DECEPTION
Moorja
Spire
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Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel, Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
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Rides
Gear/Armor
SURGICAL - CRYBERNETIC IMPLANTS
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Shadow Sanctuary - Enterprise
Lower Residential Ring – Moorja Capital
The deeper he moved from the spire, the quieter it became. No grand corridors. No strategic choke points.
Just homes.
Narrow streets stacked along the inner curve of the metallic “tree.” Market stalls overturned. Cargo haulers abandoned mid-route. Doors half-open where people had run and then hesitated. He heard it before he saw it.
Crying.
Orders barked in harsh cadence. Armor boots on tile. He stepped around the corner.
A cluster of civilians were being herded toward a transport truck. Hands bound. Troopers shoving them forward. Two Acolytes overseeing the operation like shepherds of something less than livestock.
A child stumbled.
The trooper kicked him back to his feet. That was enough. “Dawn’s Light” ignited in a vertical snap of permafrost blue. “Windu’s Guile” flared to life in his left hand a half second later, violet humming tight and dangerous. He didn’t roar. He didn’t charge recklessly. He walked. The first trooper fired. Connel angled the blade and returned the bolt directly into the trooper’s thigh plate. Not fatal. Disabled.
The second aimed for a civilian.
Connel threw one of the lightknives. It didn’t hit the trooper. It hit the blaster’s barrel mid-shot. The weapon detonated in sparks. He closed distance. Two precise strikes. Shoulder. Knee. Troopers collapsed screaming. One Acolyte lunged with a red blade. Connel pivoted inside the arc and drove “Windu’s Guile” up under the arm joint. He didn’t linger. He didn’t savor it.
The Acolyte fell. The second Acolyte hesitated. That hesitation cost him. A single, clean cut across the wrist. Weapon fell. Connel kicked him backward into a stack of supply crates and pinned him there with Dawn’s Light hovering inches from his throat.
For a moment…
He could have ended it, any time he wanted. No witnesses would judge him for it.
This was war.
The Acolyte spat something about Sith dominion. Connel extinguished the blade instead. He drove the pommel into the man’s temple and left him unconscious. The troopers still breathing were disarmed and kicked away from weapons.
Efficient.
Ruthless.
Controlled.
The civilians stared. Children clung to parents. Smoke drifted through the narrow street. Connel turned to them, visor reflecting their fear back at them.
West corridor, he said, voice filtered but steady.
Emergency stairs. Stay together. Don’t stop moving.
A woman hesitated.
“Are there more?”
Yes.
Honest.
A little girl stared up at him, eyes wide at the blades. “Are you a Jedi?”
There it was.
The moment.
He looked down at “Dawn’s Light” in his right hand. “Windu’s Guile” still humming in the left. The lightblaster holstered heavy at his hip. He could have said yes. He could have said no. Instead, he deactivated both sabers. The street dimmed.
I’m here so you can get home,
He said, not deflecting. Not claiming. Just truth.
The woman swallowed. “Are you with the Republic?”
He tilted his head slightly.
The Republic sent people who care whether you live.
That was as far as he would go. No speeches. No mystique. No “we don’t exist.” Just responsibility. A small boy stepped forward suddenly and grabbed the hem of his mantle. “Will they come back?”
Connel crouched slightly so he wasn’t towering over him.
Yes, he said.
But next time they’ll be looking for me.
Not bravado. Promise. He rose. The sound of more boots echoed from deeper in the district. He drew the lightblaster this time. Powerful. Heavy. Necessary evil. No shield. No rifle. No extra weight. Just judgment. He looked once more at the civilians moving toward the west corridor.
Children glancing back at him.
Watching. That mattered. So he adjusted. Every shot that followed was placed with care. Disable when possible. End only when there was no other option. Because it wasn’t just Sith he was fighting now.
It was perception.
The Vanagor name. The Jedi name. The Republic’s fragile claim to moral ground. Smoke swallowed him as he moved deeper into the neighborhood, blades reigniting in twin flashes of blue and violet. Somewhere above, Carnifex and Jax were closing on each other.
Down here— Connel was proving something quieter.
That strength without cruelty exists. That ruthlessness can serve mercy. That the man who fights like a storm can still choose where the lightning lands. He heard the shots, more shots. Not blasterfire exchanged in combat.
Execution shots.
Single. Measured. Controlled.
A pattern. He turned the corner already moving. Too late.Three civilians were on their knees. One fell forward as the fourth shot rang out. A child screamed. The trooper adjusted his aim toward the next. Connel didn’t ignite his saber.
He fired.
The lightblaster roared like contained thunder.
The trooper’s chestplate caved inward in a burst of ionized force. He hit the wall and stayed there. The second trooper swung his rifle up toward the remaining civilians. Connel threw a lightknife. It struck through the visor seam. The trooper collapsed mid-trigger pull. The remaining two executioners opened fire wildly. Now the sabers ignited. Permafrost blue. Electric violet. He moved through the bolts instead of redirecting them. No time for finesse. One clean horizontal cut. One vertical. Both ended before their bodies hit the ground.
Silence returned too fast. Smoke drifted. Four bodies lay on the pavement. Three were civilians.
Connel stood still.
The surviving civilians stared at him—not with awe. With shock. A mother clutched her son’s face to her chest so he wouldn’t see. He saw anyway. Connel extinguished the blades. He stepped toward the fallen civilians first. He knelt briefly beside the nearest one. No pulse. No breath.
Too late.
His jaw tightened once behind the mask. That was it. No outward grief. No rage. Just a ledger entry that would never balance. Boots echoed again from further down the street. More troopers. More Acolytes. They had heard the blaster. They would finish what was started.
Connel rose.
When they came around the corner, they saw him standing alone in the street. Bodies at his feet. Smoke rising around him. The first Acolyte ignited his blade and charged. This time Connel did not hold back. There was no space for restraint. The first strike removed the Acolyte’s weapon hand. The second removed his head.
He didn’t pause.
Two troopers fired from behind a cargo stack. He advanced directly into their line of fire. Blue blade carving through incoming bolts, closing distance without flourish.
One trooper tried to retreat. Connel closed the gap and drove “Windu’s Guile" through the trooper’s sternum.
Quick.
Final.
The last trooper dropped his weapon. Connel didn’t lower his. The man’s eyes flicked to the civilians behind him. To the bodies on the ground. He lunged for a hidden sidearm. Connel ended it before the weapon cleared holster. Silence again.
Not frantic.
Not chaotic.
Decisive.
He turned to the civilians. They were watching him differently now. Not just as rescuer. As something else. The little girl from before stepped forward again, tears streaking her face. “You couldn’t save them.” It wasn’t accusation. It was a child stating fact.
Connel didn’t deny it.
No, he said. The word weighed.
But I stopped it.
He knelt to her level again.
You leave now.
The mother hesitated. “Are you… are you a Jedi?”
He looked at the three civilians lying in the street. Then at the troopers. Then back at her.
I’m here because they aren’t, he said quietly. A beat.
And because someone has to be.
He stood.
More distant detonations rolled through the district. The city was collapsing into open conflict. As the civilians fled toward the western corridor, Connel turned back to the bodies of the executed.
He ignited “Dawn’s Light” one more time. Not in anger. In precision. He severed the execution restraints from their wrists and deactivated the blade. He would not leave them bound in death. Footsteps thundered from the next avenue over. He stepped into the intersection alone. No rifle. No shield. Five lightknives left. Two blades. One lightblaster.
And no restraint left for those who chose execution over surrender. Above him, through layers of steel and fire, Carnifex’s presence pulsed. Connel felt it. And for the first time that night…
There was no mercy in him for what wore red.
Mercy
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Corazona von Ascania
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Gavin Restur
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Glissara
