Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!
Remember this place? It was the lobby of the museum that the Sith Mikal Sarn had set up the perfect ambush. He had assassins, and a droid army waiting for them. Caltin was pinned down and she had worked up the courage and strength most of all the will to not be a victim anymore. She was there to FIGHT.
This was a memory of her from almost 900 years ago.
You think strength is what you’ve got left in your arms? You think it’s how much blood you’ve got left to lose? That was never where your strength came from. She was watching her get MAD that Caltin was holding the line but was getting pinned down.
I’ve watched you walk into things that would have sent others running. I’ve watched you hurt. I’ve watched you afraid. I’ve watched you lose. She was holding her ears.
And do you know what I have never seen you do? She yelled “SARN!” Quit. The look on her face was different, Masterful.
So don’t start now. She stood.
Stop looking at him and deciding how this ends because of what he is. Remember who you are. Caltin back then threw her lightsaber at her and the caught it blindly with no effort.
He wants you to think about how powerful he is. How long he’s lived. How many battles he’s fought. How many Jedi he’s broken. That first clash, it was clear, Sarn was powerful but out of his league.
Let him worry about you. Ala, you are inwardly stronger than I could ever have been. I mean that. You’ve carried things that would have broken me. You’ve kept moving when no one would have blamed you for stopping. You’ve found reasons to stand when there shouldn’t have been any left. That strength is yours. It always was. She was thrown through a wall and got RIGHT BACK UP.
But if you need some of mine… I’ll gladly give it to you. Take my hand. I can’t give you courage. You already have that. I can’t give you resolve. You’ve had more of that than you ever gave yourself credit for. What I can give you is enough strength to remind your body what your heart already knows. She would see when he rescued her from stasis.
You’re hurt. Fine. You’re tired. Fine.You’re scared? Good. Means you understand what’s at stake. Fight hurt. Fight tired. Fight scared. But you fight. You have never walked away from anything in your life just because it was hard. A huge Bryn’adul breaking her back like a twig. She spend time in a hoverchair.
You are not starting now. She fought to walk.
You are not dying here, Ala. Not today. Not ever. She would see one of the many times brother and sister hugged.
Now quit worrying about whether you can beat him. Make him worry about whether he can beat you. Go. She would see Conservator, his lightsaber hanging on the mantle in her office.
"As you choose, Representative of Naboo." Dominique lifted her chin. She didn't bother to take a single step toward the precious Kinsguard that felt threatened by her presence. Drawing tighter ranks would do them little good.
"Commodore," the Chancellor pivoted on the heel of her foot to look at Tiberius Rath
, "annihilate the Sith forces, but your priority is protecting the Republic's citizens. You can relay that to Director Damos Rennar
as well."
Shadows darkened where the bridge's blastdoors would be if sealed shut. A force of equal compliment as Aurelian's had arrived. They wore Dominique's Rachne Industries' own R-D30.1 Daemon Assault Armor. Like Aurelian, she had her own security force -- CTRLd. Unlike Aurelian, she'd spent considerable personally collateral training and equipping them to take on CorpSec and force out the corrupt, inept, and mad thugs of Denon's Directors. Ayumi used her money to rebuild districts; Dominique used hers to make certain the criminals didn't move right back in and set everything on fire.
Her golden eyes beheld them assembled there, but did not motion for them to do more but stand on this side of those blast doors. Tiberius would not appreciate open violence on his bridge while he fought a war, and Dominique would find such chaos a sickening display herself.
She pivoted back around to look at Aurelian Veruna
once more. "We will conclude this discussion once hostilities have ended." In case the man thought he was just walking off the bridge surrounded by his guards because they were mere politicians. And if this turned out to be a grand coup? Well, Dominique had been prepared for that contingency when Ravion was on the cusp of unilaterally assuming control; today was no different.
As for Vizion Trozky
, Dominique had no further comments. He seemed content with sending his messages and coordinating that with the Commodore as she'd just given the man such instructions moments ago. That was sufficient for her purposes. At least their own wouldn't die because the artifact was haphazardly activated without warning.
"As the Jedi have been warned, perhaps the Naboo Representative would do us all the honor of extending the field and leveling the playing field on Thyferra." Dominique had to hold back quite a few barbs and remarks about how they weren't even trying to use the artifact strategically. It was haphazard at best. Blind luck, and at this point hope that the Sith weren't already prepared for the full brunt of its effects because of the gradual expansion of its scope.
The klaxons of alert and tremors of enemy fire on the Grace did little to draw Dominique's attention throughout the clash on the bridge. Tiberius had matters in hand. It was his duty to manage the situation among fleet forces. Even if the deck were to lurk beneath her, the Chancellor's ardent will alone would ensure not so much as a step out of place.
The heavy, metallic thud of Lorn landing on the engineering floor made Ala startle. Hurried glances bore no immediate evidence of his location, forcing her to scramble behind an outcropping of massive ventilation ducting. Her chest heaved, frantically drawing in what little air she could as her mind raced to make sense of the moment.
The pain. The sheer, suffocating pain.
Her beloved falling to the dark side hurt worse than the ache in her shoulder from dropping into the machinery. It hurt more than the gash across her forehead that was now causing blood to cloud her left eye. It hurt more than the crushing headache settling behind her temples. But none of it compared to the agonising realisation that she had not been enough for him — that she had failed to save him.
Then came a thought. A whisper of a memory from long ago, carrying a sense of calm that had been lost to her until now. She remembered the day vividly. She had been so young, hunted by the madman who had killed her mother.
So much heartache. So much loss. So many times she had fallen.
You're hurt? Fine. You're tired? Fine. You're scared? Good. Means you understand what's at stake. Fight hurt. Fight tired. Fight scared. But you fight. You have never walked away from anything in your life just because it was hard.
How she missed him. Her brother, who had always come to her rescue, who had always been there for her. Now, he had been gone for far too long.
Ala clenched her jaw, forcing a spark of determination back into her spirit.
"Running away from your responsibilities again, Ala? Can't bear to face your own failure?"
Lorn's words drifted through the machinery, explicitly designed to wound. It was a cruel, twisted corruption of the voice that had once whispered things so sweet she could have curled up in them forever. And now, this.
But she was done hiding.
Caltin had been right all those years ago. If standing and fighting meant she had to kill the man she loved just to protect some small shred of hope for the Jedi Order's future, then the Grandmaster would not hesitate.
"Did you even know what they'd do?" Lorn taunted, his voice echoing off the vibrating bulkheads. "Or did they keep you in the dark as well?
How many Jedi do you think are dying this exact second? You can't even feel them if they are... You're all alone, Ala. Alone with me."
She didn't reply. Instead, she quietly clipped her lightsaber to her belt and moved quickly, scurrying low across the floor like a rodent. She could hear his heavy footsteps on the opposite side of a massive, vibrating conduit. A plan finally formulated in the absolute silence of her mind.
Lying completely prone, she squeezed herself beneath the boiling pipe. The intense heat radiating from the metal immediately warned her not to delay — though a few seconds longer to steady her breathing would have been nice. Through the narrow gap, she watched his boots march past, the amber glow of his golden blade washing over the small cavity providing her cover.
The moment his back turned, Ala crept outward. She stood, ripped her lightsaber free, and ignited the blade in a single, desperate, and blinding arc, throwing everything she had into one final attempt to end it all right now.
The snap-hiss at his back made the hairs along his neck stand on end, a cold chill slicing through Lorn before his body began to turn. A shaking hand clutched his lightsaber, swinging it around towards the sound with the full force of his strength. Ala Quin gradually came into his peripheral view, growing ever more present in his sight. He aimed for her neck, a decapitation strike. He'd end it all here, silence the voices. He could envision it now, Ala Quin lying dead at his feet, and he would be rid of the dreams that have plagued him night after night.
Except that isn't what happened.
His blade sang true, but Ala had the initiative. Her blade was already moving to meet his. It skipped off at an odd angle, continuing on to cut through the emitter, then through armor and fabric, and finally flesh. Lorn recoiled back, bewilderment etched across his haunted expression. A smoldering furrow ran across the front of his chest from collarbone to navel, pain exploding from one end to the other. His lightsaber, now useless, tumbled from slack fingers.
Then a voice, weak like a child's, whispered from behind Lorn's lips. "Ala...?"
A moment, disbelief. The air hung suspended between them, the loud noise of the engine momentarily forgotten and replaced by rough, shallow breathing. But that shock did not last, and as it melted away it left anger in its wake. Murderous anger. Lorn lunged towards Ala, adrenaline pumping through him. He bashed Ala's swordhand aside, leveraging his larger frame to close the distance and bring her within his reach.
Post 2: Arrival in system for myself and Cyrine Zereth
. Activated Hyperdisruptor Well, locking down routes for the Republic but will enable Sith/Commonwealth forces to come and go. Orders given to Captain Zereth to acquire targeting solutions. Task Force Valiant taking up positions around the Sith vessel; Idirsholas. Seeking to wedge between it and the Republic.Acquiring targeting solutions, no shotshave been fired, yet.
The Commonwealth had no desire to engage the High Republic, quite the opposite they had desired and continue to desire relations befitting of nations. Alas, that was no longer to be, drawn into the engagement by obligations to their suzerain. Captain Rowyna Galeway would assume the rank of Fleet Captain for the duration of combat. The hues of hyperspace continued to engulf the ICV Valiant, and for a moment Galeway felt for what was to occur. They would arrive and take action against the High Republic, on behalf of the Sith Order, who by all accounts are enemies of the galaxy.
The Imperials of Dosuun and across the Commonwealth held the Sith disdain. Practically however had been their own enemy, for the Commonwealth that was. Too small to fight but too large to simply allow their culture, their languages and worlds to be consumed by the Sith. So therein they created a deal that ensured their autonomy... At a cost.
"Revision," announced their navigator, "in three... two... one."
The tactical plot resolved out of hyperspace static in a rush of hostile icons, and Rowyna read it with haste. Two hyperspace signatures collapsed into realspace within the same breath, Task Forces Valiant and Highmarch. "
The Idirsholat sat forward and exposed, still recovering from whatever had scoured the Force out of that stretch of space moments ago, the readouts on that quarter of the plot gone strange and quiet, Sith Battle Coordination dark where it should have pulsed steady. Beyond it, the Grace of Theed held position with the cold discipline of a commander who'd just given an order he meant to see through to the end.
Telemetry data from the Idirsholat, spooled to the ICV Valiant. Information was relayed and shared with the ICV Highmarch.
Through encrypted Commonwealth channels, the Dosuunian ordered.
"Ardent, Sovereign," she ordered. "Sync your wells. Full field, joint geometry. We control who goes in and who goes out." A moment lingered as she moved to stand beside the comms officer. "Encrypted message, direct to the Idirsholat. Commonwealth reinforcements are arriving as we speak, the second half of my reserves will be enroute once I send for them." Ro had only brought half of her actual Task Force. "We'll walk the line for them, have them gain separation."
"Bring us in behind the Idirsholat's screen," Ro continued, already turning back to her own plot. "Between her and the Grace. I want the Commonwealth standing in that gap." There hadn't been a moment to lose. "Operations, continue sensor read outs, tactical adjust weapon frequencies on all energy weapons. Once you've acquired targeting solutions, you are free to engage."
"Blackfin, Bashaw, forward of the Valiant, hard facing the Grace's approach vectors." A beat lingered between orders, the way it always did. She continued on encrypted comms with Zereth. "Captain Zereth, take Highmarch to stand-off range, Thunderer and Tempest anchor the line, Sovereign holds the well. I want fighters fielded and a targeting solution on the Grace of Theed."
For her own formation, Ro gave the orders, "deploy all fighters, have the Ravager brought up close. If the Grace remains in close range, engage Gravehands, and Shredfires."
As the time to reversion neared, Kurayami checked the seals on his helmet once more, making sure it was securely in place. The Force around him flared, the nexus of the armor fueling his abilities in a constant feedback loop. [[::R6 engage ECM and ECCM.::]] While the droid handled the activation of active stealth, the Corellian activated the sensor mask. A shimmer and then the ship disappeared from both sensors and visuals.
The stars went from the spinning tunnel of hyperspace to streaks and nearly immediately to their normal pinpricks of light. The Force shuddered, then went nearly silent. All the life, and the chaotic hum that went with it was a blur of chaotic emotion, not the threads that were normally able to be traced. Still the dampening effect did not dull his precognitive senses, nor his reflex enhancing powers, his armor kept those things safe. Granted unlike other times he would be unable to channel the Force into the kyber shards throughout the hull of his ship if needed in an emergency, but that was a minor issue at best hopefully.
He dropped just behind the ICV Valiant in the same position he had deployed, quickly making his way towards the action, weapons fully charged and ready. As he pushed forward through the airspace, he cleared fighters with precision bursts from the turreted cannons. Each burst revealing for a split second the outline of the fighter as the sensor mask worked to compensate. Saving shots from the wingtip mounted cannons for clearing bombers or targets of opportunity. Anytime the larger cannons fired a flash of the ship could be seen before the sensor mask fell back into place. As soon as the kyber-enhanced laser shots landed, the other ships were nearly disintegrated by the impacts, leaving only floating shards of craft as he continued to weave towards the Grace of Theed.
To the rest of the world and the ships around them, a great calamity occurred, a soul-wrenching inquiry of what it was to do to be without the thing that made you you, that connected and bound you all, to rip thyself from the fabric and tapestry that you had seen your entire life. To be ripped from your senses, every blade in your mind dulled at once, every engine coming screeching to a halt, grinding and twisting, gears fouling and ceasing!
But, to Atham, it was still, just work. He had no idea that the artifact even went off.
That was his job.
To kill. He was given a task, a mission, a set of rules, and told to do it. He had been set forth, ripping and raving through the ship in order to reach the Lady. A rescue mission, but also, a rescue of themselves. She was a powerful Jedi, and she could either turn the tide of the battle, or be it's ruin if the enemy was to capture her.
The Commandos lie in wait for another boarding party, the screech of metal and the churn of boots above them against durasteel plates. Atham's team Sergeant waited expertly, counted the steps, and clicked the clacker on his detonator thrice. Once, twice, thrice. A small breaching charge, inadequate for say, breaching a blast door. Nothing short of a turbolaser, cutting tools, or a rather large lightsaber in the shape and width of say, a house or so, would cut those!
But those pesky windows, perfect for viewing the majesty of space, pondering what life meant above the Quibbler? Well, those breaching charges would do just fine! All it took was a crack, and the vacuum of space-
Would suck the enemy out. The Commandos braced against the maintenance shafts and against the hulls, the instantaneous rip of air being sucked out of a small space so violent and so catastrophic that it defied even his expectations. His bicep curled hard for a few seconds before the emergency shielding went up. He stood up and poured out of the shafts, his team doing the same, dispatching the survivors and fallen-over droids.
He checked his ammunition and pushed forward, radioing in to Cora again.
"We're getting close Lady von Ascania. Please do be ready for our arrival."
MAJ Domar - Avril Leader
Avril Squadron, Commonwealth Starfighter Corps
Avril Squadron sat attentively at a debriefing. Details on the last mission were positive, as expected of the highly decorated pilots. At the head of the table was the greatest pilot in the entire corps, Major Domar. The Golden Ace. His gaze was powerful as he focused on the debrief, though his mind was elsewhere. The bowl of bulgogi in his locker and that Devaronian last night. She put the sense in sensational, he thought to himself. These thoughts lingered for a moment then Domar returned to the present only to hear more about his accomplishments from the last mission.
Then, a knock on the door. "Enter!" the ranking officer called out. The door slid open, and an enlisted walked in. "What is it, private?"
"Ma'am. Task Force Valiant has been tasked with supporting the invasion of Thyferra. Avril Squadron has been specifically requested for this mission." the private replied.
"Is Heramses aware of this?" Domar chimed in. "I'm all for combat but I don't need the Admiral in my face. Again. Respectfully, of course."
"She has been notified, sir. Her authorization was given."
"Let's fly, Avrils." Domar hopped out of his seat and departed the room. Avril's ISF-47Bs were prepped and freshly armed by time they arrived at the hanger. Climbing into his fighter, Domar secured the hatch and sat in the pilot's chair. Belts were buckled and the engine's hum began to roar as he took the controls in hand.
"Avril Squadron, listen up. We're riding escort for Valiant. Nothing fancy, no glory runs. Our job is simple: keep the fleet in one piece and bring every pilot home. We'll be coming in behind them, so expect hostiles waiting the second we drop out of hyperspace. Sound off if you've got questions." Domar's voice crackled over the comm. Silence answered him, the good kind, the kind that meant everyone already knew their job. "Good. Who knows, maybe one of you will impress the Valiant crewmen. They've got some of the prettiest in the fleet." Domar didn't crack a smile, but you could hear one in his voice.
The squadron aligned in space and readied their hyperspace drives. Thyferra was the target. Victory was theirs to take.
"Heading?" Tiberius glowered at the bridge's viewport as the Grace completed its maneuver whilst upside down. The superstructure shook around them beneath more impacts from the Idirsholas' return fire, explosions blossoming on the bottom of the Grace as great chunks of hull blew open. Atmosphere poured out in places, spilling crew and debris before the compartments could be sealed off. The death toll mounted. Hundreds now. But this was war. Tiberius’ resolve hardened into iron.
The attempt to rebound concussion missiles back to sender was novel, but the launching weapon systems officers rendered the few hit in such a manner inert the moment it appeared they would strike the Grace.
"Trying to move under us, sir."
And yet failing to guard against the maneuver into the engines. Tiberius soon saw the truth of it as the massive ion engines of the Idirsholas came into view under them. A rare, toothless smile more akin to a grimace crossed the face of the commodore at the sight.
"Rake her with everything and hold her in place with tractor beams," he growled. "Cripple her."
Ion cannons, turbolasers, and more assault concussion missiles roared out as the Grace poured a full, unadulterated broadside into the aft of the Idirsholas. The many tractor beams of the Grace also locked onto the Star Destroyer. They could not hold a vessel of that size in place, not truly, but they could slow her turn such that the Grace could get off more than one salvo into the engines. This close, they might as well have been locked together.
Tiberius would have given anything for a proper array of boarding harpoons and conner nets.
On the shield systems readouts, many port side systems showed as depleted. However, that side still faced away from the enemy for now and Tiberius knew their astromechs as well as help from the Aether were busy on the hull trying to fix the source of the persistent leeching.
"Commodore!" an alarmed sensor systems officer stood up, pointing at the screen, "More ships exiting hyperspace, with a heading straight for us!"
Tiberius glared at the display, then snorted. "Commonwealth?"
Anyone that tried to approach the Grace would still have to deal with the Aether's considerable defenses. Its exclusion zone was not one for tiny craft to think him a soft target.
"They and their starfighters have to get through Director Rennar's entire fleet, to say nothing of the Aether and Admiral Suun. Focus on the task at hand. What's the status on the boarding craft they launched?"
"They're keeping our point defense busy, sir. If they manage to reach us, they will be whittled down."
"Prepare to repel boarders all the same, Captain Marsanti?"
"On it, sir."
More Republic guards entered the bridge and Tiberius gave them a sidelong, watchful eye. The Chancellor of the Republic suddenly turned her attention on Tiberius and he turned to acknowledge her.
"Commodore," the Chancellor pivoted on the heel of her foot to look at Tiberius RathTiberius Rath
, "annihilate the Sith forces, but your priority is protecting the Republic's citizens. You can relay that to Director Damos RennarDamos Rennar
as well."
Contact had been made. A final blow? She couldn't be sure. The sheer momentum of her swing nearly dragged her to the deck, her muscles straining as she fought her own gravity. Through the sweat stinging her eyes, she saw him recoil.
She waited for the familiar ripples in the Force — the sudden spike of agony, the fading signature of a dying mind — but nothing came. There was only a jarring, hollow silence. It was maddening. She knew her strike had connected. She could see him reeling, his body registering the trauma of the wound. He was hurt. Then, he spoke. Just the way his voice shaped her name.
The fragile levee holding back her grief instantly collapsed. A violent shudder ripped through her shoulders as the air was forcibly dragged from her lungs, returning in jagged, spluttering gasps. The raw pain she had locked away for so long flooded her throat, choking her.
"Lorn?" she sobbed, the word breaking to pieces. "Lorn...baby...I'm here..."
It felt like a miracle. At the absolute precipice of death, the darkness had slipped away, leaving her Lorn standing at the end of the tunnel, reaching back toward the light. Toward her.
Blurry, hot tears flooded her vision, melting the harsh geometry of the room into a smear of grey. She stumbled forward, her trembling hand stretching out to cradle the dying man she thought she'd lost forever. Her face contorted, ugly and ruined with raw, unshielded weeping, completely vulnerable.
She never saw the fist.
The world exploded in a flash of white heat against her jaw. The metallic tang of blood flooded her mouth before her brain could even register the strike. The force of the blow violently threw her sideways, her spine colliding hard with the bulkhead before she collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor.
The heavy, unburdened sobs instantly strangled down into a sharp, terrified gasp. The air turned freezing in her chest. She shrunk back against the wall, a pathetic, whimpering plea catching in her throat as a shadow fell over her. He was already stalking forward, his boots heavy and rhythmic against the floor.
Desperation took over. Ala whipped her hand up, her muscles screaming to thrust her blade forward into his advancing chest — her fingers closed on empty air.
Horror turned her blood to ice. Her weapon was gone. Looking up at the monster that her former lover had become, she could only press herself harder against the cold metal wall, her voice cracking into a desperate scream.
The stars returned beyond the forward viewport as the Highmarch reverted to realspace. Still, Cyrine's attention barely lingered before shifting to the tactical displays coming alive around the bridge. The information from the Valiant and Idirsholat poured across the command network almost immediately, Commonwealth systems sorting through the noise and combining it with the Highmarch's own sensor returns as the officers around her began calling out contacts, ranges, and updated identifications.
"Highmarch copies."
Cyrine's response to Rowyna was brief. The Highmarch was already beginning its turn toward stand-off range while the rest of her task force resolved from hyperspace behind it, each vessel appearing across the plot as its systems checked in with the flagship.
"Thunderer and Tempest to their anchor positions. Sovereign holds the rear and synchronizes her wells with Valiant's formation. Warden and Warrior stay with the artillery line. Warhound and Wrath screen the Highmarch."
Acknowledgements followed one after another while the formation took shape across the display.
"Kestrel and Kite stay close to the carriers and artillery ships. I don't want either of them drawn forward chasing fighters."
Cyrine leaned slightly over the tactical table as the Oracle began feeding its own sensor picture into the network. The Conyers III had been brought for precisely this reason, and almost immediately its returns began cleaning up the broader image of the Republic formation. Defiant and Daring moved away from the main body shortly afterward, their smaller signatures pushing outward from Highmarch's formation to widen the Commonwealth's electronic reach without unnecessarily exposing the larger vessels.
"Oracle has priority on the Aether. Defiant and Daring are to spread laterally and feed everything they collect through her. Passive sensors wherever possible. I want to know what that ship is doing before they know we're interested."
The Aether occupied only a small portion of the display, but Cyrine expanded the contact until its escorts, fighter coverage, drive emissions, and surrounding maneuver space filled the center of the plot. The Grace of Theed remained visible alongside it, marked clearly as a primary target, though Cyrine left the engagement against it to the appropriate tactical teams. Her attention remained on the Aether.
"Give me her movement since we arrived."
A navigation officer overlaid the vessel's previous positions across the display, forming a slowly developing line through space.
"Now her escorts."
More tracks appeared around it.
The projection changed as the systems began calculating probable vectors based on acceleration, formation spacing, and the disposition of the ships around the Aether. Several possibilities opened across the board, some broad enough to be meaningless until additional data narrowed them.
Her eyes moved from the tactical display to the viewport for only a moment. At this distance, the battle existed as little more than scattered points of light against the black, occasionally disappearing behind the glare of another vessel's drives. Whatever could be seen through the transparisteel was useful for orientation and very little else.
"Fighter squadrons, begin deployment and keep the first screen broad. I want room between the squadrons. Second screen remains close to the carriers and the artillery line."
Cyrine watched as the fighter icons spread outward from the Highmarch and the rest of her formation. The Thunderer and Tempest settled farther back where their artillery could operate without being forced into the center of the engagement, while the Sovereign remained behind them, its presence turning what might otherwise have been open space into something far more restrictive. Highmarch itself remained closer to the center of the formation.
The bridge around her remained busy. Reports moved through the CIC in a constant rhythm while new information appeared and vanished from the displays almost as quickly as officers could interpret it. Cyrine listened to all of it, occasionally glancing toward one station or another while the larger picture continued to form in front of her.
"Thunderer, Tempest, align your guns with the Aether. Weapons free; let us properly say hello."
Tempest and Thunderer open fire on the Aether with all batteries.
Sovereign syncs its gravity well to Valiant's task force.
Daring and Defiant move forward to get better targeting data
All squadrons are launching and forming up.
The rest of the task force is holding defensive positions
"So you were listening," Verity said quietly. Her voice had gone as glacial as her eyes. "You can see why I had my doubts."
Her gaze moved between Dominique and Aurelian. The Chancellor was plainly unwilling to turn the bridge of a Republic warship into the site of an armed confrontation between Republic personnel and the Kinsguard. The indignity, the breakdown of order, would be too much a spectacle. Verity was unconvinced that dignity was worth the cost of preserving it, at this point.
Objectionable had become sanctionable, and sanctionable had become indefensible, which had quickly become a constitutional crisis. If she squinted, she could see treason appearing on the horizon.
"You would have benefited enormously from parents who loved you enough to tell you no every so often," Verity observed, her gaze returning to him, the contempt evident and open. "I cannot imagine what combination of infantile oedipal brain damage made you hear 'take an interest in something outside yourself' and decide the next logical step was to stage an armed coup in the middle of a warzone."
She stepped closer, her hands behind her back, daring the Kinsguard to lay hands on her.
"Spare me the sanctimony about saving the Republic," Verity said coolly. "What exactly do you imagine you're saving if, the moment lawful authority tells you something you can't stand, you deploy armed men and seize control? You would call this patriotism because the truth is uglier. It is dictatorship, whatever you pretend."
And there, Verity leaned forward, her graceful, swanlike neck allowing her head to slip into the gap between two Kinsguards' helmets so that when she spoke, it was almost a whisper for Aurelian's ears only. "And when this comes to light -- and Veruna, whatever you may believe about me, believe this: it will come to light, if it is the last thing I do -- remember this moment. Remember that you were given every opportunity to stop this madness. Every opportunity to obey the lawful authority you claim to be defending. And you chose instead to make a spectacle of your own arrogance and ambition."
Her lip curled. "So when the Republic begins asking itself whether its extraordinary deference to Naboo has been grotesquely misplaced, you may at least enjoy the distinction of knowing exactly whom to blame."
She drew away from the Kinsguard, turning to the Chancellor again. "Chancellor, I wouldn't presume to advise you on the enforcement of your own command." Her expression softened by a degree. "But whatever you do, know that you will not be standing alone."
The first evacuation ship struck the interdiction field at full acceleration. The small transport’s engine spluttered as it moved to jump to hyperspace and its hyperdrive flared, screamed and failed. There was a moments silence across the fleet as the realisation hit the High Republic forces, the appearance of the Commonwealth fleet catching them off-guard even if only temporarily.
Across the tactical display, dozens more followed. The civilian transports vanished into blue-white streaks only to be hurled back into realspace moments later, drives burning as emergency systems fought to keep them from colliding with one another.
Damos watched new contacts multiply across the holotable and he felt the fur on the back of his neck ripple with slight frustration. Two formations. Fifteen kilometres of warships. Their artillery was in holding at a distant range, yet from within the picket carriers had started launching and the angry bees of Fighters had filled the space around the distant arrivals. Gravity wells synchronising across the rear of the battlefield while another line moved to place itself between the Grace of Theed and its wounded Sith prey.
Dosuun.
The name unlocked forty years of buried reports. The Commonwealth considered themselves a stylised Imperial inheritor of a legacy that should remain buried, they seemingly as the reports would state despised, or at least struggled beneath the Sith but had bent the knee to them nevertheless. A proud people trapped behind another empire’s promises, paying for their independence with obedience.
Damos performed the arithmetic in silence. If this was to work he had one single chance at it, he just prayed that the senate would understand. If not he’d make them.
“Open a channel to the Commonwealth fleet.” There was the sound of a click as the comms officer made their connection solid and true. “Commonwealth vessels, this is Director Damos Rennar, Commander of the High Republic Armed Forces.”
His voice crossed every frequency between the two fleets, they needed to hear it as did his fleet that was starting to readdress itself to sit between the Commonwealth line and the Grace, several other craft, his included shifting to apply support and pressure on the Idirsholas.
“You will lower your interdiction fields and allow our civilian craft to pass through our evacuation routes. Do so, and the High Republic will recognise your desire for independence. When this battle is over, we will give you the political, military and economic support necessary to secure it.” Behind him, officers turned from their stations, eyes falling on the Bothan. Damos never raised his voice. “Because after this, all Sith claims on this galaxy will be considered void. I promise you this, the High Republic is going to purge the Sith from every system from the core to their little hidden empire behind their precious Black Wall.” The Bothan leaned towards the transmitter. “Stand aside, and Dosuun may finally stand free.”
The tension on the bridge could have been cut with a knife, yet Damos maintained his composure, his eyes locking onto one of the commonwealth ships like he could make out the crew aboard it personally, like the conversation he was having had no hold over anyone but them alone.
“Maintain your present course, and you will be considered an enemy of the Republic. Your ships, your holdings and every military asset supporting the Sith will be engaged with extreme prejudice.”
He silenced the channel before they could answer, knowing that if any answer would come it would be fanfared in the way announcements ought to do.
“Redirect the evacuation ships,” Damos ordered the bridge. “All vessels unable to jump are to dock with the relief fleet. Our transport holds are empty now that the boarding parties and planetary relief have been despatched. Fill them with civilians and bacta.”
The tactical display shifted. Freighters and shuttles peeled away from the broken escape corridor, turning towards the Republic warships that had carried the clone formations into Thyferra.
“Bring the fleet about. Place us between the Commonwealth and the Grace. Send out the neighbouring pings, I want fleets from every nearby system here as soon as time allows. That includes Naboo Home.”
The formation began to contract. Cruisers moved first, followed by carriers and battleships, their hulls closing across the Commonwealth advance like the interlocking plates of some colossal suit of armour.
Behind them waited the minefields already seeded across the Republic rear. Ahead of them stood the chosen people of Dosuun, now laden with a generational decision and between them both sat the evacuation craft, now being swallowed one after another into the emptied holds of the relief fleet.
It gave time for Damos to study the Commonwealth formation, the way the fleet was moving, what they were doing with their positioning. He was never one to consider himself a naval officer, but he recognised patterns, he knew how to read the flow.
“Put priority targets on every vessel sustaining those gravity wells but hold fire until their answer.” In the viewport at a distance he watched as The Grace of Theed continued to hammer the Idirsholas, each broadside illuminating the battle in silent sheets of fire and he found himself yet again adjusting his collar. “Give them the doubt of faith, allow them to show their worth of inheritance and by the same grace, if they choose the Sith and that future of servitude,” he said, “teach them what that choice costs.”
Lorn didn't answer, he was already upon her. His large masculine hands seized the front of her tunic, yanking her forward before suddenly slamming her hard against the metal wall. He moved like a man possessed, the voices in his head screaming so loud that he could scarcely hear anything outside of it. His vision had gone red, movements devoid of intelligent thought; only primal and violent instinct.
He picked her up and threw her against another wall with as much force as he could muster. She struck it and then fell to the floor, bouncing once before crumpling into a pile. His breathing grew labored, heavy and shallow, as he stalked towards her again. Before she could crawl away, he grabbed her by her leg and dragged her back. She kicked at him, and he fell on top of her, grappling with the smaller woman now pinned beneath his weight.
His fist slammed into her side, her stomach, her chest, before both hands then grabbed her by the collar and began to slam her into the floor. There was little technique or finesse to this, it was the most animalistic struggle one could imagine. Before long his hands found her throat and coiled tightly around it, fingers digging into the soft flesh and he began to squeeze.
Squeeze and squeeze.
Squeezing so tightly, it was what the voices demanded.
Besides the thrill of excitement she felt at having the chance to study and experience something new, and the rage she felt at being deprived of her powers by the Republic, there was an additional layer of... anticipation? No, it was more exhilarating than that. For the first time since the Akala Crisis, when that ancient being made Force user across the galaxy unpredictable, she would be leading soldiers into battle without her powers. She would be on a level playing field, more or less, although her armor still gave her some advantages.
The ship shook from the impacts of the brutal fight currently being fought between it and the Grace of Theed, but sensors were feeding telemetry for her and her boarding crews of damaged sections of the Grace's hull. Perfect entry points of the assembling Sith troopers within the hangar and the other launch points for their pods. The Idirsholas had begun the battle with some twelve thousand troopers stationed across it, and while that number had been whittled down from dispatching ships to board the transports and from losses incurred from damage to the ship, there was a significant portion ready to fight at her side. She only wished she had brought the Iron Talons with her, but her veterans were needed at their current posting. There would be time for her personal forces to come into play in what could promise to be a long war.
For now, she looked across the hangar deck where eight thousand soldiers clad in their new Barbazu armor awaited her as she stood on the Reaver pod. Even though she couldn't feel them in the Force, she could still read the body language as well as anyone raised on Lorrd could. They were ready for battle.
"Soldiers of the Sith Order, the Republic has seen fit to try and steal away our prize and power. Our objective is to take them back, beginning with the vessel before us. Be on the lookout for a device that the Republic will spend any number of lives to protect. Capture and hold as much of the ship as possible. Squad leaders, you will have your assignments and orders. Let us begin."
As one, the soldiers saluted and began boarding their own pods or breaching transports. Several squads of the troopers did not board ships or pods, instead strapping on Sidhe jetpacks for their part of the mission. With a thought, her helmet formed, and she nestled herself into the pod with the other eight soldiers personally accompanying the Lady of Secrets. She picked up a LORAN and attached it to the back of her armor, much like the other soldiers were doing. An Aurelia was handed to her in its pistol configuration, slipping the weapon into a holster on her belt.
Red light... standby... standby... standby...
If Fiolette and Aerys could see the situation she was in now, she would never hear the end of it. She still likely wouldn't when she got home.
The light switched to green, and the boarding assault began. Her pod, along with dozens of others, and the remaining shuttles and transports from the Idirsholas launched directly at the nearby Grace of Theed. There was nothing she could do but trust the pilots to do their job to cross the short distance of intense fire between the two ships. No power she could call on. No technology that she could magically whip up on the fly.
She wouldn't be able to feel the lives being lost as point defenses, laser cannons, or stray turbolasers took out individual pods. She could see the data streaming to her helmet HUD from the Idirsholas's sensors and the individual squad tags winked out of existence. Her pod shook as something exploded nearby, but the course was maintained.
Five hundred meters... four hundred meters... three hundred meters...
"Brace for connection, penetrating deflectors... now!" came the voice of the pilot. The pod shook as its shieldburster charge opened the smallest hole to slip through, a process repeated across dozens of remaining pods and the boarding vessels that had survived to this point.
And then...
The pod connected with the hull, its plasma torches going to work as the compartment sealed into place. As one, she and the soldiers stood. Taeli took the point position as a buckler-style shield formed from her left gauntlet, and her lightsaber found its way into her hand. Five seconds... four... three... two... one...
The pod burst the hole it had cut open, and as the red of her lightsaber ignited, she stepped into the breach as similar events happened across the assault zone against the Grace.
NPC: Admiral Gorlois
Directly Engaging: Tiberius Rath
The Star Destroyer rocked from the additional punishment being unleashed by the Grace of Theed, the Republic targeting the Idirsholas' aft engines. He had to give the enemy commander this; he was nothing if not persistent in his goal of trying to disable the Sith vessel. They were giving as good as they got, and more information was streaming to him from his bridge crew.
"Admiral, enemy tractor beams are slowing maneuvering! Lady Arcanix has begun her assault! Commonwealth reinforcements have arrived!"
"Excellent, inform Admiral Galeway that we have the situation in hand here and she is to keep the rest of the Republic forces occupied," he replied smoothly, even as the deck shook from a missile strike further along the length of the ship. The Eschaton-class had been built with some tough defenses, although he knew Lady Arcanix was already planning a revamp with upgrades after this battle had demonstrated some needed improvements. "Also, request that the good Admiral divert some of her fighter forces to assist our own."
He had been watching the fighter, unknowingly piloted remotely by CT-312
, on sensors, and it could use the support. Republic fighter squadrons had been harassing it and their other transports and bombers.
He turned once more, stoic as could be, towards his current situation. "Disengage all propulsion systems," he ordered. The bridge fell silent for a moment.
"Sir?"
"You heard me, Lieutenant. Disengage all propulsion systems and divert all that power to our weapons and shields. Then engage the grapple launchers."
There was one more moment of hesitation, but his orders were quickly dispatched through the Tsudaykr network on board to engineering. Power would surge through their weapons and reinvigorate the shields as the engines turned off completely. From the top of the ship, large grappling mag launchers fired their cables towards the Grace of Theed. Between the Republic ship's tractor beams and the winches of their cables once they connected with the enemy ship, just as the enemy commander had been wishing for boarding harpoons, the Sith obliged as their ship was pulled forcefully closer to the Grace of Theed to the point where collision would be possible if not properly managed.
It would give their dorsal turrets closer targets to support the boarding actions by Lady Arcanix and allow the second wave with their jetpacks to more easily cross over to board.
But it also meant both ships would just continue to maul each other.
Every impact was accompanied with silenced by pleading, curtailed begging for him to stop. But it was relentless. Everything had become both painful and numb at the same time.
Those same hands that had held her, caressed her cheek, and rested comfortingly on her shoulders...now were killing her.
With each impact, the adage began to prove true. The white-hot sharpness of each impact thrust a memory into her mind's eye as she replayed moments from her lives. Each one spoke to her, ushering her into the hereafter.
THUNK
The boy that taught her how to love, Zakk Bannon, stood before her when they were barely out of their teens. He spoke of marriage. A future. A love that would never end. And then she saw the day of his death.
THUNK
The massive smile of her adopted brother, Caltin Vanagor, looked down upon her in the confused-but-pleased-to-be-so way that he did. And she saw his grave again, the dying flowers laid about it blowing in the wind.
THUNK
The Sith Lord Hydrocus looked down upon her, as she lay strapped to a surgical table. He explained how important she was. How vital to his work. She saw the moment he had killed her.
THUNK
The patter of acid rain fell upon her as she escaped within a Force-dead clone body. Not knowing where she was, or how to escape. She felt the panic birthed within an old life remade. And she saw the moment she returned to her enclave only to he shunned as not Ala.
THUNK
The eyes of Valery Noble fluttered back to life from the stasis pod that had held her for thousands of years. Ala heard her voice, the friendship that was born in that moment. And she saw the moment she walked away from her friend because the love she held for her could never be mutual.
THUNK
She saw the moment she held hands with Ayla Shan. A new love that frayed and faded before it could bloom.
THUNK
She saw the face of the Sith, Anathemous, whom she had almost loved to the Light. Only to see the day Ala was tortured for trying anew.
THUNK
And then, in the face of the man that was killing her, she saw only the love that still beat within her chest. He had left her. He had walked to their enemy while claiming to be fighting them. And now, he had chosen her end. It made no sense. This was not the Lorn she loved. She knew even now, that it had never felt right. And yet...
THUNK
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. Consciousness toyed with her, dragging her towards darkness and then cruelly allowing her another glimpse of the world.
And in that final narrowing sliver of awareness, she saw them.
Younglings running through the sanctuary. A Padawan sitting cross-legged in furious concentration, struggling through a lesson they were convinced they would never understand. Knights arriving at her door seeking guidance. Counsel. Sometimes nothing more than a shoulder upon which they could finally admit they were afraid. She saw the Council, diminished by departures, exhausted and uncertain, still somehow holding their tiny new Jedi Order together while the Vanguard pulled at its foundations. She saw frightened faces looking towards her because, rightly or wrongly, they believed the Grandmaster would know what came next.
She saw what she loved.
"No..." The word was a protest, squeezed out in her last breath.
Her hand tried to move. Fingers dragged uselessly across the deck until they found the hilt of her short saber. But she was leaving. She could not focus.
"No..."
Her thumb found the switch. The short blade passed beside her shoulder and bit into the conduit behind her. Sirens blared. A jet of white-hot plasma erupted across the engineering compartment. Lorn moved too late. It tore across the side of his head and shoulder, hurling him away from her as molten fragments spat against the opposite bulkhead.
The ship's emergency systems reacted instantly. Seals slammed into place around the ruptured conduit, choking off the blast almost as quickly as it had begun.
Ala gasped for air. Every breath was a theft. There was no strength left for thought. Certainly none for hesitation. She clawed herself upright. One knee beneath her — then the other. Her arm shook so badly that the yellow blade wandered through the air. Lorn began to move. Ala fell forward. The lightsaber entered his chest.
For one endless moment, neither of them moved.
Her blade disengaged and Lorn fell to the floor, Ala with him.
She gathered him against herself with trembling arms, lowering his burned head into her lap as though gentleness could somehow undo what had happened between them.
Nothing came from her mouth. No final condemnation. No declaration of victory. No goodbye. Only the ragged, broken breathing of the Grandmaster.
Kai stood in the belly of a boarding pod with a lightsaber hilt, clutched in his fist and his grandmother three bodies ahead of him, and for the first time in the whole of the battle he had nothing at all to reach for. The strings were gone. The current was gone. The great answering instrument he had spent the last hours learning to play, learning to love, if he was honest, and he was trying very hard not to be, had simply ceased, and left in its place a silence he could feel in his teeth. He kept reaching for it anyway. Some reflex deeper than thought kept opening a hand that closed on nothing. Like probing a gap where a tooth had been. It was not there. It was not going to be there.
That part scared him if he was honest.
Which left only this: his body, the pod, the lightsaber hilt, and the short violent distance to a hull full of people who wanted him dead.
He knew this feeling. That was the terrible thing. He knew it in his spine, in the old animal part of him that did not care how many years had passed or how much sorcery he had learned. A sealed compartment. A hostile ship. The certainty of enemies on the other side of a wall he could not see through. He had been here before, smaller, and alone, and sure past all doubt that no one was coming, and the memory rose up his throat like cold water, and for one long breath the fifteen-year-old in the cargo hold was the only person standing in that pod.
Then he looked at the back of his grandmother's head.
Taeli stood at the point, a buckler of hardlight forming across her gauntlet, the red of her blade waking in her hand, no Force to shield her either, nothing between her and the breach but armor and nerve and a lifetime of knowing exactly what she was doing. She had not stayed on the bridge. She had never once, in his entire life, stayed where it was safe when there was something in front of her worth walking toward. And she was walking toward this, into the exact nightmare that had made him, and she was not afraid, and she was taking the point so that he would not have to.
The old horror had one answer, and only one, and she was standing three feet in front of him wearing it. No one is coming, the cargo hold had taught him. Years ago now, the lesson had been a hard one.
Someone had come. She had come, then. She was here, now. His grandmother, there, without fear or so it seemed. She had lived at least a century now, she had seen these wars come and go.
When the pod bit into the hull and the plasma torches screamed and the compartment sealed with a shudder that ran up through his boots, Kai did not freeze. His hand shook, he let it, and he set his feet anyway, blade up, breath tight, powerless and underarmed and more frightened than he would ever admit to a living soul. A young man with an old lightsaber following a legend into a wall of fire. He was not made for this the way he'd been made for the other thing, the beautiful silent work he already ached to have back.
But she was going. And he would sooner walk into the breach at her side than stand safe anywhere in the galaxy without her.
The hull gave way. The red of her saber lit the dark beyond it.
Kai stepped through after his grandmother, into the ship, into the fear, into the first real fight of his life, and did not look back at the cage he was finally, at long last, leaving behind.
CT-312’s brow rose behind the visor when Eira mentioned that Quinn had become sidetracked as well. For a moment, there was almost something reassuring about hearing that. Her expression fell as the Apprentice continued speaking, the doubt and reluctance of it all. When had Eira become so passive?
There had already been signs that something was wrong during the arena at the Jutrand Academy. Eira who seemed incapable of containing herself had been quieter and less certain. CT-312 believed their old self would have seized this opportunity rather than needing to discuss whether it was safe. Irritation began working its way into anger that had been already simmering inside.
“We have an opportunity to deal a blow to the High Republic that disrespected a Sith Princess, a Dark Councilor, the Queen of Eshan, my charge, and more importantly, your Master.” CT-312’s voice modulator carried each title with increasing emphasis. The gloved hand tightened around the Assault Carbine’s grip as she looked over the hangar they already fought to secure.
Even though they breached this vessel and reinforcements were on its way, Eira wanted to withdraw. “Even with reinforcements on the way, you’re still choosing cowardice.” A subtle pull brushed across CT-312’s awareness before she could continue. Almost simultaneously, the Halcyon Armour sounded an alert. Her visor turned toward the hangar’s entrance.
A damaged transport came screeching through the bay as it landed on the surface hard and skidded across the deck before slowing into a stop. CT-312’s eyes narrowed.
That’s not reinforcements.
The transport’s ramp had barely begun descending before red blaster bolts erupted in the hangar at the ship. CT-312 watched unmoving and disinterested as the High Republicans that exited out of the vessel took down two of the Sith Troopers. One was in armor and the other was in civilian attire, hiding with their own squad of forces behind crates and barrels of maintenance equipment that was scattered throughout the hangar.
Eira reacted considerably faster. Whistling birds screamed away from the Apprentice, scattering towards the soldiers. One of the newcomers in armor raised both hands. CT-312 initially thought they were surrendering, but the air distorted. An invisible barrier formed in front of the group just as Eira’s attack reached them. It seemed that the protection had come too late for everyone as some of their soldiers fell from the barrage. CT-312’s eyes behind the visor settled on the figure in armor.Force-user.Her brows furrowed, reminding the Scout of Jedi.
BARCA chimed, noting that communications were being relayed to all the bacta shuttles and High Republican fighters that had been compromised earlier. Frantic bursts of Republic traffic of distress calls and evacuation chatter, the desperate coordination between crews that were clinging to hope that reinforcements had finally arrived— A pain jolted through her skull, CT-312 winced as her vision blurred enough to distort the edges of her HUD. Her eyes snapped to the readout on her HUD from Caligo.
She felt her grip beginning to tremble around the carbine. Another violent surge pressed through the bond, feeding the rage that was already straining against her control. Her gloved hand shook harder. A little more than a cluster of hairline cracks branched inward at the edge of CT-312’s visor remaining well outside her main field of view. It was barely visible unless the light struck it right and far too shallow to threaten the visor’s integrity. For a moment, the anger threatened to consume everything—
Chime. This time an encrypted transmission from Sith forces on Thyferra forced its way across the HUD’s display. The blur receded from CT-312’s vision until everything sharpened back into focus.
"Attention. Bacta haulers are escaping orbit. Interspersed among them are refugees and evacuated civilians. Some of which may have been … compromised. Here are their exit vectors. Also, enemy comms have revealed assistance has arrived in the form of help coming from space. Be on the lookout. This message has been brought to you by Lord Nemesis."
Time was wasting and the High Republic’s reinforcements were spreading hope. Everyone and everything was becoming an annoyance. The trembling around the carbine’s grip stopped. CT-312’s hand simply became still. The fury she was filled with did not disappear, there was too much happening to stand in the middle of the hanger and lose herself inside of it. CT-312’s support hand left the carbine and dropped toward the weapon secured at her side, unholstering a hand cannon.
The Scout raised the hand cannon toward an apparently empty second of the hanger wall. BANG. A blue-white flash tore across the chamber. As it struck the plating adjacent to the ray shield assembly, a cloud of green-blue-white plasma residue discharged from the impact. The metal panel became slightly exposed with molten edges, exposing a small amount of circuitry underneath.
“BARCA, redirect the shuttles from previous transport. Have them rendezvous with the remaining bacta vessels by the Indomitable. Once they’re close enough, set them for collision when an opportunity presents itself.”
BANG.Another chunk of plating disappeared, exposing more of the internal generator network. The shield spanning the hanger’s mouth flickered once, causing the stars beyond it to distort before stabilizing again.
“Send the Republican starfighters to intercept the bacta haulers along with any refugees and evacuees from the signal we just received from the Sith ground forces. Give them the coordinates marked.”
Around the hangar, several starfighters that appeared abandoned suddenly came alive. Its cockpit displays illuminated as the engine wound up with a mechanical howl. One by one they began lifting from the deck, their landing gear retracting while BARCA directed orders through the slicers already buried inside their systems. The empty fighters rotated toward the hangar’s opening and launched. Only the evacuation shuttles and larger transports remained scattered throughout the bay.
CT-312 turned towards Eira’s direction as she was in the midst of engaging the intruders. Raising the hand canon once more— another warning alert appeared. Her visor turned towards the direction of the alert, recognizing the incoming transponder before the transport entered.
It was actual Sith reinforcements this time.
The transport crossed through the shields and settled on the deck. Fresh Sith Troopers stormed out into the hangers with rifles already raised, ready to join the firefight.
“No.” CT-312 stopped them before they could. Several helmets turned toward her. She pointed toward the sealed interior accessways. “Open that hangar door and secure a route to the control room.” The boarding party moved to the new orders. Half moved towards the sealed door, while the others established firing positions around. While the technicians began on the door, those defending would fire back at the Republicans who were in cover.
CT-312 holstered the hand cannon and brought the Assault Carbine back against her shoulder, providing additional cover fire. Her comms opened directly to Eira. “I have not forgotten our objective. But I have also not forgotten my duties.” Bolt blasters struck CT-312’s armor, bursting into showers of sparks as they glanced over the plating. “It seems you’re wiling to let the Jedi insult Quinn and do nothing about it.” Finger tightening against the trigger. “If that’s the case, it’s best if you find a new Master.”
“IT’S OPEN!”A shout from the Sith reinforcements, the interior doors were overridden. They immediately poured into the corridors, pushing deeper into the Mutual Liberty.
Once more the Scout lowered the carbine and drew the handcannon. Her left boot came down heavily. Thud. Magnetic locks engaged against the deck. Her right boot followed. Thud.CT-312 raised the hand cannon toward the exposed generator assembly beside the ray shield.
BANG. The shield flickered violently. For a fraction of a second pressure shifted throughout the hanger. Loose debris and crates skittered toward the open bay before the field stabilized and the atmosphere settled once more. The Sith Troops were yanked violently for a moment before regaining composure.
CT-312 looked toward Eira. “Either stay and figure it out. Do what you need to do to become stronger.” She adjusted the hand cannon, aiming just the generator now. “Or take one of these shuttles and go home. Playing it safe isn’t an option.”
The Scout raised her voice enough for everyone still inside the hanger to hear. “Five.” She began walking backwards toward the interior doors. “Four” The magnetic boots releasing and locking with each step. “Three.” The surviving Sith Troopers stopped firing and began withdrawing hurriedly towards the inside “Two.” CT-312’s visor swept the hangar one final time: taking in Eira, the High Republic intruders, and anyone else foolish enough to remain somewhere without something solid to hold on to. “One.”
BANG. The exposed ray shield assembly erupted into a fireball of explosion and a shower of sparks. Atmosphere rushed violently toward open space as the translucent barrier across the hangar’s mouth collapsed. In an attempt to suck everything that was an annoyance in the hangar out into the void. Whether the intruders found something to hold onto or escaped was no longer CT-312’s concern.
Emergency lights and systems reacted. Heavy external blast doors began closing across the exposed bay. The violent pull diminished as the doors sealed the hanger from open space. The ship’s internal systems repressurized the hangar, restoring everything back to normal. CT-312 released her mag boots. She turned toward the interior doors about to open—
Everything fell silent. The constant pressure that had been in CT-312’s mind since the battle vanished. Caligo’s relentless rage and bloodlust that had been bleeding through their bond , simply ceased to exist. Her breath caught inside the helmet. The dull headache disappeared. Even the strange pressure CT-312 had grown so accustomed to just vanished in an instant. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was peace inside her head.
BARCA continued functioning. Caligo’s transponder was still present on the HUD. Its telemetry was still moved and remote systems continuously reported information. The Dûr'ashaarai’s movement halted. A colder realization followed… Quinn.
CT-312 reached instinctively for that familiar tether. Her eyes closed for a moment to search for the presence she had checked before. It was one reassurance that Quinn was safe and somewhere in this chaos. CT-312’s eyes widened as her visor snapped fully towards the direction of Thyferra. She could no longer feel Caligo. Worse, CT-312 could no longer feel Quinn. The Scout only found the same terrible absence.
Aboard the transport that was already falling beneath Darth Carnifex’s initial advance, nearly a dozen bacta shuttles began to lift from the hangar. None of them departed like military craft. BARCA had deliberately softened their flight profiles, feeding each shuttle a cautious uneven route through the chaos towards the newly warped vessel of relief and hope, the Indomitable.
As the shuttles neared, they looked exactly what the Republic would expect to see: frightened civilian crews trying to desperately escape and keep their vessels intact long enough to reach safety. The fleet soon pushed back hard against the Sith fighters, giving the break the bacta shuttles needed. One by one, each shuttle’s navigation systems accepted the same escape route. Hyperspace swallowed them.
For those aboard the legitimate transports, relief washed through. Bacta had escaped Thyeferra and more survivors and crews slipped beyond the reach of the Sith fleet. The relief and joy those felt would only last seconds. They would be met with the compromised shuttles that slipped with them. Its engines would suddenly surge as each shuttle would collide into a nearest ship. Explosions would spread across the rendezvous point. Whatever celebrations over open communications would disappear beneath alarms and panicked voices. By the time later groups emerged from hyperspace, there would be no welcoming formation waiting for them… only wreckage.
Back over Thyferra, another group of evacuees would face a different deception.
Bacata haulers and civilian transports limped away from the assault from Sith Forces on the planet. Their crews watched anxiously as Sith Glaivewing autofighters gathered in the distance and began closing upon their position as one of the High Republican reinforcements and relief vessels were in their sights. A wave of alleviation came when another formation appeared between them and the approaching Sith crafts.
High Republic starfighters. Their transponders were friendly, everything about their approach suggested that someone had finally sent fighters to protect this second wave of evacuation. Except… the fighters did nothing. They held formations while the Sith autofighters would tear apart the evacuating ships. The civilian pilots would desperately call for assistance, demanding that the fighters engage and asking why they were allowing the attackers though. Only to be greeted with silence.
The compromised fighters would soon escort the tagged infected shuttles towards one of the reinforcement fleet. Only to be greeted by medical teams. Whatever had been carried aboard soon began spreading once the vessels opened. The High Republican reinforcements that accepted the infected shuttles would soon succumb to the blights and nanospores.
Several transmissions would be relayed, ending abruptly in the middle of sentences. Only to be static and voices of people farther away trying to understand what had happened. Then as quickly as it all started, the channels would go quiet. The vessels would float in silence and only one signal remained, a repeating SOS beacon pulsing steadily from somewhere within the newly formed derelict fleet.
The Dûr'ashaarai ignored separating drifting wreckage from friendly contacts and hostile fighters that engaged them. Caligo maintained its course near the HRNS Grace of Theed. Its Artemis targeting system worked continuously through the havoc of battlespace. It soon picked up two squadrons headed its way. Mainly seven signatures that abruptly distinguished themselves from the rest. They were not moving randomly with the surrounding battle. Their formation remained close enough to support one another while keeping an even separation between each fighter. Artemis and BARCA calculated their trajectory and highlighted the widening interception pattern across the fighters.
As quickly as they showed up, the first barrage came. Ion fire erupted across its projected path in a broad spread. Multiple bolts fired not toward where the Dûr'ashaarai currently was, but toward the space it would have to cross if it continued straight ahead. Brilliant blue streaks expanded across the darkness until Caligo was racing towards a shifting lattice of electrical fire.
Caligo drove into the edge of it. One ion bolt struck "The Aegis" shield surrounding the Sith fighter. The Dûr'ashaarai flashed violently, briefly revealing the fighter’s outline beneath the shimmering blue-white ripple. The haptic feedback system registered the impact instantly, redirecting the energy from the ion bolt and snapping it back along its original trajectory toward one of the seven fighters.
Inside the cockpit, several displays flickered. Caligo’s metal frame shuddered under the disruption as subsystem indicators vanished and returned within fractions of a second. Lights along the controls dimmed before flaring back to life, while the slicer droid embedded beneath the console club tightly inside the rattling machinery.
Artemis and BARCA immediately began diagnosing the damage.
Another firing pattern blossomed ahead. Caligo saw the second wall forming before the bolts had crossed half the distance. The Dûr'ashaarai’s wrath surged, it would not oblige these High Republic fighters by maintaining its course. The main engines reach max speed at a near-instant rate with its plasma burst acceleration. Almost simultaneously, its lateral thrusters and maneuvering jets fired, Caligo banked hard beneath the incoming barrage. The Sith fighter cut downward, hurling it through the shrinking space beneath the ion firing pattern.
Ion bolts passed overhead and along the edges of its shields. The pain of the earlier impact remained within Caligo. Something had stuck the predator hard enough to hurt, the sensations had the ship interested in these Republic fighters. Its attention sharpened upon those responsible. It noticed one of the seven fighters that shot peeled away to engage other Sith bombers.
Caligo pressed on, varying its speed through a series of violent acceleration bursts while its maneuvering thrusters had the ship move in random sharp jerky turns. It would make itself unpredictably between the ion spreads that were attempting to box it in. Artemis continued tracking the interceptors, mapping the formation and anticipating the pattern they were using to try and contain it. The Dûr'ashaarai rolled through the evasive turn and brought its front around towards the engaging Republic formations. Targeting brackets shifted and locked on into the middle of the formation.
Two discord missiles tore free from the fighter. Their powerful rocket engines ignited almost immediately, accelerating at exceeding forces. Blue trails appeared behind them as the weapons advanced toward the intercepting squadron with staggering force. Arrays of maneuvering fins along the missile’s bodies made constant corrections throughout the approach, adjusting to the changing positions of the fighters ahead. At the speed of the discord missiles, the distance disappeared almost instantly.
Both missiles would only need to reach the starfighters, before detonating among the formation. Instead of explosives the missile's housing would burst apart and each released twenty-one Buzz droids. In total, forty-two spherical droids would scatter outward through the intercepting pattern for the starfighter. Turning the surrounding space into a cloud of mechanical parasites with the size big enough to engulf two of six starfighters.
With the intent of the floating spheres to strike the ship's hull plating, the buzz droids would open immediately. Magnetic feet would lock the small machines into place despite the speeds. The droids would soon begin to damage the ship’s hull or go after the ship's equipment. Some may make an attempt to reach the astromech stationed in the starfighter.
The starfighters that avoided the direct contact were not entirely free of them. Enclosed within their spherical shells, simple maneuvering jets activated to keep them from driving uselessly away. Instead they began to drift towards nearby contacts. Latching on to other unsuspecting fighters passing through the battlespace.
Caligo did not remain to watch the results as the Sith fighter tore past the intercepting formation and resumed its main target, HRNS Grace of Theeds The distance would begin to grow between them.
[ HYPERSPACE REVERSIONS DETECTED ]
The battle around the HRNS Grace of Theeds had changed considerably. Sith reinforcements had reached to engage both HRNS Grace of Theeds and Navis Diarium. The Idirsholas was now fully committed against the Republic vessels as the two exchanged punished barrages across the narrowing distance between them. Moments later, space distorted near the Idirsholas. Two vessels emerged from hyperspace and into the engagement, it was the Common Wealth.
For the Sith fighter, this absolute chaos was useful. More targets meant more interference and with that came more opportunities. Just as the ship was about to engage, Caligo stopped. Its engine cut their acceleration so abruptly that the fighter appeared almost suspended amid the debris and distant weapons fire around it.
Something fundamental had vanished. The bond between pilot and ship. Gone. For the entire battle, CT-312 had remained present within Caligo. No matter how separated the fighter and pilot were, their own anger, excitement, irritation, restraints, and commands had all existed along BARCA’s technological link as something deeper than ordinary telemetry.
She was there.
The absence struck harder than the ion bolt. Systems began searching automatically. [ …DIAGNOSTICS IN PROGRESS… ] [ PILOT LINK — NO RESPONSE ]
[ FORCE DETECTION FUNCTIONS — ERROR ]
[ FORCE-RELATED SENSORY INPUT — ERROR ]
[ REINITIALIZING… ]
[ ERROR ]
Caligo remained motionless while its systems cycled again. Nothing returned. Caligo could still see the battle. It could still hear BARCA. It could still kill, but it could no longer feel her.
The rage that followed was immediate. Caligo strained against BARCA’s control with such ferocity that BARCA had to compensate repeatedly. Engine output spiked and weapon safeties cycled. Its maneuvering thrusters twitched beneath conflicting commands as the bound machine spirit reacted to the disappearance of its pilot with anger bordering upon panic.
Something had taken her away. The machine spirit understood absence and pain… it also understood the HRNS Grace of Theed remained directly ahead. Artemis picked up a squadron of Sith fighters moving towards its position to provide support.
Where was she?
A new notification appeared across the cockpit displays.
Caligo’s engines began to burn brighter. Its rage could no longer be contained, searching for anything it could tear into.
Spotted incoming High Republic fighters to intercept
Shields take a hit from iron blaster, Shields are at 70%, Systems experiences a small stutter
Using its speed and maneuverability stays out of range of the wall of ion blasters from the Republic fighters
Moving in sporadic angles to make it hard to predict where it will go
2 discord missiles are fired at the Republic fighters
Detonating as it reaches, a cloud of insect-like droids (#41) expands out with the in area able to cover two of the starfighters. Buzzdroids to latch on to the ship and begin to sabotage or damage it.
Passes by the starfighters, increasing the distance between them.
Sudden stop. Realizes CT-312's bond is missing. Ship's readings to anything force related are all "error"
A squad of Sith Fighters was sent to provide support
The Grace of Theed filled the viewport. Vornak watched as the boarding shuttles began to swarm her hull. They came in ragged waves, small and hungry, sliding through the gaps in point defence the way moths found a lamp in the dark. Some burned.
The rest kept coming. Beyond them the Idirsholas and the Republic flagship were locked close enough that a man could have spat from one hull to the other, if he had a death wish and a good aim.
The Force was gone. Not dimmed. Gone. The artefact on the Grace had settled a blanket across the universe, making it quiet. Vornak felt the absence keenly.
"Moths to the flame," he called out. "But it makes room for the civilians to leave. Take me into the chaos!" Vornak called out.
His transport accelerated. Blaster fire lanced past the hull. The shields lit up as they were grazed. Vornak laughed.
"Bring us in on the nearest open bay," he said. "Make sure they know reinforcements are coming."
The shuttle hit the deck hard. The ramp dropped and sparks and smoke rose in their wake. Vornak was down first, followed by several Vanguard jedi and guerrilla fighters with light blaster carbines and scatter guns. They had come armed for brutal corridor fighting.
Blasterfire met them as soon as they swept towards the prow and the section of hull with the most docking-limpets attacbed.
Red bolts stitched the corridor. A Republic marine went down ahead of them. Sith troopers were already aboard, using cargo crates and corners for cover. They were pouring shots into anything that moved.
Vornak advanced ahead of his soldiers with two lightsabers ignited.
The first volley punched across his armourweave and scored heat along one shoulder.
He grunted. It was harder to deflect bolts without the Force. He did not reach it; there was nothing there to reach.
But there was a door.
He turned instead to the inner blast door that had been half-torn from its housing in the first breach, still hanging on one twisted hinge like a loose tooth.
Two hands seized the upper edge. Two more locked on the lower. He set his feet, hauled, and the remaining bolts sheared with a scream of metal. The door came free in a shower of sparks. It was ugly, heavy, and just wide enough to shield his huge body.
Vornak laughed.
He brought it up across his body as the next burst arrived. Bolts hammered the plate and splashed off in white-hot petals. Vornak charged, his powerful legs pumping. The Besalisk simply refused to stop.
The first sith trooper was too slow to move. Vornak scooped him up on the scorching hot front of the blast door and slammed them onto the ceiling. The red and black armour held, the soft body within it broke.
Vornak swung out with a lightsaber in each of his two right hands. The fkrst blade took a sith soldier at the midsection and kept going. The second split a trooper from shoulder to hip. He was a whirlwind of destruction.
The hangar stank of ozone and panic. More shuttles were still kissing the hull outside. Moths to the flame.
Vornak rolled his shoulder against the weight of the blast door and started for the inner corridor.
"Fight!" he screamed out, his wattle inflated.
"Fight for your ship!
Die for every corridor and every inch of ground!
Fight for your Republic!"
Arris stumbled back, a glimmering skewer of Light embedded into her skull. Cora looked on in an eerie mix of horror, grim satisfaction, and surprise. Witnessing such visceral agony - Arris' fear, her pain - guided something ugly to the surface.
This wasn't the gentle comfort of the Light she'd come to know. This wasn't the healing energy she'd worked so hard to cultivate. This was what happened when she fell back onto the violence and grit that had defined her early years as a Jedi.
This was breathtaking to watch in the worst way.
"You deserve it," she hissed through sharp, shaky pulls of breath. "You deserve everything you feel and more. You deserve to feel more than a modicum of the suffering that you've caused!"
The words came, tumbling from her mouth in a snarl, unadulterated by the layers of internal filtering she'd spent a lifetime carefully curating. She grimaced at the sight of severed wires protruding from Arris' eye socket, stained by a viscous mix of blood and pale fluid.
It pulsed in the Force, with a presence of its own. Then, like a living thing, it healed in real-time.
The Force surged again. It raced over her, past her, like a wave that continued to rush for a shore that could not be found. And with it came a raw hatred, stripped of its adorning emotions and complexity. Pure in a way that she was not.
Warning:Loss of ability to feel and command the Force may occur over the course of this battle. Force Nullification has been activated at my location, and may become unleashed on further areas across the theatre of war.
Consider this your sole warning, and adjust accordingly. Crucial updates may be sent in response to this message, or via regular comms to my point of contact.
The message, processed by text-to-speech, fell as little more than background noise on Cora's ear. She lifted a hand, as if she could halt the inexorable Dark tide that felt like it was threatening to pull the organs from her body. The Light began to gather in a grounding reflex, steady in the storm.
Then, it died. Slipped through her fingers like sand.
The Light didn't answer. Dread gathered in the pit of her stomach. Was this it? Had she taken things too far? Panic surged through her, so quick and potent that she'd yet to realize that the Force had abandoned Arris, too.
"Oh," she murmured. The weight that pressed against her was dreadfully familiar. Full of nothing.
The thumb and forefinger of Cora's right hand moved over the index finger of her left, anxiously miming the removal of a ring she once wore. Horace had her wedding band made with flecks of voidstone. That man had cut parts from her until she'd been forced to become a different person entirely.
The fingers of her right hand stilled, then uncurled toward a fallen guard, but his blaster would not come. Too focused to truly feel the sheepish flush of her cheeks, Cora scrambled to gather his weapon.
"Why are you even here!" she cried once it was in hand. Privately, she cursed Aurelian's name. Surely, he had something to do with this. Being stripped of the Force put her at a severe disadvantage against a literal bionic woman.
"Yes," she muttered to the voice Arris couldn't hear. Perhaps the Triumvir would think she'd been stripped of both the Force and her sense. "Yes, that would be good. Thank you."
