Dark Empire: Exodus Part 10: Exit O'Dus (finale)

A quick note here: with work taking up 12 or more hours of my day everyday (I get no days off) I have almost no time to write. So Episode 2 may be many months coming. This is the end of Exodus though. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Thanks again go to uilleand.

Star Wars: The Dark Empire

Episode 1 – Exodus

Part 10 – Exit O’Dus

--------------------------------------------

Space, Pandema system

A squadron of bombers swooped down on a Imperial Battleship, their presence immediately detected by the enemy and a group of fighters sent to intercept them. Those fighters were immediately engaged by republic fighters that were covering them, and the bombers continued their run mostly unscathed. Sensing danger, the battleship focused all of its small laser fire at the bomber squadron, the two corvettes guarding against such an attack moving to the two sides of it, creating a deadly triangulated firing radius for anything coming towards the battleship.

“Sir, we’ve got to break off!” cried green five.

“Negative, this ship has got to fall if we’re going to hold this sector,” replied grizzled green one, a veteran of both the Mandalorian and Jedi civil wars.

Two of the bombers were immediately shot down as the squadron dodged and weaved in the firing web. Panicking, green five tried to make a break for it and broke formation. His craft was gutted in seconds, his scream of horror cut off nearly instantly.

“Hold formation everybody, I’ll see if I can get us some help,” ordered green one, and patched quickly through to the ‘Jaeger’. In the time that it took for his message to be delivered and acted upon, three more of his bombers were down.

Then salvo’s of lasers and rockets shot out in front of the squadron, fired by other ships in the fleet, striking the two corvettes and penetrating deep into their hulls. The corvettes stopped firing as soon as they were struck, destroyed or at least too badly damaged to be a threat. The battleship now had no cover, and although its gunners managed to shoot down two more of the bombers before they reached it, four got within firing distance.

“Aim at the bridge, plasma torpedoes only,” said green one. One of the bombers was vaporised by a direct hit as he dropped his torpedoes, the others veered away afterwards in the direction of the fleet. The torpedoes ripped through the battleships shielding, through the vulnerable bridge and into the hold. Slowly, the huge vessel began to sink down nose first, the detonations ripping up the durasteel armour from underneath.

--------------------------------------------

The ‘Archon’, Space, Pandema system

“Admiral, the multi-laser is repaired, you can fire when ready,” said Mission over the intercom, cutting through Carth’s jubilation.

“Finally,” muttered Carth, and ordered the weapon co-ordinators to aim at one of the massive Imperial Battleships. At last he could have a positive contribution in the battle, after having his position usurped by the ex-Imperial Lorn. Within seconds, the five thick solid beams of light were focusing on a single point at the front of the ship, which shot off at light-speed. It missed the battleship by a long shot, hitting instead the magma moon of Plau. Carth ordered the firing to stop, so that they could correct their aim, but instead of stopping the multi-laser’s strength intensified.

“MISSION, WHAT IS GOING ON?” Carth roared, his eye’s fixed on the reading for the ship’s power cells, which was going down at a rate of about a percentage a second. If it went on for much longer the shield and weapons would fail, they would be a sitting duck. Not to mention that they wouldn’t be able to get back home.

“Err, we’re having a slight problem here,” said Mission sheepishly, “The locking systems were set to be heat-sensitive, but they’ve malfunctioned, and locked onto the largest source of heat in the area, which is of course that hot moon.”

“And why won’t it stop?” he demanded. The power was now down to below seventy percent.

“The abort mechanism isn’t working, and under normal programming the multi-laser only stops firing when its target is destroyed.”

“Fat chance,” Carth sat down heavily in his seat “Can you get that ‘abort mechanism’ up and running?” Fifty-five percent.

“Chill Carth, we’re doing everything we can, talking is not helping,” said Mission, the comm.-link winking out. Carth quickly looked around, fortunately none of his subordinates were in hearing range, they were all either in a state frantic activity trying to reduce the amount of power consumed, or looking despairingly at the power readings. He would have hated to have to discipline Mission for talking to him on familiar terms, providing of course that they survived.

Messages were coming in from other vessels, anxiously enquiring as to what their command vessel was doing shooting at a moon. Carth addressed them all personally, downplaying the situation to a minor fault with no lasting consequences. By the expressions on the commander’s holovids, most of them hadn’t bought it. Carth supposed that it was a bit hard to believe when there was a massive beam of laser connecting the ‘Archon’ to the moon of Plau.

Thirty-four percent. If they ran out of power, the generators would shut down and everything would go offline. It would take hours to get everything going again, and the ship would be a sitting target in the middle of a battle, a certain death sentence. The entire crew would have to abandon ship, and then they would have to destroy it to prevent the enemy from getting their hands on the design. They would have to sacrifice the most powerful ship in the Republic fleet! Thirty percent.

Then sub-lieutenant Guni, who was one of the few not panicking, called to him from looking at one of the screens. “Sir, we’ve nearly cut to the core of that moon. If we could manage a flux of power…” He left the rest unsaid.

Hope glimmered in Carth’s chest. If they could destroy the moon, the weapon would automatically de-activate. And the multi-laser had been designed to be strong enough to destroy a small moon. This moon wasn’t small, but certainly was not large either. He checked the power reading; it was only just above twenty percent. If it went below five there wouldn’t be enough power left to regenerate the batteries, something the bridge crew and Carth were painfully aware of. If they were to act, it had to be done now. His order to pour maximum power into the main weapon was met with initial shock, but military obedience stopped anybody from questioning him, and they obeyed nearly instantaneously. The beam connecting the ‘Archon’ and the magma-moon of Plau thickened. The Archon’s power was gutted, down now to below eight percent, and nothing was happening. Carth closed his eyes, his gut felt as though it were pushing up his throat. He opened his mouth to give the order to abandon ship.

Suddenly the moon exploded, as though it had reached the point where it could not take any more and the energy they had been pouring into it had been release all at once. The Imperial reinforcements that had been forming around the moon vanished in the explosion, and large and small pieces of the moon went flying in all directions. Most flew off into infinite space, but some smashed into the back of the Imperial fleet, which was taking immediate evasive action. The ‘Archon’s’ crew’s cheers were interrupted as they were forced to initiate avoidance tactics. The Republic fleet fared better; since they were facing the explosion they were better able to dodge the debris. They still lost scores of ships.

A large chunk of the moon was hurled into the nearest moon, one of the industrial ones. There was a brief flicker of shields attempting to stop the foreign object before the impact. The luckless moon did not explode, but half of it split away while the other half split into pieces, which crushed and bounced against each other. A massive piece of Plau was sent rocketing towards Pandema. Again the planetary shields attempted to stop it, these were powerful enough to have stopped the rock that was sent at its moon, and they caused enough friction on the meteorite to burn away half its volume. The whole planet shook with impact, earthquakes and ruptures on its surface visible even from space.

On board the ‘Archon’, the crew was frantically attempting to recharge the power, which had fallen to the dangerous level of four percent. The Imperials were in disarray and trying to reorganize, as were the Republic, Lorn at its helm. Carth did not have the emotional energy at the moment for feeling jealous at the other man for usurping his position, soon they would be drawing enemy fire, and with so little power their shields would not be able to last more than a few shots. There were tense seconds where nothing happened, then the power jumped up to six percent.

“Thought you could use a hand,” said Mission over the intercom.

Carth breathed a sigh of relief as the power moved up to seven percent, then eight. “How did you do that?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t understand, with your greaseless hands,” Mission laughed, then her voice grew serious. “We weren’t able to isolate the problem with the multi-laser, so I would suggest you don’t use it again.”

“Believe me, I have absolutely no intention,” Carth assured her, thinking back to the stress of the last few minutes. Still, with the destruction of the Imperial reinforcements, who had been forming up ready to crush the Republic fleet in one charge, they still had a chance. A chance provided by one of the greatest mistakes by a Republic ship. The Republic fleet had also recovered from the shower of debris blasting through them faster than the Empires, but they still needed Bastila’s Battle Meditation if they were to win.

Carth then spared a thought for the untold millions or even billions that had been killed on the two moons and the dark planet as a result of their actions, their only crime being that they had been born into the Sith Empire. He remembered first-hand the devastation wrought on the Republic planets by the Mandalorians, and later Revan and Malak. He was no better now than they had been. As he stared into space, he remembered the phrase coined by Revan, which had later become synonymous with the Mandalorian wars, and the later Jedi Civil War.

War makes monsters of us all.

--------------------------------------------

Pandema, Chambers of the Dark Lord

Lord Delhano Sorge sprinted into his master’s chambers, interrupting Darth Messiah‘s meditation. “My Lord,” he gasped, falling to his knees at his master’s feet “Plau has been destroyed. A sizable chunk of it is about to land on top of our heads, we must flee.”

“Did you really think I did not know this?” Darth Messiah sneered, his face a black hole in Delhano’s sight, as always. “How…loyal of you to come back for your dear old master when you could have taken his place had I died.” The irony in the Dark Lords voice was thick.

The Dark Lord’s apprentice was no fool though, he knew that for his master’s to have survived as Dark Lord of the Sith for over nine hundred years he must have endured worse than massive meteorites, and if he displayed any dissention or even a whiff of betrayal reached his master’s ear; his life would be measured in milliseconds. Fleeing for safety without his master would certainly qualify as dissention, and Delhano wasn’t sure that he could have made it out of the blast radius anyway.

“You wouldn’t have made it far enough anyway, in eight seconds everything five hundred kilometres from here will be turned to ash, everybody within eight hundred on the surface will be killed,” said Darth Messiah, confirming Delhano’s suspicion.

Despair came crushing down on the Sith Lord, but at that moment his master stepped towards him, so that he was standing over him. “Protect your eyes and ears,” said Darth Messiah as he thrust one hand into the air, and another into his robes. What does he have in there? Delhano wondered the instant before it happened.

The flash that came would have blinded him and the noise deafened him had he not quickly obeyed his master’s instructions. In less than a second it was over, but then the terrible earthquakes started. Even as Delhano started to wonder how he was still alive, he was being shaken to a pulp. Lava spurted from the ground hundreds of meters into the air, curiously none of it landed on him or his master.

As the earthquakes subsided to minor shaking, Lord Delhano gathered his wits and stared at his surroundings. What had only a few minutes before been a bustling metropolis was now a blackened pit stretching as far as he could see, liquid lava spraying out of many cavities in the ground. Amazingly, the ground he and his master were on hadn’t been touched, and the ground below it, a spire of untouched ground in the oblivion. Delhano turned to look at Darth Messiah, who did not notice his gaze and hadn’t placed his normal shield over his face.

Delhano gasped aloud, “Master, you look like…” at that point Darth Messiah gestured, and the memory was blasted out of his cranium. Delhano was left in what felt like a drunken stupor, wondering who or what exactly his master had looked like.

A few minutes later, when he had recovered sufficiently, he stood up. Darth Messiah was facing away from him, near the edge of their tiny plateau. Delhano was tempted for a moment to attempt a push, but after his master’s incredible display of power it would not surprise him to find out that he could fly. His face was shielded again.

“What now, master?” he asked in a deadened voice.

“Now the Republic wins,” growled the Dark Lord of the Sith “I daren’t attack their Battle-Meditator again, or we might end up encased in lava.” Bursts of it were still spraying up, toxic fumes and ashes filling the air.

“Did you foresee this?” asked Delhano.

“Of course not, but it is not unexpected,” his master snapped, “Luck, or the Force is helping our enemies, so that they can fight on even terms with us. But they will need a lot more than two truly competent Force-users to be able to take on the might of my Empire.”

“Marka,” said Delhano softly, “but who is the other?”

“Perhaps the time has come to unleash the most deadly of my servants,” said Darth Messiah, ignoring the question, “Korgal will certainly enjoy the challenge.” Delhano had to stifle a shiver. In a stand-up knock-down battle he knew he could probably beat the other man, but Korgal did not fight that way, except as a last resort.

And on the small plateau, less than three paces across, the Dark Lord and his apprentice began to discuss how they might best turn the current situation to their advantage. As they talked, three questions hit Lord Delhano. There was the old one of how his master had managed to live for so long, but that was now linked to his new question of what the Dark Lord had hidden in his robes. And the final one - who or what he had thought his master looked like. If he could answer those three questions, Delhano was sure that he would be able to challenge the Messiah for supremacy of the Sith.

--------------------------------------------

The ‘Jaeger’, Space, Pandema system

Bastila Neiro stood sweating in the icy interior of the Jaeger. She couldn’t be totally sure, but she suspected the attacks were over. Who had been attacking her, who in the universe had enough power to attack somebody in a starship? Albeit very blindly. Whoever it was, she was sure that the distance separating them had been the only thing that had kept her alive, although that still did not explain why the attack had suddenly stopped. Perhaps the destruction of that moon had something to do with it.

Regardless, she could not risk her Battle Meditation again. Her attacker had definitely locked onto her force signature through it; the risk was too great that she would be attacked again. Lia asked her about it, Bastila explained it to her. She was impressed by how quickly the other woman understood something involving the Force, but then she must have spent a lot of time around Sith.

Lorn; who between giving orders to the fleet had been listening to their conversation; said, “If there were other Jedi here though, surely they would be able to defend you?”

“I guess,” Bastila replied dubiously, “But they’re all on Dus.”

“We’ve just evacuated a ship full of Sith refugees. If you could get to them, you could get them to defend you.”

“But they’re SITH!”

“We have to win this battle if they are to survive. At the rate we are going, we will lose, or at least be bogged down enough that the Empire will be able to bring up more reinforcements. And this time there will be no exploding moon to save us.”

Bastila sighed. He was right, she knew. “At least send somebody they will know with me,” she said, looking hopefully at Lia, who was busy again at the communications console.

Lorn followed her gaze, and shook his head. “I need her skills. There are precious few on board who know how to work their station properly. And her work is especially important. I need to relay commands to the rest of the fleet, and it must be done properly. No mean feat considering that the Republic and Imperial ships work on a different communication system.”

“Couldn’t you intercept the Imperial fleets commands through your system?” asked Bastila.

Lorn shook his head in such a long-suffering way that Bastila was sure that she had just revealed again her lacking in military knowledge. “They change frequency and codes every thirty seconds, standard Imperial procedure, and we don‘t have their codes. By the time we’ve decoded a message, if we’re fast, they’ll have gone through at least eighteen more different ones.”

Bastila blinked, she never would have expected such stringent measures. Reflecting though, she realised that if the enemy had access to your information it could cause untold damage to your forces, costing many lives. Lorn had in the meantime returned his full attention to commanding the fleet.

As she was thinking, Lia called out from her station “Two Jedi are rejoining the fleet. One has lost a lekku,” she frowned, then continued, “And the other a wife.”

“Mira!” Bastila gasped in shock. It could only be she who had died, Dustil must be distraught. The other must be Kaah, he was the only one with lekku. He must be in agony. Twi‘lek lekku were the most sensitive part of their body, connected to their entire nervous system.

Thinking quickly she said, “Send them directly to the shuttle with the most Sith refugees, I will need their support.” The escaping Sith would have seen them during their escape, so they would command some respect. She felt terrible for both of them, but she needed their help. And every second they waited would cost Republic lives.

--------------------------------------------

O’Dus prison, Deep Catacombs

Marka’s eyes burned with blue-fire intensity as he met Jadan blade to blade, again and again. Lightsaber’s hissed and danced, weaving through the air as the two combatants searched for an opening. Jadan had the advantage with his twin blades, but Marka’s use of his shield was stopping the older man from capitalising on this advantage. Jadan switched forms every few strikes, testing Marka, who was holding fast in his favourite ‘Sokan’ technique. Its defensive capabilities worked surprisingly well with the unorthodox saber and shield combination. Both men had their blades at maximum power, Jadan to destroy Marka’s shield quickly, Marka to slice through Jadan’s armour if he ever managed to strike it.

Jadan had the definite advantage with the weapons he had specialised in, and was far fresher. He was also stronger in the Force, although Marka had improved enough to nearly be able to match him. Every now and again Jadan would attempt a Force-based attack, which Marka countered every time. Marka was facing another serious problem - his shield was quickly being destroyed by Jadan’s hyper-energised blades, the burn marks going ever deeper. Soon he would begin to make holes in it, and then the shield would be useless. When that happened he would be left with a single blade against Jadan’s two, he wouldn’t last minutes.

As always, Marka fought coldly, emotionlessly, fuelling his weary body with his suppressed emotions and iron resolve. He fought clinically, conserving his energy wherever possible. By contrast Jadan fought in a rage, barely controlled, some of his shots little more than wild swings. Marka knew better than to try to try and capitalise on that apparent weakness, he had seen Jadan use similar ruses to kill many other opponents. It was one of his tactics to beat those who favoured defensive techniques, such as ‘Sokan’, drawing them into an ill-fated attack. Twin lightsabers were deadly in counter-attacks. But he could not last forever on the defensive, Jadan was too fresh, he was too drained.

Hack, parry, rim-poise, block, en-for-nine. Marka and Jadan had both been preparing for this battle for most of their teenage and adult lives, knowing that someday they must face each other, as they were now. It had always been inevitable, the two strongest apprentices of Rengath Fer’rer. Only the threats from their master had prevented them from facing each other directly before, although they had both found ways to surreptitiously try to do each other in, and now their master lay dead on the floor a few meters away. There were no words now. Both were utterly immersed in the deadly dance.

Marka, though, had changed. His burning desire now wasn’t to kill Jadan, but to be with Kaya again. After the days of forced absence he’d had from her, he had yearned for her like he would have never imagined. To be with her again, he knew he would have to go through Jadan. His combat instincts told him that if he did not deal with him now he would have to face him again at a later stage. The other man would certainly seek him out, and the Force seemed to be pushing them towards a final confrontation.

Circling each other, searching all body movements for a hint of intent, they clashed again.

 

--------------------------------------------

O’Dus prison, Staircases

Kaya ran as fast as she could up the winding staircases. She had attempted the elevators, but all the mechanisms in the prison were off-line, including the elevators. Fortunately there were these ancient stairways to the surface, which looked like they hadn’t been serviced or used in centuries. Parts of them were caved in, on more than one occasion she had had to use the Force to move rubble to be able to slip through.

Kaya was exhausted. With no sustenance or sleep for a week she was in no shape to be running up endless flights of stairs. The healing she had undergone had also taken a lot out of her. But she needed to find help -and fast- if Marka was to survive. While it hadn’t been part of her vision, she knew that despite all his skill he could not possibly prevail against Jadan, not now. It was amazing in his state that he had been able to last as long as he had already. Kaya stifled a moment of pride for her husband, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as she could.

There was light ahead. Kaya breathed an inward sigh of relief, she was nearly at the exit. As she reached the top of the stairway though, she found herself face-to-face with a muscular Sith. He took one look at her and ignited his twin lightsabers, lunging with full force. Kaya desperately ignited the orange blade she had taken from Belaya, defending and retreating. The Sith man came at her like a storm, Shien form, his attacks coming in hard and fast. Kaya had to retreat backwards down the stairs, defending without thought of attacking. The Sith was far fresher than her and had the height advantage, coming down the stairs at her, while she had to watch her step. With his twin blades, his attacks couldn’t realistically be countered, she knew though that if she had had her double-bladed lightsaber this would be different. Force, she was sure that if she had it she would be able to beat him, but at the moment it was just a case of staying alive.

Then disaster struck, an especially strong blow sent her reeling, the Sith took the opportunity to lock both his blades with hers and throw her backwards. Kaya’s foot slipped on a loose rock as she tried land properly, and she hit the floor hard, and slid down a few meters of stairs; where she lay stunned and weapon-less, tasting blood. The Sith advanced on her menacingly, leering in victory, his lightsabers aimed towards her defenceless body.

A second before he reached her there was a blur of motion, and her opponent turned away from her, his lightsaber’s swinging at his new attackers. Another blur of motion, and he was on the floor, gasping his last breath. Kaya looked from the strange half-green half-blue double-lightsaber of the man who had killed him to a strangely familiar blonde-haired slightly toothy face. There was no mistaking the other lightsaber and face, Ramon, bearing Marka’s purple-white double-saber. How had he got that? The blonde man knelt over her, and Kaya felt his skilful healing penetrate her body. Before she got up he slipped a capsule into her mouth, crunching it down Kaya recognised it a standard-issue food capsule. She washed it down with some water the blonde Jedi gave to her, and rose shakily to her feet with his help; while he introduced himself as Mical.

“Where is he?” said Ramon, handing her back Belaya’s lightsaber, having just finished taking the lightsabers off the dead Sith.

Kaya knew exactly who he meant, there was only one person that Ramon referred to with that level of respect. “Follow me,” was all she said as led them back the way she had came.

--------------------------------------------

O’Dus prison, Deep Catacombs

Jadan might have had a moment of regret at killing his opponent in his weakened state, had Marka still been a Sith. For a Sith to kill another using underhanded means shouted weakness, and other Sith might attempt to capitalise on that potential vulnerability. But Marka was an enemy now in every sense of the word, a Jedi, a traitor. He would lose no standing amongst the Sith for killing him like this, if anything he would gain recognition and prestige, perhaps even enough to be declared a Sith Master in his late master’s place.

As Marka backed away from him, Jadan gave a quick assessment of the other’s shield. It had proven amazingly effective, keeping the other man alive far longer than he would have otherwise, but it had reached the end. It was too badly scorched and melted to be useful much longer. And when Marka could no longer use it, he would die. It was that simple.

Marka must realised this as well. For the first time, he was the one who moved first and actually attempted a proper attack. Jadan simply met all his attacks with his right blade, while with his left calmly ripped pieces off the other man’s shield. He had to admit, at some level he was glad he was not facing the other man at full strength, with his usual weapon. The contest would then be far too close for comfort. At the edge of his abilities Marka had just switched to Yoshi Ma, giving Jadan an initial shock at the level of the other mans skill before he followed form. Jadan himself had only just been recognised by Lord Delhano as a master of the form, and the other man was as good, if not better. Again, the twin-blade advantage was telling.

Then Marka changed tactics. He was still fighting in Yoshi Ma, but now he had switched to all-out aggression, knocking Jadan’s blades out of the way as he sent flurries of cuts and stabs at Jadan, even using his shield as a weapon, taking Jadan by surprise. For the first time, Jadan found himself fighting for his life. Moving with speed, strength and a level of control that was humanly impossible, and could not be sustained for long even with extensive use of the Force. Jadan and Marka clashed and clashed again, too fast for the eye to follow. Marka’s shield took more and more hits, bits flying off it.

Finally Jadan sent one of his lightsabers chopping through the top half of Marka’s shield, he gave a cry of triumph, surely he had killed him. But the traitor had ducked low, and sent his blade in a sharp rim poise at Jadan, who wasn’t expecting it. Only his Force-sensitivity gave him warning, he twisted out the way desperately as he attempted to block. But Marka altered his strike in mid-flight, the edge of it scouring his side. Pain pierced Jadan’s consciousness as Marka’s blade sliced through his armour on the weak side-plating and opened a shallow wound.

As Jadan backed away, he realised that the damage was far worse than the flesh wound, his armour straps had been severed by freak chance, causing his armour to hang loosely rather than skin-tight. He would have to remove it, if he had a chance. It would only get in the way of his movement otherwise. It was no great loss though, it would only slow down a lightsaber slightly, having been made primarily to defend against lasers. Then he glanced at Marka’s shield and smiled, it was too badly damaged now to be usable. The battle was as good as over.

--------------------------------------------

The ‘Jaeger’, Space, Pandema system

As Lorn watched the monitors, the Republic fleets lines suddenly started looking sharper, their movements more precise. By contrast, the Imperial fleets lines became more ragged, and their attacks almost sluggish.

“Battle-Meditation,” Lorn breathed. He immediately began to wonder how much of an effect this could have for future battles. Certainly if they only had one Battle-Meditator it would not make a huge difference, a single person could only be at one place at a time, but if they had more, even half a dozen…

Taking the initiative, Lorn sent out a series of orders that sent the Republic ships into full attack on the weakest parts of the Imperial lines. For a moment they held, then the Imperial fleet’s lines crumbled, turning in a moment from a unified fleet into scattered pieces of fleeing ships and pockets of resistance, which were systematically crushed.

As the last major pocket was overwhelmed, Admiral Onasi stepped in and resumed command, organising the cleanup. Lorn sat down and took a long sip of caffa, he was welcome to it. All they had to do now was get the last of turned Sith off O’Dus, particularly Marka. If he died, there would be no way of controlling the other ex-Sith, and all would have been for naught.

--------------------------------------------

O’Dus prison, Deep Catacombs

Marka discarded his shattered shield, transferring both hands to his late Master’s red ‘Makashi’ hilt blade. The shield was useless now anyway, ripped nearly in half and damaged all over. Absently he noted that the angle Jadan had cut it off at had created a nice edge. Nearby Jadan was watching him warily, and judging his moment unbuckled his armour.

Marka had been waiting for the right moment to attack, and he would never have a better chance. Moving in Yoshi Ma form again, his body screaming in protest, he attacked again. Jadan tried to defend, but one of his arms was stuck in his armour, its movement badly restricted. Marka attacked with everything he had left, his blade dancing as it sought Jadan’s flesh. Jadan retreated before Marka’s onslaught as he sought to discard his armour, slowly being driven backwards into the wall.

Just before Jadan was forced into the wall, he managed to free himself from his armour, and hurled it at Marka, who kicked it away before aiming another slash at Jadan. But Jadan had both his blades free now, and scissored them both on Marka’s blade, forcing him around so now Marka was the one with his back to the wall. Marka realised at that point that a Trakata technique, turning off his blade and re-igniting it a second later, would almost certainly be the death of his enemy, but with nothing stopping Jadan’s blades he would be certainly be killed. And he did not want to die, even to take Jadan with him, he wanted to live. He wanted a family.

Jadan, however, wanted him dead, and now had him in the perfect position, with nowhere to manoeuvre. He drew back one of his blades, making sure it was far enough back that Marka couldn‘t grab the hilt in a desperate defense, the growl of victory already on his lips. Marka knew perfectly well that the strike at his legs was coming, he just couldn’t defend against it without being decapitated by Jadan’s other blade. Instantly he formed a desperate plan.

With no way to defend himself against the second blade, Marka tried to leap over Jadan. Time seemed to slow down as the blade followed his jump, slicing his feet off just above the ankles. Through his pain, in mid-air, Marka used the Force to block Jadan’s premonition sense as he aimed a blow at his neck. Jadan didn’t bother to undo the blockage to his senses as he defended, Marka’s momentum carrying him over Jadan’s head. Jadan sent a blast of lightning with his other hand, catching Marka in the chest just as Marka swept up his razor-sharp destroyed shield with the Force and sent it flying at the Sith.

Marka was sent flying backwards into the opposite wall from the force of the lightning, he struck solidly and slid down to the floor, electricity sparkling on his skin and every part of his body in different levels of agony. He could still feel his feet, even though he knew that they weren’t there anymore. Then he looked at Jadan, and smiled. His plan had worked.

Jadan now lay moaning in two pieces, his legs and thighs severed from the rest of his body, thick artery blood spurting out of the gaping wound with his every heartbeat. The sharp half-shield was now imbedded beyond him in the wall, covered in blood, having sliced cleanly through. The Sith immediately cauterised himself with one of his blades, screaming in agony and roaring his hatred at him. Marka had to give him credit, few would have reacted so quickly or as bravely, he might even survive now, if the damage to his kidneys was repaired immediately. But Marka could not allow that, he had to finish the job. Slowly he started crawling towards Jadan, forcing himself to ignore his pain, annoyed that he hadn’t been able to aim the shield properly the first time.

“I hate you!” Jadan was screaming “I HATE YOU!” His mouth was foaming, his eyes wild. He blasted lightning at Marka with all his power, Marka caught it easily on his blade. A flurry of Force-based attacks followed, but Marka countered every one, drawing ever closer as Jadan‘s attacks grew ever more desperate. The Sith tried to drag himself away as he fought, but even Marka’s crawling was faster than his dragging his half-body across the floor.

Marka finally reached him, and lashed out with his lightsaber. Now he had all the advantages, Jadan could not possibly fight with no control over his position, even his twin blades now made little difference; while Marka could knee-walk and hold an upright position. Marka forced him to overextend with ease and destroyed the yellow blade, giving a reverse slice that was meant to behead the other. Jadan pulled his body backwards desperately, screaming in fresh agony as the tip of Marka’s blade ripped through his nose and upper jaw. Marka sighed inwardly as he raised his blade for a final strike, he had no wish to inflict further agony on the other, but he would kill him.

At that point his premonition sense alerted him, and as he rolled away; high powered laser blasts shot through the space where he had been milliseconds before. Six Imperial guards had entered the room, Marka’s heart sank. Immobilised, he did not stand a chance against them.

Marka had a split-second warning, he didn’t react fast enough. Suddenly he was flying, his ribs shattering as he collided with the wall, Jadan must have sent one final blast of Force at him. As he coughed up blood, forcing the pain to the back of his mind, Marka realised that his lightsaber had been knocked out of his hand during the impact. He was defenceless. He could feel his body begin to shut down, unable to take any more punishment, his heartbeat was slowing. So this was what dying felt like. He watched dully through pain-filled eyes as the guards quickly adjusted their aim towards him. In the end, there is only regret.

--------------------------------------------

“Faster, he’s badly hurt,” Kaya cried as her, Ramon and Mical exited the stairway and ran into the Catacombs, lightsabers in hand. They sprinted through the abandoned halls and corridors, dodging pieces of fallen debris, some of which looked recent, others which looked as though they had lain there for centuries.

They came to the room where Kaya had left Marka, only to find him gone. The fight must have taken him into other rooms. Using her bond with him as a compass, Kaya quickly led them to a nearby room. They entered it just in time to watch Marka fly into the far wall, striking with a sickening crack. Kaya winced, she was sure that was the sound of breaking bones. Five guards had their weapons levelled at him, Kaya froze for a second in absolute horror. Mical and Ramon fortunately did not, and both gave mighty leaps; Mical to place himself between Marka and the guards; Ramon to attack the guards.

As Ramon butchered the surprised guards, who were putting up little resistance, Kaya ran to Marka’s side, noticing that a last guard was busy running away with something in his arms. But she turned all her attention to Marka, who was, she realised in a shock of cold, missing both feet and ankles. Worse, he was dying.

“Sto…Ja…” he gasped, his breath coming in short bursts. She put her hand over his mouth and poured her power into him, healing what she could, determined that he would not talk until she was sure he would survive. But he needed medical attention, her abilities were no match for his wounds

“You can talk now,” she told him when she was finished, removing her hand from his mouth. He would be able to survive long enough to find help now. Nearby Mical had cut down the last of the guards, and was walking towards him.

Marka took a quick look, then said, “It’s too late now, Jadan has escaped me. I fear we haven’t seen the last of him,” he sighed; took a look at the two men, at his severed ankles; and said, “One of you will have to carry me, I’m afraid I can’t walk.”

“We’ll take it in turn‘s,” said Ramon with a grin, getting down on his knees and hoisting him over his shoulders “Make yourself comfortable, its quite a way to the top.” Kaya cast a worried look at her husband, being carried in such a way couldn’t be good for him, but there was no other way to bring him to the surface.

When they were about halfway up the stairs, Mical on his second turn for carrying him, Marka said to Ramon “Uug, you do know that I will want my lightsaber back.”

Kaya smiled.

--------------------------------------------

The ‘Archon’, Space, Pandema system

“Sir, the last package has been delivered. The big fish is home and dry,“ said a woman’s voice over the intercom.

“At last,” said Carth, closing his eyes. At last this ‘Marka’ person had been rescued, they could all go home. And not a moment too soon, they were picking up reports of no fewer than three enemy fleets converging on their position. The sheer numbers were staggering, those three fleets had between them more warships than the entire Republic could muster. And Carth was sure there were plenty more of those fleets in the Sith Empire. But that was a worry for another day.

“Time to make our exodus, and Exit O’Dus,” said Mission from over the intercom.

“You’ve been waiting a long time to say that,” Carth accused her.

“Since I learned the name,” she admitted.

Carth shook his head, but his cheeks twitched with the effort to keep from smiling. “All ships, prepare for a hyperspace jump,” he ordered, sending the message to the entire fleet. The bombers that had been attempting to penetrate the shield of a nearby moon quickly returned to the main fleet, flying close to the capital ships. The ships engines fired up as they all turned in the same direction, and then they started shooting like laser beams into the blackness.

Within seconds they were gone, and all that was left was the darkness of space, littered with the debris of shattered star-ships.

--------------------------------------------

O’Dus prison, Deep Catacombs

Jadan spat a bloody froth out as he bounced on the guards shoulders, the breath being knocked out of his lungs and stifling his cries of pain and rage. Yet his overwhelming emotion was one of shock. How could something like this happen to him? How had he lost? Another surge of agony from his ruined upper jaw and nose, compounded with the steady throbbing of his severed abdomen caused him to groan with pain.

In his mind he replayed all the events of the attack, and then he remembered the Jedi girls words from just before the alarm “He will unman you”. He had misunderstood at the time, but now he knew exactly what she had meant. With half his body removed he had been more than just unmanned. A rush of hatred rose in his throat, she had known this would happen, somehow she had known! She would pay for that, her and her traitor husband. And they would beg for death before the end.

They had not seen the last of Jadan Iscarn.

The Saga continues with Star Wars: The Dark Empire Episode 2: Jenesis