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Inside the bay of the dropship it shuddered and shook as it entered into the planet's atmosphere. CT-312 sat hunched in her harness, helmet on, visor reflecting the flickering readout of the mission briefing now scrolling across her HUD.
She gave a sharp exhale through her teeth, barely audible over the engine rumble. Escort duty. Not the most glamorous assignment. It reminded CT-312 of the escort duty on Elrood and that in itself was not your typical escort mission. The mention of a Sith Lord meant it was no milk run and the jungle alone made that obvious. The Camo Scout looked at the two other DeathDrops sitting across from her. She could tell they weren’t excited. Looking bored, clearly never being an escort for a Sith Lord before.
The pilot broke through the tree line and spotted the black, angular silhouette of a ship nestled in a small clearing—Darth Morta’s Umbra Operis. “There’s your HVI. Touching Down”The pilot grunting over the comms. As the ship started to land, with a practiced efficiency CT-312 unlatched her harness and moved to the rear hold. She ran a final equipment check, fingers brushing over her gear like a ritual.
Slinging across her back, fuel tank humming lightly, the CR-24 Flame Rifle in her hand, E-11 Blaster Rifle locked at her side, and vibroblade knife sheathed securely at the back of her belt. Giving the flame rifle an extra pat, a grin formed underneath her helmet. CT-312’s excitement buzzard just under the surface. 'Heh.' Always wanting to use the flamethrower, the jungle was asking for it.
Hiss… The dropship’s ramp descended, letting in the thick humid air. CT-312 stepped out, boots crunching against the damp soil. Other footsteps followed her as the two Troopers stood beside her. Ahead at the edge of the jungle stood a figure, elegant and statuesque.
The trio approached with purposeful strides, stopping a few meters away. CT-312 spoke firmly through her helmet’s vocoder. “CT-312 reporting, Darth Morta”. Giving a respectful nod. The other two Troopers reported in and saluted.
Darth Morta watched the trooper Dropship land as she was just a few meters into the jungle, good, they were supposed to have come in with her, but must have fallen behind navigating the deep Maw. Rather than turn back to meet them, she simply drew her lightsaber and slashed at a strangler vine that had been reaching down from a tree towards her.
Morta watched the troopers disembark and approach, the leader, Morta shook her head at. Camouflage, in this environment with these enemies, would be useless, they'd be better off using something that would help them see each other given none of them had the force to keep track of the group. The flamethrower in the leader's hand however had Morta give an appreciative nod, with plants blasters were hardly an effective weapon. A flamethrower could burn back brush, not a quick weapon but it would clear sight lines and could push back the jungle if they needed an open clearing.
"Good to have you trooper, I expect the Death Drop will live up to its fearsome reputation."
There was no reason to chide the trooper for the faults of her pilot and so Morta dismissed them from her mind.
"Your primary purpose will be parameter security once we reach my objective at the base of the mountain. The jungle has heavily encroached on a ruin compound there and your job will be making sure none of the lethal vegetation causes problems while I investigate them."
There was no need for Morta to go deeper into how exactly she planned to investigate the ruins, the troopers wouldn't understand anyway.
"The animals are less than harmless, so your primary concern is and will remain vegetation. The ecology of this world has been flipped on its head due to how steeped in the Dark Side it is."
Morta turned and slashed another strangler vine that was descending from the tree she was under to punctuate her words. This time she didn't stop at the vine though and she toppled the entire tree now that it was no longer needed to make her point.
"Stay close to me, if you get lost in this jungle you'll die before we even realize you're gone."
Oh, so it wasn't an unexpected element—it was one of the worst possible elements that could be introduced into his operation. Short of another rancor incident, Drystan could hardly think of anything more capable of ruining his plans.
His intel—reliable until now—had made no mention of actual brass being on-site. His fist clenched slightly, not out of anger, but as a warm-up for what might come. With a slow roll of his shoulders and a quiet sigh, he adjusted his glasses and uniform before straightening his posture.
"My apologies. At once," he said over the communicator, disengaging the locks. He knew better than to make someone with that tone wait—hesitation would only invite more scrutiny. Immediate compliance was the lesser risk.
As the doors slid open, he took a half-glance to size up the agent, concealing any thoughts or assessments behind a well-rehearsed mask of deference.
"Technician Meeks reporting for duty, your grace. The data center and myself are at your disposal."
Drystan delivered the standard salute and address, mimicking with precision the tone and form he'd seen subordinates use. He only needed to see something once to replicate it perfectly.
Though always vigilant, he couldn't deny the flicker of curiosity that stirred within him at the agent's arrival. And the warrior in him—the one that existed before the Jedi—couldn't help but wonder: what was this one capable of?
And more dangerously: how would I fare against them?
Still, that was not the question to be answered today. Not if the mission was to succeed.
An inkling of relief stretched over Adean when the technician offered no further resistance. Tensions were already pulled tight by the ongoings elsewhere, she'd really rather not have to escalate matters further, even if a great deal of her cohorts would've taken pleasure in doing so. Her posture straightened a fraction as the doors opened, features relaxing into a stoic calm as she took in the technician before her.
Everything about him read as to be expected from a junior technician, though Adean had to wonder where the level of shakiness she'd detected earlier had gone. Perhaps it had just been the nerves of an initial message. Or perhaps trained stoicism had kicked in once their conversation progressed, not unlike herself. A dark brow lifted at the term 'your grace'. Now that was a term of reference she hadn't had directed at herself before. She couldn't quite determine if she disliked it or was just taken aback by it. Either way, she had little doubt that Brassius would accept the title with glee, so she did as well.
Stepping beyond the threshold, she cast a cool glance about the server room. Nothing seemed out of place and yet, that feeling that something was wrong still burned in her chest. "You can start by explaining what you were doing in here, technician. Routine maintenance has already commenced for the day, as you know," she started, rounding on the console. Surely, it'd have a guide to what data was stored in this particular room, and where. She hit a couple of buttons, meant to pull up the console's last screen. "If you're vying for an additional break, that's between you and your superi-" she paused, brow furrowing as she took in the screen before her. Something had been unceremoniously removed from a port, if the error message was to be believed, leaving some data untransferred.
Data transfer? That was bad. Very bad.
Clearing the error, she took a subtle breath to steady herself. "This console keeps a record of all that's stored here, yes? I'm unfamiliar with your systems. Would you be so kind as to pull that database up?" The lie came out in a tone intended to match the rest of her speech, one to suggest it was an order more than a question. She didn't know if this technician was the cause of what she'd just discovered (though it certainly didn't cast a good look on him), but regardless of his culpability, she needed to keep him busy.
This reptilian following her around was starting to get annoying. He may have had held the stance of a warrior, but he was still the civilian in this scenario. Did she have the authority to just arrest him? Most likely not. She'd learned, with some surprise, the Jedi had been kept entirely seperate from the secular command structure of the Alliance. That probably extended to the ability to make arrests.
She continued walking, frustrated. They were reaching the outskirts of the small settlement. Buildings became more sparse, the vegetation increasingly thick. Jungles were still among the most uncomfortable places she'd been to, and this blasted reptilian wasn't doing the situation any favours.
"Can you do nothing
But speak in annoying rhyme
Get lost."
She waved down the road behind them.
"I'm sure someone back there can use your help. I'm fine by myself. Go."
Malum noted with grim eyes, and silent lips, as one of his Cruisers were struck by an expansive volley from the Jedi's reserve fleet. Watching with quiet contemplation as through the visor of his mask, through the viewscreens of his command bridge, in a brilliant explosion of fiery orange, heralded beneath the arcs of the blue turbolasers of the Alliance vessels, the cruiser, the Coluber, if memory served, was torn asunder.
He noted down he deficiency quickly.
As with peer to peer combat, one's focus was upon avoiding strikes, to have the agility and speed to furrow oneself as invisible to the enemies' attack. A strong defence was a waste of material, a losing battle in an ever unsuccessful war, as strong as one's shields, as invincible as one's hulls, there would always be a weapon that would be able to pierce.
Always a method to bring down the prize of war.
He raised his hand, "Withdraw the Shikkars and Arbites behind the aegis of the star destroyers, divert all power to their engines and point defence batteries, not a single starfighter is to break through." His commands were wordlessly executed, even as a corvette was the next to be sent low, Malum watching without voice, as the explosion rippled out from its front, bubbling and bustling, as finally the engines gave out to a final crescendo, that seemed to disturb the space around it, there going the short career of the Viper. The rest of the cruisers and corvettes hardly doing much better, with various degrees of damage visible on each, be it scrapes on hulls or the shimmering of shields.
The corvettes were performing better, that much was proving evident, as the formation he imagined came into fruition, much faster...
...Yet, their guns were proving too weak.
As much as battle was avoiding to be strucken, it was as much about striking first, and striking hard, speedily annihilating the enemy was the most decisive method to conduct war.
Speed to avoid all risk to oneself.
Annihilating to end the battle before it began.
Out from the hangers of the Arbites, Kaas', and the Darr Itah, more, and more starfighters flew out of their hangers, sending force to reinforce the great battle in the stage that was the Alliance fleet, in space between the newest of the Alliance's toys, and some of the most seasoned Sith pilots. A resounding crescendo, of space flight, as the whirling mass of metallic hulls cirlced each other in the most dangerous of dances. While the bombers, what few could break through the onslaught of Alliance starfighters escorted by the particularly heavy TIE Huntresses', made for the transports.
As other squadrons stuck stubbornly against the side of the Grand Battlecruiser and Star Destroyers, combined with the cruisers and corvettes, making clear every intention for the Alliance to not break through.
As Malum, realised the moment had come.
Battle was as much about all that he had described... as much as it was pushing upon every point.
And seeing what gave.
If the Cathar imagined he would follow her bait, she was to be handily mistaken.
"Venerandus..." Malum spoke softly, casting his gaze away from the advancing Dawn of Hope fleet, that which he so wished to destroy... but that would come soon enough, "Have all guns fire upon Task Force Spruance."
There was no surprise from his cousin, that the Lord of the Tsis'Kaar knew exactly where the weakness of their enemy lay. Malum looked out the viewscreen, bringing his chin to his hand, as he lazily gazed forward.
As the titanic guns of three star destroyers and the grand battlecruiser began to fire, upon the vanguard of the Alliance fleet.
TLDR: The Cruisers and Corvettes have withdrawn behind the Star Destroyers and Grand Battlecruiser to focus on providing point defence support, after losing one cruiser and corvette, and taking damage themselves. More reinforcement starfighters are sent out from the hangers of the Cruisers, Star Destroyers, and Grand Battlecruiser, with the Corvettes having run out, reinforcing the swirling melee, as some bombers and escorts break through to make an attempt on the transports, while some wings are staying by the Star Destroyers and Grand Battlecruiser to provide support, finally, the Star Destroyers and Grand Battlecruiser begin advancing, entirely ignoring the Dawn of Hope fleet, and looking to annihilate Task Force Spruance.
Oh this jedi was really starting to get on my nerves. Walking further away and out to the edge of town. Really trying to test my patience. I was spot on by thinking she was barely a child at this point. Peaked in maturity if I had ever seen it before. Making fun of my ability to speak. She didn't even speak in the right way. It nearly set me off. Aren't jedi supposed to deescalate the situation? Not make it worse? I rolled my eyes and just continued to follow. "You are such a child,
Making fun of me like that,
You are no Jedi."
I slowly shook my head at her. She even then pointed down the way and motioned for me to leave. Saying that someone else needed help. That I should go. Fine by me. Surely someone needed help. However, it was not them. With speed, I drew out a small device from my robes. tossing it at her like some kind of token. A false sense of giving her something.
"I don't think I will,
you are the one who needs help,
ignorance is bliss.
As soon as the young jedi would catch it, or just let it hit her, the device would stick against her skin or clothing. Already I was prepping myself to deal with this fallout. My hands open and ready.
Still jogging but getting faster in the pacing. Tyron accompanied his master; Jedi Knight Kaleleon
to hurry and locate fellow Padawan Learner Sienna
with the realized and growing threat approaching her. The question remains on his mind will they make it in time to stop the Padawan Learner waltzing into danger.
Suddenly, a build-up of energy from the Light-side in the Force was wrapping around Tyron's body. Unconsciously, he was picturing himself sprinting but at enhanced and quickened tiers of pace.
The Besalisk's body had started to blur as the ability known as Force Speed where it seemed the urge to render aid to another was the reasoning behind it's usage. However, remembering some conversations with Caltin Vanagor
not to rush in without all relevant information before engaging.
"Master what do we need to prepare for against this lizard species you mentioned? How dangerous are they?"
Tyron asked questions to initiate building up a picture and prepare himself for what he, Sienna
and Kaleleon
are going to confront shortly. He remained hopeful that Kaleleon
and his own presence would arrive to save Sienna
from harms way inbound for her.
Drystan was about to retort with something about taking a short break in the server room—citing its cooler temperatures and welcome solitude. But a subtle twitch in his eye betrayed his irritation as the Sith agent asked about the inner workings of the database.
He should've paid more attention in those computer courses back at the temple.
"Uh, you see, my liege... I'm unable to at the moment, given that the job to clean th—" Drystan launched into a flurry of technical jargon, cobbled together with fragments of information from the brief overview he'd been given about his data transfer device—and whatever he could recall from his long-ago classes. It made some semblance of sense, at least enough to pass as believable.
"As you can see here," he added, pointing to something on the screen that looked important—though he had no idea what it actually was. If he'd had more time with the system, more time to study it, he might have sounded more convincing. But this half-formed lecture, propped up by memory and improvisation, would have to suffice.
He just needed to buy time. Long enough to shift the focus away from himself. Long enough to drop the mask.
Slowly, the air around him began to change. A subtle but unmistakable shift in the Force. The nervous tension in his posture melted, replaced by something steadier, sharper. That anxious gaze of a bumbling technician hardened—steel slipping back into his eyes.
He was done playing pretend. The Shadow was returning.
"What did you just—" Sienna's fury was interrupted by surprise.
The small something attached itself to the tunic on her left shoulder. A haze descended on her senses and her strength momentarily faltered. The reptile seemed to move like a blur, while her mind tried to dredge thoughts and commands to her body from beneath oily depths.
It had been an attack. An ambush, there'd be more. She needed ready herself. The next attack would come, she needed to seize the initiative for herself.
Barely a moment after the device attached itself, her vibroblade had been drawn, swung into the space between them. Her other hand found her knife, wielded in the off-hand. She'd try to create distance between them with the sword, to buy enough time to cut the device from her tunic with the knife.
She knelt in the crater. Face tilted to the storm.
No lightsabers ignited. No defense raised. No more screams.
Just the soft patter of rain on ash and armor. Just her fingers, trembling in the dirt, searching for a memory.
Nothing left. Not even the voice.
She exhaled a hollow breath. Eyes unfocused. Mouth slightly open. A moment of stillness so complete it felt accidental.
Precognitive Flash said:
And then— The shot.
No warning this time.
A single blaster arrow struck her just below the sternum. Melted flesh and bone, pierced clean through.
Her body rocked backward, not violently. Just— Shifted. Like a tree bowing under wind it didn’t see coming.
Her hand twitched once against the ground. Then stilled.
Her head lolled to the side. Eyes wide. Unseeing.
The rain kept falling. Nothing else moved.
She died without a final word. Without redemption. Without vengeance.
Just... stopped.
And in the silence that followed, there was no judgment.
"Blue Squadron, we’ve got a gap on the eastern flank. Route around the debris field and press the advantage!"
"Red five is requesting rear sanitization! I repeat, someone get those blasted fighters off their six!"
"Yellow squadron has been wiped out. Take them off the board."
The Promethean Doctrine's starfighter directory center was the scene of chaos. The crew ran back and forth, shouting developments or waving pieces of printed parchment. In the center of the chamber was a massive table with miniature pieces representing friendly and hostile assets, staff shuffling and removing pieces as the tide of battle shifted. Large holographic screens showed a roster of squadrons available. Many of them were starting to become empty at distressingly fast rates.
These were experienced pilots, decades-old veterans of bloody campaigns against not only the Sith but the Mandalorians, Confederates, and Imperials. They had flown through hell and come back. Yet the horde of Sith starfighters was chewing through them like fodder. Make no mistake, Alliance starfighters were making mincemeat of the enemy. Most pilots were achieving an excellent ten-to-one kill ratios, but that didn't matter if they were outnumbered fifteen-to-one.
Starfighters were being forced to divert their attention between protecting Spruance's capital ships, the transports, and themselves. Rookie mistakes in the air control center that should be been ironed out in basic training were made again and again. Communication errors ran rife. Squadrons were being dispatched to emergencies on the other side of the battlefield. Bomber wings were ordered to attack enemy interceptors. These cadet errors would have been mitigated by the more experienced air controllers, but they were nowhere to be found, thrown by the SIA into the deepest cells of their black sites for interrogation into their ex-Imperial backgrounds.
Only grit and close support from the Task Force's capital ships were keeping them in the fight.
Spruance grimaced as he watched the battle at wide unfold. The Righteous Indignation shook as proton explosions erupted through her spine, courtesy of a group of Sith bombers that broke through the scrum. Similarly, Mantua's Law suffered significant damage from repeated strafing runs from Locust fighters, but was successful in placing itself between its attackers and the transports fleeing the planet below.
The Weeping Somnambulist stood out from its besieged brethren by actually going on the attack. With its Trandoshian commander, Taffy 2.2 launched a spirited counter-attack into the midst of the attacking enemy starfighters. The Belarus-class Medium Cruiser and its corvettes batted aside wave after wave of enemy squadrons with their fanatical gunnery. Walls of concentrated flak fire broke apart enemy fighter formations, leaving them vulnerable prey for the X-Wings and E-Wings following closely behind.
Spruance sighed. The damage they were taking in defending the transports was punishing. But they were holding their ground. For now, at least.
"Sir. Enemy fleet movement," one of the bridge crew manning the scanners called out.
"Is it the cruisers?" he turned his back to the viewports.
"N-n-no," she stuttered. Spruance's heart sank. "It's all of them. Every single one of them is advancing towards us!"
He could now see it on the battlemap: a massive blotch of darkness thundering forth, blocking out the stars. Screams filled the bridge comms as starfighter squadrons caught in its path were dragged into and absorbed by the void.
"Incoming fire! By the Chancellor's Balls, every single one of their guns is trained on us!"
Spruance's white gloved hands trembled. He wanted to freeze. He wanted to flee. He wanted to run to the deepest bowels of his ship and sully himself with one final drink before the end. Then he looked at his crew. Faces just as terrified as his — young men and women barely half his age who hadn't even had a chance to start their lives yet.
Spruance turned sharply.
"Reinforce our deflector shields," He ordered, his voice snapping his stunned crew out of their stupor. "Divert power from our capital guns — we're not going to make a scratch on them anyway. Concentrate it around the bridge tower and reactor housing."
"Aye, Captain!" came the response, followed by the hum of energy redistribution. Shield matrices flickered on the tactical display, resembling a blue cocoon that tightened around the hull. Spruance couldn't withdraw, not without abandoning the transports behind him.
"Alert all damage control crews. If any of them are understrength, they have the authority to commandeer personnel below level Omega priority. Place the us between those thrice-cursed bastards and the transports. They'll have to rip us to shreds before they touch a single hair on any of those refugees."
"Contact established with the other ships in the Task Force, sir."
"Taffy 2 and 3, draw up your vessels behind us. Put all available power not going into anti-starfighter defences into your shields. I am putting into effect edict two-two-seven. Your crew are to remain on their vessels even until imminent destruction. Those sons of banthas are going to destroy any life pod they come across anyway. If we're being sent to the depths of Hel, might as well drag some of them with us. If Taffy 1 goes down, protect those transports with your lives."
A wave of affirmations came flooding back from his sub-commanders. What their crews lacked in experience and training, they more than made up for in dedication. They all knew that the Alliance could only retreat so much further. Many of their families and loved ones lived only a parsec or two away.
They would stand. They would die.
"Get me the Dawn of Hope," Spruance gritted his teeth, "Vice Admiral, my Task Force will only be able to withstand that level of firepower for a limited amount of time. The transports will be protected to the last man. We will endure until we can endure no more. Long live the Alliance."
It was the brutal truth. Task Force Spruance was expendable.
"Detecting incoming fire, sir."
Space burned. A wall of crimson plasma bolts shrieked through the vacuum.
"All hands, brace! Brace! Brace!" Spruance shouted into the ship-wide comms system.
The Vanguard shuddered with a terrible force. Shields flared brilliant white, then amber, then blood-red under the strain. The bridge's forward viewport dimmed automatically to prevent retinal burn as blinding light exploded just meters beyond. Sparks burst from overhead panels. A nearby console blew out, sending a clone officer sprawling with a cry. Alarms and klaxons screeched. Inertial dampeners caught up seconds late, hurling crew to the floor or slamming them against safety rails.
Spruance held himself upright by gripping the frame of the viewport screens. Barely. He watched the Cyclops, caught out of position, simply be completely atomized by focused volleys from the Sith Star Destroyers. Solarbeam was reduced to a fiery hulk by repeated strikes from the enemy flagship and sent flying through space on trails of ejecting rhydonium. The bridge of the Tython Carrier Promethean Doctrine vanished in a flurry of fire and shrapnel after it received a direct hypervelocity cannon hit. Communication from its command staff sharply ended.
"We've got fires on every deck. Breaches in the ventral hangar. Shields are at 7%!" someone screamed.
"Commander Shakevoa, now!" Spruance shouted.
Radiance of Meridian suddenly lit up her engines and wheeled herself between Vanguard and the Sith fleet. Its port-side flank was engulfed in a massive wave of explosions that rippled across her hull, and the ship disappeared in a shower of dust and debris. Any other normal warship of her size would have shared the fate of the Cyclops.
But Radiance was no normal warship.
The Blissex-Class Frigate limped out of the cloud, presenting a scarred, burning expanse of hull to the enemy. The damage had been devastating. Her shields were gone. Her reactors aflame. A good quarter of her crew killed outright. But she was still battle functional. Her sister ship Admonisher quickly took her place, buying time for Vanguard to regenerate its own shields.
Soon, it would be her turn to be battered.
Spruance was buying time for whatever plan the Dawn of Hope had cooked up. But this could only go on for so long. His wallet was quickly running try.
The Task Force barely contains the incoming Sith starfighters. Noticing that the entire enemy fleet is bearing down on him elects to hold his position as long as possible to protect the transports behind him. The rest of the Task Force takes cover behind Taffy 1, which is constantly rotating frontline ships in a merry-go-round fashion to allow the other two ships a chance to recharge their shields. This has bought time. But not much of it.
Darth Morta
//:
