"Have you ever stalked someone online, but, like, casually?"
Morgan looked at the miniature version of Vette hovering over his palm, contemplating. "You are aware I am about to go into battle alongside the First Fleet, and that misuse of the priority function could lead to me not picking up in the future?"
"Meh." She dismissed, folding her arms. "You can go be a one-man army in a moment. So, have you?"
He sighed. "Of course. This has nothing to do with you being bored, I assume?"
"I'm never bored. Not for long, anyway. So you think it's fine?"
"I mean, it's excusable." Morgan hedged, glancing briefly at the port below. It was dark, which made sense since they'd shot down their powerplant, but there was plenty of movement. "Still not great, though. Why do you ask, Vette? Have you done something?"
"I might have stalked your holo search history a few hours ago."
"And?" He asked. Soldiers moved behind him, Chosen and sith both. Hundreds of them, each ready to assault a city prepared for siege. "I don't go on there much."
Vette huffed. "Yeah, that's the problem. No embarrassing fact checks, disturbing fetishes, nothing. Now what am I supposed to start a fight about?"
"You could not?" Morgan offered, narrowing his eyes. "Are you drunk?"
"I have drunk, yes. Not drunk yet. It's much more fun with you here."
"Where is here? You abandoned Enosis space two hours after I left with the First Fleet."
"Well, that's true, but it's a nice place with complete privacy an-" Vette cut herself off, turning to face the communicator after waving at the room. "Wait, how do you know that?"
Morgan grinned. "I have people stalking you, of course. No holo required."
Sort of, anyway. Technically true, which was the best kind of true, but he only learned of it this time by chance. Not that she needed to know.
"No you don't." She denied, shaking her head. Her lekku went wild, and Morgan had the brief urge to break the laws of physics and be there with her. To abandon this war and the Enosis and spend every moment adoring the crazy, adorable twi'lek that somehow liked him back. "I would have noticed."
The urge faded, though he promised himself he'd make more time for her. "I know. I was lying. The fact you couldn't tell means you're at least one bottle in."
"Well, that's your fault. A stronger body means a stronger constitution, so I have to spend more on alcohol."
"Uh huh." Morgan replied, seeing that Jillins was waiting on him. "I have to go. I'll bring you a lightsaber, alright?"
Vette grinned widely, tone pleased. "And a flag! I want a collection of flags from all the people you've conquered. It's romantic."
"Of course, dear. Goodbye, dear."
"Bye!"
The connection cut and Morgan was glad the audio had gone to his helmet, worn mostly so wind wouldn't irritate his eyes. Not technically needed, since he could adapt his cornea, but it hadn't seemed worth it to argue with the surprisingly firm sergeant handing out the things.
The frigate's hangar-doors opened, and even Morgan had to take a second to interpret quite how high up they were. The anti-air defences meant landing transports into a contested area would be a terrible idea, landing twenty miles out would mean they had to approach over the heavily mined area around Verduun, and overall Quinn had judged this the best course of action.
It had generated some mild discomfort among the troops, having to literally drop themselves atop the intensely fortified city, so Morgan had decided to join them. As had Lana, at that, though she was in a different ship. The jetpacks came with pre-programmed evasive actions, which was good, and decoys had been fashioned from scrap. Not perfect, but enough to fool most anti-air targeting software.
With their main targets being anti-air defenses, their destruction immediately followed by the landing of actual proper transports, their numbers weren't actually that large, but every bit of protection helped. Very fast, moving targets were hard to hit at the best of times, more so with the decoys.
The territory the True Empire had conquered, those few weeks ago, had already been settled. This city-port especially, with some ten million inhabitants and thriving trade. It was a good planet, possessing arable farmland and uneventful weather, and the question as to why this place wasn't more well known had earned him uncaring shrugs.
It happened, apparently. People would move to Wild Space or the Unknown Regions and settle down, finding the so-called death-trap to be nothing of the sort. Not once you stop blindly jumping through hyperspace, relying only on your own calculations to avoid disaster. More people would trickle over as the years passed, small communities combining and prospering, and trade would be established.
Not a lot of it, but enough. This being the largest and only port on the planet meant some eighty percent of its population lived here, their city of Verduun, with the remainder spread out to farm vast quantities of food.
In short, everything a growing rebellion would wish for as their capital. The population was rather unhappy, predictably, but the four sith Lords had taken plenty of soldiers. Supplies, too, enough to fortify the city to hell and back, though they hadn't managed to arm their space station yet.
It was still the largest, most well defended city of the True Empire, and the sith Lords were here because of it. They were trying to hide, and doing an alright job of it, but nothing that fooled his senses anymore.
Three of them were moving closer to where he would land, looking to ambush, and the last was angling to do the same to Lana. A bit insulting, and she would no doubt complain about it later, but his reputation was more intimidating.
"Are you three ready?" Morgan asked, casting a look at his apprentices. "This won't be a spar or fighting against lesser sith. Focus on one Lord at the time, keep him busy. If you do manage to kill him, great, but I value your lives more than his death."
They nodded resolutely, not a flicker of hesitation between them. He hadn't been half as confident when facing his first jedi Master, but then that was the whole point of it. To prepare people for battle without risking their lives needlessly.
The frigate lowered slightly, just outside the range where True Empire railguns would be effective, and Morgan listened with half an ear to the countdown. Sith and Chosen moved next to him and his apprentices, two dozen able to drop at once, and their armour had jetpacks attached. The First Fleet carried enough for ten thousand troops, so their job was to disable Verduun's anti-air capabilities.
Well, their job. His was to make sure the sith Lords didn't turn this assault into a horrible embarrassment, which he was going to assume they were capable of.
Without ships the advantage of isotope-5 was limited, yet the Enosis had one other advantage. One that the True Empire, large in number they might be, had not.
The Enosis possessed one of the largest sith-to-soldier ratios of any organisation in the galaxy, though many would be of lower raw strength than Imperial sith or Republic jedi. But when you outnumbered your foe by a factor of three, at least when it came to Force users, fielding sith shock-troops became terrifyingly effective.
That was the plan. He would occupy or kill the sith Lords, his Chosen and sith would disable their turbo and quad laser positions. And the railguns, of course, though those were of a lesser priority. In space they had range that beggared belief, but the closer the target, the longer it took for them to aim. Something about traverse rates, though that was beyond his expertise.
Once that was done the Enosis would dominate the air, since they had won both space-battles, and the day would be won. How many people would die, of course, was the real question.
The True Empire's second, and last, fleet had been more unified. Costing the Enosis seven ships, thousands dying in the cold vacuum of space. Morgan had snapped the neck of their admiral himself, mostly in anger and from his farthest range yet, and people had surrendered pretty quickly afterwards.
"Five seconds to drop."
Morgan put it out of his mind, looking downwards. At this height it would take actual minutes to reach the ground, accounting for a host of things he wasn't qualified to explain, but he'd been told the most danger would come at the end.
Jetpacks would slow their speed significantly, allowing people to land safely, but also give the enemy an opportunity to shoot them out of the sky. A balancing act, in short, where they would need to go as fast as possible for as long as possible.
He and his apprentices would decelerate later than most, enhanced physiology allowing for a rougher landing, but it would still be a risk. Well, they and the rakatan war-droids, but Quinn had special plans for them.
Red lamps flashed and Morgan stepped over the edge, gravity taking hold. He had flown before, though it was more like controlled swinging, but here he had nothing to anchor himself with. No option to slow down or change directions, his very limited training with the jetpack not even remotely the same.
Fortunately, it was preprogrammed to push him around in random directions. Which was needed, since large streaks of angry light started trying to take them out almost instantly.
There wasn't a good alternative to this, either, so he grit his teeth and waited. Felt for his target, all three altering their positions but keeping to the area Morgan would land in. He'd have seconds at most.
Time passed without care for his thoughts, the planet growing larger and larger with every second that it did. He could almost taste the panic in the city below, great hoards of moving souls so vast he could see them even now. Fleeing to safety, an idea he applauded.
Wind pressed his helmet more tightly against his skull and the countdown hit three seconds, Morgan lashing great threads against the ground. Pulled himself faster still, the strain on his body so vast his specialised helmet groaned worryingly.
A low-rise building gave him the ability to swing left, transferring the speed into an upwards arc. Racing through a tightly built city without any hope of adjusting his trajectory, the jetpack on his back long since having malfunctioned from the increased stress.
The enemy Lord flashed by as his location proved to be fake, Morgan's plan to literally smash into the sith doomed from the start. Annoying, but nothing was lost save his pride. Faking your location was a new one, though. He skittered to a halt, bleeding momentum until he hit the wall instead of going through.
Twisted, ducking the hover-taxi being thrown at his head, and rose. Saw the sith Lord drop from the rooftops to join him on the street, another car rising into the air.
Knellon, Zpire, Banee and Calamis. Four sith Lords important enough to be granted names on Korriban, and smart enough to dress in identical armour. Build to hide gender, age and frame, which left him guessing as to who this was.
Or it would have, if he'd cared. Morgan advanced, the sith grasping four more downed speeder-cars. They rose up in an intimidating display of strength, but Morgan had no time to play with them. He attached more threads, pulling himself towards the Lord.
The telekinetic powers displayed by whoever-this-was were vast, cruder than his own but much greater in strength, so when the cars hit they hit hard. Yet Lana hit harder, and he had learned to bully through attacks where he otherwise might be ragdolled.
And here, in this city of metal and sturdy buildings, he had plenty to grasp. Threads coiled and shot out, giving him the leverage and strength needed to dodge or hold, and his enemy decided they were being inefficient.
Met his charge, lightsaber in hand, and Morgan pulled his own. Red washed over the street, reflected in gleaming chrome and fake-glass as plasma hissed through the air.
This was a sith Lord, Morgan reminded himself, and not a reserve one. Each of the four had years of experience on him, had led conquests and killed rivals. Each was roughly equal in strength, which was why he supposed their cooperation worked at all.
One stepped out of line, the other three pulled them back. Two unite, the others do the same. Unity through necessity. Through a lack of choice.
That was not unity.
Morgan grasped Fate and found Lord Knellon waiting, an iron will blocking against manipulations of this scale. There was no hiding under armor, here, and the man knew that. Didn't even try, blazing his challenge and identity through the Force.
It was met in kind, Morgan grinning as the sith Lord's defences were found wanting. Their bodies were still moving to exchange a single blow, but it was here where victory would be decided. Here, where time seemed to move so slow.
And he was the one more attuned to Fate, Morgan found. Strong willpower could shield one from it, as he himself had done on Belsavis, but it was a poor substitute for understanding. For practise, and he had practised against Lana until she could negate his trump.
Sith Lord Knellon had no such experience. Would build it, no doubt, for the man seemed keen and had willpower aplenty. But this was not a spar, and Morgan would not pull his punches so that the man might learn.
Paths vanished as Morgan started pruning Fate, able to pinpoint the exact moment where his opponent realised he was doomed. When his intent flowed from fight to flee, the plan to push hard then run all but carved on his face.
Morgan met the lightsaber as the sith Lord put forth a perfect block, the choice of avoidance never even having entered the man's mind. Morgan's limbs flooded with energy, strength coursing through his veins unlike any before, and flesh tore. Bone splintered as muscles ruptured, but for one glorious second he had might.
Lightsaber met lightsaber, and the sith Lord Knellon was blown away. Defence overcome by raw physical strength, Morgan's other hand grasping for the man's free arm. The option to pull free blackened and vanished, and Knellon was pulled close.
Lightsaber met flesh, and the sith Lord Knellon died as his brain was sliced in two.
Releasing a breath, and letting go of Fate, Morgan grunted. Fixed his arm, which had been extensively damaged, but a small smile refused to leave. A seasoned sith Lord, victor of a hundred fights and possessing twice the combat experience, dead before any of it could matter.
This, he supposed, was why Darths ruled the Empire.
The corpse finished falling and Morgan turned it to nothing, casting out his senses. Lana was fighting, dealing with a Lord and four non-Enosis sith, while the remaining two were circling closer. He would be pretty confident facing that, normally, but Fate manipulation was tiring. Especially against two, though even one risked exhausting his mind. He had other tools, but none would be as clean.
They would have attacked one, by one, most likely. To reap the glory of killing the Fleshcrafter Lord. It would be a good start to their True Empire. Fortunately, fighting alone was not what the Enosis was about. His apprentices finished descending and bounded towards his right, scaling buildings and vaulting rooftops like they were born to it.
His enemy thought little of them, clearly, because the second Lord didn't help the third, who was now facing his apprentices. Came for him instead, not seeming all that worried despite what they had just witnessed. The smart move would be to take out the trio then combine their might.
Arrogance was a thing, sure, but this seemed excessive. The reason why became clear when number two came close, their mind focused to a narrow point. Forewarned, and better able to ward against Fate manipulation. Assuming that was his only trick, then. Dangerous.
Morgan flexed his seal and vanished from their senses, the Lord pivoting without the slightest hesitation. Relaxed the iron grip on their mind to wash the area in power, creating a thick fog seemingly capable of tracking Morgan's movement.
Or so he assumed, but it seemed to work. Yet it was not as good as proper precognition, which his seal very much hindered. Four exchanges and he earned a deep cut on his shoulder, his fist impacting two's face a split second later. A wave of fleshcrafting washed over her head, but she'd been expecting it. Unfocused damage was all he managed, unfortunately, instead of the fight-ending lobotomy he hoped for.
Calamis glared back at him, mask falling, and her face drew into a rictus of fury. She straightened and pushed more carefully, making Morgan grin.
Everyone always assumed he was all brute and no finesse, though the punching didn't help, and it was partly true. He had no fancy instructors and carefully memorized styles. He simply fought, figuring out what worked and what not as time passed.
Actual fighting, not dueling to impress a crowd.
Not that she was crippled by it, if she ever had bad habits they were long gone, but assuming he was lesser because of a lack of flair was ill advised.
Morgan stepped back and leaned to the side, her lightsaber passing less than two inches from his face. He could feel the heat of it, even through his helmet, and his leg shot out. It was blocked, flesh smashing against flesh as Calmanis found herself lacking.
The curse, which was what he was going to call it until someone corrected him, bonded within moments. Not something he could practise, not without horrendous risk, but here and now? Against an enemy he was planning to kill anyway? He was willing to try. His stealth had to be dropped, but only temporarily.
Calmanis, to his private amusement, didn't even seem to notice. Not like Lachris had. So the fleshcrafting curse merrily consumed the Force within her, infecting the body with weakness and disease.
He fell back as she went on the offensive, more than happy to let her draw heavily on the Force, and after some seconds she finally seemed to realise something was wrong. Had she cut herself from the Force, which was possible if highly uncomfortable, and sought a healer? She might have lived. Maybe.
But that option vanished when she didn't take it, and her snarl faded. Seemed to come to the conclusion that his death would be the price for her own, Morgan snorting. Hooked more threads to the buildings around them, pushing himself up and away.
Focused fully on defence, and with mobility on his side she managed little. Thickened her fog and tried to strangle him with it, which took him by surprise, but it was clearly an unfinished technique. He unravelled a not-quite hidden weakness and faded back into stealth, taking off his own helmet.
Grinned at her mockingly, which resulted in an explosion of Force, and Morgan shook his head. Calmanis staggered as the curse fed on it greedily, clutching the point of origin. Flesh would be going necrotic, by now, literally rotting away as it spread further and further along her flesh.
"One hundred and fifty million credits." She offered, tone emotionless. Morgan felt the fear in her anyway. "Please."
"I'm going to take everything you have, everything you have built, and people are going to thank me for it."
Calmanis snarled, rushing forward, and Morgan pulled at their connection. Fed the curse with his own power, the sith Lord feeling the link and severing it. Another one of his trumps, to be used once before people caught on. But when used properly, well.
The sith Lord collapsed, Morgan grasping one of his unused knives and flicking it forward. It entered her skull and keened sideways, pivoting when it proved to be an illusion. Cut again as Morgan closed his eyes, ignoring sight to feel for her soul, and her signature in the Force faded.
Morgan walked up and turned her body to smoke, picking up the lightsaber and clipping it to his belt. Hers was a rather elegant thing, adored with useless runes and words in a language he couldn't read, and he was sure Vette would like it.
His own went next to it, and he turned towards his apprentices. They were doing fine, as far as he could tell, so he wasn't in a hurry. Lana's opponent was already dead, signature joining that of the Chosen for her secondary objective.
He made sure there was nothing left of the body, then turned. Another two sith Lords dead, and he hadn't even needed to take his primary lightsaber out of the Force. Evenly balanced fights were growing scarce, Morgan found.
Making his way over to his apprentices, who had taken their fight some ways away, he pulled out a coin. Old school, no larger than the pennies he remembered. A collector's item, technically, though it wasn't worth much. Just old currency from some place he didn't care about, made from copper and stamped with a faded symbol.
He made it dance between his fingers as he pulled himself along, landing on one of the higher flat-roofed buildings to oversee the fight. And it was a fight, contrary to his complaints about balanced fights.
Jaesa was taking point, lightsaber flashing as elegance was interspersed with brutal efficiency. Fleshcrafting made her strong, strong enough that the sith Lord dodged more than blocked, and as he watched she lost her arm. Inara covered for her, having danced to the side as the Lord shot lightning.
The arm regrew rapidly, looking fairly morbid but seeming stable, and Morgan smiled in reminiscence. Before his soul template was sacrificed for Force resistance he could do much the same, though his apprentice had more power to spend. It was faster as a result, though her control was finely tuned regardless.
Alyssa and Inara pushed as Jeasa healed, and he let his smile turn into a grin. All three worked together better than anyone he'd ever seen, flowing and twisting to strike and defend, and Jaesa was part of that.
Yet it was those two who embodied it. Two bodies fighting with one mind, their souls so close together any friction would be disastrous. But there was none to be found, and the sith Lord was struggling to adapt to their utter synchronicity.
Then Jeasa rejoined the group, and the lord went from holding his own to losing. Not quickly, this was still a sith Lord, but losing. Any mental assault was blocked, defences shared in a way Morgan could never copy, and raw power was met in kind. Techniques combined so smoothly even Morgan needed a moment to find the seams.
Inara sliced and the sith Lord leaned out of the way, Alyssa's own weapon perfectly positioned to take the head. The Lord's mask was sacrificed to avoid a head wound, Morgan finding Banee's face locked in utter concentration.
Morgan remembered the feeling well. Fighting Bundu and someone who's name he had forgotten, getting beaten around like a clumsy child. Balmorra had ingrained many lessons, from military to arcane, but that one had been the most central.
People united create more than the sum of their parts.
And if this was Banee then Lana would have already killed Zpire, and it made the one he fought now the last Lord of the True Empire. Without them the rest of the army would fall eventually, to be absorbed by the Enosis or handed over to the Republic, so it was all up to his apprentices.
This was an important moment for them, after all, and he wouldn't take that. The proof that they could fight their own battles, finding strength through teamwork. Strength enough to overwhelm a sith Lord.
Feeling it, knowing it, was not something he could ever impart. So he would not intervene, but neither would anyone else. Morgan spun the coin over again, dipping into the pre-creating weave and destabilising it.
He flicked it towards the group of sith sneaking their way into the battle, no doubt aiming to assist their Lord. None would be a true match for his apprentices, but their numbers were great enough that one alone wouldn't be able to stop the group. Which would mean two of his apprentices were required, and the sith Lord would win.
The coin keened through the air and the group scattered, but not quickly enough. Morgan's actions were rather hidden, thanks to his seal, so there would be no generous margins of error. The quickest of them created distance, five of them too slow.
Copper shattered as the current grew too unstable, detonating outward far faster than it should have. Liquid metal splashed their skin, burning through robes and armour, but that wasn't the danger. The concussive force blew them apart, throwing bodies against steel walls and unyielding trees. Bones shattered and limbs snapped, none of the five getting up.
Six were left, disoriented but alive, and Morgan took another coin from his pouch. It caught the light by happenstance, the remaining sith snapping to look at him.
Morgan didn't let them come to their own conclusion, shaping the Force and imprinting his will into speech. "Surrender."
The command dug into their minds, wiping away any residual notions of defiance. It twisted and found nothing that could counter its intent, settling down to slowly dissipate over the next few hours.
Weapons dropped and sith kneeled, which Morgan hadn't intended, and he turned back to look at the fight. Which had stopped, sith Lord Banee looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"Don't mind me." He said, even though he was too far away for her to hear. She did anyway, as he knew she would. "I'm not your opponent. Apprentices, do keep this fight contained to the area. No need to inflict more property damage than we already have, and I don't feel like getting up besides."
None of the three had turned to look, he would have scolded them for taking their eyes of their enemy, so they blurred back into action.
He swung his feet idly as he watched, challenging his inner Vette to be as disruptive as possible without actually doing anything, and he grinned as Banee got distracted. Kept a wary eye on him, which was prudent, but therein lay the problem.
Morgan had already proven that the Force would not be forthcoming when it came to him, so a sneak attack was still possible. So the woman had to make sure he wasn't, and his apprentices didn't have that problem. Almost the opposite, in fact.
If the fight went south, they knew he would come to their rescue. They also knew he would be disappointed, which was apparently enough motivation to risk life and limb. Temporarily, in the latter case, but it still hurt like a bitch.
Then two things happened at once. The first was that an actual tank rolled through a house two streets over, appearing from nowhere. Its person-sized turbolasers slowly aimed at Morgan's position, being exposed on the rooftop, and the Force finally found it prudent to warn him of the fact.
The moment it did, Banee sent a mental attack at him. An insidious one, from the feel of it, and costing her a moment's concentration. His apprentices punished her for it, and heavily at that, but it was well-timed.
Planned, then. Obscured the tank from the Force until it got into position, forcing Morgan to choose between defending one or the other. Even this wouldn't be enough, not really, but he supposed she didn't know that.
Having both Vette and the Enosis erase every mention of his past exploits helped. Not all of it, but everything that someone could use to predict his full capabilities. Which meant that people like the True Empire, those without a vastly skilled intelligence network on their side, were left listening to rumors.
Morgan pushed up, choosing to dodge the tank. The roof all but vanished under a streak of energy, missing him by less than a foot, and the mental attack hit home.
So he vibrated his shield, several overlapping sections creating an almost reflective surface. The attack was already bled dry by his resistance, after being pulled apart, but even then it was strong. Because it wasn't based on power, he found, and every component contained the intent to kill.
Brilliant. Morgan had no idea how to even begin copying it, so settled for shielding himself. Flexed his mental shield inward, forcing the attack to waste energy. Bent his shields instead of allowing them to break, the technique achieving nothing useful as a result.
It ran out of power a moment later, and Morgan flicked his last coin at the tank. It all but tore off the turbolaser, the whole thing grounding to a halt some seconds after the explosion. Broken, and now that he was focused on checking the surrounding area for souls, with no one inside. No one alive, anyway.
He landed and sat back down, faking a light stretch. That had been closer than he was comfortable with, and showed how arrogance can creep up on you. Two Lords were already dead, after all, so why would the third be a challenge?
Well, they could try to liquefy your brain as concentrated light melted your body, the distraction leaving you defenceless. But that would just be ridiculous, so no need to keep an eye on your surroundings.
Morgan shook his head, mostly at himself, but the sith Lord flashed in anger. Alyssa promptly shoved her lightsaber through her opponent's leg, twisting to sever the upper thigh.
Jaesa, the moment Banee pivoted to deal with that, slammed her fist into Banee's side. Detonated an explosion of internal damage, combining fleshcrafting and telekinesis in an inspired move. Inara kicked the Lord's other leg, lightsaber flickering to cut off the wrist, and just like that it was over.
"Wait!" Banee said, left hand falling to the floor. Morgan raised an eyebrow as his apprentices actually did, the sith Lord looking directly at him. "If you let me live I can help you. Fight for you, serve you, anything. Please. We only wanted freedom. To live our lives without fickle Masters and endless war."
Morgan looked at Alyssa, who had her lightsaber at the woman's throat. "You take orders from her, do you? I don't remember capture being part of the mission briefing."
Banee moved, Inara blocked her escape, and Alyssa sliced her head clean off. Cut it in two, then twice more before it could hit the ground.
"Apologies, Lord." The pureblood said, bowing her head. Jaesa and Inara secured the corpse, already working on liquefying it. "I assumed you wished to hear her out. It won't happen again."
"Someone, especially a sith Lord, is never more dangerous than when they have nothing left to lose. But that aside, you did well. All three of you."
"What about them?" Inara asked, looking at the still kneeling selection of True Empire sith. "I could take care of it, if you wish."
He raised an eyebrow. "So could I. No. They pose no threat, not until tomorrow, and we're done here. Go to your secondary assignments. You lot, turn yourself in to the nearest Enosis patrol. Obey their commands."
The three bowed and he was alone, the gaggle of artificially compliant sith slinking away to properly surrender. He left them to it, picking up his helmet and connecting to central command.
The map showed where he would be most useful, threads shooting out to give him mobility. The display updated and his path shifted, moving to assist a company of soldiers. Their objective was to deny the enemy the advantage of a droid factory, and his assistance had been requested.
Having mining, construction and repair droids hotwired for combat was always a pain, so he put on more speed. None of his soldiers were going to die to actual pickaxes, nevermind screwdrivers and wire cutters.
Is that what repair droids carried? Morgan didn't actually know, but since they put it at the top of his list, it was probably something worse.
Yet travel took time, even with optimised pathing and great mobility. So his mind turned back to the fight, analysing what he could have done better, before admitting a truth to himself.
He'd outgrown sith Lords.
Not in everything, not yet, but then Darths weren't super-Lords. Lachris proved that, possessing a healing ability far lesser than his own. But she had an understanding of souls, of material interactions with the Force, and that made her powerful.
How many would have survived the metal she shot at him? Where cutting an attack in half would only mean having twice as many pieces enter your body, and dodging required speed most didn't have? Yet he cursed her with an ability that a jedi Knight had managed to stabilise, though not cure, and Lachris hadn't been able to do the same. Had died because of it.
Which meant Darths were Lords with something more. Like the ability to manipulate Fate, heal rapidly and augment certain techniques with a verbal component. Shaping intent so finely even his words carried power.
Which made him a Darth, though it wasn't a title you could claim for yourself. Not really. You could, of course, and if you were a sith Lord people would probably go along with it, but only someone else could properly name you as one.
But he had or was close to joining their illustrious ranks, and he felt unready. Fate manipulation had been blocked wholesale by Lachris, healing only able to buy him time. Enough of it, yes, but that was with Lana and Soft Voice there. With people to distract and tire her.
What about Marr? Baras and Vowrawn? Tenebrae? Tenebrae's sons and daughter, assuming they were alive? How powerful would he need to be to stand even a shadow of a chance against them?
Balanced fights were growing scarce, and that counted both ways. Would that really be the end? Killed by someone suitably powerful enough his skill and training didn't matter? He was better than the True Empire, had actual allies and a solid grip on his emotions, but would that be enough?
A strange time to have doubts, he supposed.
The factory came into view and he looked at it, taking the opportunity to not think about mortal gods and a teenage girl more powerful than he would ever be. It was fortified, quite heavily so, and Enosis soldiers had it surrounded.
Two heavy Enosis vehicles, though not tanks, and at least four sith. Rank and file, but sith. His display directed him to the major in charge, to discuss tactical changes and plans of attack. To link up with the war-droids and push through, perhaps.
Morgan flung himself onto the roof instead, eight beskar knives unsheathing. He took a breath and emptied his mind, souls growing from hazy to sharp.
Steel whined and the roof offered no protection, forty two people dying in less than nine seconds. The knives flew up then down, going through the floor like it didn't exist, and the bloodbath began anew. Morgan directed them to those souls most disciplined, trying to spare at least some life, and no one would thank him for it.
He wouldn't, in their place.
Twenty one seconds after touching the roof, people went from determined to helpless. Enosis troops pushed, urged on by their sith, and the defenders surrendered. Morgan nodded to himself, his display updating.
It was the best way to end the fighting, it really was, and it was nothing he hadn't done before. It wasn't even the terror that got to him, the guilt or the condemnation. It was the absence of feeling.
How easy it was to not care. An idea came, and Morgan shrugged. Called Quinn, his general picking up after a moment. "Do we have secure, off-world long distance communication?"
"We do. Something wrong?"
"No." The lie was easy, mostly because it wasn't really a lie. "Put me through to Vette. Privacy line, please."
He kept himself busy by imagining if there was anyone brave enough to listen in, but the call went through. Without the military grade stabilisers in the Yamada it would be of horrible quality and laggy as hell, but there were advantages to being in charge. Like using the best equipment, for example.
"I missed you." Vette chirped, glass in one hand and datapad in the other. "And I love it when you get clingy. What's up?"
"I need someone to tell me I'm not a bad person for killing dozens of people, with hundreds if not thousands more to come."
"You could kill every man, woman and child on whatever planet you're on, and I'd happily cuddle you to sleep." She put a hand to her chin, savoring the wine. "Just spare the animals. The cute ones. Seriously, though, there is very little you could do that would make me judge you."
Morgan smiled at her, climbing higher between the skyscrapers as he entered the inner city. "Thanks. Seriously."
"Hmmn. Need some company?"
"Please."
"Narrate what you're doing." She said, reclining in her chair. "I assume Quinn put you to work?"
"After I killed two sith Lords and watched my apprentices kill a third, yeah. Already took care of an attempted droid-refitting, now I'm on my way to help break an armory. Break them so they stop supplying their side with more weapons, I mean."
"Work-work. How are you doing it?"
Morgan shrugged. "Telekinetically controlled knives and soul-sight. My range is greater than it used to be, they can't hide and Beskar knives will go through anything that isn't an inch of steel."
"Ruthless." Vette replied, a faint note of approval in her tone. "If they had the good sense to surrender when you demanded it, nothing of the sort would be needed."
"You're here to make me feel better, not put oil on the slope."
"You can put oil on my slope anytime." She decreed, devolving into cackling giggles. "Get it? My slope meanin-"
"Yes, I got it. Oh, there's my target. One sec."
Morgan pulled to a stop, retracting the web of threads. It saved on reserves, being able to reuse them, though he couldn't assimilate them entirely. That would have been nice, allowing unused or failed techniques to be reabsorbed, but no such luck.
A captain waved him over, Morgan deciding to talk before killing. The armory was much more thoroughly fortified than the factory had been, if smaller, though he supposed that was comparing civilian versus military budgets and thus somewhat unfair.
"Sir." The woman saluted, leading him towards her forward-command post. Soldiers were taking breaks or checking gear, a forward group taking shots at the building, but active fighting seemed to have stalled. "I'm glad you're here, sir. The situation is beyond our ability to handle."
"The basics, captain. What problem needs to be solved so you can finish the mission?"
She took it in strides, pointing towards the main entrance. "There's a duo of sith protecting them, and our own were reassigned shortly after we touched the ground. There was talk of a squad of war-droids being sent our way, but nothing so far."
"So without the sith you feel confident you could take the armory?"
"Yes sir."
He turned, finding the Force-attuned souls in a matter of seconds. Imprinted intent into the most basic pattern he could, seconds turning to half a minute as the enemy sith realised who he was and what he was going to do.
The main entrance was thrown open and two robed individuals walked outside, dropping their lightsabers to the ground. Imperial soldiers followed them, a few turning to dozens. "All done. Secure your objective, captain."
Morgan attached himself to a nearby pole and pulled, metal warping as he did. Enough to give him some speed, and as he reached the apex of his flight he looked over the city.
There was a surprising lack of burning buildings, though more than a few open skirmishes, and on the whole it seemed to be winding down. But transports nearly filled the sky to the south, which meant the anti-air turrets had been disabled, and soon the full might of the Enosis military would swarm the city.
And the True Empire had brought plenty of soldiers, so soon their high-command would rally. The death of their sith leadership would create fear, but that on its own was dangerous. If the enemy believed they were going to die anyway, this would turn into an urban-warfare battle of attrition. Thousands would die. Tens of thousands.
He connected to central command again, ignoring the image of Vette twirling her glass. Having her displayed in the corner of his display was nice, he found. He was put through to Quinn in moments, the general raising an eyebrow. "Sir?"
"Do we know where their central command is? Military, I mean. General Octavian is in charge, yes?"
"Octavian Vitum." Quinn confirmed. "Their most senior officer. We have an unconfirmed location, but it's deep behind True Empire lines. Assembling a force strong enough to break through would take a number of hours."
"I'm going to have a chat with him. See if we can't come to an agreement. Send Lana my way? Best to make a good first impression."
"Lady Beniko is occupied with the Cult of Steel, and has requested assistance herself."
"She's occupied with whom?"
Quinn shrugged. "Apparently the True Empire granted sanctuary to a fringe cult from Ziost. Obsessed with combining technology and the Force, achieving some success when one of their members was able to learn the art of Mechu-deru. Force based technology control, from what I've been told. Granting the cult shelter is how they've bolstered their Force-capable numbers."
"Interesting." Morgan landed and made towards general Octavian's position, frowning as the path kept shifting. It stabilised after a moment, flashing a warning about it only being the general's general location. "We want that one alive, if possible."
"Lady Beniko already killed him. Too dangerous to hold prisoner, according to her."
"Shame. Redirect my apprentices to assist her, and tell them to recover what information they can. Learning it from scrolls and second-hand knowledge will be slow, but better than nothing. I'll talk to the general alone."
His own general nodded and the connection was cut, Vette smirking at him. "A cult that doesn't answer to you, and you order them arrested? How territorial."
"I wished for an angel to grant me absolution, yet I am given a vaguely drunk devil whispering to me the secrets of oil. Truly, God has forsaken my mortal soul."
Vette opened her mouth, closed it, then shrugged. "Sure. How're you going to get to the general?"
"I'm going to go in a straight line, and if anyone gets in the way, I'll kill them. Not to go all edgy on you."
"Short but sweet. Suits you perfectly."
Morgan groaned. "I hate you."
"Don't be embarrassed." She cooed. "It's perfect for me."
"I will take your ability to taste away."
"No you won't." Vette declared, pausing. "Would you? Please don't, I'll be good."
He grinned and she pouted, the city spreading wide below him. Some ambitious soldier aimed a mounted laser-repeater at him, which wasn't shielded by the Force and so easily dodged, and another decided explosives would work best.
Those were also dodged. Despite what he'd told Vette, he actually ignored most of them. Kept an eye out for a group of older souls, which would most likely be their command post, and put on a little more speed. The unconfirmed location was somewhat larger than it looked on the map.
And to avoid the atmospheric-fighter shooting at him, too, which was actually a first. Their own were starting to dominate the sky, pushing the enemy back, but for now a number remained. Dropping bombs and strafing soldiers, doing more damage than almost anything else on the battlefield.
It came back for yet another pass, Morgan glaring at it. Shot out one of his knives, which missed rather badly, and ignored Vette's snickers as he tried again.
Hit something important, this time, and it went down. He ignored the explosion, landing on one of the higher buildings to take a look at his target. It was the largest concentration of souls in the area, so a good start.
Residential building, well guarded but discreetly located. Sandwiched between two larger ones, almost perfectly hidden from sight. Absolutely swarming with souls, sith and regular both, and with a collection of old ones in the middle. Ones that enjoyed the obedience of those around them, which was good enough for him.
Not like he couldn't try again if he was wrong, anyway.
There was no one he could feel that would be a threat, so style would go over function. Morgan stepped back and took a running start, calculating trajectory in his head, and jumped. Boosted his legs at the last moment, soaring through the sky.
He passed one row of buildings then two, the guards of the suspiciously well-fortified structure noticing him. Too late, however, and they could do little more than raise their weapons before he crashed through the window.
Morgan stood, finding a room filled with medical supplies and opened crates. Tilted his head, ignoring the few frozen soldiers taking inventory, and looked down. Ignited his lightsaber, carving a clean circle through the floor.
General Octavian Vitum looked up from his map, the whole room grabbing for their weapons as Morgan landed. He had his knives form a halo around his head, vibrating unnecessarily to intimidate, and the man raised his hand.
"Lord Caro, The Breaker of Belsavis. I've heard much about you." The general indicated a seat, walking around his desk to take the other. It implied they were equals, but Morgan never really had cared about such trivial things and it kept everyone else from doing something stupid. "Please, tell me why you are here."
"General Octavian Vitum. I know virtually nothing about you. Kindly surrender, or I'm going to kill everyone in this room."
The man barked out a surprised laugh, picking up a pair of glasses and a bottle. Waved his hand, the room clearing after some hesitation. "I did caution those four. Told them we'd needed months more to prepare properly. But as much as they sprouted about unity and cooperation, they took no one's opinion but their own. Drink?"
"Sure." The man waited for his answer before pouring one, Morgan taking a sip. Not poisoned, surprisingly. "I'm afraid I'm going to press for an answer."
"Oh, that. Yes, of course. This battle was over the moment our Lords were lost. Now we just decide how many graves are to be dug, and I did not take my people into Wild Space to die unnecessary deaths. You being here gives me a good excuse to do so now instead of in an hour."
"Issue your surrender, and I'll issue a command to accept it."
Octavian hummed, taking out his datapad and pressing a few buttons. Morgan connected to Quinn, being allowed through the True Empire's network security after Octavian pressed a few more buttons, and just like that the battle was over. "Done. You have a question, I take it?"
"I do." Morgan admitted. "Why join the True Empire? You seem like a reasonable individual, you know what would have happened."
"I did it because the Empire is a sinking ship, and I would rather my men be rats than sink with it. But I have played my hand, and you have won. Our admiralty is dead or fleeing, you captured a quarter of our fleet and our Lords are dead. I am prepared to pay the price for failure."
"But?"
"But." The general repeated, leaning forward. "But I would like you to consider recruiting my people. My colonels are loyal to me and me alone, so they will have to go, but their staff can be broken up and integrated. My reasons for joining the True Empire remain true, if you'll pardon the pun. I believe them to be better off outside the Empire than in, and you are the only real option left."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "I have killed hundreds of your men. Ordered the death of thousands more. Killed those you swore allegiance to, attacked you without provocation or challenge. You will forgive me for being sceptical."
"You are a sith Lord." Octavian said, seeming honestly surprised. "A Darth, by all metrics but those of the Dark Council. I am not some cultist or fanatic, but I have seen enough of your kind to know the truth of the matter. You will do as you will, and people are either smart enough to realise that or they are overrun. I hope my people will be smart enough, even if I have to die to give them the chance."
A long moment passed, Morgan grunting. "I have an apprentice, Jaesa. You might have heard of her. If you are telling the truth, general, and after a thorough vetting process, there will be no need for your death. In fact, I can think of a much better use for you."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"We got who asking for safe transport?" Vette asked, blinking. Amelia shrugged, making her cough. "Right, yes. Let's just deliver jedi who pinky-promise to tell the truth straight to the Enosis. Great plan. How did we even get involved with this? Morgan has his people handling their own secure transport."
Amelia shrugged again. "It was through a contact we have inside the jedi temple. War is not doing them any favors, it would seem, and the cracks are showing. Those who harbor less martial inclinations, or even romantic ones, feel unsatisfied with the current directive. Someone pushed it up the chain, who pushed it to me, and now I'm pushing it to you."
"Smart." Vette replied, signing another document. Spending half a million credits had never been more boring. "Now I can't have someone's head delivered to Morgan if this blows up. How many are we talking?"
"Three. More will come, I am sure, when they are successful. One couple and a doubter, all displeased at being sent to fight."
"So you want me to convince Morgan to take three uselessly cowardly jedi into his cult, at great risk to himself, because they can't be bothered to fix their own order?"
The togruta raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Cool, just making sure. Get them off Tython and we'll pick them up. How much is our man on the inside asking?"
"Five million. Another five for every three he smuggles afterwards."
Vette choked on nothing, laughing. "He gets a hundred grand per head, no more, and only for successes. By the Goddess, that's some greed. If he pushed too hard, remind him that being surrounded by jedi doesn't put him outside my reach."
"It does." Amelia replied, already busy organising the command. "It's why we have to pay him in the first place."
"Well, yes, but he doesn't know that. I'll ask Morgan to strangle him from the other side of the galaxy, or something."
"Can Lord Caro do that?" Her aide asked, tone interested. "I would be of great value if he could. I'm sure we could afford his rates."
"Putting aside the fact I'm not hiring my own boyfriend as an assassin, no matter how pleasing the thought, we can't afford him. Not anymore. He just stole forty war-ships, remember? Is conquering an Empire that hasn't had time to spend its treasury? I don't think he's concerned with mere millions anymore."
Amelia sighed. "A shame. Regardless, final assessment?"
"Give the man no more than one fifty a head, though try to go lower, and look into ways to replace him. Oh, make sure none of the jedi know where they're going, when they are going, or even if they're going at all. Better not risk it. Have a squad of my own Force users there as a backup. The Hammers of Irritil, I'm thinking. They're a solid group."
"Of course. It is about time for our pending operation, ma'am."
Vette turned, jedi smuggling forgotten as she flicked on the holo. "Excellent. Is the ship in order? What about the subroutine we installed?"
"The Vengeful Blood is powered down and standing by. It will take approximately thirty seconds from your command to them opening fire, assuming there are no malfunctions or delays, as she will be spotted doing so. The captain is feeling confident her barrage will crack the asteroid."
"Very good. The backup?"
"Four additional ships, as requested. This is starting to become a very expensive campaign, ma'am."
"What's the point of money if you can't use it to hunt down those you hate?" Vette asked, not waiting for an answer. "The subroutine?"
"Installed. Untested, to diminish the risk of discovery, but you should have a real-time view of the jedi's assault. We aren't sure who's pov you will follow yet, but it will be one of the special forces commandos. Nine are to accompany the strike-team."
The holo's image flickered but displayed nothing, Vette snorting. "Well, obviously he hasn't turned it on yet. Do we have a backup?"
"No. Compromising equipment this secure was already a stretch, and Miraka admitted it was partly due to luck. Said that a fluctuation in their back-up cycle allowed for a non self-replicating worm to spread where it should not have."
"Whatever that means. Suppose we'll have to wait."
The wait, as it turned out, was almost two hours long. An annoyance, but it wasn't like Vette didn't have work to do. There were slave uprisings to manage, deals to finalise and people to be bribed, none of which necessitated her leaving the room.
When the holo did start to show an image, though, she was glad for it. A perfectly acceptable break, and one where she didn't even have to do all that much. Not until the end, anyway.
The commando turned and Vette was shown the full might of the attacking force, thirteen in total. Nine of which she already knew about, thanks to Miraka, but the last four were new.
All jedi, of course, but it seemed they had pulled out the big guns. Two Masters and two Knights, none of which she recognized, and led by a surprisingly young Miraluka female. Her leading them was an assumption, admittedly, but Vette felt she was pretty good at reading people.
And that skill told her that nine hardened soldiers, a jedi Master and two Knights all looked at the twenty-something blind-girl with the utmost respect. Calling her a blind-girl wasn't nice, Vette reflected, but she was annoyed at their delay.
Miralukalans were considered to be one of the most Force-aligned species to exist, though, alongside the Korunnai, and the fact their homeworld had no visible lightwaves and thus their entire species not having eyes wasn't something the jedi could do anything about. So she would probably stand to be called blind, which she technically was, and if a jedi Master had skin that thin Vette could probably kill her with words alone. Also, she was rambling, so she focused on the holo again.
"The Great Enemy is close, honored Barsen'thor." One of the Knights spoke. "I feel them even now. We will hunt in your name."
Morgan had talked about that one. Some highly respected position within the jedi Order, and someone whom she shouldn't mess with. Well, too late now, and he'd said he wasn't even sure there would be one.
"Yijack is right, Vesta. They are here, and there are many. This will be a good day."
Vesta nodded to her fellow master, then looked to the Knight. "I have asked you to stop calling me that, Yijack. Respect I will return in kind, but devotion is beneath us."
"Of course, honoured Barsen'thor." Yijack the jedi Knight replied. "Forgive me."
Vette grinned, knowing Morgan would probably get a kick out of that. Shared suffering and all that. She wouldn't know. The other Master spoke up again, the second Knight not seeming all that talkative. "I count eighteen sith. Sixty total."
"Agreed." Vesta said, taking a moment. "Nim, take point. Me and Yijack will hold the center, Elma to protect our rear. Captain Routry, split your team as you fit."
The party moved on, Vette finally taking a good look at their surroundings. Asteroid bases usually had rather brutal, efficient architecture, since anyone that cared to build on the rocks usually values privacy more than luxury.
This one was no different, and none of the cliches that she expected were to be found. No statues or banners, no crazed monks staggered through the facility. Just big, empty hallways branching off into smaller rooms, filled with everything expected of a place where people lived.
Showers, laundry, sleeping quarters and kitchens. Training rooms, break rooms, Vette grinned when the jedi team found a shrine, and then more sleeping quarters.
Minutes dragged by as the assault team did a careful, slow sweep of the facility. Amelia was taking thorough notes in the background, leaving Vette with nothing to do but watch, and her boredom vanished when her pov-carrier turned the corner.
Not someone who had been introduced yet, her unwitting mole, but Vette didn't care. Because at the end of the hallway were ten robed monk-looking people, and she leaned closer.
Unfortunately, this wasn't a holo-vid. Bob, who she just now named, promptly ducked behind cover and only peeked out to open fire, not even doing that once the jedi engaged in melee. Lightsabers ignited and the sounds of fighting reached her ears, but she could see nothing.
Then Bob turned the wrong way and engaged more monk people, these ones carrying blasters. Captain Routry barked at his men to create a perimeter, Bob moved to lean against the stone wall, and the fight turned into half a minute of people missing each other.
A realistic fight, maybe, but a boring one. Vette groaned when Bob fumbled his grenade, nearly dropping it at his feet, and cast a look at Amelia. "We sure this guy belongs with Republic Special Forces?"
"I believe he was hit with a fear based Force technique at the worst possible moment, going by his heart rate monitor. He displays none of the embarrassment or self-doubt I would expect from someone that almost killed himself."
"Huh." Vette looked and decided she was right. "Good catch. So, in the three seconds of video we had of the jedi-sith fight, what did you see?"
"Flashing lights, mostly. Someone got kicked in the face, and I am eighty percent sure I saw a limb being sliced off."
"Yeah. This is much more boring than Morgan made it out to be."
Amelia rolled her eyes, which Vette couldn't actually see but was pretty sure about. "You have sparred with Lord Caro, have you not? This cannot be the first time you realise this."
"I'm starting to think he took it easy on me." Vette pouted. "I'll do something nasty for that. Do we know which color he dislikes most?"
"No. The fight is winding down."
Vette perked up, suitably distracted. "Good, good. I want to see who won. The jedi, from Bob's non-dead state, but still. Think they'll share all their conclusions? This is kinda our only chance to learn something before we blow it up."
"You are going to let the jedi get out beforehand, yes?"
"What? Yeah. Sure."
Bob finally turned to his head towards the interesting part of the battle, having dispatched his own enemies. It wasn't a badly executed ambush, from Vette's experience, but it could have been better. Especially since everyone on the jedi's side seemed to be alive.
Vesta, who Vette judged to be the most interesting of anyone there, was putting away her lightsaber. Bodies were on the floor, decapitated or cut through entirely, and she grinned. Her kind of people.
"This is not the main order." The Barsen'Thor declared. "Yet neither do they flee. Someone important is here, one that we must interrogate. This way. Captain, have your men secure our path of retreat."
Vette scowled. "No don't leave him behind you dumb bi- Aaaand she's leaving him behind. This was a terrible idea, and whoever recommended we use the jedi should be shot."
"Lord Caro would be saddened if you killed yourself." Amelia replied, managing an earnest tone. Vette could imagine the sarcasm just fine. "And then probably bring you back to life."
She waved her hand dismissively. "He can't bring dead people back to life yet."
Watching the holo, and hoping for something interesting, Vette missed the way Amelia stiffened. Was too busy trying to gleam whatever she could out of context clues and briefly inspected datapads, Bob seeming more interested in killing cultists than discovering information.
Her luck turned when the man's captain found and captured a fancier looking monk, Bob being present for the interrogation. Didn't get much, the woman seeming very determined to preach and not much more, but the zealot flinched the tiniest bit when the captain asked about some place called Itep-nine.
"Well, better than nothing." Vette mumbled. "Probably just another lesser base, and we won't be able to rely on the jedi again. Not if this is the quality of intel we can expect."
She kept watching with growing boredom as the soldiers wrapped up and got into another firefight, two dying to a brutal looking weapon shooting actual blood, but there were no more interrogations.
The team got ambushed, again, and Bob was desperately trying to slice his way into a terminal as his fellows got hit hard. The order for the Vengeful Blood to open fire was within reach, but she supposed the jedi had earned a few more minutes.
Another two soldiers died, Bob gave up on his attempt to escape, and they were rescued in the nick of time by Vesta and her two remaining jedi. The other must have died, probably, but Vette just yawned. As terror-fueled as the operation might be, watching instead of doing was kinda boring.
"Alright, fire up the engines." Vette said, seeing the team return to their own ship. "No one seems eager to talk about it, and that cam is going to be turned off the moment the mission ends. What a waste."
Amelia made to answer before falling silent, Vette raising an eyebrow. Her aide pointed, and Vette looked at the holo to see Vesta stare right at them. She could be looking at Bob, since the camera was integrated in the man's helmet, but the woman was maintaining eye contact.
Vette leaned left and Vesta's gaze followed, making her blink. "Huh. Hi?"
"Ce'na of Ryloth." The Barsen'thor said, and Vette blinked harder. Amelia had risen to her feet, blaster-pistol aimed at the holo. "The man we interrogated called himself Servant Nine, and divulged the location of their main operational headquarters. He is now dead. Itep-nine is outside Republic jurisdiction, and I will trade the location of the Emperor's Hand main base for your promise to destroy it."
Vette nodded slowly. "Sure thing, jedi lady."
"Thank you. It is located in the Rutan system, along the Hydian trade route. Absolute destruction will serve both the people and yourself, but Servant Nine did not divulge this information of his own free will, and his death will not go unnoticed. Speed is of the essence. My team and I will be clear of this station within sixty seconds."
Another nod. "Alright. You're being surprisingly helpful."
"Give thanks to Lord Caro for his removal of the True Empire." Vesta said, ignoring her remark. "Goodbye, Ce'na of Ryloth."
The cam was deactivated and Vette leaned back in her seat, ordering the Vengeful Blood to approach and open fire. After the allotted time had passed, of course, and she watched the asteroid base be shattered soon after.
Only then did she speak, humming. "I need to make a call."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan kept his face blank as the True Empire officially surrendered to the Enosis, though the fighting had stopped hours ago. General Quinn shook hands with general Octavian, papers were signed, and Lana was dealing with the last of those disobeying the official surrender.
Like the Cult of Steel. Damn annoying bastards, and apparently it had been an actual chore to capture one alive. But she had, so sooner or later the Enosis would learn the art of the mechu deru.
His apprentices were trying to hide their boredom, Inara doing the worst job by far, and he didn't chide them on it. Half an hour this had been going on, and it had been a busy day to start with.
Then the Force screamed and Morgan raised his active defences, great bastions of intent and technique shielding him from every angle. Protecting his soul and mind, Star appearing with an alarmed thrill.
Something Morgan could not interpret latched onto his soul anyway, shattering his defences like hammers shattered fruit. His resistance didn't count this deep in the Force, he had never needed it to, and Morgan found a hand scooping up his soul. Blinked away his disorientation, not used to being dragged this deep so fast.
The enormous hand closed, filled with intent so pure he had no choice but to accept its existence. He reached for Fate and found his way blocked, reaching for Star to find the Other banished. Morgan crafted a spear of denial and found a second presence unravelling it, a third stopping his attempt at escape.
And as the hand closed its fist, escape became more wish than option. Morgan stopped his struggle and gathered himself close, tightening the boundaries of his soul. Strangled the little voice in his head that demanded fear, using the lack of immediate danger to assess.
His soul had been grabbed, not his body, so that should still be in Enosis hands. Lana wouldn't let anything happen to it, meaning that part was covered. Who this was, on the other hand, was the bigger question.
Well, it could only be a few people. If this was the jedi High Council, he was probably fine. Still bad, but not immediately lethal. If this was Tenebrae he was a Force Drain away from death.
No way was he ready to fight the Emperor that gave the Empire its name.
An unknown third party would also be bad, but manageable. No previous positive relations to call on, like with the jedi, but no negative ones either. But he had a feeling he knew who this was, and it wasn't the Voss or some cult on the fringe of civilized space.
The hand deposited him in something that looked suspiciously like a cell, travelling in a way that made Morgan unable to keep track, and great barriers of intent blocked every path of escape. Intent far stronger than his own, covering the directions most sith had trouble accepting.
The hand lost its cohesion, reforming into the unmistakable visage of Darth Marr, and two other entities joined him. Neither of which he recognized, but both feeling stronger than Lachris.
Dark Council members. Three of them, if not more, and all standing safely behind the bars of Meaning.
"Lord Caro, the Breaker of Belsavis." Marr rumbled, arms crossed. It should have looked ridiculous, wearing that armour, yet Morgan found himself unable to find humor. "Treason I could have ignored. Rebelling against Baras I would have applauded, if only in private. Building the Enosis, stealing my fleet and my people to do so, I could have forgiven. But you are a seer, man-without-a-past, and you should not be in this galaxy."
Morgan didn't reply, not even to deny it, and Marr flicked his hand. Pain unlike any he had ever experienced tore through Morgan's soul, spreading great cracks throughout, and he watched in near panic as the void yawned open beneath him.
Marr let go, perhaps a split second before Morgan would have talked, and snorted. "Of course you have thickened your soul. What do secrets matter to seers, closely guarded techniques to those who remember the future? But you will admit it, lost-soul. Or I will inflict pain on you the likes of which you have never endured."
His mind raced and Morgan found himself going in circles, no escape coming to mind. His lightsaber was out of reach, useless here besides, and even his moon-pendant was inaccessible. Panic calmed as he stopped trying, at least for now, and looked at one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy.
Spoke with what he hoped was calmth, because admitting weakness would be the death of him. "I didn't exactly come here on purpose."
Darth Marr shrugged and pain laced Morgan's very being, a word being dragged up from the depth of his soul. From his second death, so close after the first. A word that had come to define him when everything else was stripped bare.
Defiance.
Afterword
Next week will be the end of Arc Two, and then we'll be getting into the final few parts of this story. I'm very excited.
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]