"This isn't safe." Krovos rolled her eyes, admiral Ranken narrowing her own. "I mean it. We're only fifteen ships strong, and the fleet around Korriban could send scouts this way at any moment. We're not that close, but how much longer must we wait?"
Krovos shook her head. "You yourself pointed out that they will stay in a defensive position, wary of an ambush. And while I would be all for a change of rendezvous location, that would require the cult to cooperate. Which they won't."
The cult. A nasty surprise, that. Allies, or so they claimed, but hostile to any outsider. Barely capable of operating the ships they stole, though they'd managed to mount guns to the freight vessels. Somehow.
Their Supreme Sovereign was the only one they would obey, they said. Krovos had half a mind to order her fleet to open fire, just to get rid of the annoyance. But no, there would be no hasty moves. Not until the Emperor-claimant was here, who was due any moment now.
Any moment for the last nine hours.
"We don't even know if the Enosis will accept us." Ranken insisted. "I gathered what few stragglers the empire had, but six destroyers and nine support ships isn't going to be impressive next to their fleet. I know you insisted on this, and I trust your judgement, but-"
Krovos sighed. "It doesn't matter. I trust you, admiral, and you trust me. So hear me when I say there will be nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. I call him a claimant for a reason, I will call him Emperor for a reason. If we don't join now we can't survive. Not without becoming scavengers and petty warlords."
"So you've said." Ranken murmured. "Yet they have aliens among them. The unworthy and unclean. The Empire won't survive with him at its head."
Laughing, and shaking her head for effect, Krovos looked at the admiral. At her friend, and someone who she'd come to respect more than any Darth save two. "I'd recommend keeping that to yourself, admiral. I won't be able to save your life if Darth Caro takes offense."
"You are a Darth." The admiral dismissed. "He won't dare touch your base of power."
Krovos felt the humor bleed out of her. "He killed Malgus. Nox, Marr, Baras, so many more it would take minutes just to recite the names. The Empire as it was is dead, Ranken. All we can do now is adapt to survive."
"Quite a few of my people won't like that. At all."
"Then they're probably going to die." Krovos shrugged. "The Empire is ruled by the strong, Ranken. And now the strong insist on inclusivity. Assuming we survive the assault on Korriban, I'd suggest unlearning your hatred. It is likely to get you killed."
"This is madness."
Krovos snorted. "This is sith. And sith are creatures of whim, damnation to all those who stand in their way. I, unlike those who came before me, intend to learn that lesson before my head hits the floor. Consider it a strange breed of politics, if you must. Just say the right words and parse every action in the frame of xenophilia, not xenophobia."
"I suppose I must." Ranken allowed. "At least he seems keen to let the military do its job without needless oversight. No offence, but most Lords don't exactly improve our efficiency."
Ranken shifted as one of her officers called her over, Krovos ignoring the conversation. Some snippet about a jedi among yet another small fleet, this one Republic in nature. They only counted four, and honestly Krovos had mostly put them out of her mind, but the assassin on board was pretty good.
Good enough to hide from her, if only for a time. But now, as she focused on him, he was gone. Krovos frowned, her annoyance rising. Alright, so maybe good enough to hide from her after all. A jedi using her as practice. How bold of him.
Still, Republic vessels turned traitor. And they had plenty of jedi, Krovos would admit that. Flocking to Darth Caro now that he'd proven it could be done, and that the sith were close to being wiped out. So very opportunistic, but then not all jedi were idealist fools.
She'd seen some carve through soldiers with as much emotion found in stone, killing and maiming without the slightest hesitation. Seen them purge entire sith battalions, even after some surrendered.
Yes, most jedi were weak fools. But not all, and that was an important distinction. A life saving distinction, at times.
"The Enosis fleet is an hour out." Ranken said, rejoining her. "The cultist and jedi have agreed to gather a welcoming party onboard the Free Maiden. We are invited."
Krovos shook her head. "The Free Maiden. No one is free, not truly, but very well. Tell the cultists we'll gather onboard their amalgamation of a flagship."
It would be best if it was their ship suffering from any misfortune, not hers. And as the hosts they would introduce themselves first, allowing her time to gauge the claimant. To verify what she'd seen on Dromund Kaas, then adapt her approach as needed.
So she gathered her party, mostly consisting of her three apprentices and a small honor guard, and made her way over. The shuttle took nearly twenty minutes just to get to the Free Maiden, then a few more until the old boarding sequence was completed.
A reminder that not all vessels were Imperial, and not all vessels were maintained properly. It didn't make her all that eager to step onboard the damned thing, but the benefits outweighed the risks.
Then the door opened, and Krovos blinked. She expected an old, beaten up civilian freighter. Big, yes, but crumbling. In disrepair, filthy and filled with unwashed cultists.
Instead there was a smiling man, bowing as Krovos stepped foot on the Free Maiden. Four soldiers were with him, equipment polished to a mirror shine, and the hallway was clean. Almost impossibly so. The walls were professionally patched, freshly painted, all the lights hummed pleasantly.
It was like stepping onto the pleasure-ship of some rich hutt, and not at all what the exterior would lead her to expect.
Krovos nodded at the appropriate times as the man launched into a welcome speech, saying this and that and only every tenth word mattered. No. She was much more interested in revising her opinion of the cult as they walked.
Because if they were this clean, and cleanliness could only come after proper organization, then their ship would be refurbished. The weapons properly attached, the freighter overhauled instead of converted. There would be a limit to what they could do while travelling, but still.
"It was a dreadful time." The man continued. Elkhart, his name was. Krovos didn't comment on the strangeness of it. "Our home was gone, our Supreme Sovereign dead, Republic soldiers taking all we had left. But we endured as the commandments teach us. Duty, loyalty, unity. Together we can achieve all."
"You seemed to have found your weapons."
Elkhart nodded seriously. "Our state of disarmament could not be allowed to continue. We are many, and we are united. Finding what we needed was not hard, not once we realized the criminal element of our temporary host planet was dreadfully disorganized. Now we answer the call of our Supreme Sovereign with faith ever-burning."
"I thought you said your Supreme Sovereign is dead."
"The Supreme Sovereign is immortal." Elkhart said with a straight face, turning. "Ah, here we are. The area prepared for our reunion. We have done much research and concluded a military approach would be the least jarring for our Supreme Sovereign."
Krovos suppressed a scowl at the repeated title, looking around. Big, square, clearly refurbished from one of their now useless storage hangars. Two hundred souls were there, a quarter of them Force sensitive. None particularly strong, but feeling about as dangerous as the average jedi Knight.
Military officers, diplomats, staff. Like the representatives from a nation, not a cult. "Are all your people here?"
"Of course not." Elkhart replied, nodding to the people that greeted him. "Only those trained and armed for war. The rest are making their way towards Taris, those not able to aid us directly, though all would be willing to fight for our Supreme Sovereign."
"Then why aren't they?"
Elkhart shrugged apologetically. "We had little time to prepare proper transport. That, combined with our research suggesting our Supreme Sovereign approves most strongly of a proper military, brought us to this. Excuse me, I must prepare."
Krovos shrugged, her eyes finding a group of jedi as she was abandoned. That assassin was with them, nodding politely to her gaze, but the rest seemed nervous. Tense.
Not used to seeing Force-sensitive cults, she imagined. Jedi liked to think they were the premier organization of the galaxy, but in truth less than a tenth of those trained in the Force answered to them. Another tenth went to the sith, and the rest?
Well, even discarding those who never trained beyond the very basics, many simply never organized. So while jedi and sith could boast about being the largest organizations, they were heavily outnumbered.
Only in the numbers department, of course. Building on those that came before allowed many jedi and sith to rise high, not to mention the exceptions. Those who absorbed knowledge like a sponge, rising to the ranks of jedi Master and sith Lord.
Time passed quickly after that. Some came to speak with her, seeming to care nothing for her title of Darth or the fear it brought, and Krovos found it almost refreshing. Her apprentices mingled with the cultists, Krovos herself had a fascinating conversation about the nature of the Force she'd never considered, and after half an hour her opinion of the cult had risen tenfold.
And then they all shut down. Not literally, but they turned plastic. Gracious smiles and easy compliments, the fakeness of it irritating Krovos more than anything so far.
The reason why was obvious, of course. Their Supreme Sovereign had entered the ship, and even the most blind of them could feel the man now. Like a miniature sun had stepped onboard, his power tightly controlled but undeniably there.
She pulled up her datapad. It was still linked to her own ship, and the scanners there showed the man had come with hundreds of ships. Just over three hundred strong, another hundred unarmed carrier ships behind it for the troopers.
Once, before the Revanites and the Enosis and the latest war with the Republic, the Empire boasted a thousand destroyers alone. Many times that in frigates and cruisers. War, as ever, spent resources faster than anyone could produce.
Well, anyone except the Republic. But for them it was a battle of approval, not resources, that limited their might. Krovos imagined what the Empire could do with their reach, their sheer manpower, and it was a glorious sight.
Also an unrealistic one. Slavery hadn't been outlawed in the new Empire, not quite yet, but all projects on Dromund Kaas had been halted. The only reason it wasn't collapsing into an economic disaster was because the Emperor-claimant had been spending the personal treasuries of the Dark Council members.
Only that which was on Dromund Kaas, of course, but even so.
The door opened and Krovos watched the man walk inside, taking in the image. Well dressed with a distinct military flare to his clothes, some decorative pieces of armour placed strategically. Not functional, though she imagined he fought as well in that as in anything.
Behind him trailed his three apprentices, and Krovos watched them. As strong as Lords, each of them, but taken together? The Force whispered uncertainty, and that was all she needed to know.
Elkhart had stepped forward, smiling more widely still. It looked almost disturbing, but if Caro cared he said nothing. "Hail, Supreme Sovereign. We have answered the call."
"So it seems." Caro said, eyes scanning the room. They paused briefly on her, moving on quickly, and finally settled on Elkhart again. "Last time I saw you I killed your Supreme Sovereign. Him and quite a few of your soldiers."
The cultist didn't even blink. "The Supreme Sovereign is immortal, Supreme Sovereign. We hold no grudges against your past or future self."
"I see. And the fact that you are not supposed to even know who I am?"
"A mandate instituted by your will, two generations ago. Your before self has continued this order, but you have not. Our home is gone, we must build a new home. The Supreme Sovereign is dead, long live the Supreme Sovereign."
The room echoed that sentiment, once then twice, before falling silent again. Still Caro didn't seem uncomfortable. Either he was a better actor than his file suggested, or something had changed in the scant few weeks since the report was last updated.
Or the report had been falsified. That was possible too. Likely, actually, assuming he hadn't neglected his intelligence department absolutely. If one couldn't have obscurity, Krovos always found, misinformation was close enough.
More words were exchanged, words she didn't care about, and Krovos watched the man's apprentices. She knew all of them by name, of course. And Jaesa, the one gifted with true sight, was looking right at her.
Krovos grinned, all but daring the woman to poke around. To investigate whatever she'd seen. But she didn't, though Inara and Alyssa had shifted the moment Krovos had let her anticipation slip.
Ah, to be young again. Reacting at all just showed their level of ability, and Krovos had given nothing in return. Oh well. They had time to grow, assuming they survived Korriban.
Caro seemed finished with the cultist, Elkhart bowing deeply, and turned towards her. Krovos smoothed her expression, bowing lightly as the man moved closer. "My Emperor."
"Darth Krovos." Caro said, expression mild. "I'm glad to see you took my warning to heart. And you brought me a fleet, no less. I presume that is to join the war effort."
"They, and myself, are yours to command."
"You have my gratitude." The man said, tone never shifting. "I am sure admiral Ranken will be a great addition to our forces, as will you be. There are many enemies on Korriban, after all."
"It will be good to set foot on it again, even if it is to invade. Especially if it is to invade."
The man smiled, somewhat sharp but more real than his bland expression. "Indeed. I will admit to looking forward to my reunion with that place. Come, join me. I have a speech to give, and I wish to ask for your advice on a military matter."
Krovos bowed her head again, falling in next to the man. His apprentices created a little more distance, though all three seemed wary of her. Good.
Interesting times.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan raised a hand, gesturing to his admiral.
"Two hundred and eighty four." Kala started, the room quieting. Either from her tone or his raised hand, but either worked. "That's the number of ships stationed around Korriban. With the addition of Elkhart's forces, as well as those brought by admiral Ranken, we outnumber them by only a small margin. The true danger, however, comes from these."
The holo dominating the table flickered, moving to an image showing six ships. John picked up the conversation, seeming perfectly at ease among all the strangers. "The personal superweapons of Dark Council members Acina, Vowrawn and Ravage. Some more dangerous than others, but all deadly when used correctly. The good news is, superweapons tend to have limited use in a defensive engagement. Bad news, their numbers can make up for that."
"How does a defensive engagement limit them?"
John shrugged. "Some require time to warm up their weapons, others don't do well in protracted combat. They all have suitably intimidating names, but the fact is that all need to be destroyed if we wish to stand any hope of winning."
"So the Darth's focus on them." Morgan hummed, looking around the table. Hexid looked bored, Synar distracted and Lana professionally interested. Soft Voice wasn't here, though the man would be listening to the recordings. "John's intel suggested that the Empire will not repeat the same mistake as on Dromund Kaas. There will be plenty of sith on the fleet, Lords and Darth's to guard their superweapons."
Ah yes, the superweapons. Morgan looked at the list, his eyes all but complaining at the word-vomit. The Voidshard Cannon. The Sovereign Eclipse. The Crucible of Nolus. The Harrowspire Array. The Wraithfire Lance and finally the Dominion Requiem. Such nice names, though a few did sound good. Their capabilities were varied, but he ignored the details for now.
Kala tapped the table. "Correct. Influencing their chain of command would be preferable, but it is unlikely any of you will have the time. Even numbering six, with the addition of Darth Krovos, you will likely be outnumbered. Are we still sure they are unable to use their Lords to overwhelm you?"
"We are." Lana said, beating Morgan by a split second. He shrugged, waving at her to go ahead. "If we fight, and they outnumber us significantly, it would be problematic. But we won't be in physical contact for the most part, and the deep Force is where Darth's thrive. Numbers mean nothing if they can barely live there, let alone fight. If they act defensively, denying us targets, that's a different matter."
"Good." His admiral said, nodding. She waved to Quinn. "General."
Quinn cleared his throat. "Thanks to the large number of sith that are likely to be on the enemy ships, we won't be aggressively boarding their vessels. Targets of opportunity yes, but old-school ship on ship combat will decide that engagement. Je'daii and sith personnel have been stationed on all command centres of our fleet to ensure the enemy cannot easily subvert them."
Slaughter en-mass, in other words. Good. It was a solid tactic, but not against an order as numerous as the sith. Not here and now. Disconcerting to realize the Enosis had always outnumbered the enemy in terms of Force users, and even more so to have that advantage turned against them, but such was war.
"More good news." Kala continued. "While the influx of new ships means that only fifteen percent of our vessels are modified with isotope-5, the Empire has even less of it. Dromund Kaas nearly beat us for numbers in that department, this time they have less than half."
Morgan made a note, he found keeping those himself helped his memory, and the meeting moved on. Strategies, thresholds for shifting said strategies, loss projections and formation updates.
This was not an Enosis fleet, not by a fairly wide margin, but it was nearly all imperial. Kala clearly wasn't pleased that she had to work around her own people, people who she couldn't rely on completely, and more plans were made to deal with the shakier captains.
Those deemed able to serve but where Jaesa had made a note of them. It limited tactics, added to the list of unpredictable variables and on the whole he could understand her annoyance. But there was no point wishing, and even his growing reputation wasn't enough to put the issue to rest.
Fear motivated, yes, but not as well as loyalty. As gratitude and resolve. The latter was why they could launch another offensive so soon after the last, nevermind that their losses should have made it impossible. The new officers helped, as did the captured ships, but still the core Enosis was determined.
Not all, of course. Veteran Enosis members had to be left on Dromund Kaas for fear of pushing them too far. Of them breaking without a proper rest.
It secured Dromund Kaas, which was good, but it left them a navy that could be stronger.
Fortunately, and the word was said with a certain amount of sarcasm even in his own head, the meeting only lasted another two hours. After which he spent a few hours sparring with his apprentices, ensuring both he and them were as ready as they could be, before meditation brought him back to full mental strength.
And so there he found himself watching that damned clock again, ticking down until they would exit hyperspace. His fleet behind him, an enemy fleet in front, tens of thousands to die in the coming hours. More, depending on how tenaciously the Empire fought.
Not being on the Yamada was strange, he found. He'd gotten used to standing on the bridge with Kala, but concerns had been raised. Concerns all boiling down to 'anyone around Morgan is in massive danger because of the target on his back'. Him and their Grand Admiral being so close together was a needless risk.
So he was on a simple destroyer, even if he could have stood on a dreadnought. They had more than two of those, now. Not many more, but more. But so he stood on a bridge, looking at a clock, to hurry up and wait.
It would have been nice if the Empire surrendered. They wouldn't now, not with Tenebrae free, but before? It was a hopeless war. They had might, yes, but it was brittle. Allies bound together by necessity, possessing little to no production capabilities and unable to range far from Korriban.
If Morgan was content to drag out the war, and assuming the Republic did as it had been doing, there was no way they would win. Another three years and the je'daii Lords would number in the hundreds, with tens of thousands more Force-users as soldiers and support, and even with only a year the Enosis could have a fleet six hundred strong.
Which was their limit, admittedly. The point where any new ships would have to be bought, built or stolen. Defection allowed them to grow, and the fact sith wage civil war not infrequently helped with that, but that had a limit.
Odd how he found himself distracted like this. Almost like a ritual, looking towards the far future when the immediate future was uncertain. Anything to distract himself from the impending chaos, the impending death, and the knowledge that he was chiefly responsible for both.
But that moment passed too, and peace settled over him. Not tranquil peace, though that would be useful and thus almost guaranteed not to happen, but the peace that came with certainty. No matter his past choices, no matter his reasons or excuses, it was happening.
The only way out was through, and it would end where it began. On Korriban.
The clock ticked down, hyperspace gave way to reality, and Morgan had exactly two seconds to see the console update. See the fleet they faced matched their estimated numbers almost completely, which John was going to be smug about, and Morgan managed to hear the first two seconds of an open broadcast.
"Darth Acina has been crowned the rightful Empress of the Empire." The voice said, tone aggressively demanding. "All Imperial subjects are required to yie-"
That's all he heard, because then he was besieged by souls in the deep Force. Five of them, none he recognized. Logic dictated three of those where Ravage, Acina and Vowrawn, the last remaining Dark Council members, with two proper unknowns.
The ring on his finger burned, shattering soon after. Lana and Synar answered the call, and Morgan scowled at having to burn the artifact so early. Not like he could make a few dozen spares, not with the soul-anchor bonding to the wielder.
And with only two of them answering, Soft Voice, Hexid and Krovos were busy. Likely with the Lords, of which there were many, but the Force was too chaotic to feel fine detail. If only two showed up, he would have to make do with two.
Outnumbered, outskilled, fighting in the deep Force as the fleets raged around eachoth-
Wait, what?
"You declared yourself Empress?" Morgan asked, halting his charge. The other side seemed so confused by the question they slowed, allowing him to continue. "So Tenebrae isn't here? I don't fathom you're his minion, not with that title."
Darth Acina, who was now apparently an Empress, scowled. "The Emperor left us to die. To crumble. Diverted massive amounts of resources away from the Empire, prolonged wars and sabotaged progress. He is no leader of mine."
"But he's free?"
"Yet he is not here, he is not helping us." The Empress said, her temporary pause clearly coming to an end. "If he does come, he will die."
She couldn't possibly be that arrogant. Projecting strength, maybe, for her followers, but even still. Tenebrae killed Revan, drained his entire cult and god knows how many native souls. The man was barely mortal.
It was Lana that started it off, Synar mumbling something about feeding. He actually hadn't heard much from her, though Hexid insisted she was fine. He had a bad feeling about that, but too little too late. Acina dodged Lana's attack, seeming to realize shielding it would be a bad idea, and Vowrawn moved to engage Morgan.
Him and one of the unnamed Darth's, and Morgan cursed. He still wasn't quite able to fight against two, not without losing a match of endurance, and he prepared for the worst.
Only to realize that while Vowrawn was pressing hard, the Darth wasn't. In fact, the woman seemed almost hesitant, and Morgan realized she was uncomfortable in the deep Force. Able to exist here, clearly, but not weaving her attacks properly with those of her ally.
Morgan moved, dodging around Vowrawn's crude-but-wide reaching attack, and pressed her. Flung a dagger of oblivion at her shield, which she all but flinched away from, before the Dark Council member had closed the distance again.
Their fight drifted farther away, Synar having conjured a bright red shield of energy while Lana was hounding Acina, and the other non-Dark Council member seemed as hesitant as his own.
Oh. They'd conquered Dromund Kaas, and specifically killed both Marr and Nox. Marr and Nox, who both had reputations of extreme competence and overwhelming power respectively. Not like Morgan actually killed either, of course, but no one here knew that.
The Enosis came for Dromund Kaas and won. Now the Enosis came for Korriban, and those two were wondering if if if. Sloppy for a Darth-ranked sith, but perhaps they were freshly promoted. Their lack of stealable records seemed to suggest that, at least. They had the power, but experience?
Vowrawn kept his ally safe, for the most part, but even he was almost disappointing. Good, as good as Lana if not better, but uninspired. Strong, fast, powerful and easily capable of matching himself for intent.
Yet his attacks were simple. Refined, but simple. Morgan supposed that could be all one needed, mastering the basics plus a fuck-ton of power, but that was so boring. Dull.
Not that the man owed him a new trick. Owed him the fact that Morgan liked to copy and refine the techniques of others. Oh. No, that made sense. Twice in as many minutes where he felt stupid, which wasn't a great feeling.
Of course the man would show nothing unless absolutely necessary. That was all but begging Morgan to steal it. Strange. He was usually sharper than that. Morgan rapidly backed away as Vowrawn detonated the Force around himself, sending the spear of vindication off-course.
Still, Morgan didn't have to win here. Just stall until Soft Voice, Hexid and Krovos took care of the superweapons.
A disturbance distracted the lesser Darth, Morgan knowing it was nothing but sith Lords and je'daii Lords of War fighting in the shallow end of the Force, and Morgan grasped her soul. It had been a while since he'd worked past defenses, he found. The people he fought these days usually didn't have flaws to exploit until they were on the verge of death.
That didn't mean he'd forgotten. He infected the Darth with a parasite, a Force-eating disease given form through intent, and the woman freaked out. All but fled, ignoring Vowrawn's call, and Morgan took the time to recover some mental strength.
And stall. It was surprising how often that worked. "So I terrify Darth's now. Cool."
"We should have had both Baras and you strangled." The pureblood hissed, the gesture strangely muted. "Damn that man and damn you too."
"People keep saying that. When you find out how to time-travel, let me know. I think I'll get the hint when I stop existing. Until then, I find it strange you're angry with me. All I did was destroy your way of life, steal a full third of the Imperial fleet through defection, freed a metric truckload of slaves and quite possibly wiped out the sith Order. Did I say strange?"
"You will not goad me into reckless anger." Vowrawn said, the man literally taking a moment to calm down. "You're stalling for time, and now you wonder why I would agree to that. What benefit it could bring me to let our fleets fight it out amongst themselves, even with two of your Darth's free to act."
That- Morgan moved to attack, since showing doubt was unacceptable. But the man made a good point. If they were stalling, and some kind of trap had been lai- No. Trust Kala to do her job and do your own. The plan is good, the information is good. It is what it is.
If Vowrawn was disappointed, the man didn't show it. Moved back as Morgan lashed out with knives, defending against Fate manipulation as if it was an old game. Didn't attack with it, which either meant he was incapable or simply chose not to spend the mental energy, but either way.
All that training with Lana hadn't been to hone his lightsaber ability. Not primarily. Morgan's focus narrowed to a point, slowly denying Vowrawn space. Lingering curses, domes of power and more, all to make the man defend instead of dodge.
Parry a manifested lightsaber, which faded away moments later, then retaliate with a kick. Chase Vowrawn as the man turned back to mist-form, grasp his shields with the memory of his strength, block as the Darth lashed out with a whip of ice.
There. Morgan threw another void-dagger, a concept he found took less strength for its power than most, and Vowrawn blocked. The man's shields were able to hold against the attack, but Morgan dipped the dagger lower. Moved it across dimensions, which was the closest he'd been able to interpret Lana's technique as.
The dagger blinked out of existence for a tenth of a second, but skill and luck ensured his timing was right. The first and second shield were outright ignored, the third shattering as the fourth cracked. Morgan detonated the void-essence inside, blowing the Darth back and away, before reality reasserted itself.
The void-dagger bounced off Vowrawn shields, but the damage had been done. The man stabilised his body, wounds melting away as if healed. But it hadn't, and Morgan could almost smell the caution from the Darth.
He could vaguely feel Lana kill one of her own enemies, Synar was doing god knows what but seemingly having fun, and a smile tugged at his lips.
Yes, this was going quite well indeed.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
This was not going well at all. Kala barked for the second front to give ground, eyes roving over the map. The Voidshard was preparing for another shot, though the superweapon's ability to crack planets was of limited use here, and the Sovereign Eclipse had vanished again.
On paper they seemed like mitigable risks. She knew what each did, either from her own intelligence or that supplied by John, and her Lord had taken care of them in the past. Employed reality breaking space-magic to cripple the ships, essentially removing them from consideration entirely.
She had put too much faith in him.
That was not how she was going to put it in her report, assuming she survived to write one, but it was true. Her plan had assumed at least four of the superweapons would be destroyed by now, yet only two had been dealt with. Only one of those destroyed outright, though the second had been crippled.
The Wraithfire Lance and the Dominion Requiem. Their two most dangerous, admittedly, but only two. Both were fleet-killers and both hadn't been able to get more than a single shot off. With the proper formation, which she very much employed, the damage had been limited to only a few ships.
Likewise, the Crucible of Nolus and The Harrowspire were manageable with the proper caution. The first able to convert stars into black holes, which they couldn't use defensively here and now, and the second able to fracture a planet's magnetic field.
Both had been used regardless, the first ripping a ship in half every shot and the second capable of draining shields, but she was dealing with those. They were already following her path, moving exactly like she wished.
But the Voidshard and the Sovereign Eclipse. In theory the former was all but useless, shooting dark energy beams to implode planets, but in practice it fared better than the rest. Maybe it was because of the ship's captain, who utterly refused to play along to her plans, or because the beams had enormous range, but eleven ships, four of them destroyers, had already been destroyed.
And the Sovereign Eclipse. Kala saw it reappear, cursing as her feint had to be followed through. A stealth ship, undetectable by radar or the Force. The latter because someone was cloaking it, apparently, but the end result was the same. It appeared, moving only like isotope-5 ships can, did as much damage as it could, then vanished.
"Push to sector thirteen." She ordered. "Command Group four and nine, fall back and reinforce sector twenty eight."
Damned Imperials. Not a particularly clarifying statement, that, but one she found suited her well. Those men and women from Dromund Kaas and wherever Krovos had found her fleet fought, but not particularly hard. Had to be treated carefully lest they rout, and they couldn't be deployed to the edge of battle without risking desertion.
"The Crucible of Nolus is destroyed." One of her officers called, Kala nodding. It was of limited use, but better gone than not. "The Harrowspire is targeting sector two."
Kala was halfway through ordering them to fall back as it did, swiping at her console. Their shields were down to ten percent charge, and like clockwork the enemy pushed. Sector two soon became sector three, then four, and she had to order her limited reserve to reinforce that front.
"Break off pursuit of the Voidshard." She ordered. "Command group two, deploy fighter carriers. Push them out of sector ten and into eleven."
Mistakes. How easily even she could make them. She was used to je'daii corrupting ships, breaking their spirit and performing hostile takeovers. Yet all Force users were busy dealing with the sith Lords, though that was Quinn's problem. Apparently they were outnumbered four to one, though somehow keeping up.
Yes, the Empire had not made the same mistake again. Had put thousands of sith on the ships, dozens and dozens and dozens of sith Lords. It would make the ground assault easier, not that it looked like that was ever going to happen.
Minutes ticked by. She adapted and scrambled, nearly wiped out twenty destroyers before the Sovereign Eclipse saved them, and did manage a small victory when one of their rapid-movement attacks stuttered.
A mistake. Kala broke that entire offensive in half, cutting nearly forty ships from their allies. Surrounded by twice as many of her own, even the Sovereign Eclipse couldn't save them. Not that it tried. But it was one victory among a slow grind-down, and Kala felt her frustration rise.
Kala jerked as a hand touched her shoulder, the twi'lek Lord of War looking her in the eye. She all but felt her emotions settle, serenity overtaking all. "Peace, Grand Admiral. Peace and tranquillity."
Force users, always having breakthroughs in the midst of battle. Inconvenient yet convenient. Kala nodded to the woman, who's eyes closed and body slackened. Back to fighting in the shallow Force, a facet of the battle she had no control over.
Right, so she could settle emotions. Give clarity to a racing mind. Good. Kala ordered her people to withdraw, tightening lines and abandoning her plan. It wasn't working, not with how many variables the fight had.
They would lose. She saw that now, the patterns and play of it. But a loss was only that if it was not part of the plan, and their discipline had a limit. They had to have a limit. Sith were creatures of pride, but so far they'd been humiliated. Beaten back over and over until all they had left was Korriban.
If they won, if she handed them a victory, they would seek glory. Seek to soothe their wounded ego. Pursue and become reckless.
She hoped. No, hope was muted now. All but gone. This was logic, strategy, and she was made for that.
So Kala Tre, Grand Admiral of the Imperial navy, ensured her own defeat. Ensured that for every loss the enemy paid double. Sacrificed entire ships to determine weaknesses and pride, working around her own people as much as the enemy. Worked around those that deserted, broke, hesitated to follow orders.
The Voidshard fired and nine ships were lost, only two of them destroyers, and the man they put in command of the superweapon followed the most optimal path. Chose their targets to inflict maximum damage, which let Kala trap it.
The Sovereign Eclipse intervened, as she knew it would, and Kala ordered the entire command group to focus fire. Good, loyal Enosis captains, ripping the ship apart before it could flee again. The Voidshard fired and all but three of the command group died.
The center front was collapsing. The enemy pushed forward, and Kala pulled her own ships back. Ordered them to flee, knowing the unreliable captains in her ranks would not do so with discipline. She was right. Eight ships made wild jumps into hyperspace, to die or be stranded somewhere far, far away, while the rest ran.
Imperial ships followed them, the enemy chasing after the fleeing vessels. It broke their carefully arranged formation, their iron discipline, and the Harrowspire Array was left without proper protection. It drained the shields of the strike-force attacking it and nothing more, the superweapon and its smaller escort breaking under the onslaught of firepower.
The strike-force, made up of only isotope-5 enhanced ships, lost half their number.
And the Empire kept pushing. The sith-Empire? Strange to consider, since both the enemy and their allies were the Empire. The old and new Empire, perhaps. Unimportant.
Kala had all compromised assets fall back entirely, conceding the battle. Those with broken spirits and unsure allegiances. What remained she used to slit the throat of anyone that tried to pursue, which number more than they should. Order was restored quickly, likely their Empress taking personal command, but not before their eagerness lost them twenty eight more ships.
Then two things happened at once, one good and one bad. One of the retreating ships, a modified destroyer, started firing on its own people. Chosen had boarded the ship somewhere in the battle, she remembered, but there was a sith Lord onboard. No Lord of War went with them, though a squad of je'daii had.
No matter. The ship pulled away, joining the retreat, and the sith-Empire didn't pursue. Smart of them.
The second was her Lord of War falling to the ground, the one who'd settled her mind, with hollowed-eyed eyes. Blood was still leaking from the wound. The six other je'daii on the bridge turned to the twi'lek, alarmed, and when she asked for clarification no one could tell her anything.
She'd ask Caro later when informing him of the battle. He would be displeased, to say the least, but she estimated a ninety five percent chance he'd hear her out instead of succumbing to anger.
It would be helpful if this mental state lasted until then. Unlikely. Kala pulled her mind away from the issue, noting that her fleet was at its breaking point. She ordered a new formation the second they were far enough away, using what little authority she had left, and that would have to be good enough.
The high-risk ships in the center, Enosis-trained captains on the outside. Kala ordered a hyperspace jump, if a short one, and Lords of War took command from those captains refusing orders. Placing those to oversee defectors had been a good call, she decided.
Then a third thing happened, and Kala scowled. Force stuff, by the way the je'daii were flinching away. Not her problem.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Why did it always have to be his problem when people went insane?
It had been going well. Vowrawn was no Marr, Acina no Nox and Lana was in good form. Synar had been dealing with Ravage, though he hadn't actually seen her fight.
Then it all went wrong. An explosion of Force pulled both of their attention away from the fight, Vowrawn recovering a split-second faster. Created distance, which was strange, and Morgan spotted an almost scared look on his face.
And it wasn't because of something he'd done, for once. Morgan didn't know how to feel about that.
The Dark Council member turned, his soul moving up and away. Morgan contemplated chasing the man as yet another explosion rippled through the Force, stronger than before. He sighed, moving to investigate.
He hoped the fleet battle was going well, at least.
Lana met up with him shortly after, Morgan initiating a memory exchange. Something he found almost trivial, these days, but apparently tired others. Regardless, he saw her fight as she saw his. No real surprises, though Acina the Empress had apparently decided to flee towards the phenomenon instead of away from it.
And doing so very quickly, though Lana's memory of the woman lacked detail. A shame, since he'd really liked to have taken a look at whatever technique that was. But it also meant the Empress was there before them, and the scene wasn't as bad as he'd feared.
Synar was still alive, holding Ravage by the neck as she all but loomed over his soul, and before either he or Lana could do anything Acina ripped the woman away from her ally. Synar flew a short distance before stabilising, a snarl on her face.
Oh. Her eyes were blood-red, as if orbs of liquid had replaced them, and her fingers had turned to claws. Her nose was gone, for some reason, with her hair dancing to unseen winds. She looked, in a word, absolutely feral.
Not bad in and of itself, really. This was a fight to the death. Far be it for him to dictate people had to look comely during it. But her head turned towards them, towards him, and a spike of hunger rolled through the Force.
Acina was helping Ravage tend to his wounds, which was a level of cooperation he'd really rather they not have, and Lana angled to protect his flank. Synar snarled, bounding straight towards him with a roar of primal greed.
Lana turned, interweaving her shields with his own. Acina and Ravage were talking, though he had no time to try and eavesdrop, and then Synar was there. Literally slashed at the barrier, tearing great gashes into it like some wild jungle predator.
Lana sent a wave of concussive force at the woman. Synar let it hit, a shield manifesting briefly before it did, and it felt almost instinctual. "Get a hold of yourself!"
"Return." Morgan intoned, pressing his will against the Force. Intent surged, though it was not a concept he was too familiar with. The bleed of power warped his voice, a wasteful thing to have happen. "Return."
Both commands impacted her mind, the first doing nothing. The second seemed to give her pause, some flicker of recognition appearing in her eyes, before it was drowned. Drowned out by a need so deep Morgan could almost taste it, the Darth's mind unravelling under the pressure.
The Empress left, Ravage with her, and Morgan cursed. God knows what they'd do while he and Lana were dealing with Synar, but that wasn't something they could just ignore. Not with how she seemed fixated on him, though letting it roam free had it not didn't sit well with him either.
"Go help the fleet." Morgan said, turning to the maddened Synar. "If those three corner Soft Voice and Hexid, our advantage will be lost. Assuming we ever had any with that many Lords on the defensive, and that just makes my point."
Lana hesitated. "She's feral. Strong. You-"
"You, all of you, made me Emperor. Dumped so much responsibility on my head it's a miracle I'm still standing." His toned firmed. "Go. I'll deal with her."
She went, Morgan finding Synar staring at him. He could feel his physical body start to move, vaguely, but splitting his attention now would be a death sentence. No, they had their job and he had his. Right now that meant putting down Synar, since he doubted there was a way back from whatever the hell she'd done.
"If you can hear me, Synar, this is your one chance to pull yourself together. I don't have the time, inclination or power to capture you, let alone find some method to bring you back."
Synar snarled, moving forward to attack. Morgan flung a dagger of oblivion at her, which skipped straight past her shields with some effort, and it sunk deep. The thing howled, more with feeling than sound, but she didn't seem overly injured.
Morgan frowned as he made space, her method of assault seeming wholly consistent with moving towards him in a straight line. She'd absorbed the intent of his attack, somehow, and it seemed similar to what she was doing to Ravage.
A vampire. A Darth Force vampire that ate souls to become stronger. Naturally.
But whatever power she now held, he doubted it would translate to Fate. Morgan kept moving back and away, all but kiting her around, and grasped for the concept. Of denying her a future, which would cut this blessedly short.
Resistance was there, Synar's mind clearly still able to use her skills, but it was slow. Strong but brittle. Morgan needled and pressed, poking holes in her defenses as he continued to deny her a straight fight.
She did calm eventually, unfortunately, and started using ranged techniques, but Morgan wasn't that stupid. He pulled out a bit of his soul, the very same thing he used to create the rings, and Synar all but dove for it. Morgan let her, using her inattention to slip past her defenses.
Strong but stupid. His perfect opponent, really.
Fate spread like a tapestry, his mind ever more able to interpret it. Another side-effect of his tranquil moments, though at this point any growth could be explained by it. Not that that was true, but some would undoubtedly see it that way.
But Fate was open, Synar had finished devouring his distraction and Morgan closed those paths where she escaped. They withered, but there was an odd amount of resistance. A kind of resistance he hadn't felt before.
The vampire moved, her ever present snarl deepening, and Morgan removed her ability to be lucky. Those futures where she got past his shields, ripped out his throat, managed to slip into the stream of creation to devour the well of souls there.
Holy shit. Morgan killed that particular future with vigor, which he managed, but as he turned towards the immediate fight any change was impossible. Or not impossible, but inefficient. That strange resistance again, stronger this time. As if she was instinctively resisting any alteration to her immediate future.
Morgan let go of Fate, having to block a swipe of her claws. A four layered shield interposed itself between the attack and his soul, of which she broke through three almost instantaneously, but the fourth took a split-second longer.
He grasped her soul as her claws ranked over his own, finding her defences as reactive as her resistance. Guided by instincts and thus easy to fool, a razor-sharp not-dagger appearing in his hand. It opened her from belly to neck, both her own soul and more spilling out. Synar gasped as if her lungs had been punctured.
Then she pushed back, but the damage had been done. Morgan moved to end it when she raised a hand, a miniature shield snapping over the wound. It stemmed the flow, but not nearly enough.
"You alright?" Morgan asked, crafting a spear behind himself. She didn't seem to notice. "Synar?"
Synar looked at him, and her eyes cleared as more of her soul vented into the Force. Crude stitches appeared, moving to close her wound, but she wasn't practised enough. Based on his own technique, from the looks of it, and not as refined. She was no healer.
"Caro?" She asked, coughing. Red mist spilled from her lips, not quite blood but closer than it should be. "What happened?"
Morgan made no move to close the distance. "You tell me. All I felt was a Force detonation, probably from Ravage as he tried to get you off him, then I arrived to find you as you were. Crazed, hungry, operating on instinct. You had a breakthrough, I take it?"
"I can control it." She said, her stitches becoming more desperate. The shield pressed closer to the point it was doing damage, but it didn't help much. "I can learn to control it. Help me."
"You'd probably live. And maybe you'd learn. But you know I can't take that risk. Can't risk you snapping and feeding on a few dozen souls, becoming too powerful for me to stop. You pushed too far, Synar, and too quickly."
Nevermind her feeding on the dead, which should be impossible, and a Force godling without sanity or reason was not something he wanted. Or could survive. Again.
"I know that." She hissed, her hand taking the needle. Manually closing the wound seemed to work better, enough so she might even live. "I'm your ally. I fought for you, risked death for you. Help me."
"You are my ally. And I am a hypocrite, because for Lana or Soft Voice I'd probably have risked it. But not for you. I'm sorry, Synar."
She moved, skittering back and away, and Morgan grasped his spear with the Force. It moved around him and shot towards her, the tip more ball than point. A ball without light, without sound, and as merciful as the void of space.
Synar snapped a shield around herself, leaning to the side, but she was wounded. Slow and weak. The spear took her in the lower back, destabilising her manifestation. Her soul billowed outwards, more cloud than body, before getting sucked into the spear-point. Morgan moved, snapping a large working around her presence.
A shield which she had neither the strength nor willpower to shatter. Morgan pressed, opening a dozen small holes to let his presence enter, and tore her soul apart. The Force calmed, its chaos only felt now that it had done so, and Morgan breathed out a sigh.
Looked at her death, unwilling to turn away. "I hope you find peace."
He turned, moving back towards the fleet battle. Hoped that that, at least, had gone better than his own fight.
Afterword
The Warcrowned on Royal Road (pinned comment)
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