The rain fell in sheets across Coruscant, turning the Jedi Temple's landing platform into a mirror of grey sky and darker grief. Thunder rumbled in the distance—a fitting accompaniment to the somber procession emerging from the Republic transport.
Quinlan Vos descended the ramp first, his yellow facial markings stark against skin gone pale with exhaustion. Behind him, Delta Squad carried what remained of Master Halsey and Padawan Knox—two simple coffins that held fragments, relics, all that could be recovered from Devaron's blood-soaked temple.
The landing platform had become a gathering place for mourners. Obi-Wan Kenobi stood with his hands clasped before him, rain plastering his hair to his skull. Beside him, Plo Koon's respirator hissed softly, the Kel Dor Jedi Master's presence a pillar of quiet strength. Aayla Secura's blue skin seemed to absorb the grey light, her expression carefully neutral despite the grief radiating through the Force. Adi Gallia stood slightly apart, her elegant features carved from stone, refusing to show the pain that Obi-Wan could feel emanating from her like heat from a flame.
The Avengers had come as well. Captain America stood at attention despite the rain, his posture military-perfect, water running off the shield strapped to his back. Sam Wilson's wings were folded tight against his shoulders, droplets beading on the crimson metal. Daredevil's head moved in that distinctive scanning pattern, "seeing" the scene through senses beyond sight. Black Widow remained utterly still, her expression giving nothing away—but her eyes tracked every detail, cataloging, analyzing.
The Delta Squad commandos—Boss, Fixer, Scorch, and Sev—moved with synchronized precision, bearing their burden with the reverence of warriors honoring fallen generals. They'd seen the aftermath firsthand. They knew what kind of violence had been inflicted on these two Jedi.
As the coffins passed, Barel Ovair stepped forward. The Jedi scholar's hands trembled as he pressed them against Halsey's casket, seeking some connection to the life that had been. His lips moved in silent prayer—or perhaps a question directed at the Force itself.
Why?
After a long moment, he stepped back, unable to trust his voice.
Obi-Wan approached Quinlan as the coffins were carried toward the Temple's entrance for the funeral rites. "What did you find?"
Vos's expression was grim. "No survivors. Not one." His voice carried the weight of having searched through carnage, hoping against hope for even a single clone trooper who'd managed to hide, to escape. "Boss confirmed it—all we recovered of Halsey and Knox were... pieces. Fragments."
"Just relics," Sev added, his voice flat, emotionless. But Obi-Wan could hear the rage underneath. The Delta Squad commando had seen action across the galaxy, but this had shaken even his hardened composure.
"It was a slaughter," Fixer said quietly. "Every outpost we checked—the same thing. Our forces either wiped out completely or massacred where they stood. No mercy. No quarter given."
"Ultron?" Captain America asked, his tone clipped, professional—but Steve Rogers had been to war before. He recognized the signs of soldiers trying to process atrocity.
"No." Boss shook his head, the red markings on his helmet catching the dim light. "We're still piecing it together, but this wasn't Ultron's work."
"Ultron has been focusing his efforts on kyber crystal theft," Plo Koon added, his voice filtered through his antiox mask. "Attacking power stations, mining facilities, ancient Jedi sites. These outpost massacres don't fit his operational pattern."
"We found Umbarans at several sites," Vos continued. "Other Separatist forces as well—battle droids, mostly. But the kill patterns..." He shook his head. "This was personal. Brutal."
"The Separatists, then," Black Widow said. It wasn't a question.
Quinlan nodded. "We managed to salvage security footage from a few locations. Abandoned battle droids still had partial recordings in their memory banks." He gestured toward the Temple. "We should get inside. I'll show you what we found."
They moved as a group through the rain-slicked corridors, water dripping from armor and robes, leaving wet footprints on ancient stone. The war room was a welcome respite from the storm—warm, dry, filled with the soft glow of holographic displays.
Daredevil paused at one of the coffins as they passed through a side corridor, his head tilting in that peculiar way. "Lacerations. Puncture wounds. Multiple contusions and fractures—some post-mortem." His voice was clinical, detached. "Whoever did this kept hitting even after their targets were down."
"Rage," Obi-Wan murmured, studying the casket. "Or perhaps enjoyment. This wasn't simply an execution. It was..." He struggled for the word.
"Savage," Aayla Secura finished quietly. "The work of someone who kills not just with skill, but with pleasure."
"Efficient, though," Sam observed. "These outposts fell fast. We're talking about coordinated strikes across multiple sectors in a narrow time window. What kind of operative are we dealing with?"
"That," Quinlan said as they entered the war room proper, "is exactly what we're about to find out."
He activated the central holo-projector. Security footage flickered to life—grainy, damaged, but clear enough.
The figure that appeared made Obi-Wan's breath catch in his throat.
Tall. Powerfully built. Yellow skin covered in black tattoos forming intricate tribal patterns. A Zabrak male, moving through Republic defenders like death incarnate. Heavy armor covered his torso, but his movements were fluid, impossibly fast for someone his size. He wielded a crude metal spear in the footage, driving it through a clone trooper's chest with enough force to lift the man off his feet.
But it was the eyes that froze Obi-Wan in place. Yellow. Burning with dark side corruption. Exactly like—
"Maul." The name escaped Obi-Wan's lips before he could stop it, barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of a thousand nightmares. "He's alive? How is he—"
Every head turned toward him.
"Obi-Wan?" Sam's voice carried concern. "You okay there?"
Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sudden rush of memory. Naboo. The Theed power generator. Qui-Gon falling in slow motion, Maul's crimson blade punching through his master's chest. The rage. The impossible duel. The moment his blade had cut through Maul's midsection, sending the Sith Lord tumbling into the abyss—
"I apologize." Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe normally. "I didn't mean to... The last time I encountered a Zabrak Dark Side user was on Naboo. It's just—" He shook his head. "A distant memory. I'm fine."
"Are you certain?" Captain America's expression was sympathetic. Steve Rogers knew about ghosts from the past.
"Your heart rate spiked," Daredevil observed quietly. "Adrenaline response. Elevated breathing. You're experiencing a stress reaction."
"I'm sorry to have worried you all." Obi-Wan looked back at the frozen image, forcing himself to study it objectively. This wasn't Maul. The tattoo patterns were different. The build was heavier, more brutish. "This is... someone else."
"Brother? Cousin?" Sam suggested. "Zabrak are pretty distinctive, but there's got to be more than one of them running around the galaxy."
"I have no idea," Obi-Wan admitted. "But one thing we do know—" He gestured at Quinlan, who advanced the footage.
The image changed, showing the Zabrak warrior receiving orders from a familiar figure in dark robes.
"Sora Bulq," Vos confirmed. "Dooku's Dark Jedi enforcer. Which means—"
"The Count has found himself a new apprentice," Plo Koon finished. "Or at least a new weapon."
"This is troubling." Aayla Secura's voice carried layers of concern. "I can feel the dark side shifting, growing stronger. Something is moving in the shadows."
"When the dark side concentrates its power, death follows," Barel Ovair said grimly. "We've seen this pattern before. It never ends well."
"Great." Sam's tone was dry. "Thanks for that cheerful assessment, Ovair."
"Can we predict his next move?" Captain America asked, cutting through the tension with tactical focus. "I don't want to see another base destroyed by this... person. Do we know his pattern?"
"That's the problem," Vos said, pulling up a star chart. Red markers indicated the destroyed outposts. "The locations seem random. Scattered across multiple sectors with no obvious connection."
"Maybe random to us," Ovair said slowly, his scholarly mind working through possibilities. "But there could be a deeper pattern. Let me think..." He studied the chart, fingers drumming against his chin. "These outposts—what do they have in common?"
"They're all understaffed," Boss offered. "Pulled back when Ultron entered the war. We had to consolidate forces, defend more critical positions."
"Exactly." Ovair's eyes lit up with grim understanding. "These are vulnerable targets. Isolated. Lightly defended. Not because of any Ultron operation, but because we had to make difficult choices about resource allocation."
"So they're picking off our weak points," Fixer said. "Testing our defenses. Finding the gaps."
"Or preparing something larger," Adi Gallia added. "Softening our perimeter before a major push."
"Delta Squad." Quinlan's voice carried command authority. "Return to the closest at-risk outposts immediately. Code word: Eaglebat. Get our people ready for potential attack. Full defensive measures."
"Sir." Boss snapped a salute, and the four commandos departed with practiced efficiency.
Once they'd left, Sam voiced the obvious question: "So we know what this psycho looks like. How do we find him?"
"We could attempt to track his path of destruction," Aayla suggested. "Follow the trail of bodies. But that's reactive—we'd always be one step behind."
"We need to split up," Black Widow said. "Cover more ground. One team tracks the Zabrak's movements, tries to predict his next target. Another team investigates the source."
"We could employ Force tracking," Adi Gallia offered. "Similar to the technique used during the Cad Bane kidnapping incident. If we can acquire something the Zabrak touched, something with his Force signature—"
"That would work," Plo Koon agreed. "The Force leaves traces. If this warrior is as steeped in the dark side as he appears, his presence will linger on objects he's handled."
"When do we move?" Sam asked.
"Now." Obi-Wan's voice was firm, decisive. "This creature is still hunting. Every moment we delay means more dead."
"Agreed," Black Widow said. "But while some of us track his movements, others need to find out where he came from. This isn't some random thug Dooku picked up. The way he fights—that's training. Discipline. Someone taught him."
"Valid point, Ms. Romanoff," Ovair said. "I have a theory about his origin. Based on his species and the aggressive combat style, I'd guess either Iridonia or Dathomir."
"Dathomir?" Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "The witch planet?"
"The very same," Ovair confirmed. "Though 'witch' is somewhat reductive. The Nightsisters are powerful Force users with their own unique traditions."
"Sounds like a fun vacation spot," Sam said dryly.
"My instinct says Iridonia," Obi-Wan said. "Maul was from Iridonia. If this is a relative—"
"Actually," Ovair interrupted gently, "that's a common misconception. Iridonia is the Zabrak homeworld, yes. But Maul was taken from Dathomir as an infant. On Dathomir, male Zabraks are called Nightbrothers—they're raised as warriors by the Nightsister clans."
"So it's a matriarchal society," Black Widow observed with a hint of approval. "Interesting."
"Don't get too excited, Natasha," Daredevil said dryly.
"We should move immediately," Obi-Wan decided. "Two teams. One tracks the Zabrak's probable movements, prepares to intercept. The other goes to Dathomir to investigate his origins—and possibly find a weakness we can exploit."
"Matt," Captain America said, turning to Daredevil. "You're with Obi-Wan on the Dathomir team."
"He won't be alone," Black Widow added. "Pietro will accompany them. His speed gives us a tactical advantage, and with Matt's senses, they'll be able to detect any deception the Nightsisters might attempt."
"Plus," Natasha's smile was sharp, "if things go south, Pietro can get you both out faster than any ship."
Obi-Wan nodded acceptance. "Very well. Master Plo, perhaps you could lead the tracking team? Your tactical acumen would be invaluable."
"I will coordinate with the outposts," Plo Koon agreed. "Aayla, Adi—you're with me. We'll establish a predictive grid, try to anticipate the Zabrak's next target."
"Captain Rogers, Falcon—" Plo continued, "your assistance would be greatly appreciated. The Avengers' tactical perspective has proven valuable in past operations."
"You got it," Sam said. "Let's catch this guy before he kills anyone else."
They dispersed with the practiced efficiency of warriors who'd worked together before. No wasted motion, no unnecessary words. The galaxy was at war, and every second counted.
As Obi-Wan left the war room with Daredevil, the blind vigilante spoke quietly: "You going to be okay? Facing someone who looks like the man who killed your master?"
Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment. "Qui-Gon would tell me to release my emotions to the Force. To not allow the past to cloud the present." He sighed. "It's easier said than done."
"Yeah." Daredevil's smile was humorless. "Trust me, I get it. But for what it's worth—you're not alone in this."
"Thank you, Matt."
They had no way of knowing that their investigation would lead them directly into the web of one of the galaxy's most dangerous powers.