Character
Allies: The Dark Side Elite |
Imperius Indomitus
|
Ibaris Varanin
|
Ashin Cardé Varanin
|
Cesare Demici
Enemies:
Connel Vanagor
|
Valery Noble
|
Thurion Heavenshield
| Magdalena Bloodscrawl |
Alexandra Feanor
|
Ysennia Lee
| The Jedi Smoke coiled along the Temple Gate as Dark Troopers advanced beneath its shadow, unleashing volley after volley into the fractured front. Jedi and Alliance troopers were falling back into defensive shells, fraying as they struggled to hold the line and divert manpower toward the civilians flooding in from the eastern corridor. It was working. Just as he had planned.
Mordane stood on a ridge of collapsed duracrete, gazing down into the chaos he had designed. The refugee corridor he ordered opened hours ago now overflowed with desperate masses—civilians clutching infants, dragging the wounded, calling for Jedi sanctuary. And the Jedi, true to their nature, had come. Volunteers from the Order had peeled off, forming rescue lines. Knights thrown into the breach. Exactly as he had foreseen.
Behind them, the Temple remained walled and stoic, but its defenders were now divided—some still on the battlements, others among the crowd, lightsabers igniting in defense of the helpless. Mordane watched it all like a conductor measuring a rising crescendo. The strain was visible. The moment nearing.
At his feet, an old man—civilian, likely from District Nine—clutched Mordane's hand with bloodied fingers. "I knew the Jedi would save us," he rasped. "They will win." Mordane didn't respond. He merely lowered himself, letting the man hold on just long enough for the surrounding cameras to record it. They couldn't hear a word, but it appeared to be sympathy. Regret.
Then a stray bolt from a panicked Alliance sentry sliced through the air and struck the man dead.
The crowd screamed, scattered. A medic rushed to tend to the already-limp body. Mordane rose slowly, stained with the man's blood, and faced the Temple once more. The last pieces on the chessboard were revealing themselves. "Sergeant Major Varo," he said into the comm, voice flat. "Vanagor is here."
Varo answered from a forward command vehicle parked behind cover. "Confirmed. Omega Squad's little Jedi. He's coordinating the civilian evacuation and repelling Sunfyre units along the southern causeway."
The tone in Mordane's voice changed. "I want him isolated. I want him visible. Pull every Phase III unit from the east. Have them form up on me. The Jedi have taken the bait. Time to gut the hook."
Orders rippled down the line. Mortar crews adjusted fire patterns, focusing on the edges of the corridor where Jedi volunteers had begun building defensive screens. Dark Troopers, the ones lucky enough to survive Vanagor's initial counterattack and the Alliance's stoic defense, arced across rooftops like black lightning, their repulsors screaming through the smoke. Sunfyre squads surged forward, no longer probing. Now pushing.
And still, Mordane watched. The enemy was fighting like it mattered. That intrigued him. Not because it changed his objective—it only made the destruction more precise. The Jedi could protect the civilians, but they would bleed themselves white doing it. Every saber drawn to shield a refugee was one less standing between him and the Temple's heart.
"Begin the convergence," he said coldly. "I want the Temple surrounded by the hour. No gaps. No mercy. I'll deal with Vanagor."
At the rear lines, Juggernauts, lifted up the Temple steps by Sappers and Combat Engineers, began to shift, grinding into siege posture. Missiles screamed toward the Temple's upper spires. From above, TIE strikers began reshuffling coordinates. Mordane knew the Alliance would send more—Jedi stragglers, Republic commandos, desperate partisans hoping to make their stand at the Jedi Temple.
Let them come. Let them die here, with Vanagor.
This was the final act. Not the beginning of a siege—but its conclusion. The Jedi had chosen their battlefield. And now they would die on it.
Mordane stepped forward through the smoke, his storm-cloaked silhouette framed by fire and falling ash. His eyes were fixed on the Temple gates, where sabers flickered in defense of children, and his path led straight through them. He had come to end the Jedi—and he would not stop until he stood in their sanctuary, knee-deep in their ashes.
