“Savior, conqueror, hero, villain. You are all of these things, Revan... and yet you are nothing. In the end, you belong to neither the light nor the darkness. You will forever stand alone.”
-Darth Malak, aboard the Sith Flagship Leviathan
HISSS! Energy poured through the airlock door. Its sides were wreathed in flame. I stood alongside my brothers and sisters in arms- soldiers and knights of the Republic. Had it not been for the calming aura of my Master, with his firm stance and determined eyes, I would have ran on the spot. We all knew what was coming. For all of the noble troops clad in red and yellow armor, their kneeled forms gripping the state of the art weaponry, they were only human. What had boarded our ship, what was ripping through the airlock with primitive plasma cutters and infinite hate were Mandalorians.
“Calm, Aela. Calm.”
My Master’s words spoke to me, but served to tighten the troopers’ resolve. Their sergeant's charred corpse lay behind the bulwark of the troopers and I- an improvised rule on desertion enacted by the entirety of the ship. My Master was the only figure of rank in the hall, now. Had this been any other time, his eyes would have flared with righteous anger at the corporal who shot his superior for such weakness; his justice would have been swift. But he needed the man alive. He needed everyone alive for what was coming.
“Yes, Master!”
I gripped my weapon even harder, my blue blade matching the color of my Master’s, the last standing beacon of hope within the halls of this ship, within this entire sector of space.
BOOM!
The plasma torches finished their hellish works- the door flew backwards with forceful intent!
“VOD’AN!”
Their alien tongue threw the phrase of war as bolts flew in all directions. My allies returned fire with screams that barely pierced the veneer of smoke. The concoction of steam and battle flew up into the metal scaffolds of the ship. Everyone always joked that the bolts were too slow, too easy to dodge, too easy to miss- but when a single touch meant death, my mind raced with fear. I tilted my blade from one point to the other as fast as I could, I was nothing more than a shield for my errant brethren, protecting them from stray bolts that were destined for their hearts.We were to defend, so our own troops could deal the damage. My Master and I were the only two out of cover, obvious targets for their relentless onslaught. But for every bolt I deflected, for every bolt that I had prevented from hitting me or my allies, another six passed by me. There were too many. Warriors emerged from the smoke, their blue armor matched the color of the smoke around them. Swords inlaid with golden cortosis weaves shimmered through the air as they charged just as fast and as headstrong as any Jedi.
As one of them broke through the line of cover and unto a Republic soldier, his blade drove deep into the man’s heart, tearing right through his personal shield as if it were nothing. His screams shook his allies, the closest of whom fired wildly into the melee attacker, who fell from the hail of energy. No shields. The Mandalorians knew they never needed them. It was war, bloodthirst, and a dark honor that sustained them.
Then again... my Master was a Jedi. Under the tenants of Soresu, his blade danced across the air with a powerful elegance, masking everything within his reach with a swipe of his blue blade. Nothing crossed his path, not a single energy bolt, nor melee weapon, nor explosive. All were deflected, pushed away, or easily parried with little effort. As sweat furled over my forehead, his was dry. As I gasped for air, pushing my body to it’s limit, he stayed as fluid as the Thousand Fountains on Coruscant. I always felt his eye on me, even as he took in the entirety of the Mandalorian onslaught, of hundreds of blasters and dozens of melee weapons, with relative ease. He was always watching me.
That was my greatest strength, and his greatest folly. How had I missed the bolt? I couldn’t say. All I could do was cringe as pain wracked my shoulder and broke the entire right side of my body. The impact of the blast was immense- nothing compared to the training blasters I had practiced against, nor like any projectile used by the T’doshok hunters in their slave raids on Umbara. It was large and must have had some explosive property, for my feet left the air milliseconds after feeling the small sun impact my form.
Those few seconds of flying were just enough for another Mandalorian to line up a shot. It was just enough time for his finger to squeeze the trigger, to send the bolt flying across the air, a course set for right between my eyes. My Master’s blade burned my face- he deflected the bolt! He had jumped backwards to stop it, and only arrived in the nick of time. The aura from his saber boiled the entirety of my left cheek, leaving it a bubbling cauldron of reddened flesh- but I was alive.
If only I could say the same for my Master. A metal projectile flung through the air- tiny and almost imperceptible. It moved faster than the bolts of energy, and when it struck my Master’s neck,I knew what it was. Poison. What was that, a kyber dart? The art of killing Jedi were not lost on them. Jedi were trained against toxins, yes- my Master did not die from the deadly brew. No, he was slowed. His movements became sluggish and his eyes grew glassy. His defenses were weakening… and his saber was no longer fast enough. I dove to cover, knowing what was about to come. I closed my eyes and heard it. I heard the sickening crack of multiple blaster bolts piercing the skull of my Master. I heard his body clump onto the floor as a pile of dead flesh. I tried to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. With nothing else to stop them, the Mandalorians charged with renewed fervor. It was only then I saw the fragmentation grenade that flew into my face.
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The blast from the grenade sent me careening into the wall behind us. I put up every force barrier, every small word of teaching about the style of blocking kinetic energy, of tutaminis, into my hands. It was a double sided effort to block the shrapnel of the grenade and soften the impact of my fall. It was no use- only the great Master Vandar was capable of using such a technique so quickly, and soon my torso was littered with pieces of metal; my robes were tattered in embers.
Consciousness failed me. I opened my eyes for a second, and our left flank was gone, covered in bodies. Another rise of my eyes, and our right flank was obliterated. The battle ended quickly. With not a republic trooper in sight, the Mandalorians staked their claim. It only took a second for their cleanup crew, ready to dispose of the bodies and turn our defenses towards their advantage. My Master’s death was for nothing more than a staging ground. Three Mandalorians stared at my fallen form, the middle one had his blaster extended. Their brothers embedded themselves within the ship, fortifying this location with shields and deploying various devices. They were preparing to dig in, and breach the other areas of the ship. These three talked among themselves. I could only assume they were questions as to what to do with me. What fate awaited a weak, failed padawan like myself? Servitude, to forever work in the Mandalorians’ mines on Fondor? Become a slave-assassin, like the conscripted at Dxun? Or die, die here and now. There is no death. There is the Force. There is no death. There is the Force. I was afraid. I wasn’t ready to accept it.
They made their decision. They all raised their blasters to my huddled form, determined to end me quick. I gave them one last defiant look, and my bloodied lip formed into a pout. Here it came- my death. But...wait...what was that? As I stared into their barrels, something else caught my eye. A shadow, falling from the rafters...no, a man! He dropped to the bay as silent as possible, and not even the closest Mandalorians noticed his form, as if he was invisible. No! This was no deception, this was a Jedi! The Force concealed his entire body in a cloak of shadow...and I couldn’t help but smile. I knew who He was. He wasn’t a man. He was the Force made manifest. His aura was instantly recognizable to a padawan like me. I heard his words at the rallies Master made me attend. I heard the vitriol in his voice when he declared the Jedi Order “hounds of the lowest degree”. I heard the conviction in His words as he declared eternal and unending vengeance against all Mandalorians.
The Mandalorians pressed the trigger, unknown of the intensity behind them. I reeled for their bolts, but none came. Indeed- they were hovering just outside of their barrels, forced into stasis by His eternal will. The Mandalorians had no time to react as their blasters exploded violently, the bolts of their weapons simply reversed back into the core of their blasters, crumpling in pieces to the ground. The Warriors were taken aback, their confusion clear, even through the matte black slits of their masks. Their forms lifted into the air- their arms grasped their chests and their throats careened under the invisible pressure. Their gags and cries were silenced in three successive crunches- the sickening sound of their windpipes bursting under the pressure of the Force.
He unsheathed his weapons- two cylinders of intricate design that matched the peerless tailoring of his robed armor. Ignition. The first was a purple blade, beautiful and terrible, it was his cold conviction made manifest. The second was a vile crimson- his anger, his rage and his vengeance. Even in my addled state, I was in equal parts awe and fear. The process of creating a crimson blade from one of another color was a dark and ancient process- one spoken in hushed tones amid the Jedi Archivists. It was the ultimate corruption...and yet, He held one. Now, I knew I was safe with him.
The activation of his blades caused pandemonium in the newly created Mandalorian camp, their weapons raised and their alien tongue yelling various words at Him. He stood there, motionless. One of the Mandalorians at his back fired his weapon- and just as with the three that had died earlier, the bolt from his weapon refused to leave its barrel. More clicks of the trigger around him. More silence. A flick of His finger. Their weapons flew into the air and exploded, almost in unison! They drew their Vibroswords, adopting various Echani stances. They knew what His intent was.
They charged with screams on their lips. It was almost valiant, the way they so willingly ran headlong into the fray. Their skill in battle matched Knights, some even matched Masters- but He was faster. He was stronger. He was a blur of red and purple that sliced through flesh and cleaved through armor. Even with the sheer number of troopers barrelled down upon him he used every tool at his disposal. Imbued with the Force, his fists broke through Mandalorian armor with incredible fury, and his feet decapitated just as easily as his saber, crumbling armor as if it were glass.
Some of the Mandalorians, as honor bound as they were, ran. They rushed to find new weapons, and some had their masks pressing against comlinks. It mattered not. More Warriors rushed in with ranged weapons from every angle. Some had jump jets, and they flew above the skirmish, their pistols aimed at the heart of the Force. A cacophony of war bore down upon Him. He was surprised to find his weapons leave his hands from the sheer number of attacks sent his way, but he showed no further sense of recoil. He never shuddered. He never flinched. He threw his body close to the ground. The hall, maybe even the entire ship, shook. It was all imbued with Force energy, stopping every swing and bolt in an infinitely powerful stasis. As He breathed, so too had the world around him. As he struggled to contain the weight of an entire army, he raised his fingers upwards, towards the ceiling of the ship. He heaved a final time, and magnificent, horrifying, terrible sparks of energy shot through his fingertips. They arced through the air and chained from soldier to soldier. Those closest to Him were fried instantly, disintegrated into dust from the attack. Those who had the misfortune to survive after the first wave of lightning only reeled as red energy burst from their chests.Their cries were meek as their life force fell from their bodies, aging them to death in seconds. All of it coursed back into His hand, and He was rejuvenated. He crept back to His feet, His cape covered in blast marks and His armor scorched. Silence. The entire boarding army was dead, killed by saber, by hand, by foot, and, most importantly, by His power in the Force. I hadn’t realized it then, but I saw something no one else will ever see. I saw Revan. Reborn.