You and your third will accompany me.”

 

“Where, my lord?”

 

“There is a shrine to one of Corellia’s historical triumphs. It is essentially a sacred place to the people of this world. We are going to destroy it.”

 

“Why?” Stark scoffed. “It seems hardly worth the effort.”

 

“Even the most trivial of actions are necessary to break the hope of a spirited people. There is no people more spirited and independent than the Corellians. We break them, we break the galaxy.”

 

“As you will, Lord Fuhron,” Stark sighed.

 

The Emperor’s Wrath walked off then, trailed by his attendants and servants. Most were slaves meant to carry his effects, others were Sith retainers that made up his personal guard.

 

Not that this Sith needed one.

 

Stark bowed as he left and then sighed when Fuhron was well away.

 

“Destroying shrines?” Ravat frowned disappointedly. “That’s all?”

 

“Not interested, eh?” Stark turned to him.

 

Ravat shook his head. “I’d rather be cracking skulls in the city…if it pleases you, Warmaster.”

 

Stark sighed. “That job is one you’re better suited for,” he nodded. “Very well, take Reev and our warriors the citadel to report to the other Sith commanders.”

 

“You’re taking the woman?”

 

“Of course,” Stark answered. “She was one of Algayne’s Shadowblades. It stands to reason to use her…rather than Reev, who was just a hired thug before he came aboard. More honorable that way.”

 

“Point,” Ravat nodded. “Still…I don’t like the idea of hanging around with him…”

 

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Stark slapped Ravat’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, I’ll find ways to divert myself,” Ravat grinned. “That Sith woman wasn’t too bad looking, after all.”

 

“Keep thoughts like that to yourself,” Stark shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“As you wish, Warmaster.”

 

---

 

The shrine was more than Stark was expecting. It was a large, domed structure standing on an island in the middle of a river. A stone bridge spanned the distance to the isle.

 

The roof was made of gold and ivory, hand-carved pillars held up the dome. The statue of one of Corellia’s heroes stood in front of the doors.

 

Fuhron spat.

 

“Such works shouldn’t be devoted to dead men,” he growled. “Especially ones that made no real difference.”

 

The Pureblood’s retainers agreed.

 

Merani scoffed. “Isn’t that what you Sith do with the tombs on Korriban?”

 

Stark whirled around, gaping at the insolent comment from his officer.

 

Before he could say anything to silence her, Fuhron had turned to her.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Merani stood firm. She wasn’t cowering under his glare.

 

Stark was impressed, and yet he knew it would amount to nothing. At the very least, Fuhron would snap her neck. At the worst…

 

“You Sith build pyramids and statues to honor ancient lords,” Merani stated. “You worship the powerful, studying their records and building their legacies. This is no different for the Corellians.”

 

Fuhron stared at her with his burning eyes. At any moment, Stark was certain that the woman would burst into flames or crumple up into the size of an atom.

 

“I’ll tell you how it’s different, woman,” Fuhron snarled. “The ancient Lords of the Sith were powerful. They obtained knowledge and power beyond anything you could possibly comprehend. Men like that idol over there…”

 

He pointed to the statue.

 

“…Men like that are insects. They might have one a battle or changed a government, but their actions are nothing. Nothing is left of them except for little carvings and museums.”

 

Stark nearly gave a sigh of relief. He hadn’t killed her…he was only giving her a lecture.

 

But then she spoke again.

 

“And there’s nothing of your old Sith Lords but crumbling tombs on a lifeless world. You destroy each other and tear down your rivals’ works to make room for your own ambitious glory. In the end, some new lord will tear down the things you have created as well.”

 

Fuhron’s face looked like it was fuming steam from his eyes and nostrils.

 

“I should slaughter you where you stand, wench,” he hissed. His teeth flashed, and his brow was furrowing so deep, it didn’t look like it would unclench itself any time soon.

 

There was a sound from the shrine.

 

Fuhron turned and looked, along with the rest of them.

 

A small child was peeking out from the doorway. A moment later, a woman grabbed the boy and closed the door.

 

Stark understood at once. Civilians were using this shrine as shelter from the invasion. There were no soldiers around to protect them, so they were turning to their historical figures for safety.

 

Fuhron then glanced back at Merani.

 

“I am here to break the spirit of Corellia,” he snarled. “Yours can wait.”

 

With that, he reached out his hand, clenching his fingers together into a fist.

 

The pillars of the shrine began to tremble and crack. Then they collapsed on themselves, bringing down the roof above them.

 

Horrified screams filled the air, sounding from within the crumbling walls of the shrine.

 

There were much more than Stark had expected. It sounded like close to a hundred women and children.

 

The screams grew louder and more desperate as the structure continued destroying itself. Finally, when the dust settled, it was silent.

 

Fuhron turned back to Merani one last time.

 

“You made one valid point, woman,” Fuhron shoved a finger into her chest. “No one mourns the fall of a Sith Lord. When his power fails, no one weeps or bemoans his loss.”

 

He started to walk off, casting one last look at the pile of rubble in the middle of the river.

 

“And no one is mourning that loss.”

 

The look on Merani’s face was one of a furious eagerness to kill. She started reaching for the blaster at her side.

 

Stark grabbed her hand sharply, giving her a commanding stare.

 

She glared back at him for a moment, but then backed down.

 

Inwardly, Stark was relieved. He was already glad that Fuhron hadn’t killed one of his officers. He had no desire to kill her himself.

 

“Now come along,” Fuhron called back to them. “There are more examples of this ‘spirited’ people to make. The Empire is not mocked by peasants such as this world’s rabble.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Six

 

Targon slipped from sleep to wakefulness so slowly that he never was able to determine when his swirling dreams became reality.

 

He was lying on the bed in the dark room. The window outside was dark as well. Night on Dakara.

 

He remembered well the last time he was in this situation. He had wandered out and found Master Navor. And then things had gone downhill from there.

 

Navor…

 

Targon sighed. The memory of that friend was painful, especially knowing the full circumstance of his death. How he had been warped and twisted by the corruption, and had ultimately lost his sanity and control…until the end.

 

That made Targon wonder if he could forgive how Draco killed him. True, he had thrust the saber through a friend…but in the end he had helped him see his error, and stopped Navor from doing something horrible.

 

Targon suddenly felt a cold shiver run through him. He was not alone in the room.

 

He sat up quickly, staring out into the darkness.

 

There was nothing to see. If someone was there, there wasn’t enough light to make out their form.

 

“Good to see you up,” a voice said from the darkness.

 

Targon shuddered at the sound of the Sorceress’ voice. She was here, in the room with him, in the dark…

 

Next to the bed was a small table, and a candle stood atop of it. Targon reached out, groped for the candle, and picked it up.

 

Without even thinking, he snapped at the wick with his right hand. A bright flame appeared, filling the room with light.

 

Targon was shocked at how he had done that…but that was soon overwhelmed by the twinge of fear at Selendis standing on the other side of the room.

 

She was in her true form, not the human disguise. She was reclined against the wall, her coils wrapped beneath her.

 

“I figured we know each other well enough to dispose of false identities,” Selendis shrugged.

 

Targon remained perfectly still. He thought about reaching for his lightsaber, yet he found he lacked the strength for it at the moment.

 

“No need for worry,” the Sorceress assured him. Her voice was calm and kind, much like before. Now that Targon thought about it, her voice had never been menacing or angry…but that just made her all the more frightening.

 

“Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word right away,” Targon sighed. He put his legs off the side of the bed and sat up straight, facing her directly.

 

“Feeling better after some sleep?” Selendis asked.

 

“Maybe,” Targon nodded. “It hasn’t helped my confusion…or my arm.”

 

“Draco told me you would need some answers,” Selendis smiled. “You more than deserve them, even if you weren’t in this sort of…predicament.”

 

“Answers are always useful,” Targon said. “If not always pleasant.”

 

“Well, where should we begin?”

 

Targon took a moment to still his breathing.

 

“I’ve already learned the history of Syris Thaal,” he said. “About you and your entrapment on the planet by the other entity.”

 

“Well, that’s good,” Selendis nodded. “It’s not something I like to remember.”

 

“When did all this change?” Targon asked.

 

“Forty years ago,” Selendis replied. “It was after your Jedi Masters had discovered the secret and sworn to hide it away. An explorer found himself on Syris Thaal by accident. He found the fountain – and freed me.”

 

“How?”

 

“He didn’t know what he was doing. He had no idea what any of this was. When he chipped a tiny piece of the fountain, my spirit was released and took his lifeforce. It wasn’t something I was proud of…but when you wallow for millennia without a physical form…you get desperate.”

 

Targon frowned, but in his mind, he found he couldn’t blame her for that. Though it still disturbed him, he felt that he understood what she must have been feeling.

 

“I arrived on Dakara – which is surprisingly near Syris Thaal. When you and Draakis were at the fountain, the explosion of the energy sent you through the wake of my passing and brought you here.”

 

Targon nodded. “That…that explains that, I suppose. I know well enough what you were doing here for forty years.”

 

“And we need not talk about it,” Selendis sighed.

 

“Explain Draakis, then,” Targon changed the subject. “And maybe you could help me understand this.”

 

He pointed to his arm.

 

Selendis nodded.

 

“Draakis is my son, a consequence of my taking the essence from a mortal. He was born a human…and when I saw him…I couldn’t bear to have him live a life like mine. He belonged with his own kind. In my foolishness, I whisked him away to another world…Sleheyron. He aged slowly than most, that’s why he seems so young. That’s also why he was easily made a slave.”

 

Targon frowned. “Abandoning your own child to slavery?”

 

“Not what I wanted, let me assure you,” Selendis sighed. “All my children are dear to me…”

 

“You mean victims,” Targon cut in.

 

Selendis shook her head. “Believe what you will on that matter. But Draakis was different. He wasn’t like the others. He was his own…he had a power inside of him that didn’t come from me. Something from his human heritage.”

 

“Then how does he know of you?” Targon asked. “If he never knew you…”

 

“The bond between us was greater than I imagined. I could speak to him through his mind…and I taught him much as he grew. I’d like to believe he became a free man through my guidance…but he freed himself with his own power.”

 

“You told him of me,” Targon inferred.

 

Selendis nodded. “I’ve never lied about you, Targon. I know of the great power in you. Others have seen it too – Draco, Viruul, your companions. You are not like ordinary people, Targon. Not even like most Jedi.”

 

“Explain this to me,” Targon gestured to his arm again. “What happened here?”

 

“You know the answer to that,” Selendis replied. “Your master told you. A man that drinks from the fountain cannot have any taint in his spirit. Otherwise, the consequences would be unwelcome. You had two dark powers inside of you.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow in confusion, but it soon changed to understanding.

 

“Kronos was one,” he sighed. “Succuba was the other.”

 

Selendis nodded. “Viruul discovered primitive records of Syris Thaal – though he had no idea what they were. He learned the way to utilize the primeval and carnal spirit inside of people and manipulate the physical form with them. That’s how he created Succuba…and that is what has happened to you.”

 

Targon glanced at his arm, staring at the scales and talons that did indeed seem so reminiscent of Succuba’s body.

 

“I have more questions,” he said, looking back at Selendis.

 

“Ask,” the Sorceress smiled.

 

“Is this repairable?”

 

Selendis sighed. “I don’t know. Only you will be able to answer that. The change may grow, however, I am sure of that. It will depend on the choices you make inside yourself.”

 

Targon shook his head in disappointment.

 

Then he asked his next question.

 

“Am I…? Have I really gained immortality?”

 

Selendis rose and approached him.

 

“That is an excellent question,” she stated. “One that may take time to answer. I’m sure you have no desire to test it by trying to get yourself killed.”

 

Targon couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

 

“Then how?”

 

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see,” Selendis shrugged.

 

Targon felt a little uncomfortable with her getting closer to the bed. He started to push himself back further in the sheets to widen the distance, but he realized it was no use.

 

Jedi did not fear, and he needed to stand firm here. He wasn’t going to solve anything if he was always trying to flee.

 

“There’s only one question I have left for you,” he sighed.

 

Selendis awaited him.

 

Targon looked down at his arms, at the contrast between them. He took several breaths to calm his trembling soul.

 

Then he looked back up at the brilliant blue of the Sorceress.

 

“Are you truly evil?”

 

Selendis sighed sorrowfully.

 

“An unfair question, Targon, but one that you require an answer to. Unfortunately, I can’t answer that one either.”

 

“I figured as much,” Targon shrugged.

 

“Most of life’s questions need to be answered on your own,” Selendis told him. “It all depends on our own points of view.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Targon nodded.

 

There was a knock on the door.

 

Instead of waiting for an answer, the door opened and Draco poked his head in.

 

“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” he apologized. “But I’m afraid we have to be going.”

 

“Going where?” Targon frowned.

 

“Viruul is going to strike back at Fuhron,” Draco replied. “He’s going to slip in during the invasion.”

 

“I told him I will not serve him,” Targon stated.

 

“We know that,” Selendis nodded. “But you want to serve your friends, don’t you?”

 

Targon sighed.

 

“Corellia is going to need all the help it can get,” Draco shook his head. “Besides, maybe we’ll all be able to get answers. A critical moment in the Force seems to be focused on Corellia, and all our fates are tied there.”

 

Targon nodded. “Much as I’d hate to admit it…”

 

“Oh,” Draco held up a finger. “I have something for you.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. “For me? What?”

 

Draco disappeared for a moment and then returned. He was holding a large box.

 

“I noticed you had lost your fine robes,” Draco said. “The green was a fitting color on you. No doubt it was taken on your detour to Dromund Kaas.”

 

Targon nodded.

 

“It’s not quite as nice,” Draco sighed, holding out the box to him. “But I thought you’d like it better than anything the Sith could give you. It was going to replace my nice armor I lost in the black hole with Kronos…I figured you needed it more.”

 

“Umm…” Targon reached out and received the package hesitantly. “Thanks?”

 

“Better get suited up,” Draco nodded. “Viruul is bent on blood – hellishly so – I’m afraid.”

 

“I’ll leave you alone,” Selendis smiled.

 

Both she and Draco closed the door after they left.

 

Targon held up the candle to the package to get a closer look.

 

“Well…” he shrugged. “It really is nicer than any Sith getup.”

 

In a few minutes, Targon opened the door and stepped into the better light of the hallway. He was finally able to get a better look at himself.

 

The outfit was primarily a forest green robe, embroidered with gold. On top of that was interlocking armor plates made of krayt dragon scales for his shoulders, chest, and thighs.

 

He put up the green hood as he walked outside to where Viruul’s followers were packing up to leave.

 

It wasn’t night after all – it was a storm.

 

Grateful for the hood – and the new outfit – he made his way down and started helping everyone get ready.

 

“The world has really been twisted on itself,” he sighed. “A Jedi, joining forces with his determined enemies, to fight against the Empire on a vital Republic world.”

 

He didn’t know what sort of destiny he was supposed to be filling, but Targon was wondering if all of this was some big joke the Force was making of him.

 

Then again, the thought did cross his mind that he would have some mighty stories to tell in the future.

 

If he survived…

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Seven

 

Cordillian had commanded in several battles – and a few that were utterly terrifying and surreal – but this one took the cake.

 

It was like watching the ocean tides. Republic forces pushed forward, causing Imperial lines to fall back. Then the Empire would strike back with equal tenacity and force the admiral to pull men back to keep the line together.

 

Unorthodox maneuvers kept the Imperials constantly guessing where they would hit next, but that only served to even the odds, not tip them.

 

There were still way too many Imperial warships to handle up front.

 

The worst were the enemy fighters. They zipped in and out, wreaking havoc with the formations and tactical planning of the capital ships. Several Republic fighters moved to draw them away, but it wasn’t enough.

 

He glanced at the battle display again.

 

The Republic’s line at the left end was starting to fall apart. Star Destroyers and their frigate escorts were focusing their efforts there, and it was smashing through. Two battlecruisers exploded and went down in flames, a third was keeling over.

 

“Focus on strengthening the left flank!” he ordered. “Tell Captain Umbassa to take his squadrons and hit back at those Imperials. We can’t let them surround us!”

 

The door to the bridge opened and Rick walked in. He was attended by the Jedi, Xana Kalar, and the Twi’lek bounty hunter.

 

“Now really isn’t a good time,” the admiral sighed. “I need to ask you to vacate the bridge…”

 

“How can we help, admiral?” the Falleen asked. “We can’t just sit around.”

 

“Weren’t you in the medical bays?” Cordillian countered.

 

“We had to leave,” Gabrielle answered. “There were too many patients incoming and they needed more room.”

 

“They even moved Greyhawk,” Rick added.

 

“To where?” Cordillian frowned.

 

“Engineering,” Xana replied.

 

Cordillian sighed. Things were really falling apart if soldiers that needed treatment were being moved to the wrong kinds of places.

 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do,” Cordillian shook his head. “The Lone Eagle is completely out of commission, and all my fighter squadrons are already engaged in the battle.”

 

“Sir!” an officer called out. “The enemy is hailing us!”

 

Cordillian’s frown deepened. “What do they want now?”

 

The screen lit up and Lord Cthulu appeared.

 

“Had enough, Republic dogs?” the hideous Sith asked.

 

“We’ve only begun to fight,” Cordillian pointed his finger at the enemy.

 

The Sith Lord laughed.

 

“Bold, but foolish. Your friends on the ground have been crushed. They could not hope to stand against the Mandalorian assault, much less our more skilled Imperial soldiers. There’s no one to save on the planet, admiral. You should flee while you still can.”

 

“Admiral!” an engineer called. “It’s true! Ground forces have completely been routed. The Empire has control of the planet again.”

 

“Not if I can help it,” Cordillian snapped. He turned back to Cthulu. “We’ll break through you yet, Sith. We’ve learned a lot since the last war.”

 

“Yes, learned more ways to be utterly defeated,” the Khil hissed.

 

“Take it from me, Admiral,” Moff Norin stated. “You’ve lost this one. You lost from the very start. Don’t slaughter your men for some stupid notion of heroism.”

 

“I’m surprised how merciful you both are being,” Cordillian folded his arms. “I’ve never gotten such kindly treatment from Imperials before. It doesn’t suit you.”

 

“This is your last warning,” Cthulu snarled.

 

“And how much mercy will you show the Corellians as they continue to resist your occupation?” Cordillian straightened to his full stature. “I know how you treat malcontents, and the Corellians are the hardest to keep in line. Even for the Republic.”

 

“Enough executions will make the message clear,” Norin shrugged.

 

“I won’t let that happen,” Cordillian raised a fist. “I’ll die first before I abandon this world.”

 

“Then you will die,” Cthulu sneered.

 

Cordillian turned to the communications officer.

 

“Cut transmission,” he ordered.

 

The man nodded and complied.

 

Once the image of the enemy was long gone, Cordillian sank into his chair for a brief moment. He sighed with despair.

 

“How can we keep holding?” he shook his head. “We’ve already lost at least eight warships…and the enemy just keeps coming…”

 

“Numbers don’t win battles,” Rick told him. “I know that well enough. Hell, my crew took out that Covenant superweapon, remember? Give us a shuttle and we might take out a Star Destroyer or two for you.”

 

Cordillian stood again and smiled weakly.

 

“I’m grateful for the offer and willingness to help,” he sighed. “But that won’t save us. The risk is too great, and there’s still more than ten other dreadnaughts to worry about.”

 

“You need to change tactics,” Xana suggested. “We should try something the enemy would never expect.”

 

Cordillian sighed again.

 

“Look,” he pointed to the displays. “Our ships are falling apart. I can’t order them into drastically new formations without losing a lot more men. We lose too many, we won’t be able to pull anything off.”

 

“Then should we retreat?” Gabrielle asked.

 

“Like hell!” a voice roared across the bridge.

 

Everyone turned. Greyhawk was standing in the doorway. He was clad in new armor, a huge suit that made him seem like a small child inside.

 

“What are you doing up?” Rick gasped. “And just what are you wearing?”

 

“Engineering put it together,” the old soldier pounded his chest. “An old war droid’s chassis, refitted to have a human occupant. There’s cybernetic augments to keep me moving, what with my age and current crippling.”

 

Gabrielle frowned. “Are you saying...?”

 

“I’m ready to fight again,” Greyhawk announced. “The Empire isn’t keeping me down. I’ll give them a sorry black eye with this.” He gestured to the fist. The mechanical limbs were hooked to his nervous system, allowing him complete control of the arms, legs, and fingers.”

 

“They got that together that fast?” Cordillian gawked.

 

“Aric Trinn and his team seem to be real miracle workers,” the old soldier shrugged. “It’s a little uncomfortable…actually, it hurts and itches like hell, but what do I care? It’ll mean all the more pain I’ll be able to dish out to the enemy.”

 

“Well, admiral,” Xana turned to him. “What’s the plan?”

 

Cordillian said nothing at first.

 

Then he sighed and smiled.

 

“The Corellians need to know that we aren’t about to give up on them. They need hope, nowhere more than on the ground. Get your crew together, Rick. You’ll be joining Master Cyrus and the other Jedi in heading down to the surface. We’ll punch a hole for you, and keep up the pressure on the enemy fleet.”

 

“That sounds…suicidal…” Gabrielle frowned.

 

“Maybe,” Cordillian nodded. “But it’s the last play we’ve got. If you win the fight down below, rally the resistance and push back the Sith…we’ll have a better chance of taking back the planet.”

 

“When are those reinforcements supposed to arrive?” Rick asked.

 

“I don’t know,” the admiral shook his head. “I don’t even know if they are coming. But we’ll hold – long enough for them to come, or at least long enough for you to restore Corellia’s hope for freedom.”

 

“We’ll get going right away,” Xana nodded.

 

“Can’t wait to smash the skulls of some more Imps,” Greyhawk cheered. “Let’s do this!”

 

“Sir!” another officer called out. “More ships are entering the system!”

 

Cordillian gasped.

 

“Not Republic,” the man sighed.

 

The disappointment was tangible in the bridge.

 

“But not Imperial,” the officer added.

 

Cordillian frowned and stepped closer to the window to get a better look. He could see the utter chaos, the Imperial ships starting to form a circle around the Republic fleet.

 

Then, a bright blue beam speared through one of the Star Destroyers. The giant ship broke into pieces as a massive explosion burst from within.

 

The speakers crackled as a voice came over the intercom.

 

“An taro kala!” a booming and familiar voice roared. “I hope we haven’t arrived too late.”

 

A massive cheer echoed across every Republic ship, rejoicing to the sound of Arcon Talhawk’s voice.

 

Twelve ships had arrived – twelve Blue-talon class “Doom Ships” of the Kordak League. At once, they began to open fire, tearing into the Imperial flank and utterly destroying vast numbers of the enemy vessels with incredible speed.

 

Cordillian felt his eyes grow wet with tears of joy and relief.

 

“Welcome to Corellia, Supreme Commander Talhawk,” he smiled.

 

“Sorry for the delay,” Talhawk laughed. “It’s a long way from Wild Space to the Core Worlds. We got a little turned around near Hoth.”

 

“Your timing couldn’t have been better,” Cordillian laughed in reply.

 

“So, how do we deal with these bastards?” Talhawk asked.

 

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” the admiral replied. “And then meet us on the planet’s surface at the coordinates I’m sending now.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Cordillian turned to Rick and his crew.

 

“Well, the mission stands. Join the Jedi and the Kordak down below. Corellia’s freedom may be more than a hopeful glimmer after all.”

 

Conclusion of Episode Twenty-Three

[TargonKarashi]

Episode Twenty-Four – Storm of Blood and Darkness

 

Chapter One

 

Halcyon Citadel was a creation of pure beauty and majesty. Carved into the side of a mountain overlooking a wide valley and the cities below, there was no doubt it was made with care and purpose.

 

For wisdom’s sake, it was built high to see far and wide. For glory’s sake, it was built high to reach into the skies. For strength’s sake, it was built high to make it almost completely unassailable.

 

The only way to reach the first gate was to climb a steep and narrow path up the mountain, completely exposed to the towering defenses.

 

It was also a nasty climb, requiring a lot of focus and strength to make it up.

 

This, Ravat and Reev had found from the beginning of their arduous trek upwards.

 

“Handling it alright back there?” Ravat called down to his companion.

 

“Don’t patronize me,” Reev spat back. “I’ve faced far worse than this.”

 

“Then how come I’m so far ahead of you?”

 

Reev growled. “So I have the chance to shoot you in the back if the mood takes me.”

 

Ravat laughed. “I doubt you could hit a star cruiser with a sniper rifle from five yards away.”

 

“Petty insults are meaningless,” Reev told him. “A true warrior is beyond such things.”

 

“A true warrior uses whatever he has available to keep the foe out of balance.”

 

“Then you need to learn who your enemies are.”

 

Ravat grinned down at him.

 

“I know who they are.”

 

Reev spat again and kept climbing.

 

It took nearly an hour or two, but they reached the gates and were granted access to enter. There were Imperial soldiers all over the gatehouse and walls, keeping an eye out for anything.

 

Ravat chuckled.

 

“Look at them,” he sneered. “It’s like they’re expecting an assault anytime soon.”

 

“With good reason,” Reev frowned at him. “The Republic broke through the Imperial fleet.”

 

“So a few troops got to the ground,” Ravat shrugged. “What’s it matter? Our boys have the cities secured, the Imps’ ships are taking back control of the planet’s orbit, and the Sith are nice and snug in their castles.”

 

“The battle isn’t over yet,” Reev stated.

 

“I should hope not. Peacetime is incredibly boring.”

 

Reev rolled his eyes and took the lead, marching through the halls and into the open courtyard of the castle. More troops were guarding the area, and even some Sith acolytes were watching the entrances.

 

A tall and thin Sith Lord approached them. His face was hidden by a golden mask.

 

Reev bowed to him.

 

“Lord Vinitar,” he greeted.

 

The Sith nodded.

 

“Stark’s boys,” he stated. “Your men settling in nicely down in the cities?”

 

“Quite well,” Ravat grinned. “Killed twelve malcontents yesterday. Twenty today. Off to a good start, I think.”

 

“Keep it up,” the Sith folded his arms, “and we’ll have an empty planet by month’s end.”

 

“It won’t get that far,” Reev assured him. “The citizens will settle down soon. Their fighting spirit is nearly spent.”

 

Vinitar nodded. “We’ll need it to be, if the Republic forces rally together and make another offensive.”

 

“You’re not really worried about them, are you?” Ravat scoffed. “A few boots on the ground, scattered in the hills…what could they do? Even if they gathered, they couldn’t hope to storm this fortress.”

 

“Seems you share the thoughts of Lady Vorra,” Vinitar sighed. “You should get along with her quite well.”

 

“We’re supposed to report to her,” Reev stated. “After meeting with you, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Vinitar snorted. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to the task of managing the entire region while Her Highness enjoys the comforts of the citadel. Good day, gentlemen.”

 

The Sith walked off, shoving them aside as he made his way across the courtyard.

 

“A pleasant fellow,” Reev shook his head.

 

“Much more than you,” Ravat snickered.

 

Reev pushed his companion out of the way as he went to go through the main doors of the castle.

 

Inside, the main hall was high and empty. Winding stairs spread in various directions, some going up, and other going down. A maze of halls spread down every doorway.

 

Ravat whistled, and the noise echoed in the vast chamber for several minutes.

 

A guard approached them.

 

“Hey!” Reev called to him. “Where can we find Vorra?”

 

“Up those stairs,” the guard pointed to a specific stairway. “She’ll be in the master suite, last door in the hall. You won’t miss it.”

 

“Is she entertaining guests?” Ravat asked.

 

The guard snorted and walked off.

 

“What do you suppose that means?” Ravat turned to his fellow Mandalorian.

 

Reev rolled his eyes and sighed. He then started making his way up the stairs, trying his best to ignore his companion following closely behind.

 

Upon reaching the summit, they made their way down the hall. There weren’t many doors – but the ones that they saw were large and grand. A few were open, giving them sight into the grand bedrooms and amenities that had been built into the citadel.

 

One room even had a pool.

 

“I think I could get used to this place,” Ravat grinned.

 

“Planning on becoming weak and complacent?” Reev sneered.

 

Ravat’s grin faded. He glared at Reev with hateful eyes. No masks of condescension or mockery this time. No, his eyes showed his true feelings towards his companion.

 

“Take care in how you talk to me,” Ravat hissed.

 

Reev gave him back an equally dark look.

 

“Coming from you? You’re the one that dishonors the name Mandalorian – with your japes and stupid wit.”

 

For a brief moment, Ravat looked like he was going to reach for a knife. But at the last second, as his fingers brushed the handle, he stopped and shrugged.

 

“It wouldn’t be worth the effort to kill you,” he sighed. “Just remember one thing, Reev. I am the Warmaster’s second in command. You are an officer only because Stark sees something in you…though whatever it is, it sure is hidden.”

 

“Thank you for the praise,” Reev snorted.

 

“Remember your place,” Ravat shoved a finger in his chest.

 

“Is there a problem here?” a guard asked. This wasn’t just any Imperial soldier, however. This was one of the special sentinels of the Dark Council, clad in red cloaks and wielding tall, menacing staffs.

 

“Not at all,” Ravat grinned at him. “My…companion and I were just on our way to report to Lady Vorra. She is in the master suite at the end of the hall, correct?”

 

“Not right now,” the guard shook his head. “She is in the recreational chamber.” He pointed to a door right behind them. “Through there.”

 

“Ah,” Ravat nodded respectfully. “Thank you, sir.”

 

The guard nodded in reply and walked off.

 

Ravat walked up to the doors. He gave Reev a last warning look and then swung them open.

 

There was a large circle painted on the floor of the wide, empty room. Battle droids lay strewn about the chamber, sliced to pieces. Training officers lay groaning on the ground and nursing their wounds.

 

Lady Vorra was in the center of it all.

 

She was in the middle of finishing off the last of the droids when the Mandalorians walked in. Her double-bladed lightsaber hummed with its own sort of tune as the violet lights danced and flashed, tearing the machine to smoldering wreckage.

 

The Sith stopped then, taking a breath and deactivating her saber.

 

She was dripping with sweat. Her hair was damp and her soaked suit clung tighter to her frame.

 

Vorra sighed, now that was the practice was over, and smiled at the Mandalorians.

 

“Ah,” she nodded. “You must be Stark’s officers come to apply your services to control the rambunctious rabble.”

 

“We are indeed, my lady,” Ravat bowed.

 

“The civilians are contained for now,” Reev stated. “Our warriors have seen to that.”

 

“Then it appears we have reached a break from the constant violence,” Vorra smiled. “Things can settle down and catch a breath for a bit.”

 

“Not for long,” Reev shook his head. “The Republic has reinforcements on the ground…”

 

“Yes, yes, I know,” Vorra waved him off. “Fuhron was not pleased when he learned Cthulu and Norin went down with their ship. But the enemy is far, and disorganized. We have some time to relax.”

 

“Seems you’re using time well,” Ravat observed.

 

“A little practice to keep me entertained,” Vorra sighed. “Sadly, though, all this has proven less than a challenge.”

 

“Perhaps you should try something new?”

 

Vorra nodded. “That would be a good idea. Now, you both must be a little winded from your climb up here to my citadel. Why don’t you get a drink and enjoy the luxury my palace has to offer.”

 

“You are too kind,” Reev bowed. “Will Lord Fuhron be returning here as well?”

 

“Not for a while,” Vorra shook her head. “He’s still out with Stark, wreaking havoc on the peasants and tearing down the cultural relics. I am the master of this castle…and I like it here. Fuhron won’t be tearing this place down if I have any say in the matter.”

 

“Do you have a say?” Ravat inquired.

 

“A bold question from one such as you,” Vorra said. “Many men have been killed for lesser insults.”

 

“Did I insult you?” Ravat frowned. “I thought I was asking a question to a subject you had opened.”

 

Vorra laughed.

 

“You Mandalorians amuse me,” she smiled. “It should be…entertaining…to have you here.”

 

“And if the Republic actually does make an attack,” Ravat grinned, “it will become a full-blown party.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Two

 

Rick had been to Corellia many times, and he had more than a few adventures on his latest visits not too long ago. But as he stepped out of the shuttle onto the charred fields of the valley’s wilderness, it felt like he was coming to a new planet completely.

 

There was similar unease among the others. This wasn’t Corellia, so full of life and energy. This was a battlefield, the scarred remains of a plagued world.

 

As they had come down, they had thought themselves a good number, but now, seeing all this…it looked like they could never bring enough men to take back this planet.

 

Rick counted his crew, and the half a dozen soldiers that accompanied them. From the other shuttle, Master Cyrus had maybe thirteen Jedi knights with him.

 

Not nearly a force able to storm strongholds.

 

The only redemption came from the Kordak. Spectres hovered over the ground, dropping the tall Necillian warriors onto the ground. They were all fully armored and had weapons ready to fight.

 

The last one down was Talhawk himself.

 

Rick had forgotten just how massive the giant was. Near seven feet tall, he towered over his fellow soldiers. His armor glistened in the sunlight, but he always appeared ominous and dark with the helmet shaped like a skull.

 

Talhawk walked over to the Jedi, his cape fluttering lightly in the soft breeze. He nodded to Master Cyrus.

 

“A pleasure to meet another member of the famed Jedi Council,” Talhawk greeted. “I had hoped to see others, like Master Salar.”

 

Cyrus shook his head. “Master Salar was killed on Viserys during the Battle of Broken Truce. The Republic defenders there were betrayed by infiltrated agents.”

 

“The Imperials seem to enjoy deception and subversion,” Talhawk growled. “We’re still not sure if we’ve rooted out every last one of the Covenant in my own systems.”

 

Master Je’and stepped forward.

 

“The Empire is more dangerous than the Covenant ever was, Supreme Commander,” he stated. “No more so here. They’ve had a good time to prepare for us. They’re dug in deep, especially around the cities.”

 

Talhawk growled. “Were it up to me, there would be an easy way to deal with them.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Cyrus shook his head. “We are here to liberate the Corellians, not destroy them along with the enemy.”

 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Talhawk sighed. “It will make things difficult…but my warriors have stormed tight defenses before…with minimal collateral damage.”

 

“That’s good to hear.”

 

Je’and gestured towards Rick and his crew.

 

“Talhawk, you may recall the crew of the Lone Eagle, that fought alongside us all against the Dark Covenant?”

 

The Necillian turned and nodded to the crew.

 

“Ah, yes,” he exclaimed. “Seems you’ve collected some new friends along the way…but…where is the bold, young Targon?”

 

Rick shook his head and sighed.

 

“Targon is gone,” Greyhawk answered. “The last time we saw him, he was pursuing Sith to stop a dark scheme to threaten the entire galaxy.”

 

“Does he live?” the Supreme Commander asked.

 

“We don’t know,” Rick replied. “But we certainly hope so.”

 

“Then that is good,” Talhawk nodded. “Keep up the faith. It will give you something to fight for.”

 

Two more Jedi Masters, Talandar and Asha, came forward.

 

“We’ve made contact with some of the surviving resistance,” Talandar announced. “They were scattered, but it seems they are starting to regroup – the largest at Lake Horvin, about seven miles east of here.”

 

“Jedi Master Senliri Orz is heading the rallying effort,” Master Asha added.

 

“If I might ask,” Rick chimed in. “How are we going to rally together and not draw the attention of the enemy?”

 

Everyone looked at him quizzically

 

“Rick is right,” Greyhawk nodded. “The enemy flagship is overseeing the valley. If it catches news of our men gathering, there will be Imps swarming right on top of us.”

 

Cyrus sighed and nodded. “You are right, of course. We won’t be able to do this the traditional way.”

 

“We Necillians are good at using the unorthodox,” Talhawk stated. “Besides, our Spectres should be able to pass by the enemy vessel unnoticed. We do have fine cloaking devices, after all.”

 

“Then I have a suggestion,” Gabrielle spoke up.

 

“Yes?” Cyrus nodded.

 

“Suppose we took out the Imperial warship?” Gabrielle proceeded. “If we have the Kordak sneak up on it with their cloaked transports, they should be able to take it down. That would allow Republic and local resistance to gather unhindered.”

 

Je’and nodded. “And then we can marshal for an assault on Halcyon Citadel.”

 

“It’s bold,” Asha sighed.

 

“But it should work,” Cyrus smiled. He turned to Talhawk. “Think you and your men could handle an Imperial dreadnaught?”

 

“Just one?” Talhawk scoffed. “We’ll be on them so hard…they won’t have time to scream for help.”

 

“Good to hear,” Cyrus nodded. “Then we have a battle plan.”

 

“So,” Rick began, “the rest of us will gather with the resistance?”

 

“Some, yes,” Talandar replied. “But we need an advance group to clear out enemy patrols along the path to the citadel. We can’t afford skirmishes with the main force that could leave us with too few to take the castle.”

 

“That’s where we come in, isn’t it?” Sorgal growled.

 

“Only if you’re willing,” Asha pointed out.

 

“You bet I’m willing,” Greyhawk pounded his armored chest. “You’d have to bind me with electrical chains and dump me out an airlock to keep me from the enemy.”

 

“We’re with him,” Gabrielle added, grabbing Rick by the arm.

 

“As am I,” Xana nodded.

 

“Guess that means I’m coming too,” Tygus resigned.

 

Sorgal frowned.

 

“So what if I say no?”

 

“You could join the Kordak,” Je’and suggested.

 

Sorgal glared at him.

 

“Or come with us to the lake,” Talandar added.

 

Glaring at both of them, Sorgal finally sighed.

 

“Fine,” he growled. “I’ll go with the rest of the crew.”

 

“Good to hear,” Cyrus nodded.

 

“I’ll go with them,” Master Je’and suggested.

 

“Eh?” Rick frowned. “Why?”

 

“You all rescued Master Sanpo,” Je’and replied. “He would want to go with you if was in fighting condition. It is only proper that I fight in his place.”

 

“Very well then,” Asha agreed. “It is all decided. We will join Master Orz and the rest of the Republic soldiers on Corellia at Lake Horvin. Talhawk and the Kordak warriors will take out the Imperial flagship, and you all will clear a path towards the citadel.”

 

“May the Force be with us all,” Cyrus stated.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Three

 

Stark gazed out across the fields. It was an incredible view from atop the steep cliff he stood on top of. He could see the mountains on the far side, the glimmer of the Citadel at the north end of the valley, and the lake down south.

 

There was a gentle breeze, making his cape flap and dance against his armor.

 

A nice sight, he thought to himself. Were it not for the war, he could see himself vacationing here to celebrate his latest victories.

 

Even a Mandalorian Warmaster thought about days off from fighting.

 

No chance of that, though. Not any time soon, anyway. The calm he was enjoying right now was just the prelude to battle. Great storms announce themselves with gentle breezes, and men took deep breaths before plunging into the abyss.

 

The storm here was going to be terrible. He could feel it in his bones. One didn’t attain the respected rank of Warmaster without being able to sense a battle before it came.

 

“Sir,” Merani’s voice called from behind.

 

Stark sighed and turned to face her.

 

She saluted him, and he nodded in reply.

 

“Lord Fuhron demands your presence,” Merani stated.

 

“Demands, hmm?” Stark snorted.

 

“Yes, sir,” Merani nodded. The expression of her distaste for the Sith Lord was apparent. “He’s in a foul mood – worse than his normal one.”

 

“I know,” Stark replied. “The answer is simple. He is upset about the failure of the fleet in orbit. The Republic wasn’t supposed to break through, much less bring powerful allies to bear.”

 

“What do you know of the Kordak?” Merani asked.

 

“Little,” Stark admitted. “What does Fuhron want? Someone to be his whipping boy?”

 

“No sir,” Merani shook her head. “Seems he has orders.”

 

“The Emperor’s Wrath always has orders.”

 

Stark sighed and followed his officer away from the cliff. They walked for a little ways, and then Stark bid her to stay put as he went on.

 

He arrived at Fuhron’s location soon enough. The Pureblood was pacing back and forth next to the swoop bikes like a caged tiger.

 

“You called?” Stark announced himself.

 

Fuhron’s head whipped to stare at the Warmaster.

 

“About time,” he growled. “Where have you been?”

 

“Forgive my decision not to tell you my every whereabouts,” Stark countered. “It’s not as if I am supposed to inform you of everything like a worthless lackey.”

 

Fuhron grumbled and shook his head.

 

“What were you able to see out on the cliffs?”

 

Stark wasn’t surprised that the Sith Lord knew where he had been the whole time. Nor did it surprise him that he had asked about it. Stark knew what Fuhron was all about – control.

 

“I saw the valley,” Stark shrugged. “From the citadel to the lake. There’s been no activity that I could tell. The Invincible is just sitting where it has always sat.”

 

“That will change,” Fuhron stated. “I’ve just got a report from the Invincible. Lord Kraven tells me that Republic resistance is gathering at the lakeshore.”

 

“Did Kraven also tell you that he hears voices when he’s alone?” Stark asked. “That man is a schizo I tell you, and I’ve fought plenty of battles with him to back up my claim.”

 

“Regardless,” Fuhron waved his hand. “The information is sound. I can sense the gathering even now.”

 

Stark noticed how the Pureblood hadn’t bothered to deny the claim of Kraven’s insanity. But he didn’t think it a good idea to question why, if Fuhron could sense it, he needed a report from the fool.

 

“What are your orders, then?” Stark asked.

 

“What do you think?” Fuhron growled.

 

Stark nodded. “So, we ride in and destroy the resistance before they have organized?”

 

“You’re smarter than most Mandalorians,” Fuhron nodded.

 

“Why, thank you, my lord,” Stark bowed. He had a foul taste in his mouth, and he would have liked to have spit it out…along with a few curses and insults. But instead, he swallowed it down.

 

“We leave now,” Fuhron stated, getting on his bike. “Don’t fall behind.”

 

“Of course not,” Stark nodded.

 

He mounted his, Merani and Fuhron’s retainers followed suit, and soon they were all speeding off the cliff and down towards the lake.

 

---

 

The Star Destroyer exited hyperspace a fair distance away from Corellia. Its escort of frigates made a tight perimeter around it, covering every flank and direction that an attack could come.

 

Lord Viruul stood on the bridge, gazing out the window towards the planet ahead. Bright flashes and streaks made a strange pattern on its horizon.

 

The door opened and Targon walked in, escorted on one side by Shazzar and the other side by Succuba.

 

“What is that?” Targon asked upon seeing the light show.

 

Viruul turned to acknowledge his arrival.

 

“Ah, Targon. Come, stand by me.”

 

With no option to refuse, Targon complied. He felt a coldness fill his veins as he stood next to the Dark Lord. The whole ship felt cold and dark – but he had grown used to that.

 

What he would never grow used to, however, was the pure aura of the Dark Side that surrounded Lord Viruul.

 

“It’s the battle of Corellia,” the Dark Lord answered his question. “Imperial forces are engaged with the Republic and its ally.”

 

“Ally?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your friends, the Kordak League,” Viruul smirked. “Seems your Republic buddies called them for aid.”

 

Targon frowned.

 

“Well then,” he shrugged. “Looks like you have two enemies blocking your path to Corellia. How do you plan to get through?”

 

“Easily,” Viruul replied. “We’ll be coming in on the opposite side of the planet.”

 

“That’s a long ways off,” Shazzar stated.

 

“Yes, but much more prudent,” the Dark Lord countered. “We land near Coronet City and travel to Fuhron’s location planetside.”

 

“And the Imperials controlling the world will simply let you through?” Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“Indeed they will,” Viruul nodded.

 

“How do you figure?”

 

“Me,” a voice answered.

 

Targon turned and noted the presence of Admiral Gerald. He had just come into the bridge from his quarters through the doors on the left of them.

 

“The Empire is unaware of the sanctuary I have given Lord Viruul,” the commander explained. “The authorities in Coronet City will assume I am bringing reinforcements to Halcyon citadel, and to outflank the Republic fleet.”

 

“It’s amazing how much the Empire assumes things rather than making certain,” Shazzar chuckled.

 

“It serves our purpose,” Viruul nodded. “Though it will all change when I have my seat back.”

 

“And when you find Fuhron, what then?” Targon inquired. “Just attack without thought? Without considering all the other Imperial and Republic forces on the field?”

 

Viruul shook his head. “You sound as if you consider me a fool, Targon. I find that most offensive, but seeing how important you are…and how well-liked you are by most everyone…I will let it slide.”

 

“Your generosity is astounding,” Shazzar smirked.

 

“Don’t assume the same license is afforded to you,” Gerald pointed out.

 

“I never assume anything,” Shazzar shrugged.

 

Viruul sighed.

 

“To answer your question, young Targon, I intend to defeat all Imperial forces in the area, as well as Fuhron. The Republic can have Corellia for all I care. And they probably will take it back anyway. The men the Empire has put in control are…rather pathetic, to put it mildly.”

 

“So, you’re essentially helping the Republic win this battle?” Targon scoffed. “For some reason, I find that hard to believe.”

 

“One planet means nothing,” Viruul countered. “Even one as important as Corellia. Worlds and battles are not the key to victory in this war. It’s in individuals – the hearts and minds of the people – where all wars are won.”

 

Targon raised his eyebrow again.

 

“I don’t expect you to understand everything right away,” Viruul shrugged. “There are many things at work in the galaxy…things that will take time to sort out.”

 

Viruul turned back to the window.

 

“The most important thing, right now, is exacting justice on the crimes against me. I will have my place back, and order will be restored to the Empire. You’re going to help me in this, Targon.”

 

“Now you are assuming too much,” Targon spat.

 

“Perhaps,” Viruul nodded. “Perhaps not. We shall see. I’m grateful for your visit, Targon, even if most of your words were rather…snarky. Now, you are excused. Someone else is eager to talk to you.”

 

Targon frowned. “Who?”

 

Viruul glanced at Shazzar and Succuba.

 

“Would you both be kind enough to escort our guest here to young Draakis’ quarters? He has been asking for the Jedi for quite some time.”

 

“Of course, master,” Succuba nodded.

 

“If I must,” Shazzar sighed.

 

Targon shivered as they led him off the bridge and into the elevator again.

 

He really had no desire to see Draakis…

 

He had no desire for a lot of the things in his situation…but nothing was under his control.

 

Not even his arm.

 

Targon glanced once more at it, pulling back the sleeves of his new robes to see it better. Then he felt along his chest.

 

The change was spreading in his body. It had started reaching down his ribs and further up along his neck to his jaw.

 

Jedi weren’t supposed to fear – for fear led to the Dark Side.

 

But Targon was definitely afraid of what was happening to him.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Four

 

Reev picked up his pace in the halls. He ignored the guards at every door, and also ignored any other person that he passed in the halls.

 

He stopped once, when something out the window caught his eye.

 

Storm clouds were approaching on the horizon. They were still a long ways off, but with how dark and grim they looked, there was a massive storm coming.

 

Then he kept going.

 

He had been looking for Ravat for almost an hour. Stark had called, informing them that he was headed to wipe out a resistance rally with Lord Fuhron. That meant he wasn’t going to be arriving back at the citadel to relieve them for a day or two.

 

Also, he had sent an encrypted message for his second – something for him and him alone.

 

So, as much as Reev would have loved to never see Ravat again while they were both staying in this massive castle, it appeared he had no choice but to seek him out.

 

Yet the fool had done a fine job of hiding himself.

 

Reev had scoured the courtyard, the halls, the bedrooms that they were given…even the kitchens and gymnasiums. Ravat was nowhere to be found.

 

All the while, he muttering things to himself – chief among them were his many grievances against Ravat and how he could hardly believe that scarred braggart had ever become second in command to the Warmaster.

 

Deep in his personal thoughts and rants, he failed to notice that the hall he had turned into was not empty like many of the others.

 

In a swift moment, he crashed into a guard. Both of them clattered to the ground, dropping their weapons and many other things they had been carrying on them.

 

“Fierfek!” Reev spat. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you incompetent…?”

 

“I see you’re fitting in well too,” a familiar voice snapped at him.

 

Reev looked up and saw the man he had run into for the first time. It wasn’t a guard at all.

 

Lord Vinitar rose and brushed himself off, then called his lightsabers to him that had rolled away on the floor.

 

“My lord,” Reev bowed as he stood. “My apologies…I thought you were…”

 

“Of course you did,” Vinitar cut him off. “You probably assumed many things as you dashed through the halls without paying attention. Sith Lords are easy to mistake for Imperial soldiers, after all. I completely understand.”

 

Reev straightened.

 

“No need to get all upset,” he growled. “I apologized, after all.”

 

“Men have been killed for less,” Vinitar stated. “I’ve seen other Sith Lords decapitate civilians for simply looking at them the wrong way.”

 

“Surely you are not so brash,” Reev suggested.

 

“Perhaps not,” the Sith nodded. “But I’m also not one to suffer insults. The last man that insulted me consistently ended up betraying me…and then died with my blades through his chest.”

 

“I am not one to betray, my lord,” Reev assured him.

 

“That so? You seem to be one to have plenty of things to rant about.”

 

Reev frowned.

 

“Yes, I heard the things you were saying,” Vinitar answered his unasked question. “Everyone in the citadel could probably hear it, including the man you’re bashing so energetically.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reev shrugged. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my companion…”

 

Vinitar remained where he was, blocking the path of the Mandalorian.

 

“I’m also not one that suffers liars,” the Sith hissed. “Lying is a betrayal waiting to hatch.”

 

Reev placed his hand on the blaster at his side.

 

“Are you going to move?” he asked. “Or just stand there lecturing me?”

 

“That depends,” Vinitar’s eyes narrowed.

 

Reev sighed. “Might you have an idea where Ravat has gotten to?”

 

“Now why should I answer that, when you’ve been so eager to insult me?” the Sith countered.

 

The Mandalorian said nothing. He simply stood his ground and eyed the Sith Lord. Vinitar was taller, and he had the lightsabers…but he wasn’t nearly as strongly built as Reev was. And Reev had his armor and guns…more than a match for a Sith – even a Marauder.

 

“I have an urgent message for him from the Warmaster,” Reev stated sharply. “I’m sure Lord Fuhron would not be pleased you held me up.”

 

Vinitar stared at him. “I care little about Lord Fuhron…but I thought Stark was decent enough. Not like you.”

 

He pointed to a stairwell at the end of the hall.

 

“Ravat is in the dining room at the top of the stairs.”

 

Reev nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

 

Vinitar said nothing. He brushed past the Mandalorian and disappeared around the corner.

 

Reev muttered to himself again, but then he decided to keep quiet for the rest of the way. He ascended the steps and found himself in the dining room.

 

There was a large table spread out, with a wide variety of fine foods and drinks set on it.

 

More than twenty chairs were at the table, but only two were occupied.

 

Lady Vorra sat at one end of the banquet spread, and Ravat sat at the other. Both were enjoying the delicacies in front of them with voracious enthusiasm.

 

Ravat tore at a piece of meat, telling a joke between mouthfuls of the flesh. When he finished, both he and the Sith laughed heartily, almost spitting out the food in their mouths.

 

Vorra slurped at custard, licking her fingers of what didn’t make it onto her spoon. She kept laughing, and then told her own humorous story in vivid detail.

 

Reev felt himself grow sick in the stomach at the debauchery. It was absolutely disgusting…though he expected no less from Ravat.

 

Finally, the scarred Mandalorian noticed Reev standing there. There was a look of annoyance in his good eye for a moment, but that was quickly replaced by a smile.

 

“Ah, Reev!” he called. “Come, join us for dinner! I’m sure you’ll find something amid this spread that is bland enough for your tastes.”

 

Reev shook his head. “The Warmaster called. He’s joining Lord Fuhron in an attack on a rebel gathering. He also sent a message for you.”

 

“Well then,” Ravat gestured to a seat. “Bring it here.”

 

Reev bowed to the Sith. “A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

 

Vorra smiled. “Indeed.”

 

Taking long, swift steps, Reev bounded across the dining room and set the comlink down next to Ravat’s plate.

 

“Stark’s message require the code three-five-nine…”

 

“I know the code,” Ravat waved him off. “Now, will you join us or not? If not, then kindly remove your unpleasant attitude from our banquet.”

 

Reev stood up straight.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

 

“Good,” Ravat grinned.

 

Reev gave him a half-hearted salute and left the room. Behind him, he could hear the pair resume devouring and joking and laughing.

 

---

 

The crew of the Lone Eagle crept up slowly towards the road under the cover of the brush. Their weapons were in their hands.

 

A patrol of seven Imperial soldiers was walking by. They held their guns up against their chests…completely unprepared and unaware.

 

“Seems too easy,” Sorgal whispered.

 

“They’re not expecting us,” Gabrielle hissed at him. “Of course it will be easy.”

 

“Quiet,” Greyhawk ordered. “Both of you.”

 

“And when did you become in charge?” the Sith asked.

 

“Zip it,” Rick growled.

 

“Whatever,” Sorgal sighed.

 

Greyhawk signaled for them to stop. They were only a few feet from the soldiers.

 

“Take them out quietly,” he whispered. “We don’t want undue attention.”

 

Rick and Gabrielle both nodded. As soon as the soldiers had just passed by, the crept out and got to their feet.

 

Creeping behind, they each took hold of one of the two from the very back. Before the soldiers could call out, Rick snapped his man’s neck, and Gabrielle thrust a knife right into her captive’s back.

 

They set the bodies down silently.

 

Greyhawk signaled to Sorgal and Xana then. They both nodded and got up.

 

Sneaking behind carefully, they came up to the next in line.

 

Sorgal nearly tripped over a root that stuck out in the dirt. Before he stumbled, Xana flicked her wrist, making twig snap a little ways away off the road.

 

The troopers stopped, their guns off their shoulders and readied in their hands.

 

“You hear something?” one of them asked.

 

“Must have been a critter,” another shrugged.

 

Sorgal, having regained his balance, made his move. He held out his hands, lifting two men up in the air, grasping at their throats.

 

Xana’s saber lit in her hands and she sliced through two others.

 

The lead man turned and pointed his gun at her. Before he could pull the trigger, Tygus’ whip lashed out and pulled him to the ground, breaking his neck in the process.

 

Sorgal let his hands down, dropping the dead soldiers in the process.

 

Greyhawk rose.

 

“Good work,” he said. “Now hide!”

 

Nobody disputed. They dove into the brush again as something else was coming down the road.

 

The whine of a speeder bike was echoing through the bushes. An Imperial scout was coming their way – and he had noticed the dead men on the ground.

 

Reaching for his comlink, the scout slowed down to get a better look. He fumbled with the communicator for a second, but then he was able to grab hold and bring it up to his head.

 

Greyhawk’s hand reached out and caught both the comlink and the man’s hand in his own. He squeezed his mechanized fist so that both objects snapped under the grip.

 

The scout cried out in pain just as Greyhawk reached over with his other hand and smashed the controls on the bike.

 

The speeder died and clattered to the ground, but the man remained in the air, held up by Greyhawk’s increased suit size.

 

“Where’s the nearest Imperial outpost?” Greyhawk asked sharply.

 

The man said nothing, he simply moaned from the pain in his hand.

 

“Where?!” the old soldier snarled.

 

“Two klicks west,” he answered.

 

“Any others?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“Three camps…eight miles apart…nothing else until the cities surrounding the citadel.”

 

“Where are the rest of your forces, then?”

 

“Mandalorians encamped at the cities…” the scout answered. “Others…inside the citadel or scouring the fields.”

 

Greyhawk sighed. “Kind of a stupid organization of troops, don’t you think?”

 

“They figured they had the huge warship,” Sorgal replied for him. “Any enemy attacks could easily be countered turbolasers.”

 

The scout nodded.

 

“I see,” Greyhawk nodded. He then turned to the scout. “You’ve been helpful, and I’d love to let you live for your help…but if I let you go, you’ll report our position to your friends.”

 

“No, I won’t!” the man begged. “Just let me go!”

 

Suddenly, Gabrielle pulled out a pistol and shot the man in the gut.

 

“What was that for?” Rick asked.

 

Greyhawk dropped the corpse, noticing the knife in the scout’s hand.

 

Gabrielle didn’t need to say anything.

 

“Alright,” the old soldier sighed. “We’ll need to take out the outpost first. The camps will disperse when the storm hits. Come on, let’s get our job done so the others can do theirs.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Five

 

Fuhron and his followers came upon the gathering rebels so fast that they only began to scramble for weapons or hiding places when their bikes were right on top of them.

 

The Pureblood was first off his swoop, igniting his lightsaber and cutting through the soldiers. Some got shots off at him, but they were easily deflected.

 

His retainers were soon at his side, assaulting the resistance with sabers and lightning. A few went down from sharp-shooting rebels, but they were soon avenged.

 

Stark dismounted more carefully. Once off, he drew a vibrosword and charged forward. Merani was at his side, each pistol in her hand firing bolts off. They both entered the fray, cutting through the rebels and Republic troops with ease.

 

More than a few of the resistance were actually making it away from the lakeshore and reaching the cover of the nearby forest. One person was ensuring their safe retreat.

 

A Jedi Master.

 

Fuhron ordered his men to charge and take the Jedi down. But his simple retainers weren’t a match for this one.

 

She was a gold skinned Twi’lek, clad in a conservative robe, and wielding a blue lightsaber. The blade swung so fast through the enemy that it looked like little more than a bright blue blur.

 

Fuhron’s men were tripping over themselves to get away from her blade. She was cutting them to ribbons faster than they could flee, however, and more enemies were escaping behind her.

 

Merani had a go at the Jedi. She fired a massive flurry of blaster shots at the twi’lek. Each one was deflected and sent hurtling either into the ground or back at the Mandalorian.

 

Diving out of the way, Merani narrowly avoided being fried by her own gunfire. She rolled several times until she splashed into the tide of the lake.

 

Stark charged then to assist his officer. His blade crashed against the Jedi’s saber with a loud hiss.

 

He took the offensive, hacking and slashing at her from all directions with intense speed. She matched him blow for blow, but she was being pushed back nonetheless.

 

Stark swung his fist at her face. She ducked just in time, and in the process, twirled around him to stop at his rear. He had to whirl around violently to counter the maneuver.

 

He swung again, slamming his blade down on hers. He kept pushing, trying to force her down to the ground, but she was stronger than she looked.

 

She pushed him back and then added a sharp kick to his gut.

 

Stark clattered to the ground with a grunt.

 

Merani attacked again, driving the Jedi away from the Warmaster.

 

The Twi’lek responded by lifting Stark’s sword with the force and hurling it at Merani.

 

She dove away from the blade, but not quick enough. The end pierced her armor and stuck into her thigh.

 

Merani roared in pain, falling to the ground and frantically reaching to pull the sword out.

 

Stark had the chance to get up, and he took it. He pulled out his own pistol and opened fire on the Jedi.

 

Almost effortlessly, the Jedi deflected his shots and sent him sprawling with a push through the Force. He worked to get up again, but before he could rise, he found her saber in his face.

 

“Surrender,” she ordered.

 

Stark had no time to make a reply, for a giant red thing charged at the Jedi.

 

She leapt back and prepared to receive the assault from Lord Fuhron. He wasted no time, and soon the beach was flashing from a battle between red and blue.

 

As much as she was agile, Fuhron matched her with his brutish strength and flawless precision. Still, he could get no hold on her, and his advances were avoided as she glided away from his blows.

 

Fuhron reached out with one hand and willed a rock to rise into the air. Then he hurled it at her with a growl.

 

The Jedi turned and sliced the boulder in half. Both of the halves landed harmlessly at her feet.

 

Fuhron charged again, roaring with a mighty fury.

 

His blade smashed against hers. Sparks flew in every direction.

 

The Jedi pushed him back and made her own offensive. The Emperor’s Wrath, however, was not content to be defending himself. As soon as he found the opening, he took it with terrible ruthlessness.

 

She was struggling against his onslaught. He slashed from above and from below, tirelessly working to break through her defense. And it was breaking down indeed.

 

The Jedi noticed it as well, and to respond, she leapt over his head and landed behind him. She swung her saber, but he spun around fast enough to block it and then make another slash at her abdomen.

 

This time, he struck true.

 

The Jedi cried out in pain and fell to her knees. It only lasted a moment, as she fought to get back to her feet, holding off Fuhron’s other strikes.

 

Fuhron roared in frustration. He held out his other hand and lifted the Jedi into the air. Then he turned his wrist downwards, slamming the Twi’lek into the ground. He did it several times.

 

Her lightsaber flew from her hands and landed at Stark’s feet.

 

Fuhron kept it up, and then, when he was finished, and the Jedi could no longer try to get off her knees, he moved to plunge his saber into her gut.

 

“No!” Stark shouted.

 

His sudden call made Fuhron pause. The Pureblood whirled around to roar at him.

 

“How dare you command me!” he snarled.

 

The Jedi didn’t move. She was battered and beaten. There was no more fight left in her.

 

“She has fought well,” Stark stated. “More honorably than you or any of your lackeys. She deserves a quick and honorable death.”

 

“You mean painless,” Fuhron spat. “I don’t have to grant her anything. She is beaten, and I am the victor. She is also a Jedi, and the Jedi deserve any death they are given.”

 

Stark reached down and picked up the Jedi’s saber hilt.

 

“She bested your men and mine,” Stark persisted. “There were several times in the fight she might have bested you.”

 

“Don’t test me, Mandalorian,” Fuhron snapped.

 

“I am Rasil Stark, Warmaster of the Mandalorian clans,” Stark stood firm. “I am not one to be ordered around at your whim, like your entourage. I am a warrior, and I say she will be given a clean death. If you deny this, then I will fight for you no longer, nor any of my warriors.”

 

Fuhron was surprised for a second at the boldness of his words. But then he turned his saber and pointed it at Stark.

 

“You wish to die here with her?” he snarled. “That can easily be arranged.”

 

Stark held up his chin.

 

“Go ahead,” he said. “Run me through. My officer may be wounded, but she’ll make it to her speeder in time to escape and let my warriors know what became of me. Then you will have to face the wrath of Mandalorians when their leader’s honor was trodden upon.”

 

It was quiet then, except for the hum of Fuhron’s saber. His burning eyes bored into the Warmaster, wishing him dead with their glare.

 

After a few moments, Fuhron deactivated his saber.

 

“Fine,” he hissed. “I’m not fool enough to throw my allies away and risk facing Mandalorian rage.”

 

Stark breathed an inward sigh of relief.

 

“You want her to have a quick death,” Fuhron spat, “then give it to her yourself.”

 

Fuhron stormed off, his cape flowing behind him. He and his retainers returned to their bikes.

 

“My lord,” one of them frowned. “What of the resistance that fled in the forest?”

 

“There’s no point in trying to chase them down,” Fuhron shrugged. “With their leader gone, their spirit is broken for a little longer. Next time they gather, the Invincible will obliterate them.”

 

No one questioned him further.

 

Stark approached the Jedi Master. He gripped the lightsaber firmly in his hand and activated it.

 

“I am no stranger to your swords,” he stated. “It is only proper you die upon your own blade.”

 

The Jedi looked up at him with her bloodied face. He could tell she was trying to endure great pain – no doubt interior damage and bleeding from Fuhron’s gentle treatment.

 

“What is your name?” Stark asked.

 

The Jedi sighed. “I am Master Senliri Orz,” she said weakly.

 

Stark nodded. “You fought well, Senliri Orz, of the Jedi. Now, I give you the rest an honorable warrior deserves.”

 

Master Orz closed her eyes as Stark held up the saber.

 

In one smooth motion, he ended her suffering.

 

When it was done, he deactivated the saber and hooked it to his belt. He then made his way over to Merani, who was barely able to stand.

 

“Let’s go,” he stated. “We’ll join Ravat and Reev at the citadel.”

 

“No you won’t,” Fuhron called to him. “You’ll be coming with me to the Invincible.”

 

“Why?” Stark turned to him. “I belong with my warriors, not trailing behind you and your conquests.”

 

“Perhaps,” Fuhron spat. “But you’ve spouted enough of your defiance. You need to remember your place, Warmaster.”

 

Stark’s hands clenched into hard fists.

 

“Return to the Citadel,” he repeated to Merani. “No point in us both following him around like pups.”

 

---

 

When Targon had been brought to the door of Draakis’ quarters, Shazzar and Succuba took their leave.

 

He stood alone in front of the door, sighing with resignation. He could feel the darkness beyond – not like Viruul’s at all, though. It was more like…the Sorceress.

 

Targon counted to three and then pressed the button next to the door. A sharp bell pinged.

 

“Enter,” Draakis’ voice called.

 

Targon opened the door with a sigh.

 

The room was dark, save for a few dim lights on the table and dresser. The sense of cloudiness and fog grew stronger.

 

“Like spending time in the dark, do you?” Targon asked.

 

“Not at all,” the Sith replied. “I just like how it can help when I’m thinking.”

 

The lights brightened and filled the whole room. It was not much for comfort, but it was spacious enough.

 

Draakis stood in the middle of the room. He was still wearing his black robes that he had since Tattooine, but they were clean now and strangely sleeker and smoother than they had any right to be.

 

The Sith himself had changed, Targon noted. Now he looked more like his heritage.

 

His skin had become a blue tint, with a faint scaly texture. The slave scars on his face had vanished and his ears had become small frills. His eyes had changed too. They now glowed with the familiar blue of the Sorceress.

 

The smile on his face, however, remained the same.

 

“I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever have the chance to speak with you again,” he grinned.

 

“Can’t say I was looking forward to it as much as you,” Targon replied.

 

“Aw, don’t talk like that. There’s no need for us to act like enemies.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“That so? Last I recall, we were dueling to the death over the fountain, and found ourselves stranded…with people unfriendly to me, though you seem to get along fine.”

 

“Put it like that,” Draakis laughed, “and everything could sound bad.”

 

“Enough with the banter and jokes,” Targon sighed. “What do you want?”

 

Draakis did something surprising. He bowed to Targon.

 

“I wanted to thank you,” he replied. “And to apologize.”

 

“Thank me for what?” Targon frowned.

 

“Destroying the fountain, of course,” Draakis answered. “Were it not for that, we would have been stuck on Syris Thaal with no way to get off. You fixed our predicament by transporting us to Dakara…to my mother.”

 

“Can’t thank me for mere chance,” Targon shrugged.

 

“We both know things don’t happen by chance.”

 

Targon nodded. “I couldn’t help but noticed your makeover.”

 

Draakis grinned. “Yes, it’s been very nice to be reunited with my mother. Now I can start looking the way I’m supposed to be. Call it strange, but I always knew something wasn’t right while I remained a human slave.”

 

“Glad for your family reunion,” Targon nodded, forcing a smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.”

 

“How’s your arm?” Draakis asked sharply.

 

Targon sighed. “Fine. What do you care?”

 

“Because I…feel responsible…for what happened.”

 

“As well you should be,” Targon scoffed. “This was all your fault to begin with.”

 

“Now, now,” Draakis shook his head. “Let’s not be so quick to cast blame. You wouldn’t have ever known about the fountain – and thus never be in your current situation – if it weren’t for your master.”

 

“You still going to push that?” Targon snapped. “You’re not going to turn me against my master.”

 

“I’m not,” Draakis shrugged. “I’m just pointing out that he told you about secret in the first place. And he also failed to bring up the second taint within you. That’s why your arm is like that.”

 

“Thanks for sharing the old news,” Targon snorted.

 

“Like I said, there’s no need for hostility.”

 

“Forgive me if I don’t let my guard drop right away,” Targon scowled. “I am, after all, surrounded by enemies.”

 

“We all don’t have to be your enemies,” Draakis stated. “Draco and Selendis like you enough, same with Viruul’ apprentice. I think that bounty hunter has a fair amount of respect for you.”

 

“That changes nothing,” Targon shook his head. “I am a Jedi. Viruul and his friends are Sith.”

 

“And what am I?” Draakis asked. “Draco and Selendis are not Sith, you and I both know that well enough. I am the Sorceress’ son. So, Targon, in your professional classification system…what are we?”

 

Targon said nothing.

 

“Just something to think about,” Draakis shrugged. “We’ll be spending a bit of time together, it seems, with Viruul’s crusade on. I think we’d both enjoy it more if we figured out that we aren’t exactly enemies.”

 

“It’ll take more than this to make me change the way I see things,” Targon frowned.

 

“I thought Jedi were open-minded,” Draakis smiled.

 

“Things are pretty clear…”

 

“I also thought Jedi didn’t lie,” Draakis’ smile grew. “Nothing is clear for you, I can see that plainly enough. Your smell of fear and confusion, Targon. Fear of your surroundings…and of yourself.”

 

Targon started to back away towards the door.

 

“You know,” Draakis sighed. “Maybe if you started trusting others as easily as you trust your ‘friends’, you might find some answers and closure that you’re looking for.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Targon nodded. He then turned and marched straight for the door.

 

It opened suddenly and Draco appeared.

 

“Ah, it seems my misfortune to constantly be the one to interrupt,” Draco sighed. “But Viruul wants you both ready. We’ve made it past Coronet City and are approaching the valley.”

 

Targon groaned and then nodded reluctantly.

[TargonKarashi]

 

Chapter Six

 

 

 

Just above the clouds, the Imperial flagship was still and looming, casting a dark shadow on the cloud tops and the ground. Guns were swiveling, and the whole thing looked like a massive predator waiting to attack at a moment’s notice.

 

But this time it was the prey.

 

“Any sign that they’ve detected us?” Talhawk asked the pilot of the Spectre.

 

“Not a chance,” the pilot replied.

 

Talhawk nodded and then walked back to the staging area where seven of his soldiers were prepping their suits and guns.

 

“Looks like they have no idea we’re coming,” the Supreme Commander stated.

 

“Then they won’t be able to prepare a welcoming committee,” one of the soldiers complained.

 

The others laughed.

 

“No,” Talhawk nodded. “We’ll have to make our own party when we come aboard.”

 

“Do we have a plan, sir?” another soldier asked.

 

“Come in through the hangar, drop out, make our way to the engines.”

 

“That simple?”

 

Talhawk shrugged. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be.”

 

“What about Sith? Controls of the ship are on the bridge – as soon as we attack, they could lock down the corridors and trap us.”

 

Talhawk thought for a moment.

 

“Good thinking, soldier. There is always a need for cool and rational heads in battle. I want you to come with me for a special task.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“The rest of you will storm to the engines and take them out – thus causing the ship to crash into the mountains. I will take Sergeant Isiskal with me to the bridge and ensure that our progress remains unimpeded.”

 

“As you will, Supreme Commander,” the soldiers all saluted.

 

“Hono dagor,” Talhawk saluted in return. “Fight well, and if you die, take as many as you can with you.”

 

In a few moments, the Spectres had made it into separate hangars of the Imperial warship. No guns had fired on them – they had maintained their stealthy approach.

 

All at once, the doors of the transports opened and the Necillians dropped out, guns blazing. The shock of the deck crews was incredible – some even jumped in the air with surprise at seeing the Kordak soldiers.

 

Talhawk and his companion made a straight dash to the exit of the hangar while the others drew all attention to them.

 

Once through the door, Talhawk found a maintenance shaft and cut the door down. Then he and the sergeant climbed up the ladders and made their way through the maze of passages towards the command bridge.

 

Alarms were blaring throughout the ship, and squadrons of Imperial soldiers tromped through the halls to respond to the invasion. Talhawk ignored them all, focusing on making the right turns and keeping his noise level at a minimum.

 

It wouldn’t do to have an engineer hear him crawling through the tubes and raise another alarm.

 

Then it happened that they came upon a dead end. The tunnels had shut tight because of the alarms. The doors were magnetic – there was no way to cut or blast through them.

 

Talhawk cursed.

 

“New plan, sir?” Isiskal asked.

 

The Supreme Commander thought for a moment, and then he nodded.

 

“Aye, we’ll let the enemy take us to the bridge.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Just follow my lead, soldier.”

 

Talhawk activated his lightsaber and started cutting through the wall. He took his time and worked to make the hole large enough to easily walk through.

 

When he was done, he withdrew his blade and raised his foot. With a mighty kick, he sent the piece of wall hurtling out.

 

Men screamed as they were crushed. Half the soldiers that had noticed the cutting were smashed by the steel. The other half raised their guns.

 

Talhawk walked out, his saber deactivated and back at his side. He held up his hands in surrender. Despite his confusion, Isiskal followed suit.

 

“On your knees,” an Imperial officer demanded harshly.

 

Talhawk did not comply.

 

“I am the Supreme Commander of the Kordak League. I’m here to parley with your leader.”

 

The soldiers glanced at each other but kept their blasters trained on him.

 

“Are you mad?” the officer asked.

 

“By the look of it, you’re just a lieutenant,” Talhawk observed. “You don’t have the authority to make that call…or be worth negotiating with. Take me to your commander.”

 

The Imperial sneered at him. “You want to see Lord Kraven, then? Fine by me. Men, take the fool and his accomplice to the bridge. Then join the fight against his other friends on the lower decks.”

 

Despite his better judgment, and his warrior instinct, Talhawk let them place binders on his wrists and lead him at gunpoint down the hall and to the lift. He knew that Isiskal alone could smash the skulls of three of these men with a single punch…but sometimes it was best to let subtlety rule the day.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Talhawk was thrust to his knees. Isiskal then followed. It took four men to bring either of them down – and they were being compliant about it.

 

A small and thin man in charcoal gray robes approached them. His face was gaunt and haggard – like he hadn’t eaten well in weeks. Clutched in his wiry fingers was a lightsaber.

 

The weapon was shaped different than most. At the end of the hilt was a large cudgel, making the hilt almost as much as weapon as the blade.

 

“So, you’re the Republic’s new friend,” the man hissed. “The Supreme Commander of the Kordak League…and now you’re a prisoner on my bridge.”

 

“Not a prisoner,” Talhawk shook his head. “I’m here to negotiate.”

 

“Your surrender?” the Sith cackled.

 

“Well, I was hoping for yours,” Talhawk shrugged. “But I guess that won’t be happening.”

 

The smile was gone from Lord Kraven’s face.

 

“You’re an impudent one,” the man snarled. “You might be a big man, but that doesn’t make you the one in control. I wield power you could only dream of – for I am a Sith Lord. Do you know what that means, barbarian fool?”

 

“Of course,” Talhawk nodded. “I’ve fought your kind plenty of times before.”

 

“But you always had the advantage of numbers and your size against those ones,” Kraven snapped. “You weren’t a captive…and you weren’t facing me.”

 

“If you’re willing to be a challenge, I will gladly accept you.”

 

Kraven raised his hand and smacked his saber into Talhawk’s head. There was a lot of force behind the blow, but his helmet took most of it.

 

There was slight dent in the helmet, but Talhawk knew that a normal human, without protection, would easily have a broken jaw after that.

 

“Such a big man,” Kraven snickered. “And yet you hide behind such thick armor. Could you take any blows without it?”

 

“It would be painful,” Talhawk nodded, “but more so for you.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Talhawk shrugged. “Necillians have high pain thresholds, but when we do feel it, our first instinct is to return the favor doubly.”

 

“You’re not in any position for that kind of nonsense,” Kraven sneered.

 

“Not right now,” Talhawk agreed. “But soon.”

 

“Really?” Kraven hissed, giving him another blow with the club. “So tell me, Supreme Commander…what’s the next step in this crazy plan of yours? Let your warriors be slaughtered as we cut them off from each other in the halls?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“What then?”

 

Talhawk smiled from beneath his helmet, and the Sith thought for a second that the skull mask was smiling as well.

 

“Crashing this ship, with no survivors,” Talhawk replied.

 

An explosion rocked the ship. The first of the engines had been taken out by his men.

 

“Seal off the engines!” Kraven howled. “Get all available troops down there to kill the Necillians!”

 

It was time.

 

Talhawk stood, knocking away the guards with his shoulders. With a ferocious yank, he broke his cuffs off of his wrists and smashed the helmets of two men with his hands.

 

Then he pulled out his saber and unwrapped the chain from around his chest.

 

Isiskal broke free as well, grabbing the guns of his guards and firing on the crew of the bridge.

 

A surge of electricity flowed through Talhawk’s chain. He raised it above his head and started to twirl it around and around, letting out more and more so that after each turn the circle of destruction grew larger.

 

Kraven dove out of the way of the chain and activated his lightsaber. With a thrust, he caught Talhawk’s chain with the crimson blade.

 

Talhawk yanked his wrist back, pulling the saber out of Kraven’s hands.

 

The Sith shrieked and let loose a storm of lightning. In response, Talhawk held up his saber to take in the attack.

 

Electricity exploded around him, the dark energy was starting to push him backwards.

 

In order to keep from being pushed back too far, Talhawk swung his whip low, wrapping it around the Sith Lord’s legs.

 

Kraven howled as the electricity shocked him, but he didn’t let up on his assault.

 

Talhawk yanked back again, pulling Kraven’s feet out from under him.

 

Another explosion, bigger this time, rocked the ship again.

 

Lord Kraven started to get up, but Isiskal was on him suddenly.

 

With giant arms, the Necillian warrior twisted the Sith’s limbs behind his back and snapped them. Then he let the crippled man drop and put a couple blaster bolts into the rear of his head.

 

Talhawk laughed as he worked on smashing and destroying the consoles and controls of the ship.

 

“And the Empire had the gall to call this ship Invincible!” he hooted. “This is hardly a worthy fight, but one I’m happy to end.”

 

There was crackling in the communication unit in his helmet. Then a voice came through.

 

“Sir,” a Necillian said, “we’ve placed charges on the last of the engines. Once they go off, I suggest we shouldn’t be on board.”

 

“Indeed,” Talhawk concurred. “Everyone back to the Spectres. Our work here is done…easy as it was. Let’s hope we have more chances for better fights on the ground.”

 

Isiskal led the way, shooting anyone they came across in the hall. Talhawk followed closely behind, smashing anything and everything that looked of systematic importance to the ship.

 

“I liked it better when we fought the Republic,” Talhawk sighed. “At least they had a conviction to fight to the last, even if they were losing. And they knew how to treat an enemy honorably.”

 

“Sir?” Isiskal turned to him.

 

“Just thinking aloud,” Talhawk shrugged. “The sooner the galaxy is rid of the Empire, the better.”

[TargonKarashi]

I am well aware how crazy this episode is starting to get...and just so there's no confusion, this is one with twelve episodes like a few from before.

 

Chapter Seven

 

The clouds had covered the sky over the valley and it was beginning to rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was getting closer.

 

Greyhawk sighed and sat next to the smoldering ruins of the Imperial outpost’s watchtower. All across the area, battle droids and Imperial soldiers littered the ground. The battle had been fierce, but quick.

 

The others were recovering as well. No one had been wounded, fortunately, but the growing humidity, mixed with the stress of combat, had taken quite a bit out of all of them.

 

“You know,” Rick groaned. “I thought Imperials would have fought harder. They always have in the past.”

 

“Something must be off,” the old soldier shrugged. “Might be they’re stationed on a foreign planet…might be that they’re sick of the war like many in the Republic.”

 

“Still,” Rick shook his head.

 

“The captain’s right,” Sorgal sighed. “These guys fought hard…but not as hard as they could have. Something isn’t right…”

 

Footsteps approached the outpost. Everyone raised their weapons and prepared for possible Imp reinforcements.

 

It was Master Je’and.

 

Rick growled as he put his blasters away.

 

“You know, Jedi,” he spat. “Volunteering to come with us generally means that you stay with us the whole time…not just running off when the mood suits you.”

 

“I didn’t run off,” Zar’kun shook his head. “You had the patrols and outpost under control. I went to scout out the rest of the way to the citadel.”

 

“That still means you ditched us,” Gabrielle growled.

 

“Then I apologize,” Master Je’and sighed. “That wasn’t my intent. Still, if I hadn’t gone off, I couldn’t report what I’ve found.”

 

“And what’s that?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“Mandalorians are entrenched within the cities around Halcyon Citadel,” the Jedi replied. “The ascent to the castle itself will be treacherous…and another Imperial dreadnaught is coming into the valley.”

 

“Another one?” Xana gasped. “The one was enough – we’re not sure if Talhawk and his men took it out. Now there’s another?”

 

“I’m afraid so,” Zar’kun nodded. “But we may still pull through this. All we need to do is await the other Jedi Masters with the resistance and we can have a force to take the citadel.”

 

There was a crackling on the Jedi’s comlink.

 

“Master Je’and, do you read?”

 

Zar’kun grabbed the comlink and replied, “I’m here, Master Cyrus.”

 

“Are you and the crew of the Lone Eagle well?”

 

“Yes,” Zar’kun answered. “I’ve scouted out the area, and the others have cleared an Imperial outpost. The path to the citadel is clear.”

 

“Not as well as we should like,” Cyrus sighed. “That is good news to hear, and we’ve just heard from Talhawk that he and his men have taken out the Invincible.”

 

“Then what’s the bad news?”

 

“We’ve joined with the resistance. They were attacked recently by a powerful Sith Lord. There are less than a hundred fighting men among them…and Master Orz was killed.”

 

Rick groaned. “That’s not going to be enough to storm the castle.”

 

“What is the plan, Master Cyrus?” Zar’kun asked.

 

“We need to gather together,” Cyrus answered. “We will make our way to join you at the outpost – and then we’ll contact Cordillian to learn the state of the battle above. If it is well, then he might be able to back us up against the citadel.”

 

Greyhawk nodded. “That’s a good plan – probably the best we can come up with. And if we are together, we can hold off any Imperial counterattacks on the ground.”

 

“But what about the air?” Tygus inquired. “With the new warship in the valley…”

 

Another beep came from the comlink.

 

“This is Talhawk, are you reading me?”

 

“We hear you,” Zar’kun answered.

 

“Well, the Invincible was unable to live up to its name. It has crashed into the mountainside. There is another Imperial warship, though…”

 

“We know,” Master Je’and sighed.

 

“Luckily for us, it doesn’t look to be going anywhere.”

 

“What do you mean?” Cyrus asked.

 

“From what we can tell…it’s just sitting high up…and it’s not moving into range of anything. It’s as if it’s just…waiting.”

 

“Where exactly is it loitering at?” Zar’kun asked.

 

“East side of the valley,” Talhawk replied. “Far out of range for anything – it’s even above the storm clouds.”

 

“Alright then,” Cyrus sighed. “Keep an eye on it, Supreme Commander. If it makes a move for us, you’ll be able to intercept. We’ll marshal together and march on the citadel.”

 

“Fine by me,” Talhawk answered.

 

He cut out of the transmission.

 

“We’ll await your arrival, Master Cyrus,” Zar’kun stated.

 

“Hopefully, we’ll be there soon,” Cyrus replied. “But we’re going to be careful to steer clear of any signs of the Sith that attacked before. Then, we'll take the citadel and get one step closer to freeing Corellia.”

 

---

 

The door to Lord Vinitar’s quarters slammed open and Reev barged in, kicking over a small table with a Sith holocron on it. Papers and other objects trembled as he stormed up to the Sith’s desk.

 

Vinitar sat with his hands together. His eyes were down, focusing on a datapad in front of him. He never bothered to look up at the person tearing apart his chamber.

 

“Ever hear of knocking?” Vinitar asked. “Or common courtesy, for that matter?”

 

Reev snarled and swiped the datapad away with his arm, sending to the floor where it cracked and fizzled.

 

Vinitar sighed and looked up at him. Whatever his expression was, it was hidden by his golden mask.

 

“What do you want?”

 

The Mandalorian leaned across the desk and put his face right up into Vinitar’s.

 

“You Sith are animals,” he hissed.

 

Vinitar nodded. “I see…and you aren’t an animal for coming into my office and tearing the place apart?”

 

“Our warriors are out in this storm, enforcing Imperial law on the citizens…while you recline in luxury and pleasure here in this castle!”

 

The Sith leaned back in his chair.

 

“If you had read my datapad – before smashing it – you would have seen that I was looking over important military and domestic issues to be handled in the cities. I’ve also refrained from sleep for the last day and a half in order to ensure order and stability in Imperial control of Corellia.”

 

He paused and shook his head.

 

“So tell me, Mandalorian, how exactly have I been flaunting my comfort?”

 

Reev’s breaths were terse and fast, like he was steeling himself to ride a rancor in a rodeo…or maybe a reek.

 

“Do you have no decency or morals? No code of ethics? Do you just kill and exploit anything and everything when you have the chance to?”

 

Vinitar stood.

 

“How about explaining yourself and your current…grievance…with us Sith?”

 

“I’ll show you,” Reev spat.

“Oh, please do,” Vinitar nodded. “I’m eager to see what this particular thing is that makes us Sith so horrible and you Mandalorians so righteous.”

 

Reev stormed out of the room, taking a moment to kick the holocron when he passed it again.

 

Vinitar sighed as he bent over to pick it up. There were cracks in the surface, as well as scuffing and smudges.

 

“You do realize how valuable these are, don’t you?” he asked.

 

“I don’t care!” Reev snapped. “Come on!”

 

The Mandalorian led the way through the halls, up a flight of stairs, and towards Lady Vorra’s chambers. The door was wide open, and all the guards were gone…apparently dismissed.

 

Reev stopped and pointed to the door.

 

“In there,” he barked.

 

Vinitar folded his arms. “No, you go in first to show me. I won’t be the one to barge into a Dark Council member’s bedroom at this hour.”

 

He shook his head and sighed.

 

“Besides, if this has to do with Vorra, I really don’t care. She’s been doing her own thing for years…and I have more important things to do than learn about her latest bout of laziness.”

 

Reev growled. “This is different!”

 

“Really? And how long have you known Vorra? I’ve known her for five years, and I’ve been hearing stories about her for much longer. She’s a lover of vanity and luxury – there’s little more that she can do to surprise me.”

 

“This isn’t about simple luxury and laziness.”

 

Vinitar rolled his eyes and exhaled a huge sigh of frustration.

 

He walked up to the door and leaned in.

 

The lights in the room were dim, but he could still see plenty well to discover what was going on.

 

Lady Vorra was on her massive bed – it was easily as large as a heavy bomber or a troop transport. The other Mandalorian, Ravat, was with her. They were both undressed – and it didn’t take a genius to know what was going on.

 

Their eyes were closed, their mouths uttered the guttural moaning of pleasure, and the air was humid with their sweat. They were kneeling on the sheets, the Mando holding her from behind, his hands fondling her bosom and breasts.

 

Vinitar felt two things. The first was a foul sickening in his gut and the near vomit in the back of his mouth. The second was a furious rage that he had been dragged up here to see two people getting busy.

 

He whirled about and stormed back down the hall. He stopped at the Mandalorian.

 

“Was that all?” he asked.

 

Reev frowned. “Do you have any idea what this…?”

 

Vinitar silenced him as he struck the warrior with the back of his hand.

 

“There is only one thing in my entire life that has been more insulting and infuriating than this scene. One thing worse than being dragged up here to witness some hideous debauchery that will take days to get out of my mind.”

 

Reev wiped the slight bit of blood from his mouth. “We are here to fight alongside you – my men have died for you Sith. I’ve been brought here with my Warmaster to ensure victory…and this is how your repay our alliance? This is how you show your appreciation?”

 

Vinitar slapped him again.

 

“I was betrayed by my partner and thrown through a wall and three stories of a building damn it!” Vinitar snapped. “My master was a traitor that has left a black mark on my reputation I cannot hope to clear off. And from all that, you think I’m supposed to be upset about all this"?

 

“Rasil Stark will be furious,” Reev hissed. “He’ll kill both of you for this.”

 

Vinitar’s hands moved for his lightsabers, but then he stopped himself.

 

“It is no secret you despise your friend, Ravat,” Vinitar stated. “But if you ever disturb me with a grievance against him or Vorra again, I will cut off your head.”

 

He then stormed off towards the stairway. Just before descending, he turned to look at the Mandalorian one more time.

 

“By the way,” he pointed to the room at the end of the hall. “I think Vorra is showing great appreciation for Ravat’s services.”

 

With that, he disappeared down the stairs.

 

Reev could only stand and tremble with anger and indignation. Finally, he willed himself to move and left the floor, going down the stairs and entering the courtyard.

 

There were no guards around there, either. It seems they had all been dismissed to the barracks or mess hall to ensure no one disturbed the Sith Lady and her…recreation.

 

He kicked the bushes and trampled the flowers in the gardens.

 

How could Ravat do this? He was a Mandalorian!

 

He was disgracing everything the warrior stood for. Ravat had cast his honor to the winds, forsaken his codes and standards…

 

Sleeping with a Sith harlot!

 

Ravat was also the Warmaster’s second in command, above all. A warrior of his stature was not to mingle with the weaker beings for simple pleasure’s sake! Only strong Mandalorian women were worthy…certainly not Sith.

 

What was becoming of the Mandalorians? Ever since their alliance with the Sith…even back centuries ago…the glorious clans of warriors were slipping away from their grandeur. More and more, they were becoming more of hired thugs or ravenous beasts. There was no honor anymore.

 

Both Merani and Ravat had known the one called Algayne. That man was the worst of them all – a crime boss, a racketeer, a pirate, and a mercenary. He was all that and more…but not a true warrior as he so often claimed.

 

He did not follow Mandalore – he had even challenged him. Were it not for Mandalore’s decisive handling of Algayne’s manhood, he would likely have been wallowing in the same wretchedness that Ravat was.

 

Reev had always been Mandalorian. He followed the true path – just as Rasil Stark did, and just as a dwindling few did. There weren’t enough true warriors anymore…not even Merani was unspotted.

 

She had served Algayne, after all.

 

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a swoop bike.

 

A few moments after the swoop was quieted, Merani entered the courtyard.

 

“What are you doing here?” Reev asked. He tried to hide his furious demeanor, but he wasn’t succeeding.

 

“Stark ordered me back here,” the woman answered. “What’s up with you?”

 

“It’s Ravat,” Reev spat. “He’s consorting with the Sith.”

 

“As in…?”

 

“He’s up in bed with that Sith woman right now,” he clarified.

 

Merani frowned and nodded. “I see.”

 

“What news?” Reev changed the subject.

 

“Stark has been forced to remain with Lord Fuhron. That Pureblood is a dishonorable beast with no sense of glory in battle.”

 

“All Sith are animals,” Reev concurred. “No less so here.”

 

“What of our men?” Merani asked. “Rain was following close behind me as I rode here. Heavy rain – cold rain.”

 

“For all the Sith care,” Reev shook his head, “they’ll have to suffer through it. So much for loyalty and gratitude.”

 

“So they enjoy the comfort of the citadel while we drown in mud and blood?” Merani growled. “The Republic is marshaling, we didn’t kill as many of the resistance as we needed – they will regroup soon, despite what Fuhron thinks.”

 

Reev tasted bile in the back of his mouth.

 

“How did the Mandalorians ever decide to fight alongside the Empire?”

 

“Take it up with Mandalore,” Merani sighed. “It’s the way things are now, and we need to gain the honor and glory that we can with what we have.”

 

“There is none to have,” Reev spat.

 

There was a beeping on Merani’s comlink. She picked it up and activated the holoprojector. An image of Warmaster Stark appeared.

 

“Sir,” she saluted. Reev did so as well.

 

“I see you made it back,” Stark noted. Through the way he appeared on the image, both could tell that he was soaked with rain.

 

“The storm has hit you,” Reev observed.

 

“Indeed it has,” Stark nodded. “But that hasn’t stopped the fiery blaze on the mountainside. The Invincible is destroyed – Lord Fuhron is currently set on finding the ones responsible.”

 

“He’s losing his grip on the planet,” Merani growled. “So much for Imperial dominion…”

 

“Quiet, both of you,” Stark hissed. “Are you alone?”

 

“We are,” Reev replied. “All Imperials are away enjoying the warm and dry of their bedrooms while our men prepare for the storm’s fury.”

 

Stark cursed under his breath.

 

“I’m done playing the games of the Emperor’s Wrath,” he stated. “If any more problems arise, we’ll be sunk as deep as him…and there will be no getting out. I won’t take the fall with him.”

 

“What are you saying, sir?” Merani asked.

 

Stark straightened. “Fuhron has reluctantly given me leave to return to my men at the citadel while he…hunts down the enemy on his own. When I arrive, we will take the castle for ourselves and then we will leave this damnable planet.”

 

“Betray the Empire?” Merani gasped.

 

“Not the Empire,” Stark shook his head, “Fuhron. I’m through with him and the promises he has failed to keep. Mandalorians should fight for our own. We will leave and return to Mandalore for better work.”

 

Reev smiled. “I am glad you see it this way, sir. But…Ravat probably will not agree…”

 

“Don’t start bringing up your petty quarrels,” Stark snapped. “We need to be united as warriors. We will destroy Fuhron’s allies and leave him with nothing. Then we will make our own path – as Mandalorians.”

 

His communication shut off, just as the storm was starting to hit. Lightning flashed and the rain came down in complete sheets.

 

“Call the warriors,” Reev stated. “We obey the Warmaster.”

 

“Are you sure about this?” Merani frowned. “Sith are dangerous…”

 

“They will be no match for us,” Reev pounded his fist against his chest. “I’ll kill that Vinitar myself.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Eight

 

The small shuttle flew low to the ground, avoiding the possibility of being a prime target for lightning in the tempest. Still, as low as it was, and as careful as the pilot was, the shuttle shook on several occasions from the howling wind and pelting rain.

 

Shazzar sat in one chair, far from the others in the cabin. He was busy at preparing his rifle and pistols, seeing that they were all fully charged and assembled. His knife was sheathed in his boot and his turban was wrapped freshly around his head.

 

But beneath his turban, everyone could still see the signs of the colors on his face. To most people’s surprise, he had applied a heavy amount of war paint – creating an impressive Togruta design.

 

The only one that hadn’t been confused at this change was Lord Viruul himself.

 

But the Dark Lord wasn’t in the shuttle. Neither was his apprentice, nor Draco or Selendis.

 

Only three people sat in the shuttle, besides the pilot.

 

Shazzar sat at one end, Draakis at another. In the middle, Targon sat and brooded. Even in this small cabin, he was surrounded by enemies on all sides.

 

Worse still, he knew where they were going – into a den of more enemies.

 

The shuttle was heading for Halcyon Citadel, the heart of Imperial control in this hemisphere of Corellia. And it was only the one. No others, no reinforcements…just the three men sitting in the cabin.

 

All three had been quiet for most of the trip. No one had spoken, and only rarely had anyone made a sound of coughing or sighing. The silence had made it all the more menacing for Targon.

 

He couldn’t help but get the feeling he was being led to an execution…or something as unpleasant.

 

But he wasn’t the only one that was bothered by the quiet trip.

 

Draakis cleared his throat and ended the silence.

 

“So, where exactly did Viruul and his apprentice go?”

 

Shazzar stopped his work for a moment to glance at the young man, and then he resumed his business.

 

“Viruul has gone to confront the Emperor’s Wrath,” the bounty hunter answered as he finished up cleaning the barrel of his rifle. “It’s the way of the Sith to challenge a bitter foe one on one.”

 

“Of course,” Draakis nodded. “I had thought as much, but he didn’t exactly say much about it.”

 

“He also didn’t say how he expected three men to take a castle,” Targon muttered under his breath.

 

“Don’t think you can do it?” Shazzar asked.

 

Targon looked up at him, a little surprised how he had heard him.

 

“The citadel is well defended, I’ll grant you,” Shazzar continued. “But only against large assaults. Most strongholds have weak defense against small strike parties. Believe me, I’ve handled similar places by myself.”

 

He paused.

 

“Your friend Rick has too.”

 

Targon sighed and turned his head back to the floor.

 

Draakis frowned. “What’s the matter with you, Targon? I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to brood?”

 

Grumbling, Targon looked up at him, pointing to his arms. “They would if they’ve been going through the same crap that I am. Encircled by enemies and twisted by dark powers…”

 

“Still going on about all that?” Shazzar sighed. “You should learn to accept your situation and continue on. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck where you are…and you’ll lose yourself.”

 

“I’m losing myself regardless!”

 

Shazzar shook his head. “Only because you’re allowing it.”

 

“What would you know about these things?” Draakis inquired.

 

Targon nodded. “You don’t have to deal with the mysteries of the Force.”

 

“This isn’t about your mystical Force,” the bounty hunter countered. “This has to do with personal character. And that, my young friends, is something I know quite well.”

 

Targon didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he turned back to the floor and was quiet.

 

A moment later, the pilot called from the cockpit.

 

“Bounty hunter,” he said, “there’s something on the scanners you should see.”

 

Shazzar sighed and stood, making his way to the pilot. He leaned over the man’s chair and studied the small screen on the dashboard.

 

“What is it?” he asked.

 

“It’s difficult to tell with interference from the storm,” the pilot stated. “But it looks like a gathering force of about a hundred people a little ways from the storm.”

 

“That would be Republic forces,” the bounty hunter shrugged. “They’re preparing to take the citadel.”

 

“Should we do something about them?”

 

“No,” Shazzar said simply. “They aren’t our target. The citadel is our target, and if the resistance attacks, it will make our job that much easier.”

 

“Yes, sir,” the pilot nodded. “There’s something else…”

 

The bounty hunter looked back at the screen and frowned.

 

“That’s the citadel ahead,” he nodded, “but what’s all that energy signals in the cities around and at the walls themselves?”

 

“Hard to say,” the pilot shook his head. “But I’d say…blaster fire and explosions.”

 

Shazzar shook his head. “That wouldn’t make any sense.”

 

“Little else it could be,” the pilot stated. “There’s some sort of war going on in the urban areas and around the castle itself.”

 

“What is it?” Draakis called from the cabin.

 

Shazzar left the pilot and returned to his seat.

 

“Looks like there’s fighting at the citadel,” he replied.

 

“The Republic?” Targon asked.

 

“I don’t think so,” the bounty hunter shook his head. “They’re gathering a few kilometers away. There’s something else going on.”

 

“Guess we’ll find out soon,” Draakis shrugged.

 

Targon sighed. The last thing he wanted was more surprises.

 

---

 

“There are hundreds of Imperials and Mandalorians dug in there,” Sorgal growled. “How the hell are we supposed to fight them with only a couple dozen?”

 

The others in the room sighed.

 

As Republic and partisan forces were busy preparing their weapons and equipment for battle, the leaders of the small army gathered in the ruins of the Imperial outpost’s command center.

 

“We are all aware of the fact that we are outnumbered,” Master Asha answered. “That doesn’t change the fact that we need to take the citadel.”

 

“So, what?” Sorgal spat. “Is it just going to be a foolish suicide attempt?”

 

“There is no doubt that many may die,” Master Je’and sighed. “But the battle can still be won. It is not hopeless.”

 

“And how is it not?” Sorgal asked.

 

“Because we have conviction,” Master Cyrus replied. “And the element of surprise.”

 

“And we have Jedi,” Greyhawk added.

 

“They have Sith,” Sorgal countered. “And Mandalorian warriors. Do you realize how many men a single one of those can kill?”

 

“I’ll take out at least ten of them before I go down,” the old soldier stated.

 

“And if we all fight with his same spirit,” Master Talandar nodded, “we can break the enemy quickly.”

 

“Have you all gone mad?” Sorgal groaned. “I have no intention of dying in a stupid attack that has no chance of success.”

 

“It will only fail if you surrender hope,” Zar’kun stated firmly.

 

“Much as I hate to be another voice of dissent,” Tygus spoke up, “but I must agree with the Sith. There is little chance of taking the citadel from head on. And as we all understand, there is no other way for us to assail the castle.”

 

“He’s right,” Rick sighed. “We have to charge from the front, and that’s where we’ll be massacred.”

 

“I can’t believe you!” Xana frowned.

 

Greyhawk concurred. “I thought you gave up being a coward long ago, Rick.”

 

“I’m not being a coward here,” Rick defended. “I’m being pragmatic. Sorgal and Tygus are both right – and I really don’t want to die like this.”

 

“You aren’t afraid of death,” Gabrielle hissed. “You’ve said so before.”

 

“Maybe I lied,” Rick shrugged. “Maybe I’m afraid of seeing everyone here – most people I happen to care about – die in a futile attack.”

 

“It is only natural for us all to be apprehensive and worried,” Cyrus nodded. “Even Jedi cannot always go on without fear. This is a difficult situation, but the fact of the matter is that the people of Corellia are depending on us to fight for them.”

 

Asha agreed. “If we don’t fight, who will?”

 

“Rejoice, the lot of you!” a voice roared.

 

All turned to see Talhawk and a few of his Necillians walk in.

 

“What are you doing here?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“The Imperial warship left the valley,” Talhawk announced. “It let off a few shuttles, and then it headed back off towards Coronet. Looks like we don’t have to worry about it.”

 

“Well, that doesn’t change much,” Sorgal frowned.

 

“There’s more,” Talhawk held up a finger. “Looks like the enemy hates each other as much as we hate them.”

 

“What do you mean?” Cyrus asked.

 

“The Mandalorians and Imperial are fighting each other,” Talhawk’s massive fist pounded the table. “They gun each other down in the city streets and at the walls of the castle.”

 

Everyone gaped and was silent for a long moment.

 

“This is excellent news!” Cyrus gasped.

 

“Now we have surprise and confusion on our side!” Greyhawk clapped. “Victory is a grand possibility now!”

 

Sorgal frowned and shook his head.

 

“Can we be sure?”

 

“No way to know by sitting here,” Zar’kun replied.

 

“Cordillian reported that the battle in orbit still rages,” Asha stated. “Neither the Imperials or Mandalorians will have the chance to call reinforcements to end their infighting early. Now is the time to strike.”

 

A large cheer erupted from much of the group.

 

Rick sighed and joined in, Tygus nodded.

 

Sorgal looked down at the ground and said nothing for a long time.

 

Finally, he looked back up and nodded.

 

“We’ll all probably still die,” he sighed. “But at least they’ll be killing each other as much as us. If we can make it inside, and if I get to cut down at least twenty of those damned Imperials…then I’m with you all.”

 

Everyone cheered and marched outside, calling all the men to arms.

 

Within the hour, the Republic force was marching across the fields of the valley towards the citadel.

 

The ground around the castle was lit with bright flashes of red, orange, blue, and white. Explosions and blaster fire. It was like a giant firework show.

 

A celebration at the burning hope for Corellia’s liberation.

[TargonKarashi]

Aha! I am back! I know, I've been gone a month it appears, and I am truly sorry! Well, here I am! After birthday, weddings to attend, work, computer crashes, and other things that steal the time away, here I am to continue the story! And hopefully, to finish it.

 

Chapter Nine

 

The shuttle hovered over a smoky, grisly scene of violence and slaughter. Small explosions burst upwards, swirling flames licked the air, and hundreds of blaster bolts zipped between the walls of the castle.

 

Upon the opening of the door, a cable flung out of the shuttle and Shazzar slid down with incredible speed and grace. His feet barely struck the ground when he drew his twin blaster pistols and gunned down any person he saw.

 

Draakis landed next to him, his red lightsaber coming to life and cutting down three Mandalorians in a single motion. The sight of him drew sudden attention from the other warriors around, and soon he became the major target for several guns.

 

He blocked those that he could, and dodged the rest with unnatural agility. Holding out his free hand, he sent a burst of lightning into the crowds.

 

It was all so deafening. No single sound could be made out, not one gunshot could be noted, and not one person’s dying screams could be determined to its owner.

 

This was the scene that Targon entered.

 

Rubble littered the ground, covered by the newly slain, and covering those killed only moments earlier. Blaster shots shrieked past his head, vibroswords swung around his arms, and lightsabers hummed in every direction.

 

There were battles…and then there was carnage…and then there was this.

 

With a roar, a Mandalorian warrior charged at him, a blade in his hand ready to cut off the Jedi’s head.

 

Targon ducked barely in time, igniting his lightsaber and countering against his attacker. A single slash, the man was dead, nearly sliced in two.

 

No time to take note of that, however. In less than a second, there was a Sith’s lightsaber coming at him. And on his opposite side, a barrage from another man’s rifle.

 

Targon leapt into the air to avoid both, allowing the bolts to instead crash into the Sith. When he landed on the ground, he waved his fingers and sent a large piece of rubble smashing into the shooter.

 

As soon as he turned his head, he had to raise his blade to hold off the attack of yet another Sith. Their sabers crackled against each other, the heat grew intense…though not enough to really note. The heat from the battle raging around was just so overwhelming.

 

They parted and crashed against each other again. They went on, but Targon wasn’t prepared for this Sith’s tenacity and speed.

 

Targon’s arm was not responding as he wanted it to, and he felt a sickness grow in his stomach. There was no way he could keep himself focused and ready to handle the Sith.

 

Soon enough, his opponent had sent him to the ground. With a look of proud victory and a lust for blood, the Sith prepared to make the killing blow.

 

There was a loud hiss and a flash of red. Targon blinked, and in that time, the scene had changed.

 

The Sith’s head rolled off his shoulders and clattered on the ground, followed soon after by the rest of the body.

 

Draakis stood behind, staring at Targon. His blue eyes pierced into him.

 

Targon could do nothing but nod in a sign of gratitude and then stood up. He raised his saber and both of them returned to the work of battle.

 

Nobody had any idea when the rain had started…or if it had been falling ever since the very beginning. In either case, it was coming down hard, though nearly unnoticed by all the combatants.

 

That is, until it started to fill the castle. Some warriors were fighting in water up to their ankles…some to their shins. It was coming down from the higher levels and rooftops, filling the courtyards and walkways.

 

Even in the dark, though, Targon could see the red plainly. There was also the unmistakable stench that accompanied the sight of blood.

 

Lightning flashed, and the thunder followed quickly. The walls of the citadel seemed to shudder with the booming. That might have been from the heat and fires, however, or it might have actually been trembling in pain and terror.

 

Targon was certainly feeling it in himself.

 

The battle was in favor of the Mandalorians, it was plain to tell. They were storming through courtyards and past gates with a ferocity that the Imperial soldiers could not match.

 

Sith stood and fought them, but ultimately, it was like trying to fight back an incoming tide on the seashore. One by one, the Sith were killed or forced to retreat with their soldiers.

 

And the Mandalorians were relentless. They were many, but each one fought like ten men. They could not be stopped, and they took no note of their dead or their wounds.

 

At one point, Targon felt he was sure to be overwhelmed by oncoming warriors. In the fighting, he had realized he was between the retreating Imperials and the advancing Mandos.

 

Targon ran for cover, but he was hard pressed to find it. Anywhere he went, blaster bolts followed. His deflection skills held them away from him, but one singed his ankle, and he knew he couldn’t hold out against them forever.

 

Something grabbed his shoulder abruptly and pulled him down behind a massive ruin of a fallen tower.

 

With a gasp, Targon felt relief at the cover. He turned his head to face the one that had saved him.

 

Shazzar was fiddling with his pistols, waiting for them to cool down. The metal around the energy cells was glowing a faint orange. Clearly they were starting to overheat.

 

“Too many,” he growled to himself.

 

The bounty hunter then holstered his pistols and pulled out his rifle. Standing up, he aimed over the cover and started gunning down as many charging Mandalorians as he could.

 

Targon took a moment to catch his breath, and then he rose to give Shazzar the cover he needed against enemy fire.

 

Even as he blocked the dozens of lasers coming his way, Targon couldn’t help but marvel at his situation. Here he was, fighting a familiar enemy – Imps and Mandos – and yet he wasn’t alongside his friends and allies.

 

He was fighting beside a bounty hunter that had hunted and then captured him.

 

“We’re not going to hold them off,” Targon shouted at him. “There’s too many.”

 

Shazzar nodded. “Look behind us.”

 

Targon did, and he felt himself turn a shade paler.

 

A countercharge was being made by the Imperials. A few vibrant and bold Sith had marshaled as many soldiers as they could and were coming down the courtyard to confront the Mandalorians again.

 

And both he and Shazzar were standing in the middle of it all.

 

“What are we going to do?” Targon asked.

 

“I’m going to keep shooting,” Shazzar replied. “Then I’m going to pull out this thermal detonator and think of my wife.”

 

Despite the battle, Targon’s world grew quiet. The sounds of battle faded away, the thunder subsided, and the patter of rain was gone.

 

This bounty hunter was expecting to die. He knew he was going to die. And he knew he wasn’t going to see the person he cared most about ever again.

 

How many others in this field of carnage had loved ones? How many would never leave this battle and never see those they cared for?

 

These were Imperials and Mandalorians – enemies of the Republic – but…but they were also people. This wasn’t some lifeless war of automatons like, say, clones or droids. This was a war of people. People with hopes and dreams…and families.

 

And then Targon realized he was in the same position as them all…and as Shazzar. He would die here…and never have seen Rick or Greyhawk or the others again since Tattooine.

 

Never see Xana…

 

A terrible burning exploded from his body, starting from the taint and filling the rest of him. At first he thought he would collapse in shock of it all…but instead, he found he was building strength.

 

He felt powerful, intense, and uncontrollable.

 

With a roar, he sent out a massive burst through the Force. It tore up stones in the floor, trees from their roots, and crushed several soldiers caught within it.

 

Targon felt himself fill with fiery conviction.

 

He was not going to die here.

 

And then he sent out another wave, larger and even more intense this time. It was like he was exploding from the inside, but the energy didn’t tear him apart, it simply spread to everything else around him.

 

It all only lasted a few seconds.

 

Then the fire burned out of him and he collapsed. He lay on the ground, unable to move, and utterly horrified at what he had done.

 

Shazzar was clutching at the rubble, gawking at the young Jedi. He muttered something, but Targon could not hear what it was.

 

Lights were dimming in his eyes. Around him, he could see the Mandalorians pass by as they continued their charge. Yet even in this dream-like state, he could see that they weren’t bothering with either of them. They just passed and attacked the Imperials.

 

Targon couldn’t understand…and he frankly couldn’t care. There was pain in his side again. He could feel something slithering on his skin – the corruption was spreading further.

 

The lights faded further, until there was nothing but black. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. All he had was his thoughts, and they were dim and sluggish. He was in a dream. A horrid dream…where his body was turning into something not his own.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Ten

 

Rain was pouring down heavily. It was a major storm – too much rain for the grass and ground to soak it all up.

 

And with the flooding, the swoop bikes were unable to function properly. To his disgust, Fuhron had to stop and dismount at the wreckage of an Imperial outpost.

 

Many of his entourage trudged about the ruins, studying the scene as little as was available in the mud and gloom.

 

“The Republic took this place out,” one man stated. “Probably on their march towards the citadel.”

 

Fuhron turned to face him. He reached out with his hand and lifted the fool into the air, snapping his neck in a moment.

 

Letting the body splash into the muddy ground, he turned towards the rest.

 

“Anyone else have something stupid to say?” he asked.

 

They were silent.

 

Fuhron snorted. “See if you can find a functioning holocommunicator to call the citadel. I want to know where the resistance is.”

 

They bowed and obeyed.

 

He spat and kicked an Imperial soldier’s helmet lying in a puddle. It clattered and splashed, disappearing into a larger hole full of water.

 

Pacing back and forth, he waited for one of the fools to accomplish the task he set them to. The water was starting to rise as the rain kept falling relentlessly. There seemed to be no sign of it ever stopping.

 

“Corellia will be a waterworld if this keeps up,” he growled. “Even the planet is incompetent.”

 

“My lord!” a voice called.

 

Fuhron turned and sighed. One of the less stupid of his followers was slogging towards him.

 

“What?” he barked.

 

“I have Lord Vinitar on the line,” the man bowed.

 

Fuhron snatched the communicator away from the man and waved him off. Then he turned and activated the device.

 

“Speak,” he ordered.

 

Vinitar’s form appeared on the holo.

 

“The citadel is under attack,” the Sith Marauder said coolly.

 

“The Republic is making its foolish last offensive,” Fuhron nodded. “Good.”

 

“No,” Vinitar cut him off. “It’s the Mandalorians.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Warmaster Stark returned and called his warriors to attack. They’re storming the castle as we speak. I’ve gathered what men I can to hold the main hall and the upper levels. Unfortunately, our soldiers’ resolve is somewhat…pathetic.”

 

Fuhron didn’t have time to be upset at Vinitar’s tone. He was already having trouble conceiving that Rasil Stark had the nerve…even the spine…to attempt such a thing as betrayal.

 

“Kill them all,” Fuhron barked.

 

“Trying,” Vinitar folded his arms insolently. “But they are objecting. I’ve tried asking nicely, but they don’t respond to that either.”

 

“If you can’t keep things together,” Fuhron snarled, “then it might have been better if Lord Hellion had survived and you had died.”

 

Vinitar said nothing for a moment, but his body seemed to barely contain its anger.

 

“I’ve got more important things to do than listen to your insults, my lord,” Vinitar sighed. “Such as defending this citadel.” Then he added, “Oh, and before I forget, there seem to be others attacking as well. I think your friend…”

 

The communication cut out abruptly as the wind picked up and the rain intensified. Vinitar’s image was gone, as well as his attitude of disdain…but the words he had said endured.

 

With a fearsome growl, Fuhron clenched his hand until the communicator shattered into tiny pieces and fell into the mud.

 

“Everyone move out!” he bellowed. “We’re making our way back to the citadel, and we’ll kill the Republic mongrels along the way.”

 

There was no reply but the howling wind and biting rain.

 

“I said we’re going!” Fuhron roared.

 

Again, his men made no reply.

 

He stormed across the muddy ground towards the nearest structure. Kicking the door open, he shouted, “Have you all gone deaf as well as dumb?”

 

The room was empty. There was nothing but rainwater that had leaked in and coated the floor.

 

But something was off.

 

Fuhron glanced down at the dark fluid on the floor. He then reached down and touched it with his glove.

 

Bringing his hand back up to his face, he sniffed and then tasted it.

 

Blood.

 

A lightning flash filled the field, lighting up the structure.

 

Two of his attendant Sith lay dead in the corners of the room. Their blood had filled the floor to nearly a millimeter or two.

 

Fuhron spat and marched out. He barely caught the glimpse as he exited of something falling into the mud on the opposite side of the outpost.

 

Even from such a distance, and even with the dark, he could see it was a body. Another of his retainers.

 

Incompetent.

 

Fuhron lit his lightsaber. The red blade created a menacing red glow in the reflections of the water.

 

“I am Darth Fuhron, Lord of the Imperial Conquest and the Emperor’s Wrath. If you are fool enough to challenge me, do it openly like a true warrior of strength and worth.”

 

There was no answer, but the wind died down and the rain had started to lessen. Before long, it had almost stopped completely.

 

Fuhron stood firm, his burning eyes scanning the darkness, searching for any sign of his foe. He could feel a presence nearby.

 

Something grabbed his foot.

 

Looking down, he spotted one of his lords, still alive…barely.

 

The man was covered in blood and mud, and his legs had been sliced off. He looked more dead than alive, but there was life in his eyes. They had the look of horror.

 

Weakly, the corpse pointed up towards the roof of one of the buildings. It lasted only a moment before all strength left him.

 

Fuhron kicked it away as he looked up.

 

At first, he thought it was some sort of creature perched atop the structure. Then he heard it giggle and then a flash of lightning made its scales and hair glitter red and gold.

 

“Viruul’s little schutta,” Fuhron spat. “Still murdering and wallowing in wretchedness even without your master?”

 

The woman said nothing, but stared at him with her fiery eyes.

 

He stared back, but his eyes were far more fearsome and powerful than hers.

 

Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

 

An incredibly bright flash of lightning lit up the sky, and with it, a black figure appeared.

 

The shape was blacker than the storm, than even the void of space. There was only a white mask, and two bright stars for eyes.

 

Fuhron turned to face the figure.

 

“You are supposed to be dead,” he snarled.

 

The figure laughed. “Indeed. How disappointed the Emperor will be when he finds out his Wrath was not as successful as he thought.”

 

“Your condition can easily be rectified, Viruul,” Fuhron stated.

 

“Death doesn’t suit me,” the Dark Lord smirked. “It’s a vocation more fitting to brutish fools like you.”

 

“I beat you once,” Fuhron snarled. “That was when you had your seat of power.”

 

“And now you don’t have one,” Viruul countered. “Your warriors fight each other, your enemies surround you, and now, here you are…alone.”

 

Viruul’s red saber lit up in his hand. Now the area was doubly lit with a hellish glow.

 

“I am the Emperor’s Wrath,” Fuhron snarled. “I will break you forever this time, and all your allies as well.”

 

“I am the strongest of the Dark Council,” Viruul replied, “the true rulers of the Empire. Our exalted Emperor hides in the shadows, using tools like you. Tools can be broken, true Sith cannot.”

 

“We shall see,” Fuhron spat.

 

In a flash, he leapt into the air and crashed his blade against Viruul’s. Sparks flew, and the thunder roared across the valley as their sabers clashed against each other.

[TargonKarashi]

Yay, I'm going to be done with this episode very soon. It has been giving me a lot of trouble, hence it has been going so long...

 

Chapter Eleven

 

It didn’t matter that the rain had stopped. Giant pools of blood and water overflowed in the gardens and the stonework. Corpses were piled on each other, soaked and dripping.

 

The fighting had not stopped. It had started to move on, with the Mandalorians still pushing forward into the halls of the castle. At the doors, the Sith were having better luck holding the enemy at bay.

 

Draakis sighed and leaned against the ruins where he found Shazzar loading another blaster clip into his rifle. He also noticed Targon’s unconscious form on the ground.

 

“What happened?” he asked.

 

“Jedi magic,” Shazzar shrugged. “Wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before…and I’ve seen a lot.”

 

The bounty hunter stood.

 

“Where have you been?”

 

“Oh, conducting the usual business of murder and mayhem. Cutting through Imperials and Mandalorians and Sith Lords…”

 

Shazzar rolled his eyes.

 

“Well, you look tired now, so maybe you could try something else.”

 

“What do you suggest?” Draakis asked.

 

Shazzar pointed to Targon. “The boy isn’t doing well. He’s been out a long time – and that…business on his skin is getting worse.”

 

“What do you want me to do about it?”

 

“Something,” Shazzar barked. “You use the Force. Hell, you’ve got a similar skin condition yourself. Help him.”

 

Draakis peered at him. “What’s a mercenary care for a Jedi?”

 

Shazzar rested his rifle against his shoulder. “I don’t have to answer that.”

 

There was a sudden ruckus a ways off. The sound of crashing and shouting – like an angry mob or something.

 

Shazzar got up higher on the ruins to get a better look. He peered through his scope and sighed.

 

“Now the Republic is coming,” he groaned. “As if this whole mess wasn’t enough.”

 

“What’s it matter?” Draakis asked. “We’ve done our job of ensuring destruction of the quarreling Imperial and Mandalorian forces. Look over there – the bodies are just piling on top of each other.”

 

Shazzar muttered something under his breath.

 

“If our job’s done, where’s our evac?”

 

Another sound caught their attention. It came from behind them.

 

Turning, both Draakis and Shazzar gasped as huge sections of the castle walls were ripped out by the chunks and crashed into the Mandalorians.

 

Screams of dying echoed throughout the courtyard.

 

“What the…?” Shazzar muttered.

 

A series of intense red flashes appeared in the doorway, joined by electric blue. Nearly a dozen Mandalorian warriors were flung into the air…in pieces.

 

Something was coming out of the door. It was trying to leave the whole battle…but it was taking the time to kill everything in its path.

 

---

 

Once Stark and his officers had broken in, they made their way directly up the stairs, leaving the rest of their warriors to handle the remaining Imperials that desperately tried to seal the breach with their guns.

 

Neither Reev nor Merani asked where they were going. They knew.

 

Stark had often told them how the best way to break an enemy force is to sever its leadership and prove your strength is greater than your enemy’s.

 

The ruler of this castle had yet to be seen on the battlefield. So now, the three of them had to find Darth Vorra and kill her.

 

Reev led the way, as he knew where the Sith Lord would be. Stark was right behind him, his black cape flapping against his legs. Their armored boots echoed menacingly through the vast, empty halls.

 

There were no Imperial soldiers to fight as they made their way through the hall, up the stairs, and down another corridor. All the soldiers were busy fighting…or more likely, dead from the battle.

 

These rank and file troops were no match for true Mandalorians.

 

“How much further?” Stark asked softly. “This castle is like a maze.”

 

Reev pointed to the last door at the end of the hall. “There,” he announced.

 

As a change of scenery, five crimson clad guards stood at the door. Their spears pointed down and menaced the approaching Mandalorians.

 

“Stop right there,” one of them ordered.

 

Stark stopped, and his officers heeled at either side of him.

 

“The castle is lost,” Stark announced. “Your soldiers are slaughtered – not even your Sith can stand up to us. Move aside and you don’t need to die.”

 

The guards laughed.

 

“You’re outnumbered, Mando,” another guard stated. “The three of you could take three of us, but the other two would simply skewer you when your back turned.”

 

“I’ve no time or desire to fight you honorably,” Stark spat. “Your masters have shown no honor themselves, so you deserve none.”

 

The guards laughed again.

 

Stark turned to Merani and nodded.

 

Nodding in reply, the woman held up her arm and pointed it at the end of the hall towards the guards. There was a whirring, and then, a little dart fired out from a chamber on her wrist gauntlet.

 

The dart whined and struck the middle man with a soft ping, sticking into his armor.

 

Reev whipped out his blasters as two of the guards leapt away to avoid the quickly ensuing explosion. As the dart detonated, vaporizing the guards and the door, he shot the runners straight in the chest.

 

The smoke was slow to clear, but Stark marched forward anyway. He walked right through the entrance made for them and waved the smoke away from ahead of him.

 

Vorra was there, hardly dressed, her double-bladed lightsaber in hand.

 

Standing next to her, equally lacking in clothes, was Ravat.

 

“So this is where I find you,” Stark snarled. “While your brothers and sisters bleed and die at the ramparts, you hide here, consorting with a Sith harlot?”

 

“I’m not the traitor here,” Ravat spat back at him. “I’m not the one that betrayed our allies and slaughtered their men. It would appear the only loyal one here…is me.”

 

“Your loyalty is to me, your warmaster!” Stark roared. “Not to this witch.”

 

Vorra’s blades activated.

 

“That’s enough out of you,” she hissed. “I don’t take kindly to insulting names.”

 

Reev held up his blasters. “They give you better credit than you deserve.”

 

Stark took in one hand his vibroblade, and in the other, the lightsaber he claimed earlier that day.

 

“The traitor is mine,” he stated. “The two of you will take the Sith.”

 

“A poor choice,” Vorra smirked.

 

“We’ll see,” Reev spat, immediately opening fire with a barrage of bolts.

 

The Sith was quick, leaping backwards and twirling her lightsaber to avert all incoming shots. Landing on her bed, she cut through one of the posts and flung it at her attacker.

 

Merani joined the attack, firing her own gun at Vorra.

 

Her speed in moving her saber to block the attacks was impressive. She followed it up with jumping off the mattress down to the floor. In the same movement, she flung the pillows and sheets into the air with a wave of her hand.

 

Batting them away, Merani pushed forward, even as Reev was advancing ahead, still shooting.

 

Soon, however, they came in too close for their guns to be of much use. They each drew a vibroblade and crashed them against Vorra’s blades.

 

Stark and Ravat stared each other down for several moments. Both seethed with anger, even Stark’s was visible from beneath his helmet. The snarling wolf crest seemed ready to pounce off from his head and attack.

 

“Why?” Stark asked. “Why betray me and everything you stood for?”

 

“You’re the only one seeing betrayal here,” Ravat countered. “I have always fought loyally for you. I have killed hundreds in your service.”

 

“Indeed,” Stark nodded. “You have been my second for many years.”

 

“And yet,” Ravat snarled, “your favor has fallen on those two. One was the lackey of a man Mandalore named traitor and rogue…”

 

“Yet you and I know better of what Algayne was,” Stark cut him off. “He was a warrior, like us. Strong and proud. We both fought alongside him.”

 

“Our loyalty lies to the Sith,” Ravat stated. “Mandalore can claim we are well-paid allies all he likes, but it changes nothing. You aren’t so blind, Rasil. You know full well that Fuhron is only out to dominate everything – especially those that serve him.”

 

Stark could only nod at that.

 

“Then why fight for them?” Stark then asked. “Why accept your slavery? I had no intention of letting Fuhron rule over me. Mandalorians are strong. We do not need to bend our knees to them.”

 

“Mandalorians are slaves,” Ravat nodded. “But there is another way out. I will not suffer to be led like cattle to fight the Empire’s battles. I’ve fought for too long that way. Vorra offers me the pleasures and luxuries of the galaxy.”

 

“You would turn your back on everything we are…” Stark gawked, “…for comfy beds, credits, and a bit of Sith tail? For social climbing? You are no Mandalorian.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Ravat smiled. “I am more. I am Ravat, a killer and a consorter. There is no honor in battle, Stark. The Mandalorians are fools to think otherwise. There is no glory in killing others – only the spoils of taking what you are strong enough to claim from another.”

 

“Petty thug,” Stark spat.

 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Ravat sighed. “Not yet, but you will.”

 

Ravat grabbed his knife in one swift, fluid motion. Then he threw it straight and fast.

 

It found its mark – straight into Reev’s neck, right under the helmet.

 

Reev had only a moment to drop his guns, reach for his neck, make gurgling sounds of shock and pain…and then he fell to the floor, blood spilling out from his helmet.

 

He writhed for a bit, but not for long.

 

Stark roared and charged, but Ravat stepped aside, sticking out a foot, and let the warmaster’s unbalance do the rest.

 

Crashing into the dresser, Stark groaned and shook off the pain. He started to rise.

 

“Warmaster!” Merani called.

 

She gave a massive punch into Vorra’s jaw that sent the Sith sprawling. Then she smashed her shoulder into Ravat’s side, throwing him across the room.

 

Stark didn’t need help getting up. He stood quickly on his own.

 

Merani had her gun trained on Ravat, and her blade pointed at Vorra. Standing in the center of the room, she was the master of the situation.

 

Stark gave her a nod a approval, and she nodded in reply.

 

That nod gave Ravat the time he needed. He jumped to his feet and tossed a pillow at Merani. The suddenness caught her off guard, and he charged forward.

 

He pushed her arm upwards, causing the shot that would have come out the barrel into his chest to hit the ceiling instead.

 

Ravat then started to reach for another knife, lying beside his boots at the foot of the bed. He was faster than she was, and was able to bring the blade to bear, knocking hers aside with a swing.

 

Then he was ready to stab it right into her gut.

 

Stark grabbed his arm and snapped his wrist.

 

Ravat howled, both in shock at forgetting about the warmaster, and in utter pain as the knife dropped from his useless hand.

 

The Warmaster then smashed his fist into Ravat’s temple, knocking him head over heels. With a shrug, he let his cape drop to the floor and made his way over to the traitor.

 

Reaching down, he grabbed him by the throat and held him off the ground.

 

Ravat clawed at Stark’s armored hand, desperately trying to get free.

 

Stark used his other hand to remove his helmet. He stared at Ravat with his own eyes, and letting him see his.

 

“If there is no glory in battle,” Stark stated, “then you can expect no honorable treatment from your enemy.”

 

And with that, he hurled Ravat into the window. The glass shattered as Ravat started to tumble through.

 

“Rasil! No, please!” the traitor shrieked. His voice and eyes were full of terror. He was barely holding on to the edges of the window, frantically trying to keep from falling into hundreds of meters from the tower to the ground – down the edge of a cliff.

 

Stark could see the fear – and there was something else in Ravat’s fear. He recognized it instantly. Pleading.

 

Without thinking, Stark reached out and grabbed Ravat’s broken hand to support him. He couldn’t let his oldest friend go like this, without honor and without feeling.

 

“Warmaster?” Merani gasped. She had recovered from Ravat’s attack that had knocked her to the ground and left her unarmed. Now she had her gun back.

 

Stark turned to her.

 

“This is not the way a warrior lets his friend die – eve a traitorous friend.”

 

Merani removed her helmet, letting her hair fall out in damp clumps. She frowned in confusion for a moment, but then, understanding dawned on her.

 

“I see,” she nodded. “He deserves a better death, after facing judgment for his betrayal.”

 

Stark nodded in approval, and even smiled slightly at how easily she was able to understand. He hadn’t expected that from her – but it seemed she was far more than Algayne’s former officer and a pretty face.

 

She understood honor better than most.

 

The snap-hiss of a lightsaber filled the room, and a pair of red blades emerged from Merani’s abdomen.

 

She didn’t even gasp. She only glanced down at the blades and then back at Stark with a look of sadness that would have pierced the hardest of warriors.

 

Lord Vinitar withdrew his blades from her and let her drop to the floor.

 

A soft snort of stifled laughter escaped Ravat’s throat and that was it.

 

Stark let go and even shoved his former friend out the window. Ignoring his screams, he charged at the Sith Lord, drawing the blue lightsaber.

 

The blades crashed a few times, but Vinitar was quick and ruthless. He disarmed the warmaster and slashed at his arm and leg, letting him clatter down alongside Merani.

 

“Well,” Vorra laughed, emerging from her corner. “It’s about time you showed up.”

 

“Beaten so easily,” Vinitar muttered. “Beaten by Mandalorians and unable to continue fighting.”

 

“What was that?” Vorra frowned.

 

“Just sat there, cowering and watching,” Vinitar ignored her. “Didn’t have the decency to even run away.”

 

“I think your vocal disdain has gone on long enough,” Vorra hissed.

 

Vinitar turned to her, but he didn’t even seem to see her.

 

With a single motion, he severed her head from her body.

 

As Vinitar deactivated his lightsabers, the room became deathly quiet.

 

Stark groaned and hissed at the pain, which seemed magnified from all the death and emotion he felt.

 

Vinitar looked down at him.

 

“I like you well enough, Rasil Stark,” the Sith Lord stated. “You’re an honorable man, and a worthy warrior. But you betrayed us and killed many loyal Imperial soldiers. The deaths of your officers, and all of your men, will be seen as punishment enough.”

 

Stark didn’t have anything to say.

 

“You’re a better man than any of Fuhron’s other lackeys,” Vinitar acknowledged, “even the Emperor’s Wrath himself. But neither good nor rotten men have it any better in this world. I’ll leave you here with your fallen, and the Republic can do with you what they will.”

 

He turned to the door and started to leave.

 

But in parting he added, “Any of your men I come across will die. But perhaps you and I may yet see a better day.”

 

With that, he was gone, and Stark was left alone.

 

He crawled weakly over to Merani’s body. She was breathing still…but barely. Her eyes were weak and sad, but she tried to smile when she saw Stark’s face.

 

“I’m sorry, Warmaster,” he voice was less than a whisper.

 

“No,” Stark shook his head. “I am the one that failed you. This is all my fault. Forgive me, true warrior.”

 

She nodded and then closed her eyes.

 

Stark was now alone. Over forty years he had fought and killed and bled, but at this moment, he did something he had never done before.

 

He wept.