Morgan scrambled back as an overhead strike was turned into a thrust, plasma seeming to bend from the sheer grate employed. He’d fought a lot of skilled fighters, and he wasn’t going to be modest and play down his own skill, but this level of mastery was ridiculous.
Trained on Korriban, that much was clear from the attitude alone, and seemingly one of their rare successes. A prodigy of the blade, found and recruited by the Servants. Damn the Emperor for abandoning his cult.
Now it was becoming his problem.
“So you know the Hand was betrayed by your supreme overlord, right?” Morgan asked, managing the question between nearly losing his first heart and then actually losing his left pinky finger. “They're just ignoring it, carrying out their last given orders like a defective droid.”
The Wrath smiled with glee as blood dripped on the warehouse roof, grin vanishing as Morgan reattached the digit with both telekinesis and fleshcrafting. The second’s reprieve ended as the pureblood grunted and shoved, Morgan ready to pull the technique apart.
Only to find no flaw, not in the little time he had, and having to rely on his defences. Which, admittedly, took care of most of it. He still stumbled, enough power packed inside to affect him.
His enemy was on him in a flash, cutting and slicing as two Beskar knives unsheathed themselves. And lasting no more than split-seconds each, the Wrath wrestling control away by detonating a raw wave of Force. No sense in wasting them, as expected.
Not a particularly clever solution, but enough to shatter the threads of telekinesis. It sent the knives flying out of Morgan’s range, leaving him with just a lightsaber. “Is this what it's like to fight against me? Cause I owe some people apologies if that’s the case.”
Yet another stalling attempt failed, Morgan jaw clicking shut. Focused on adapting to the man’s rhythm, his style, and slowly finding success. The pureblood seemed increasingly angry at Morgan’s refusal to die, too, the many wounds doing little to slow him down.
Even with the Wrath’s superior skill, which he had little trouble admitting to, it would take more than mere seconds to kill him. As Soft Voice has said, he was nothing if not durable. The pureblood seemed willing to keep cutting, though.
Which was a problem, because more and more security was being alerted. Sith, proper ones with lightsabers, but nothing that would bother the assassin. Let alone slow the man down, and it would come at the cost of dozens of lives.
Soft Voice was rapidly approaching the planet himself, and Lana was making her way over, but it would take time for them to get here. Time for the full might of the Enosis to concentrate on the Wrath, which was probably the reason why the pureblood had employed stealth in the first place.
Morgan was forcefully pulled from his thoughts as the man kicked him, but at least in this he made a mistake. The pureblood grunted as his foot connected, enough strength behind it to cripple most sith Lords, and Morgan took it without a sound. Brought his lightsaber up and sideways, cutting off the offending appendage above the knee.
That was the plan, at least, but a second lightsaber ignited. Blocked the blow, the angle poor but still able to buy the Wrath time. Reset his stance, leg unwounded, and brandished both weapons. Morgan grinned despite himself, inclining his head.
Such advanced skill deserved recognition.
Not as much of a problem as one might think, even if he’d never actually fought anyone with two lightsabers before. Not nearly as common as some might expect, though more so at the lower ranks of sith. Those who overcompensated or wished to intimidate. Once you became a sith Lord? Very few bothered.
It wasn’t so much about styles and technique at that level. Precognition decided fights, that sixth sense the Force gave about people and their actions. Usually taken as instinct, and the sharper your own the more the enemy struggled.
The precognition cancelled each other, leaving the more skilled user with an advantage. And the Wrath was very skilled, yes, but two lightsabers didn’t actually make him more dangerous than one would.
Morgan was proven right not seconds later, the pureblood trying to overwhelm his defences with double the strikes. The man was still the better fighter, in truth only Morgan’s healing capabilities let him endure death-by-a-thousand-cuts, but it wasn’t as if the man suddenly got even more skilled.
Shifting his stance, using wider sweeps and dance-like footwork, Morgan adapted to it. Let instinct guide his movement, defence solidifying slowly as he grew familiar with his attacker.
And that was the true power of endurance, he knew. To survive long enough to adapt, to learn, and punish the enemy for not killing you quickly enough. Unfortunately, surviving wasn’t the goal. A captain was smart enough to realise that getting his sith involved would be foolish, the security teams creating a perimeter and not intervening, but sooner or later some would.
His people would die, Soft Voice and Lana might well die, and all because he couldn't do anything but survive. Not that that realization suddenly made him able to touch the Wrath. The pureblood deflected or dodged any attempt at going on the offensive, smoothly retaking the initiative soon after, and seemed adamant about not giving Morgan time to craft any proper techniques.
Which was smart, because Morgan had several that could cripple the man. Star aside, since the Wrath wasn’t submerging himself deeply enough for the Other to affect him, he’d learned things since Belsavis. About himself and the Force.
It clicked at the same time as a wave of Force distracted the Wrath, trying to claw into the pureblood’s mind. Lana’s technique, though weakened by distance, was still enough to give him a moment. A moment Morgan spent opening his perception, embracing Fate as he had done against Dread Master Calphayus.
Whether the Wrath knew what he was trying to do or just got a very bad feeling from it, the man attacked. No feints or clever manoeuvres, abandoning even his own defence in the haste to stop him. And was too late.
Or the man would have been, if Morgan hadn’t flinched. Didn’t hesitate at the last moment, shying away from wrestling against the fabric of the universe. The last time had been born from desperation, from need, but now he didn’t have the Dread Master to unwillingly show him the way.
He firmed his resolve, grabbed the Wrath’s future, but too late. The man’s lightsaber slipped past stuttering defences, going straight through the neck in clean decapitation. Slowing on the spine, which saved Morgan’s life, and he let himself fall backwards.
Made use of the fact that he was already deep in the Force, reapplying his seal and scattering his presence.
The Wrath hesitated as Morgan vanished from his senses, even if the man could see him perfectly fine with his own eyes. But Force users tended to start relying on their instincts, and Morgan had a hunch the pureblood wasn’t particularly experienced in matters of the Force.
A gifted fighter, prolifically skilled with a lightsaber and having honed his few techniques to perfection, but not this. Not the arcane that came with delving deep, meditating on the pulse of the cosmos. Feeling it ebb and flow, ignoring time and space and learning to accept you were but a microscopic speck on it.
Morgan sealed the neck wound, stopping blood flow, and advanced. Swept a healing technique through his body, banishing fatigue and sealing shut the minor wounds.
The pureblood created distance as he did, raising his lightsabers in an almost hesitant block. Morgan swept to the side instead, the man’s training allowing him to reposition his guard, but the confidence was gone. The arrogance replaced by uncertainty, the slight inkling of that turning to fear.
But the man was nothing if not a well-trained sith, it would seem, because he rallied. Tried to set the flow again, but this time Morgan was able to crush the offensive. Accepting a deep gouge in his shoulder for a punch to the man’s side, the split-second contact enough to spread rot and disease. Ignoring armour, because his revelation while fighting Ekkage hadn’t left him completely.
Distance should not matter to those who wield the Force. Not even for fleshcrafting.
It was weaker than it should be, and using enhanced energy to send the Wrath flying wasn’t possible, but it weakened the man. Fleshcrafting, contrary to what he’d told Lana, seemed very much possible while having both his soul sealed and his presence manually scattered.
Only the most basic techniques of the art, admittedly, but he was learning. The Wrath powered through it, no healer but clearly able to toughen it out, and the fight continued. By Morgan’s count only fifteen seconds had passed, both Soft Voice and Lana still making their way over, but it seemed like more. Minutes, at the least, as focus was pressed to the utmost.
Yet even without one of his greatest tools, the Wrath kept fighting. Kept winning, getting used to battle without his precognition. But now Morgan was able to wound the man in turn, and if it came down to endurance, he would outlast the man.
But it didn’t look like that, covered in an increasing amount of wounds as he was, so his sith interfered. Moved forwards by the dozen, duo’s and squads and lightsabers more numerous than he was able to count. The Wrath noticed it too, dismissiveness written all over him.
Flicked his hand as he stepped to the side, avoiding direct contact, and sent whole teams flying. They employed rudimentary technique weaving, which saved their lives, but it was only a split second of the Wrath’s attention.
Morgan pressed, barking at his people to leave. The sound never reached them, the pureblood scattering it with an application of will, and grinned. Probably didn’t understand why Morgan wanted them gone, but pleased to disrupt the effort.
Then Lana was there, flickering from rooftop to rooftop and rapidly closing the distance, and the Wrath pulled back. Grunted, preparing more techniques. Morgan didn’t know of what kind, but by now he was well and truly tired of the man.
Used the Wrath’s distracted mind to drop his seal, presence once again rolling over the rooftops, and pressed. Enveloped the Wrath’s soul defences, grinding and tearing and piercing. It was as flawless as he’d ever seen it, even Ekkage’s not quite as well-made, but the man acted a split-second too late.
Let the tiniest crack appear, Morgan flooding his presence inward. Not particularly much of it, and he had no time to do damage, so he pulled. Pulled the man down and down into the Force, using his own soul as a counterweight.
And as good as the man’s defences were, he clearly never experienced something like this before. The thread was tiny, yet the Wrath struggled to halt the descent. Struggled to adapt as the Force thickened, going deeper and deeper and deeper. Well past the point anyone, anyone, should go without knowing exactly what they were doing.
Star came into focus as Morgan called, always having been there. Questioned why Morgan had brought a friend, the Wrath flinching away from what he could not see. From the sheer presence that Star was, settling around them like the world's softest blanket.
The Wrath screamed. Screamed and trashed, eyes he no longer had growing wide. Morgan told Star they were no friends at all, that the pureblood had tried to kill him and nearly succeeded, and the Other paused.
Asked the man why he would ever do such a thing, more curious than hostile. Still displeased, though, and the Emperor's Wrath cracked under the pressure. The horror as Star insisted, trying to help the man understand the question.
Tendrils of Force breached his presence properly, the pureblood trying and failing to push them away, and wrapped around his soul. Probed it gently, the Wrath trashing in sheer panic as his very being was invaded.
“You’re a good fighter.” Morgan said, approaching. The pureblood snapped his focus around to look at him, Star starting to rummage around the man’s soul more insistently. “Better than me, and I’m pretty good. But, well, I’ve come to realise some things. Things that bring me awe and friendship, peace and tranquility. What do you see in Star, I wonder?”
The Wrath gurgled, speech failing as Star accidentally killed that part of his soul. Retreated, sending an apology that made the pureblood flinch. The Other asked what was happening, Morgan smiling at his friend with soothing intent.
“Remember when we talked about what mortals can endure?” Star nodded, drooping as he realised his mistake. Morgan chuckled. “It's alright. He’s an enemy. Competitor. Dangerous. Enemy.”
Sending that burst of Other-speech made his head throb, but Morgan ignored it. Nodded as Star asked clarification, turning to the Wrath properly when he was satisfied.
Tendrils extended again, but there was no curiosity this time. Only hunger, lashing out with a hundred hooks to snare and drain. The Wrath’s resistance crumbled like so much wet paper, and Morgan looked on with detached curiosity as the pureblood was unmade.
Bid farewell to Star, the Other waving distractedly as he enjoyed his lunch, and let himself drift back to the physical world.
Found himself still on the same roof, standing where the Wrath had fallen. People were swarming about, one enthusiastic sith appearing just about ready to carve the pureblood into very many little pieces, and Morgan held up his hand.
“Lord?” One of the sith, not someone Morgan knew, asked. The woman stepped forward, bowing, and the seniority-badge on her robe marked her as being in charge. “Is the threat ended?”
Morgan nodded, narrowing his eyes at the corpse. “It is. Clear the roof and ensure there won’t be a panic. Tell Jirr to continue his speech.”
The sith bowed again, gesturing to her people, and he was left alone with the Emperor's Wrath. The wookiee began speaking, weaving the battle into his narrative as a demonstration of power, and Morgan walked to the assassin.
Lana joined him some seconds later, having waited some ways away when the pureblood fell. Cautious as ever, not that he disapproved. “What happened?”
“Now that’s a good question.” He replied, walking around the body. “Broad lines, the Emperor's Hand, specifically the Servants, tried to kill me by sending the Emperor's Wrath. Extraordinarily skilled, more so than any of us, but too specialised. What I don’t get is how he snuck up on me.”
She folded her arms. “I did not see him display any stealth abilities.”
“Exactly. Not only was it better than mine, it included visual, auditory and olfactory blocking.”
“Olfactory?”
“Related to the sense of smell.”
“I know.” Lana replied, rolling her eyes. “I was surprised you knew. Artifact?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Can't feel anything, though.”
“Well, if it can cloak others, it stands to reason it can cloak itself. Disintegrate the corpse? Unless you have need of it, for some reason.”
Morgan leaned down. “Nah. Nothing special, not now that his soul is Other food. Did you know they eat souls? Disconcerting to watch, I’ll tell you.”
“I’m going to take your word for it.” Lana said, suppressing a shudder. The body turned to nothing, though that didn’t seem to disturb her in the slightest. As it did, something remained behind. Small, vaguely pentagon shaped and metallic. “Seems we found something.”
He left it where it fell, the pureblood turning to harmless vapor once liquefied. Lana raised an eyebrow at that, but he just shrugged. Leaving puddles of sludge everywhere was a bad habit. He cleared his throat once it had, all the evidence of there ever being an assassin laying on the roof before them. “Well, I’m not touching that.”
“I can’t feel any corruption in it.” She offered. He glanced at her, and she actually appeared embarrassed. “Yes, well. You know what I mean. What do we do with it?”
Soft Voice landed next to them before Morgan could respond, looking around before his sight focused on the artifact. “Anyone want to catch me up? All I know is that I got a report of Mad Mouse getting ambushed, feeling him pretend to be a proper sith Lord, then nothing.”
“Me not beating people over the head with my aura just makes me considerate.”
Lana shrugged. “It is a rather odd habit, you will admit. What? It is.”
“Anyway.” Morgan said, looking pointedly at the artefact. “To recap; I got ambushed by the Emperor's Wrath, who had that thing embedded in his chest, and I killed him by way of Other. Very good fighter, not so good at the more arcane side of things. Now we’re left with a thing we don’t want to touch, seeing as our usual methods of threat-detection might not be working on it?”
The devaronian raised an eyebrow. “Might?”
“I mean, it could just be regular metal, but…”
“So we either destroy it, keep it under quarantine, or keep it and try to find out what it does. All of those have risks, and without being able to sense what it does I'm leaning towards destroying it.”
Morgan nodded to the man, turning to Lana. “I agree. Putting it on a rocket and flying it into the sun would be good enough. Anything explodes, I doubt it's going to care. Still, giving something like that to someone who doesn’t even have a self-healing ability is strange.”
“I don’t have a self-healing ability.” Soft Voice muttered, waving over his guard. “That’s Darth territory. Lieutenant, summon a quarantine unit to contain this thing. I want it flying towards the sun within the hour. Scoop up the whole roof if you have to, just don’t touch or get too close to it. Employ the new specialty droids.”
Lana shrugged. “The risk of keeping it is too great. Something else does bother me, however. How did the Wrath find you?”
“Another very good question.” Morgan said, tilting his head. “His techniques were extraordinarily well practised, but he wasn’t a seer. Not another artefact, I don’t think, since if that existed the Hand would have probably tracked me down before now. Same if they had someone capable of studying the future to that extent. “
She raised an eyebrow. “A tracker, then? I’m sure Korriban still has impressions in the Force from your time there, be it during your training or when you went back for your Lordly title. Not something I’ve ever studied, but Force tracking can be potent.”
“So they raised a hunter, which suits the job as Wrath, but not someone who was delving deeply into the Force. A tool, in other words. It fits.”
“But we’ll never know for certain.” Lana finished. “Are you going to seek revenge?”
“On the Hand? I think not. They played their best card and failed, losing what I’m thinking is a very precious artifact in the process, and they like to hide. Operate in the shadows. I’ll update Vette and John, see if they can’t hunt them, but I’m not letting them distract me.”
Lana smiled in clear approval. “Grow strong enough and they won’t dare repeat this mistake. There is a reason the Dark Council exists, a reason they still exist, and not even the Emperor could contest their numbers united. He admittedly spent quite the considerable effort ensuring that does not come to pass, but my point stands.”
“Been doing your homework, I see.”
“If we’re making an enemy out of that man it seemed prudent to do so. Your colonel is here, as are your apprentices.”
Morgan turned to look, feeling her slip away as he did, and rolled his eyes. Could have just said she was leaving, but whatever. He made his way over, Soft Voice still overseeing initial containment, and nodded as his apprentices bowed.
Ellarius nodded back, eyes roving over the rooftop. “Someone made an attempt on your life inside a perimeter the Reborn secured, bypassing every sentry both regular and Force sensitive. Enemy heads will roll for that. Assassins rarely work alone.”
“No they won’t.” Morgan denied, tone firm. “Recruitment and growth is how we advance, not revenge. Neither me, Lana nor Zethix felt him coming, so it would be unreasonable to expect your people to succeed where we failed anyway. But since you’re here anyway, talk to me about the battle.”
The colonel nodded, soul settling back down. Genuinely displeased that something had made it through, though the man would follow orders. Good. “Sir. Once the particle and ray shields over the city were drained of power, our slicers acquired actionable intel about the city itself. Seven targets of opportunity were highlighted, among which several armories and barracks that couldn’t be bombarded from orbit, and the majority of the men were deployed there.”
The man’s eyes flickered to Alyssa, Inara and Jaesa, all three waiting patiently for their turn to speak. “Your apprentices broke any resistance they encountered, and I thank you for their assistance. With their help we successfully prevented a large number of conscripted civilians from being armed, allowing us to focus on decapitating their leaders. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“It was they that put in the work, so by that logic it should be they that are given thanks.”
The three women flexed in surprise, souls clear where their expressions were not, but the colonel only nodded. “Of course. Overall casualties were low, many of the enemy combatants having surrendered rather than fight, but even given the low resistance we came out well. Very well. Increased skin toughness and stamina has lowered the number of wounded by nearly forty percent, deaths by sixty. I won’t expect those numbers to hold against more professionally trained armies, but an overwhelming advantage nonetheless.”
“Yet another thing my apprentices are mostly responsible for.” Morgan pointed out, the colonel accepting the point but clearly unwilling to believe it. He sighed. “Nevermind. The Yamada?”
“Captain Ikkus reports that two weeks will see all the damage to the Yamada repaired, assuming they are spent in our shipyard. Damage to our plating, mostly, with time needed to ensure all systems are still fully operational.”
“Very good. Any issues that need attention before I meditate? I’ll be gone for a number of hours.”
“Only one, sir.” Ellarius said, soul turning uncertain. “There are approximately forty five thousand people on the moon that have voluntarily taken contracts with the Octavian Mining Group, while also not in a position to either contribute to or meaningfully change the issue of slavery. Guilty by inaction, perhaps, but many are unhappy their jobs are rendered defunct.”
Morgan shrugged. “Offer them to work for the Enosis. If they’re willing to live all the way out here, I don’t think they had any good alternatives in the first place. Vet all potential hires before actually hiring them, including lie detection with Enosis personnel capable of sensing emotion. Offer the rest a ticket back to civilized space, though inform them a war is currently underway.”
The colonel nodded, not seeming particularly surprised, and the man probably had thought along the same lines anyway. “Thank you, sir. We did good here, and the amount of trained personnel we are likely to hire will boost our growth tremendously.
“Very good, colonel. Send the full report to my desk. Fixing Gonn, meditation then work. We’ll be here for a few more days anyway. Did Soft Voice bring enough people?”
“Fifteen thousand, half that bureaucrats.”
“Excellent.”
----------------------------------------
Darth Lachris, apprentice to the Lord of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire, stilled the urge to tap her foot. Nerves were not new to her, though fewer in number and occasion as time passed, but this once she would tolerate them. Not in any physical expression, but in the privacy of her own mind.
Not for her task, of course. Killing the two sith that had helped her on Balmorra would be easy enough, and their third was a nobody. Sure, Lords Caro, Zethix and Beniko had killed Ekkage, but the woman had been imprisoned for years. Weakened, though falling that low was somewhat of a surprise.
Killing Dread Masters would have been impressive, enough so to make her wary, but her Master had told her how the child had managed. Made use of a rare jedi ability by allying with that order, blunting much of their threat.
Again, she was surprised to learn how weak the Dread Masters had actually been. The kids would have grown, both him and the devaronian, but not that much, not in such a short time. The danger of overspecialization, she supposed. Take their fear, and the mighty Imperial Advisors fell like any mortal did.
What she was nervous about was the thing in front of her. The artifact. Given to her by Marr with strict orders to let nothing happen to it. Capable of dragging a ship out of hyperspace, feeding off the Force to do it. Rakatan based, and one of the very few successes ever achieved when it came to adapting their technology.
Some warlord had massacred the entire planet it came from, had killed anyone that knew how to make it, before employing it to grow his fiefdom fourfold. It disappeared after his death, being acquired by a collector at auction some two hundred years later, and Imperial assets had repossessed it afterwards.
One of the great treasures of the Empire, now in her care. Hers to use, but also hers to be responsible for.
Her two apprentices were guarding it personally, standing to the left and right of it, and it took up nearly half the space of the bridge. It didn’t possess any of the sleek and compact nature rakatan technology usually did, but she didn’t care about aesthetics. Nor about how it took up so much space, though the bridge was fairly small.
One of four transports she had taken for the job, each pre-modified to be durable beyond question. Additional plating, shield modules and redundant engines, all but guaranteeing she would be able to close the distance. When she did, and their stolen dreadnought couldn't save them, it would be over.
It still surprised her, at times, what the Imperial Navy had stored away in dusty hangers. Large enough for two hundred souls each, if you packed them tightly, and technically quite big. But not compared to a Yamada, and they would latch onto the dreadnought's armour like ticks.
But a dreadnought was a dreadnought, even if tearing it from hyperspace would disorient her captain. More advantages were always good, so she focused on the ripples of her actions. Those that would spread through the Force, intent and more, to potentially warn her enemies.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Smoothed them away, a trick her Master had taught her a great many years ago. Very useful for any who wished to climb sith ranks. She was no assassin, but ambushing didn’t just rely on stealth. Taking from the enemy preparation, resources and the ability to flee was worth more than invisibility.
One of her soldiers twitched, hand spasming, and the woman got it under control after some moments. Lachris contemplated removing the issue now, but left her be. Another loss of control and she would be done, but she seemed to have handled it.
The Chosen. An irritating problem, and one she was going to tear from Lord Caro’s mind no matter the cost. Her campaign on Balmorra had demonstrated quite clearly her old lessons on delegation, for she could only be in one place at the time. Having proper soldiers would be invaluable, and those most loyal to her target seemed to possess none of the instability hers did.
She had brought regular sith, but those had their own problems.
All in due time. First she would kill Lord Zethix, Marr was apathetic and she would enjoy seeing how he had improved, and take care of Lady Beniko afterwards. A loss, to be certain, but she had chosen her side poorly.
Then she would break Lord Caro until he was but a shadow of himself, no matter what Baras proclaimed. That fool was dooming them all, seemingly never running out of poor decisions, so it really was no wonder he failed to keep his own apprentice in line.
Her own were far superior, and she favoured them with a look. Brothers, by their mother, and acquired from Korriban some six years ago. Took her time preparing them, amusing herself to see which would turn on the other first. Neither had, completing her increasingly impossible tasks in a timely manner.
So instead of forcing the issue, she took both. Trained them here and there, keeping Lerek as the public face. Then the fool got himself killed by the very Lord she was now hunting, robbing her of a useful tool during a particularly turbulent time on Balmorra.
The soldier twitched again, and Lachris severed her soul with an annoyed sigh. The woman collapsed, boneless, and two others dragged her away after a pregnant pause. Truly, she couldn't wait until little Morgan was broken. A thousand of her soldiers survived the ritual, now eight hundred remained. Two hundred in two weeks, an unacceptable level of attrition.
Failing to dispose of them properly led to issues, however, so she made do. All she really needed from them was to ensure the Chosen were kept busy, meaning her sith battalion could kill Lord Caro’s apprentices and whatever sith the Enosis had.
Her informant had sworn the majority of the man’s forces were still dealing with the freed slaves, a waste of time if there ever was one, but she was going to assume he still had some troops available. Assuming incompetence could be worse than actu-
The captain of her frigate stiffened as she stood, the motion as abrupt as it was smooth. “I'm deploying the artifact. Prepare ships for boarding and expect enemy fire. Boarding crews to their stations, I want their hull cut open in no more than fifteen seconds.”
Lachris ignored the acknowledgement and concentrated, interfacing with the device. Feeding it the power it would need, her apprentices joining in after a moment. Not even she could do it herself, the raw reserves required were only barely possible by her own Master, but it accepted multiple sources of input just fine.
Built that way, originally taking entire rituals involving dozens of people, but she didn’t care about its creators. Her mind clamped down on the controls like a vice, feeling the strangely robotic feedback accept her commands. Used her connection to Morgan, no matter how thin, to anchor it in place. Cultivating that thread on Balmorra was an old habit, and usually came to nothing, but it was worth it for times like these.
Reality tore as the dreadnought appeared, only mere miles from her position. Fighters swarmed quicker than expected, though not as quickly as if they had seen it coming, but it would be too little too late. Her ships moved, weathered what firepower the Yamada managed, and clamped down on the ship. Used their own engines to keep it in place.
Another modification, since she very much did not want her target fleeing.
Expensive, a dreadnought had engines built to power entire cities, but then she never lacked credits. Especially not when her Master opened Imperial coffers. The ship still tried to escape, they would have been foolish not to, but her own vessels held.
Barely. Lachris narrowed her eyes as warnings started to appear on the console, her generous margins only just enough to keep the damn thing in place. She liked to minimize chance, ordering a fourth ship where three should have been sufficient, and this was exactly the reason why.
Her target vanished from her senses, which snapped her focus away from the console, and she cursed inaudibly. He was not getting away, certainly not in an escape pod.
Fighters started to harass her ships as she joined the boarding crews, not particularly worried. She wouldn't need long for this, and being this close to the Yamada meant bombers couldn’t employ their heavy payloads. Against anything else they would endure, and the pilots would surrender once the Lords were dead.
Her two apprentices joined her as manic soldiers continued to cut through the dreadnoughts plating, their ship having attached itself to the thinnest part. But thin was relative, and even the specialised tools they brought needed time. It would allow her prey to organise, but such was the price for not using boarding pods. She, personally, didn’t feel like being blown into space. Always an issue without ships to protect the pods.
She didn’t even have the expected time-limit of Enosis support ships arriving to reinforce him, exiting hyperspace themselves to track down their vanishing dreadnought. He would be alone regardless, the artifact worked only on single targets at the time, but now it would take hours and hours for help to arrive. And force them to call for it in the first place, at that.
The heavy plating was taken away as she waited, her soldiers carrying thrice as much as they should. It pleased her, competent help, but she put it out of her mind. Because, as the Force was warning her, two people were waiting.
Three, her eyes insisted, and it took a moment for her perception to catch the slippery third. His soul was all wrong, too dense and constrained, but it didn’t matter to her. It would cut down on her ability to predict his movements, but that was hardly crippling.
Her apprentices surged forward and were met by Lord Zethix and Lady Beniko, the battle quickly moving away. Her warped soldiers surged after them, being met by the unmistaken feel of the Chosen, and she felt more Force users move around the ship.
Too many. Her own mundane sith were being met and outnumbered, dozens of unknown signatures halting their advance. Lachris narrowed her eyes even as the hallways cleared, Chosen forced to give ground and her apprentices taking their battles elsewhere.
“Darth Lachris.” Lord Caro said, bowing politely. Not a speck of fear in him, the arrogance, and as she dug deeper she met defences. Defenses that would take time to break, to her surprise. “I have no wish to be an enemy of Darth Marr.”
Lachris smiled broadly, happy enough to banter. It would allow her to properly inspect what the mad child had done to his soul. “Yet he wishes to be yours. And what my Master wishes, he gets. A perk of being on the Dark Council.”
“A shame.” The sith flickered forward, Lachris tracking his form. Fast, she would allow, and much more fluid than he’d been on Balmorra. More skilled, though not in a way she was used to. No form or tradition, yet neither was his movement wasted. In fact, it was almost- “Shatter.”
The command rippled out through the Force and Lachris lost her train of thought, having to reinforce her shields. Still the word battered her, ripping away large parts of her defences. His strike was timed perfectly to catch her on the back foot, the Force whispering the strength of his limbs.
So she flowed to the side, employing one of her more favoured tricks. Lightning curled as a physical manifestation, gripping Lord Caro’s lightsaber and ripping it free. He tried to dodge, which impressed her somewhat, but it was a technique focused on speed. Speed and a surprising amount of raw power.
The weapon went flying, she broke the telekinetic grab trying to retrieve it, and the sith reached sideways. Pulled another out of the Force as she broke the first one properly, Lachris sending that one flying too.
Except the child ripped his arm sideways so violently something must have torn, dodging the attempt. Those moments of enhanced strength were irritating, she decided, and tisked out loud. “You are going to die here, Lord Caro, but how that happens is up to you. Keep pushing my patience and the quick death I had envisioned will have to be altered.”
“You’re polite and well spoken, Darth Lachris, and I still look back on our training fondly.” The Lord replied, taking a moment to do something to his body. The lingering effects of electrical burns vanished before her eyes. “Don’t spoil that by lying.”
The man attacked again, this time coupled with a wave of mental terror strong enough to make her raise her active defences, and she slapped his thrust away. Angled her body just right to avoid the knife about to impact her spine, and tore reams of metal from the wall.
Metal that twisted itself into threads and wires, the Force surging through it. Her target narrowed his eyes, probably wondering how she was doing that without telekinesis, and his eyes widened as he figured it out.
Lachris was reluctantly impressed. Using metal as a medium was not a common ability, some spend the entire fight trying to fight her psychokinesis - which didn’t exist -, and it would neatly bypass his resistance. Which wasn’t all that uncommon at her level, either.
He took a strange path to it, perhaps, but every Darth had ways to shield themselves. Most proper Lords, too. Nullifying or greatly limiting direct attacks, making Force-based assaults costly at best and foolish at worst.
Then two things happened at once, and Lachris fended off Lord Caro’s renewed assault on auto-pilot.
The first was the death of the second favourite apprentice, the man’s brother going berserk as their connection was cut. Annoying, she had spent a great deal of time on them, but nothing she hadn’t been prepared to lose.
The second was the death of her warped creations, vanishing at an increased rate. Alongside her regular sith, at that, and she linked with the mind of One-hundred-one.
She looked through his eyes as her power flooded his mind, making the man shudder dangerously, but the soldier held. Their link allowed her more feedback than normal, and she saw the source of their problem. Used only a small part of her attention for it, too, which was the real brilliance of the technique.
Chosen, which she deemed physically inferior to her own puppets, had rallied. Used teamwork and coordination where her own went crazy more often than not. Being stronger than your opponent didn’t much matter if they jumped you four to one, she allowed.
But that had been the case since the start. Her vision abruptly vanished as one of the enemy soldiers raised a strange looking weapon, blowing through reinforced bone and high-quality armour like it was nothing.
Lachris jumped to the mind of another soldier as she evaded Lord Caro’s attempts at touching her, doing little damage herself but receiving none in turn. This one, a woman with a surprisingly resilient soul, saw what happened.
Some of the Chosen carried those strange weapons, and wherever they shot people died. Behind cover, through another human, it didn’t seem to matter. One shot and everything evaporated, which would normally be utter lunacy onboard a ship.
But the soldiers didn’t seem to miss. Lachris studied their movements for a brief second and realised they had enhanced reflexes, something her own rituals couldn't accomplish. The nervous system always shut down before she could realign it.
The battle wasn’t going well, she would admit that, but her puppets did what they were meant to. Stall the enemy and prevent them from boarding her ships, since she didn’t much want the Yamada to flee with her still onboard.
Her shoulder was grazed and she returned to her own body, crushing the frankly rude mutation the man had tried to inject her with. Vicious even for her, and she had seen more poison in her lifetime than most.
Lady Beniko joined the devaronian and her last apprentice fell, Lachris frowning. That had happened quicker than anticipated, but it wasn't as if she was unable to take them herself. Annoying, and costly, but nothing beyond repair.
Attacking now would put her at a disadvantage, leaving her exposed when his reinforcements arrived, so better to hold off and face them all at once. Neither she nor her opponent had gone all out yet, either, but that was fine. Playing like this was normal, even if increasing the pressure now would be foolish. She had time.
Her opponent seemed willing to leave her be for the moment, anyway, so she waited. Monitored and assisted her troops, turning those puppets about to die into explosives. The Chosen were annoyingly tough, and adapted quickly, but it kept them at bay.
The other two Lords joined Caro, the devaronian charging first, and Lachris stiffened. Felt her Fate being bound and twisted, pathways of opportunity closing and blackening. She crushed the attempt hard, damned her wish to spar with Zethix and blasted the devaronian aside.
Rushed Lord Caro without any of her previous restraint, intent sharpening until it cut through the air. Her metal creations, made more to intimidate than use, shot towards him in tandem. Razor-sharp metal propelled at twice the speed of sound, her own lightsaber coming up to pierce the brain as the sonic boom echoed.
Because stealth she could see through. Fleshcrafting she could counter and avoid. But Fate binding? That wasn’t some trick. Something that could be taught. It took perception, strength that had nothing to do with reserves. She herself wasn’t capable of it, even if her Master had trained her to resist it, and it made Lord Caro a Darth whether the Council approved it or not.
A weak, slow Darth, but someone who had delved deep in the Force and remained sane. Was hardened instead of destroyed, seeing in ways so very few people could.
Lord Caro was clearly surprised by her abrupt change in style, but he adapted admirably. Shifted his stance so the metal would miss or hit something non-vital, body brimming with energy as he met her attack. Lachris flowed around his defence, submerging a portion of her body in the Force to boost her speed, and plasma met flesh.
Cut through it without pause, the man’s skin offering no notable resistance. Against her strength very little did, neck splitting open wider and wider as she turned the blade upwards.
The man dragged himself up as thousands of threads detonated outwards, assisting his rise, which forced the lightsaber deeper in his body but spared the brain. Lachris jumped to compensate, but felt an enormous hand clasp her foot.
Was dragged away and to the side, her body twisting to sever the offending appendage. Before she could - a lightsaber blocked it, Lady Beniko’s face flashing by before Lachris’s body was slammed into the wall. She twisted her whole body the last moment, escaping the grasp, and pushed off instead of being slammed into.
The two sith Lords kept her just busy enough she was unable to slip by them, Lachris forcing herself to slow down. Those two were more dangerous than their files suggested, people she would need to assess and not rush blindly. The devaronian was classically strong while the woman seemed to be a fleshcrafter herself, neither people she could dismiss on a whim.
Not as good as Lord Caro, who was knitting his body back together at alarming speed, but on the upper bounds of strength usually expected of a sith Lord.
Her soon-to-be dead target was ripping out the metal, which she couldn't quite concentrate on well enough with two lightsabers in her face, and stood as she pulled more from the hallway walls.
Sent it to kill the devaronian, who was forced to put his full focus on defence. Took Lady Beniko’s arm, along with a large part of her shoulder, before finally being able to focus on her target again.
Who had finished putting himself back together, and she blatantly realised why his abilities seemed to be so misreported.
Everyone who had fought him since Hoth was dead.
Lachris felt the last of her puppets die as loyalist sith were driven back, translating anger to power. Felt as her ships were being boarded, their defenders cut down, and knew that Lord Caro had to die right this moment.
Not in a month, or a week, but right this fucking second. Before he could flee with her still onboard, sacrifice the ship and employ his stealth. She could track him, for a while, but if he got far enough away she’d lose him. Proper hunters would have to be called in, at which point the man would be halfway across the galaxy.
It was fortunate she wasn’t expecting fear, because Lord Caro had none of it. In fact, unless her senses were severely compromised, he seemed to actually be moving smoother. Quicker, infinitesimally so, but improving as they fought. And every time he just about survived, used fleshcrafting to heal in seconds what should take weeks, he got a little better.
Learned a little more, over and over and over until he rose high enough to threaten even her. Lachris slammed Lord Zethix aside and twisted his soul, needing only a split-second of contact, and the man dropped. Not dead, it would take time she wasn’t willing to waste, but effectively out of the fight.
Brought more metal to bear, trying to cocoon her target and pierce the brain. The one sure way to kill a sith, no matter their power. It and the soul were linked, and without one the other would die. Atrophy when it came to the physical, scatter for the metaphysical.
The man tore metal apart with brute strength, body brimming with an energy that seemed to augment his physical capabilities. Ignored the lesser wounds she managed, anger finally showing itself. Went for contact as she did, his hand slamming into her shoulder at the same time hers hit his side.
She grabbed his soul and severed it, splitting it down the middle to be done with this. Her cut was rebuffed by his membrane, seeming both thinner than it should be yet strong enough to deny her attack. Lachris crafted a second one, filled with more intent.
A Thing came to Lord Caro’s defence, pressing the Force down on her, and she waved her hand. Pushed the creature away by vibrating the Force, creating a barrier it couldn't pass. Not without killing itself, and if those creatures valued anything it was their lives.
Predictably, it backed off. Seeming unhappy about it, which was a first, but she’d deal with that later. Shattered Lord Caro’s defences once more and sliced his soul, opening a large tear yet still failing to split it apart.
Her own soul staggered as the man filled her body with disease, her distracted focus allowing him a foothold. She opened her eyes, kicking back to create distance, and found him glaring at her. Eyes filled with cold hatred, and she was almost vindicated to have broken his indifference.
Then he spat out blood, seeming briefly surprised he was wounded, and Lachris felt her body wither. Felt him guide and energize the sickness in her body, even from six feet away.
She marshalled more power to end it, but it had grown too entrenched. Multiplied too rapidly, seeming to surge everytime she tried to crush it. Felt her own reserves being syphoned, which had her feeling fear for the first time in a long time, and looked at him.
Saw the satisfaction in his eyes, the knowledge that she could run all she pleased because the rot was already inside her. And all her self-healing abilities were Force based, of course they were, and if the thing he implanted her with fed off that… Growing just slightly bigger after each attempt to kill it, then growing when she didn’t anyway.
Lachris turned, fleeing towards the last free ship. Its defenders were barely holding on, Chosen led by a trio of women pushing them hard and close to breaching the ship, but then she was inside. Slipping past them before they could do so much as twitch. Ordered the captain to set course for Korriban, which she realised would take too long.
“Find me a healer. Jedi, sith, voss, anyone.” She fought to keep her voice even, horribly aware of the sickness in her blood. “And bring me all the kolto we have, now.”
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Morgan staggered as the Darth fled, desperately gathering his soul back to himself even as his lungs filled with more blood. The lightsaber-anchoring practice saved his life, allowing him to gather most of it, but some escaped. Felt his mood dull as essential essence vanished, turning towards Soft Voice.
Fixed the damage now that his soul wasn’t trying to kill him. He didn’t know how, but it seemed she had managed to inflict physical damage just by harming his soul.
Lana was healing herself, sealing the absence of her shoulder, but it had taken all her effort. Put her out of the fight, forcing him to use something that the Darth would probably heal in days, but fuck it. They were alive.
“I hate, hate, getting ambushed.” Lana growled, finishing up. Rough work, but it would hold. “Is he going to be alright?”
Chosen were already showing up, Morgan not turning to anyone in particular when speaking. “Lachris twisted his soul, though he’s resilient enough nothing tore. The brain shut down to protect itself, but I can’t fix what’s been done. Not without making things worse. Lieutenant?”
“Sir!”
“Tell captain Ikkus to resume our journey the moment he deems it safe. And take the ships.” The soldiers saluted, not that he was paying attention, and he spoke after the man was gone. “Mind going without an arm for a while?”
Lana nodded slowly, looking at him. “I will manage. Are you feeling alright?”
“She cut my soul in an attempt to kill me.” Morgan explained, gently probing the wound. Tender but stable, though he’d have to create stitches out of a piece of barrier later. “Some escaped. If she had pressed the attack I would be dead or worse, so I suppose we got lucky. It’s making me uncaring, which will clear up in a number of days. It lets me make decisions with a clear head, if nothing else.”
She narrowed her eyes but let it go, watching him instruct another squad of Chosen to take Soft Voice to his chambers. He’d be asleep for a while, which left overall leadership of the Enosis to him.
Lana turned, tone level. “I’ll make sure the sith Lords are properly disposed of. Go speak to the captain? I don’t know what ripped us out of hyperspace, but it can’t have been gentle on the ship.”
Morgan did just that, using the time to fix his own body properly. The physical wounds were severe but healing, though having both his hearts pierced had sucked, and he did optimally what he rushed during the fight. Returned fine sensation to his fingers, redid his neck and took out a number of non-critical metal slivers still in his body.
Watching Lachris manipulate metal had been eye opening, not to mention terrifying, and he grunted. Probably not a common skill, though it just reinforced his own belief that using a medium was popular among Darths. Air was always available, which made it convenient, but he’d have to watch out for it in the future.
His lightsaber went back into the Force as he left the secondary behind, broken beyond repair. Lightning whips, another trick he’d thought obsolete. Not when it was that fast, clearly, or able to override control of his hand. Crudely, but all it really needed was for him to drop his weapon.
He came to the bridge as he was still thinking on it, captain Ikkus overseeing the buzz of activity. The guards letting him pass were both vigilant and well-armed, which was good, and included several proper sith. Nothing that would have stopped Lachris, or the Lords she brought, but no regular soldiers would have breached it.
Not even her twisted abominations.
“Captain.” Morgan greeted, putting his tone between somber and congratulatory. Not that he was feeling either, but better not to stress his people. “The invaders have been repelled. Lord Zethix has been injured and needs rest, so I will be taking command over the Yamada.”
Somewhat redundant, but it let everyone know who was in charge. The captain would be running matters regardless, even if it was Soft Voice’s ship.
“Yes sir.” The captain answered. “Major Jillins reports that the last of the remaining enemy vessels have been taken. Pilots are working to detach them now and the breach-holes are being patched. We should be able to enter hyperspace in approximately four hours.”
“Very good. Initial casualty report?”
The man grimaced. “Bad. Our sith kept it from turning disastrous, as did their first-aid training, but well over three hundred Yamada security personnel are dead. Another forty in crew, with seventeen sith giving their life to defend the ship. Seven of which belonged to Lord Zethix’s personal guard.”
“Chosen?”
“One hundred and nine.” Jillins reported, Morgan nodding as the major entered the bridge. The man’s tone was hard, eyes harder. “Several more in critical condition. Our healers are ensuring none will die, but it would be good for morale if you were to tend to them personally.”
Morgan felt a spike of anxiety from one of the officers, raising an eyebrow as he turned to the woman. “My next stop is the infirmary. Something the matter?”
“The squad securing enemy craft two has reported an unknown machine draining their Force sensitive members. They have successfully created distance, but while doing so the machine was seen to be folding into itself.” The woman swallowed, uncertain. “That’s a direct quote, sir.”
He grunted, making his tone mock-annoyed instead of emotionless. “I haven’t seen a proper sith artifact once and now they’re crawling out of the woodworks. Contain the ship and get Lana to take a look at it.”
Morgan turned on his heels, leaving the bridge and making his way towards the med-bay. His uncaring mood would pass and emotion would hold sway soon enough, so best get as much done before then.
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Vylon straightened his uniform unnecessarily, knowing very well it was already perfect. But while it technically wasn’t his first time meeting with a sith Lord, he’d shaken hands with one when he was promoted to the position of moff, that one didn’t care about him in the slightest.
This one did.
Rumours of his ability to tell lies from truth were circling, his fighting prowess was already well established after Hoth, but now this. Darth Lachris, personal apprentice to Darth Marr himself, was dead. Found on some backwater station, apparently looking for a Voss healer that was rumoured to be living there.
If she had found the man, it clearly hadn’t been enough.
The Empire was keeping quiet about her death. But a friend of a friend was high-up in Imperial Intelligence, who Darth Marr ordered to verify her passing. Rotten from the chest up, eyes gone and skull as soft as a childs.
He had also been told Darth Marr ordered her to kill Morgan, employing an artifact Vylon hadn’t even known existed, and got herself killed for the trouble. The machine was gone, either destroyed or in the hands of the Enosis, and the Empire was too busy scrambling against the Republic to really do anything about it.
His father would have shook his head at the disgrace.
But Vylon was not his father, and he saw the way the wind was blowing. As did his organisation, growing and organising as the weeks past. He had put it to a vote, and twenty to five for them supporting Lord Caro.
Unofficially, that was, and he was only supposed to bring up the future possibility of merging their powerbases. Fortunately, they all put him in charge. Hesitation wasn’t going to get anything done, especially not with someone who he had been told was a mirror.
If anyone in their little group disliked it, he would hear them out. If anyone disliked it to the point of betrayal, then he was going to have them shot. His father had taught him many, many lessons, but securing the power you held was among the most central.
And he was nothing if not thorough. But idle daydreams of eliminating the more annoying of his supporters would have to wait, since the holocommunicator was blinking. Vylon pressed the accept button, straightening his posture.
Best to make a good first impression. He bowed his head as the sith Lord appeared, the hologram dominating much of the room. A rather minor powerplay Vylon was used to with sith Lords and high-ranking bureaucrats, even if rumor was this one didn’t care for it. And he suspected the man could be just as intimidating at four inches tall, at that.
“Moff Vylon.” Lord Caro said, nodding to his bow. “It is a pleasure. Your request for a meeting was a surprise, but a welcome one. My technicians have promised this line is secure, so I shall speak plainly. The Empire is dying.”
Vylon swallowed, managing to keep his tone even. “Yes, it is. It has been for a while.”
“Do not misunderstand. The current Empire exists because a millennia old sith built it from nothing, then held it together by his will alone. It is why the Dark Council can function, why sith infighting isn’t crippling them beyond repair. And now he is gone.”
“What?”
“He abandoned his project.” The sith said bluntly. “For what I do not know, but he is gone. And with it the singular mind capable of keeping a dozen power hungry, near-immortal Darths from tearing the Empire apart. It is already happening with this war, though they maintain the illusion of unity. It won’t last.”
The moff hesitated. “So...?”
“So war will come whether we are prepared for it or not, and nothing is as hated as those wishing to change the status quo. I’m ensuring you are aware of this, and to tell you that if you give your word, I will hold you to it. I do not punish failure, hesitation or fear, but betrayal is another matter entirely.”
“I understand.” Vylon did, probably more so than most. “I only need to know one thing.”
“Ask, and I shall answer truthfully.”
“The Empire is dying, but its people don’t need to join it. What will happen to the regular citizens?”
The sith Lord smiled, appearing pleasantly surprised. “New laws will be implemented, slavery outlawed and inter-species cooperation promoted, but should they not succumb to hatred? Nothing at all. They will continue to live their lives, now with the added benefit of Force users offering their services. Government transparency, free healthcare, an end to corruption. All idle fantasies, possible because failing to do so will invoke my wrath.”
It seemed to amuse the man, that last sentence, but Vylon didn’t let it distract him. Thought it over, the sith seemingly willing to wait.
Did he really care about most of that? If he was honest, no. But the Enosis did more than what had just been said, an end to sith infighting the most attractive, and neither did he hate serving the people. In fact, he realised, that’s all he really wanted.
To do his job without needless oversight, threats of violence or politics getting in his way.
If that included freeing and integrating former slaves? Sure, why not. Just another puzzle to solve, and now he had the opportunity to rise higher than his father ever had. To leave his mark on the galaxy unlike any moff before him.
“I understand.” Vylon repeated, a smile beginning to form. “And before any of that, war. I am ready.”
“Then swear yourself to me, moff Vylon, and see what can be achieved when we cooperate.”
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Volryder stood as Grand Master Satele Shan entered the chamber, dozens of other Masters doing the same thing. Perhaps the largest meeting held since the Treaty of Coruscant had been established.
Fitting, since this one was about its dissolution.
The session, in truth, was fairly boring. Nearly an hour to go over the failed Imperial invasion, the two dozen sith Lords that died during it, and the seventy jedi that had given their lives to prevent a breach of the Core Worlds.
The Grand Master declared the jedi order in a state of war, which it had already been, and battle-trained jedi were to be tested for combat-leadership. Good thing, that, since Volyrder himself had been one that possessed all the training yet none of the experience.
That had changed since meeting Morgan, but all the same. And speaking of his friend, for they were very much that, the Grand Master finally moved the meeting to discuss the Enosis.
“A strike-team must be assembled at once.” Oric declared, garnering some supportive murmurs. His tone turned mocking, though remaining polite. “I will lead it myself, if I have to, and this so-called Order of Unity will be dispersed.”
Volryder snorted despite himself, knowing no one would notice in the resulting chaos. Except Satele did, quieting the chamber with a raised hand. “You have something to say, Master Volryder?”
“Well, speaking on my experience with Lord Caro is the very reason I am here.” He said, tone calm but amused. “Along with my potential sentencing for betraying the jedi Order, I believe?”
People shuffled uncomfortably, which for jedi Master just meant some slight twitching, but all the same he enjoyed it. Satele shook her head. “That foolishness is not today's discussion. Please, explain your reasoning.”
“Very well. Master Oric, if you were to come within shouting distance of Lord Caro, he would break you like kindling. Shortly followed by your strike-team, of course. In fact, I’d say the only people in this room who can fight him without risking permanent injury and death would be our esteemed Barsen'Thor and yourself, Grand Master.”
“You sound like you admire him.” Satele said, raising an eyebrow. “Your attempt to guide him from the Dark was and continues to be admirable, but do not let him unbalance you.”
The woman who had been named Barsen'Thor didn’t seem particularly interested in fighting Lord Caro, either, and it was severely unlikely their Grand Master could be missed long enough to track and kill Lord Caro herself. Which made this whole discussion pointless, Volryder sighing.
“Admire would be the wrong word, but I respect what he has done. What he has risen above. And attacking him would involve ships and numbers we cannot afford to divert, which everyone here knows, so I would appreciate it if we could turn to actually important matters.”
“I am inclined to agree.” Satele said, raising a hand to forestall any objections. “He is strong, and will continue to grow stronger, but we risk unifying the Empire if we press him now. He is doing good, objectively speaking, and when he proves himself a danger to the wider galaxy this issue will be revisited. Wens, how goes the discussion with our Corellian brothers and sisters?
The meeting moved on, forcefully so, and Volryder suppressed a smile. The longer he could keep them away from the Enosis, the greater the chance his friend would take care of the sith once and for all. The issue of defecting jedi hadn’t even been raised, which was fine with him, and Volryder sat through the rest of the meeting patiently.
Maybe it was time to take his leave of the Order himself. To meditate on Tatooine again, find clarity on questions most of his fellows would scorn him for.
Yes, clarity would be good.