Morgan paused as the Eye pulsed, breathing through the memory. The phantom sensation faded, an echo of the all-consuming sight, and another exhale let him resume meditation.
It had been happening less, but whatever the Eye had done had shaken something loose. Some memory of insight he didn't remember, not even now, but got flashes of. The Eye was interested in it, Morgan was pretty sure, but he had no idea why.
Taking nearly twice as long, and with double the effort, he finally reached his desired state of mind. Opened his eyes and looked over the workbench, scattered pieces of metal and stone strewn about.
Two weeks they'd been on Taris, repairing the fleet and ensuring the Rakghoul plague died as anticipated, and he had more free time than usual. So he'd taken up his hobby of artifact crafting, and tasked himself to create something that wasn't an explosive.
Strange to think it had been almost six months since his escape from Marr's prison. Six months since they'd been at war with the Empire, most of that time spent in transit.
And, as of yesterday morning, they had three hundred and fifty two war-ships fighting under the Enosis flag. It was, Kala had assured him, highly unusual to start a war and then increase the number of vessels you had, but the words gift and horse came to mind.
So, as it turned out, winning not one but two major battles against the Empire, and then a host of smaller ones, made you an attractive target for defection. It was a common belief among them, according to Kala, that he wasn't so much trying to kill the Empire as looking to take over.
Meaning the Enosis wasn't trying to replace the Empire, just change its leadership. And if the Imperial military understood anything, it was sith infighting. This was rather extreme, sure, but they understood it.
There were a number of obvious problems with this, such as those people getting upset when it turned out Morgan was very much planning to burn the Old Way to ash, but Kala had rolled her eyes.
Told him to give her some credit, and that she was dealing with the issue. The war was doing wonders for experience, many of the green officers not so green anymore, and soon enough the defectors would be diluted even further.
Said that the influx of defectors was balancing their level of experience -Naval Academies don't spit out veterans-, so most defecting crews were broken up. Reassigned and liberally diluted with newly-trained personnel.
Which had its own problems, of course, as racist officers demeaned non-human subordinates and non-human officers distrusted former Imperial personnel, but the kinks were slowly being worked out. Battle helped, fighting and winning together, as did frequent cooperation exercises aimed at promoting unity.
And what few didn't adapt were removed, regardless, so Kala had been confident. Morgan had deferred to her experience.
It was a little surreal, in his humble opinion, to be assured that the massive influx of recruits and manpower was trying very hard not only to stay on his good side, but to impress him. Wiping out the Rakghouls, as he had predicted, had made an impression.
But he'd assumed it would be an impression primarily on the people of Taris, since the beasts weren't really a problem anywhere else. Yet altering a plague had been more impressive than him fighting Marr to a standstill, and he wasn't sure why.
Alright, that was a lie. He knew why. Fighting Marr was just two super-humans battling it out, something to be impressed by from a very safe distance. But wiping out a plague was a display of power people could understand. Something they could fear, yes, but also something they could be impressed by.
Be nice, or the Fleshcrafter Lord removes your species from existence.
Which wasn't accurate at all, either in intent or his ability to actually do, but that's what people saw. And he had used this power, his rather extreme levels of power, to fix something. Not break or kill or worsen, fix.
Morgan shook his head, turning back to the worktable. This level of mental clarity tended to make him introspective, which was good for his mental health, but it also made him easily distracted.
The Eye blinked and Morgan ignored the memory, briefly wondering what this heightened state of mental prowess would do for his combat ability.
Focus. The echo of the Eye vanished, and not for the first time he wondered if it had ever left him at all. If it hadn't implanted some part of itself, embedded in his soul.
But no. Star had found nothing of the sort, Morgan had found nothing of the sort, and if it was so skilled it could alter his very being without detection there was nothing he could do anyway.
So, artifacts. Curious semi-machines created not unlike fleshcrafting, which made sense when you considered that they shared the same overarching discipline; Sith Alchemy. Useful for all manner of horrific things, from who-the-fuck-would-want-this-kind-of-immortality to enslaving actual souls to be used as batteries, the applications were only limited by the users' imagination. That and the fact that the slightest mistake drove people mad.
Best to work on that on the surface, where any explosive mistakes don't damage his very expensive dreadnought.
But now he had to choose something to build, and he would readily admit he wasn't the most creative person. What he needed he could simply do with the Force, especially now that intent augmented his abilities, so what could he make that he needed?
Oh, he could think of a dozen things he would like. The thing that had pulled them out of hyperspace when Lachris attacked, for one. That would be useful. The Wrath's stealth artifact, the time-distorting prison, the list went on. But none of that was something he understood, not deeply enough to imprint into metal and stone, so what did that leave?
What did he understand, truly understand, and would be of use? The answer had come after he'd discarded the criteria that it needed to be useful to him, and collecting the materials afterwards hadn't been hard.
Morgan called it the Healing Cube. Lana had almost physically attacked him, which he found to be somewhat of an overreaction, and he hadn't told Soft Voice yet. But her sneering condemnation of his naming talents aside, he thought it quite clever.
It was, effectively, a regeneration device. Sit close to the stone, as close as you can get, and the body is afforded low levels of healing. Undirected, so anything complex wouldn't get fixed, but those injuries that the body could mend without human assistance would be healed more quickly. At about a ten-times increase, which he personally considered to be pretty good.
Lana had shot down his plan to make an anchor point for Star, anyway, so this was his next idea. Thinking back, she might have still been reeling from his plan to let the Other access their reality at will when mocking his cube. He hadn't even been able to explain the limitations and safeguards before she'd flown into her tirade, either.
Regardless, the Healing Cube. It was still theoretical, for now, so he got to work. His extensive knowledge of fleshcrafting was the basis of the intent. The intent which he would overlay in the stone and metal to mimic its effects. The Force was life, always, so it was a concept well-suited to it.
The fact that the thing weighed nearly a hundred pounds was another consequence of his inexperience. He was sure time would let him make them sleek and carryable, especially when he could further condense his intent, but for now they would be square boxes of heaviness.
Heaviness. Morgan snorted, shaking his head as he started to overlay memories of healing. The Force flowed through the metal and rock, influencing the natural patterns there, and the intent came easy. Easy because the memories came easy, which had been happening the longer he meditated on the Eye.
It also made his mind go in strange directions, going off on tangents and using nonsensical words. The syllables didn't matter, only the intent. The memory of the word. The idea of tranq-
The stone didn't change, the metal didn't warp, but the artifact slowly took shape anyway. Its form smoothed out, roughly blended metal and stone fusing together, and Morgan didn't question why it had felt right to use both. Both instead of one, union for the mending of soul and flesh.
Intent surged. Souls. Fleshcrafting was flesh, bone and meat and muscle and skin. Souls were life, the Force and memory and feeling and passion and hope and future and past an-
Morgan reigned in the torrent, closing the flood of power as the Force settled. The stone seemed to glow with energy, with meaning, and he could almost feel the soothing waves of life-bearing energy flow into him.
"I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't supposed to happen." He picked up Teacher's holocron, cross-referencing his experience with the knowledge within, but only found scattered mentions of it. "It'd be nice to talk with you about that. I do miss you, you know? Even if I don't need you anymore."
A wave of melancholy spread through him, and Morgan found himself just staring at the holocron for a while. Could he save the man now, he wondered? With intent-fused restoration that dwarfed his earlier attempts at repairing the holocron?
The feeling didn't last, not for long, and he composed a message with the artifact's parameters to… To whom? This wasn't a military matter, Soft Voice was busy and he didn't know someone whose job it was to find people for him.
He contacted Mirla, in the end, who connected him to the department of special acquisitions. From there he was put in contact with someone who seemed much, much more interested in the artifact than the human who brought it, which was a welcome change of pace, and Morgan explained the parameters.
They went back and forth for a while, the man humming and clearly making notes, and Morgan watched the connection waver for a few seconds. He'd need to get someone on that after the war.
"Well, comparing costs of traditional high-end healing supplies and the suggested spending patterns of those rich enough to afford an object like this, I'd price it around two-to-three million." The man paused, tilting his head slightly. "You said forty years?"
"I did."
"I assume that is the remaining time? I am aware exotic senses cannot give particularly accurate readings, but please try. It will influence the market price."
Morgan shrugged. "It has existed for around ten minutes, so yes, forty years is accurate."
"You made this?" The specialist paused, slowly turning his head away from the datapad. "Apologies, but to whom am I speaking? I am afraid to say that I have gotten distracted during the beginning of our meeting."
Well, that turned formal real quick. "Morgan, nice to meet you. And we didn't exchange names, since you, and I quote, are more interested in the artifact than pointless pleasantries."
"Yes, well." The man wiped his hands on his lab-coat, swallowing. "Right, yes. I seem to have everything I need. Thank you for yourtimeandsorryaboutorderingyouaroundbyenow."
The link went dead and Morgan snorted, shrugging. He'd probably be able to make another four, depending on how mentally draining the second turned out to be, so that should be a decent bonus for the Enosis treasury.
The comm chimed, Morgan assumed it was someone calling back about the very focused expert, and found Lana's face greeting him. The Force hummed lightly, not in warning but definitely tense. "What's happened?"
"You need to get back to the Yamada." Lana said, expression tight. "We know why we couldn't find Marr or his fleet. Admiral Kala is ordering everyone back from shore leave, and a transport will be at your location within the next few minutes to pick you up."
Morgan nodded, smoothing his shirt and putting materials away. The urge to demand answers came, but he suppressed it. He'd learn soon enough.
Whatever it was, it probably wasn't good.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"It always amazes me what you can break into with money and a good slicer." Vette mused, stepping out of the shadow. A little dramatic, and the hutt only turned to regard her, but good enough. "I mean, even you. The feared Supreme Mogul, leader of the even more feared Cartel, and it only took a few million to find this place."
Toborro, Supreme Mogul of the hutt Cartel, looked at her calmly. "No soul in this building would have taken your credits."
"Well, that's true." Vette admitted, fingers playing with her special blaster. "But it sure paid for the mercenaries taking pictures of their loved ones. Fear is good, terror is useful, but nothing in this galaxy beats loyalty born of gratitude."
"The Supreme Mogul has not been slain by an outsider for nine hundred years." Toborro said, turning on his throne. A spear laid next to it, his robot arm with its robot fingers itching for it. "You kill me, a jumped up twi'lek with more greed than sense, and entire worlds will burn. Ryloth to be the first."
Vette shook her head. "A hutt condemning me for greed. What has this galaxy come to? And I wouldn't be so sure Ryloth is yours to condemn, not anymore. You left it alone too long, let the slaves conspire and prepare. Because that's what you see me as, isn't it? A slave. Even now, minutes from death, you can't accept it. Won't accept that you've been beaten by a servant."
Toborro struck quick as lightning, grasping the spear and flinging it across the room. His aim was impeccable, his strength unbelievable, but Vette was far from baseline. She stepped aside, reflexes and experience guiding the move. The spear missed, embedding itself in the wall, and she returned fire.
Once. One shot, taking him in the chest and destroying part of his lungs. He gasped, an involuntary sound, and his lunge turned into a tumble. The hutt slid off his throne, Vette holstering her weapon.
"Siantide. A gift from my love, who would rend your Cartel to pieces had I but asked. I'm sure you've heard of him? He goes by the name of Darth Caro, these days. Caro the Cartel killer. It has a nice ring to it, but this is my mission. My kill."
The Supreme Mogul gasped weakly, seeming betrayed by his own limbs. "I should have had you strangled in the crib."
"Obviously. But you didn't, turning your focus away from me and mine to deal with the Exchange. Because a slave could rise up, it could rebel and cost you money, but they could never rise high enough to challenge you. Not directly. It took me a while to figure that out, I'll admit. How the disdain is almost baked into your DNA. But here we are. Here you are."
"I am a warrior." Toborro gurgled, grasping his robotic hand towards her face. "For seventy years I drowned entire cities in blood. Seventy years before I elevated myself above that cast. You will not kill me. You cannot kill me."
Vette smiled condescendingly. "And how long ago was this? Don't answer, I already know. See, I know everything about you. Everything your enemies had. How eager they were to sell it to me, and all I had to do was convince a surprisingly open-minded hutt to be my face. To say the right words, flash the right price. Your automated defences? Disabled. Your mercenaries and slave-raised soldiers? Gone. All because they love money, because your cyber security sucks and sending falsified orders is easy when you don't pay your cyber experts enough. Am I saying cyber too much? I'm not actually sure what it means. But anyway, it was mostly because they hate you."
"I am the Supreme Mogul." Toborro whispered, his breathing cumbersome. "No hutt will betray me."
"How did you get the job, again?"
Something flashed in his eyes, Vette dancing back as he surged forward. Hutts, as she remembered from her extensive preparation material, were tough as nails and surprisingly quick. Their warrior caste was how they built their Empire, though it was one of their lowest tiers of citizenship. Madness.
"Death." The Supreme Mogul gasped, the last of his strength spent. "Death to all you love."
The door opened behind her, Plur walking inside. The sith assassin was covered in blood, a satisfying spring to his step. The man bowed. "The remaining Cartel slave-soldiers are dead, my Lady. My team and your Valkyries are finishing up with the last of the resistance."
"Thank you, Plur. Could you wait outside? I won't be long."
"Of course, my Lady."
The door opened again, shutting soon after, and Vette turned back to Toborro. "Sorry about that. Oh, listen to me. Apologizing to a hutt. That makes me feel slimy, though I'm sure you can relate."
"You are a child." The dying hutt whispered, blood starting to seep from his mouth. "You will never rule the Cartel."
Vette grinned down at him. "Another one of those misconceptions you just can't seem to shake. I don't want to rule you. I want you to burn."
Her Siantide blaster was drawn, fired and holstered again, a clean hole boring through the Supreme Mogul's skull. Vette nodded to herself, stepped over to the man's throne to input her cyber-attack-device into an available socket, and cracked her back.
One down, one to go.
She turned as Miraka and her army of slicers took control over the building, the hutts' paranoia turned against them. What little of his automated security still worked, of course. It wasn't much. Still, he also kept his bank account information there.
Not all his money would be hers, but a lot of it would be. Yet money was secondary, and she seated herself on the enormous throne as the holoprojector flickered to life.
Image. Image was everything. So there she sat, on the throne of the Supreme Mogul, as the Compeer flickered into view. The man froze as she waved at him, Ukkol Baal the Exchange boss seemingly needing a minute.
"You killed the Supreme Mogul." The Compeer said, sounding actually impressed. "You batshit, utterly insane twi'lek. Do you have any idea what this means?"
Vette put a hand to her chin. "I wonder when people will stop asking me that. But to answer the question, it'll create chaos. And me, well. I thrive in chaos. It'll be a long, hard fight, no doubt, but I'm confident my armies can subdue the hutts. Funny thing about mercenaries, that. They tend to fight for those that pay them. And I just stole a lot of money."
"I warned them." Ukkol said, shaking his head. "But I'm impressed. You are insane, don't get me wrong, but I'm impressed. And never let it be said I am unable to recognize an opportunity. How long do you need?"
She tilted her head. "For what?"
"To subdue the Cartel properly." The man replied, brow furrowing. "You called me to buy a ceasefire with the Exchange. To buy time until you're done with the Cartel."
"Oh. Yeah, that would make sense, wouldn't it? But no, I didn't call you for that. Weren't you listening? I want chaos."
Vette suppressed a gleeful smile as the connection briefly went unstable, the explosion that ripped through the Compeer's door disconnecting them. Seconds dragged by and she accepted an incoming call, smiling at the face on the other side.
The Compeer was on his knees, bleeding from his head but seeming lucid. Good. Gloating felt much better when the other person could understand you. The captain of her assassination team came into view, the woman nodding. "Target secure."
"Excellent. Put him back on, please."
Ukkol blinked at her, recognition only barely there, and she frowned. Maybe not as lucid as she assumed. Vette waved her hand and the man was injected with a cocktail of stimulants, his eyes jerking to full focus.
"Barghd." Ukkol grunted, shaking his head. "Bastard. I'll slit your throat for this."
"Yes, yes, I know. You'll ask how I knew where you lived, I tell you I'm awesome and learned of it by bribing your uncle, but honestly I've already done that song and dance today. So instead you just get to answer a simple question. Depending on your answer you either live in exile or die on that expensive looking floor."
"Ask."
Vette smiled. "You won't like it, but you'll like dying less. My triggerwoman in the room, let's not be sexist now, is going to hand you an identification device. You will input your DNA, passcodes, location dependent two-factor authentication and voice recognition. And yes, that will give me access to the entire Exchange network."
"You'll let me live if I do? I have no reason to believe that."
"No, you don't, but I'm a woman of my word. Choose right, choose quickly, and you can be cursing my name in some backwater cantina by this time next week. Besides, we both know you value your life more than anything else in this universe."
Long seconds passed, Vette could almost see him weigh defiance against the slim chance at life, and he wordlessly took the device. Handed her everything she needed to cripple the Exchange, to cripple it deeply, and make her even more obscenely rich.
The captain nodded after verification was complete, Vette waved her hand, and the Compeer died on his knees.
She'd never specified which choice would set him free, after all.
"Thank you, captain. Your bonus will be in your account by the time you exfiltrate off-world."
The woman nodded once, signalling her team as the holo-projector went dead. The door to the living room of the Supreme Mogul opened, Jess walking inside. The captain of the Valkyries was covered in blood, cleaning her knife as she looked at the corpse.
"Enemy reinforcements are coming." She said, sheathing her blade. "I suggest we leave before they arrive."
Vette stepped off the throne, nodding her assent. She cast one last look at the room as she did, a wide grin stretching over her face. "We should do this again sometime. It was fun."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, ma'am."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Darth Marr, effective leader of the Empire, held a strong belief in treating one's subordinates with consistency. Unpredictability was the death of discipline, no matter the military, and people had to know which lines they could not cross. Timidness born from hesitation held no place in those he commanded.
Which was why he had kept Darth Nox close. The woman was beautiful, standing there with her hands clasped behind her back and looking out at hyperspace, but she was just a child. So, perhaps appropriately, it was beauty born from a childish imagination.
He was not a religious man, not even towards the Force, but it felt almost appropriate to thank a deity that Nox didn't seem to possess Caro's affinity for fleshcrafting.
One of those, with his fanatic soldiers and their hardened physiology, was more than enough.
But now the real plan was in its final phase. The Enosis was growing quickly, yes, and they were growing large, but they clearly lacked proper military experience. Their admiral was talented but young, their generals unused to fighting war on this scale.
And while his trap on Hoth might have failed, the distraction on Taris worked as intended. It would keep a significant portion of the Enosis fleet occupied while he hunted down their stations, which he had finally located.
Annoyingly, they seemed to move. And bad luck had placed one such relocation while he was already in hyperspace, costing him time he would rather not have wasted. He was able to track them, his spies finally having breached Enosis security, but with isotope-5 Enosis fleets moved fast.
But soon it would be over. Without their stations the fleets would have nowhere to call home, morale would plummet, the recruiting of defectors would halt and momentum would be lost. Taris would be retaken in good time, and then he could set the Empire back in order.
"I'm bored." Nox complained, turning towards him. The regal image - her beauty augmented by armor and arms - shattered, and her tone was almost whiny. "Play with me."
"The last time we sparred a ship was lost."
Nox shook her head. "That wasn't my fault. You shouldn't have deflected."
"You shouldn't hav-" Marr cut himself off, taking a breath. "We are not sparring. You are here to kill the sith Lords Lana and Zethix while I take care of Darth Caro."
She replied with an actual whine. "Why is everyone calling him a Darth? I had to kill Thanaton before people called me that."
"He lured me into a trap containing a creature I could scarcely comprehend." Marr replied flatly. "It was luck alone that it let me go, and he spoke its language. You yourself failed to kill him. Baras failed to kill him. Ekkage failed to kill him. A dozen sith Lords and more failed to kill him. I will respect his ability to endure, but you do not have to."
Darth Nox, Lord of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, pouted and didn't reply. Marr put her out of his mind as she started to terrorize the bridge crew, looming over people and giving wildly incorrect advice. Advice that she expected them to follow, which he would have to put a stop to once combat started.
Without a defensive fleet or not, his people inside Enosis space had told him of how serious they took their security.
But no station, even one built for war, could stand against what he had brought. The remainder of the ships he used on Hoth, reinforced with the vessels Nox had requisitioned. And refused to release, even if she had no use for them, but that was a while ago. Now they were useful.
Once the Enosis was dealt with they would move to crush the Ravenite cultists, retake what ground they had lost to Caro's to-be-homeless fleet, and the Empire would regain its image of strength. Most defectors would have to be forgiven, for now, but time would let him rebuild the Empire.
The Republic would no doubt take the opportunity to strike, but that was why he tolerated Nox to begin with. Darth Caro was far from the first to use advanced Force powers to cripple enemy leadership, and with both her and isotope-5 Marr felt confident he could weather the attack.
It would necessitate a ground assault of the Enosis stations to acquire the latter, but that was workable. He had brought plenty of soldiers, plenty of sith, and without Caro's presence there would be no one to match him. Not even theoretically.
Marr was still confident he could match the Darth in physical combat, but why risk it?
And he needed that isotope. The Empire had some, yes, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
He heard a noise, turning, and found that Nox was strangling the navigator. The bridge had succumbed to a feeling of fear, people not paying attention to their stations, and Marr flexed his own power. Nox was superior in raw reserves, that he already knew, but the child was young.
A prodigy among prodigies, but young.
The hold broke and the man crumbled to the ground, hurt but alive. Marr kept his tone even, briefly wondering if he really needed the child's help. "Do not kill my people. If you do kill my people, I will kill your people."
Nox stuck her tongue out, but he knew the point had been made. She breaks his toys, he breaks her toys, no one is happy. Like dealing with, well, a child.
With her perpetual boredom handled, for now, Marr turned back to important matters. Time passed as he ensured his army was ready, remotely assigned a trial to his latest apprentice on Korriban, then sparred with his Lords. None of which could give him a good match, but four or five together forced him to try.
Unfortunately he had been unable to acquire proper sith Lords, the ambitious and experienced kind, but these would do. From what his spy had gathered the Enosis had few sith capable of dealing even with them, though a surprisingly large number of jedi Knights called it home.
Still, the average Knight was no match for a sith Lord. And most of their regular army would be away, so the hundred thousand soldiers he brought would be enough. As would the several hundred lesser sith. The Enosis had more than their fair share of Force users, so he would be a fool not to bring those.
And then, at last, the moment of truth. The first of his carefully paid plans to come to fruition, the first domino to knock over all the others. The three home stations of the Enosis.
His fleet exited hyperspace behind him, days of planning and preparation ensuring they came out in formation. A small Enosis fleet, mostly frigates, was pulling back towards the station. None of them would give his ships even momentary trouble. As his intelligence confirmed, the main fleet was away.
And had left the stations without a proper defensive fleet. The Enosis was young, so the mistake could almost be forgiven. Forgiven, but not ignored.
Marr could smell it, the fear and panic. The desperate planning and marshaling of troops. They would no doubt try to run, call their fleets home and hide away amongst the distant stars, but there would be no more of that. No more raiding and skirmishing.
One battle, one victory, and his trouble would be over.
"Ensure they cannot leave." Marr rumbled, turning towards his admiral. "Physically block their escape if you have to."
"Understood, my Lord. Arranging the fleet to ensure no hyperspace jumps can be performed."
Ships moved in patterns to ensure the stations could not flee, and Marr narrowed his eyes. His spy had said these stations may be in different systems, but it seemed they had yet to split after their recent relocation. Bad, in the sense that they could support each other, but also good.
One battle, one victory.
"Movement of the outer shell of all three stations." An officer called, Marr half-turning to listen. "They appear to be construction droids."
Marr grunted. "Rakatan construction droids, yes. They and the battle droids will be targeted with prejudice. Are they preparing to attack?"
"No, my Lord. They are sticking close to the stations."
Smart. Even a large horde would be torn to shreds before they could so much as touch his ships, but using the stations as cover meant they could skirmish at will. And construction droids, assuming the Enosis had someone competent in charge, would be quite adept at cutting through armor plating.
"Set course to board."
The fleet advanced and Marr folded his arms, eyeing Nox. The child had stepped to his side, seeming serious, and he could feel the Force buckle. Feel it warp and twist as she pressed her will against it, torrents and torrents of power flooding forward.
Then Nox staggered back, an outraged flash of rage appearing on her face. "They stopped me. They hurt me!"
Ah, that. Likely the same thing he'd felt after his fight with Caro over Hoth, back when he disabled the Yamada. Minds and power joined together, reminding him of jedi yet not.
Jedi joined their power through familiarity. The desire to cooperate. And the Enosis had that, but unlike the jedi, they seemed to have standardised training. Basic, low-power techniques designed to click together. Not quite as good as when he had fought Knights, but allowing for a much larger scale.
They couldn't really hurt him in turn, of course. Even if they had the power, it was disjoined. Lacking proper intent. But it seemed Nox had forgone such trivial things as redundant shielding and a cautious approach.
Marr reached out his own senses, ignoring an incensed Nox throwing power around like a toddler-god. It wasn't doing much, splashing against vast bulwarks of power. Bulwarks that, to his surprise, felt sturdy. Solid.
He tasted their structure and found it as simplistic as expected, but the intent. The intent burned. Smoothing over the gaps and mistakes, a unifying will to oppose the invaders. Hundreds of them. Thousands.
Tiny little specks, yet forming a shield vast enough to ward against someone of Nox's power. A commendable achievement, Marr admitted. Not something that would stop him, of course, but he didn't really favor raw power in the first place.
Skill, control, technique, he was the superior in all of them. Yet he found some lurking souls that would take him time to subdue, what tasted like jedi Masters and tranquil sith, so he held back. He was not going to be fooled again, and despite his successes so far, he fully expected a trick.
For Caro to be here, even if his spies insisted he was still on Taris. No. He would save his power for when it was truly needed. Nox would tire them out, them and herself, and he brought an army for a reason.
No jedi Master would fall to what he had brought, not by itself, but that was fine. Isolated and demoralised they would die at his leisure. Die when he made time for them and not when they attacked him.
So ships moved and nothing opposed him, the Enosis pulling back to contest them on the stations themselves. Marr would have shattered them if not for the isotope-5, but taking instead of destroying had another benefit.
Frankly, the Empire was running out of money. Selling those space stations wouldn't fix that, but it would help. Not that he had much need for them.
Nox wrestled with the defenders, growing increasingly annoyed, and tens of thousands of souls moved to boarding positions. Breaching pods were prepared, filled with shock-troops and lesser sith, and more assembled on regular transports.
The nature of the stations meant plenty of places to assault, even if they had to cut through security doors to do it. Then it would be a wave of infantry attacking in so many places their defenders would have to stretch thin, and then another.
Marr moved to join the second wave, which was when the problems started and he had priorities to deal with, as his admiral split off a fifth of the fleet to guard their flanks. Cautious, but Marr approved. He waited as Nox trailed him, shocking a soldier to death for looking at her, and Marr reigned in his desire to throw her out of the airlock.
Shuttles docked, military-grade plasma cutters started their work, and Marr summoned that old wellpool of hatred. Soon. Soon he wouldn't need a mad child and absentee leaders to keep the Empire whole. Soon his home would be secure from foreign and domestic threats.
Soon.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Volryder nodded as he directed a few more Knights forward, pointing towards the thickest melee. The three men charged without anger or fear, quick for their rank, and Volryder thanked whomever had reassigned them here.
Three hundred soldiers, with another six companies of militia, were keeping the hangar contained. A large transport had crashed inside, managing to cut their way through the blast-doors, and unloaded hundreds and hundreds of Imperial soldiers into the space. Worse yet it had allowed them to fully retract the blast-shields before sufficient forces could arrive to stop them.
Now another eight enemy transports were aiming to unload their troops, only one having managed so far. But, as was quickly becoming evident, luck was not on their side. Dozens of lightsabers had ignited, a tide of sith surging out of the dark to overwhelm them.
Fortunately, it had also been the time seventy eight rakatan war-droids had arrived. Volryder spent a moment thanking the Force those hadn't been taken for the war, something about the Enosis war-doctrine not being quite ready for them.
It saved them now. Was saving them all over the station. Around seven thousand soldiers had been at home, though the militia had been summoned, and they were still outnumbered ten-to-one. The moment the Empire managed to land all their troops, this would be over.
But for now sith fought droids and did not seem to be enjoying it. Of the seventy eight rakatan machines that had arrived, thirty one remained. Eighteen sith had died taking out that many, but the remaining droids had learned. Adapted to lightsabers, which shot their success rate through the roof.
Which had been, of course, when a sith Lord had shown up. Promptly scrapped a dozen of them, overseeing his troops and slaughtering Enosis soldiers at will.
Volryder had fought the man, briefly, but despite his own increased training had been soundly beaten. Missing an arm, which a healer was taking care of, but unable to contribute.
But now three Knights were keeping the Lord busy, so Volryder shrugged off the woman regrowing his arm. Barked at his major, the young man adapting admirably to real battle. "Keep this chokepoint secure. If they get to the control panel they'll open every hangar from here to the shipyard, and we both know destroying it isn't an option."
That was an understatement. It would take hours to uncouple oxygen pumps and fuel regulators alone. Volryder didn't add that part. The man nodded, fire burning in his eyes, and Volryder nodded to the war-droids. With the Lord occupied it was time to take care of those pesky sith.
Pesky. Volryder shook his head and joined eleven rakatan machines in battle, the agile models just about capable of keeping up with him. The remainder were sorely needed to keep back the enemy.
The enemy sith had learned their lesson about charging blindly, but they were not Enosis. Grouped together, sure, but fighting alone. Volryder vaulted over the hastily erected barricade of construction equipment and slashed his lightsaber down, his non-dominant arm functioning fine. The other was a weird, feelingless flesh thing, but he wasn't that much worse with his left.
Good enough to kill four soldiers by the time he landed, the droids bypassing fortifications like they didn't exist. Fists and guns lashed out, killing another two dozen, and just like that this section of the front was clear.
Just shy of three thousand, Volryder mused. Three thousand rakatan war-droids, though spread over three stations. Two dozen a day was the limit of their production capability, and the request to have Lord Caro take a look himself hadn't been finalised yet.
But even with just three thousand, they slaughtered and butchered and Volryder finally understood. Understood why Morgan had his knives, why the man cared so little about blood and death.
Volryder had fought before. In battles and skirmishes and more. But never had it been his people getting attacked. His pupils slaughtered, his friends threatened.
He was a diplomat. A counsellor and teacher. But as he broke into sith ranks, Imperial sith with their bloodlust and sadism, he did not talk. He did not even want to, lightsaber flickering out. The woman died, some middle-aged creature with yellow eyes and deceased skin.
His lightsaber swept right, foot kicking out to tackle another, and two more died in the next few seconds. Their reflexes were slow, their precognition weak and strength laughable. Volryder tore through three more by the time his war-droids joined him, and the Force drowned his conscious thought.
Six more droids destroyed, but no more lesser sith to kill his soldiers. Volryder breathed deeply and retreated, two companies of Imperial troops reinforcing the position he had invaded, and took stock of the battle.
Another ship had forced itself inside, scraping against the wall and half falling, but the soldiers crawling out of it looked ready to fight. It put them at four to one odds, and Volryder looked at the sith Lord. One of the Knights was dead, the other two engaged in a fighting retreat.
Volryder made his way there, dismissing the droids to reinforce the choke-point, and the three of them forced the Lord to retreat. Yet the new soldiers were organizing, forcing them back lest they be surrounded, and his own side was losing more men by the second.
He and the Knights took point at the defence, creating mobile one-way shields for Enosis soldiers, but the pressure kept increasing. A trickle of reinforcements, two companies of militia, and they could hopefully hold out another half-hour. The Empire threw half a hundred regular droids inside the hangar, which their own barely managed to destroy, and Volryder felt his own fear rise then ebb.
Rise because the sith Lord was approaching again, joined by a trio of apprentices. Then ebb, because someone had finally noticed their front was too important to let fall.
Thirteen Force users, one of which blazed in his perception. Volryder nodded to the kaleesh warrior as the man shot towards the sith Lord, their power near equal.
Volryder knew this was but one of a dozen fronts, one of a hundred battles raging across the three stations, but his focus was here. On rallying his soldiers, the young major dead - now succeeded by his captain.
They were not going to win, but Volryder was alright with that. He had tried, had committed to a future of unity and peace, and people feared them for it. Hated them for it. As predicted.
The kaleesh fought, the kaleesh lost, and Volryder watched the man be thrown aside with contempt. Damn warriors and their insistence on honor. They were growing, but shit like this still happened. The sith Lord approached his downed opponent, lightsaber raised high, and Volryder wouldn't be fast enough even if he could reach them.
Then the sith Lord froze, eyes going distant, and the kaleesh put a dagger through the man's eye. Up and sideways, destroying most of the brain in one smooth motion. A feeling of attention fluttered away, too quick to recognize.
Volryder looked to see his captain laugh, a sound he had not heard in hours, and saw what the man saw. Saw the hundreds of friendly signatures on their radar, feeling Morgan's power blaze halfway across the system. Of wrath and rage, a frozen sun enveloping the whole of the station.
Something else met it, Volryder recognized it as Darth Marr, and he spent a moment hoping that Bundu was still alive. He and their best had gone to face the Darth, but he'd heard nothing since.
The kaleesh warrior carved a path back to their line, lightsaber in one hand and dagger in the other. He raised both high, turning to the enemy and voice booming across the hangar. "He is here. He has come to defend Home and Hearth. I shall soak this ground of steel in blood for His glory."
Volryder felt a grin take over his face, the Force surging to join the power of the kaleesh. It would no doubt be taken as a blessing. He was not one for fanaticism, but damn if he could find anything to disagree with in that sentiment.
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Rage burned deep as Morgan arrived in the system, thanking whatever god was listening that he'd recruited Jaesa. She was the one that had found the spy, broken him and thus enabled the wider Enosis intelligence department to find Marr.
It had been her that suggested the idea of feeding fake intel through the man, making Marr think they were still on Taris long after they were gone. He would be honest and say he hadn't thought it was actually going to work, but that didn't matter now.
Marr was here, and the Darth was invading his people.
Admiral Kala was assaulting the enemy fleet as soldiers prepared to aid the stations, the plan being to smash through the defending ships and reinforce their people. But that was Kala's job, and Morgan had one of his own.
Soft Voice was returning, though his exact arrival time was unknown. As soon as possible, essentially, so for now he would assume this is what they had. And he was angry, yes, but he could feel Nox in the system. And while he was fairly confident he could keep her occupied, if not kill her, engaging both her and Marr at once would be ill-advised.
But he had backup too, so Lana would do what she could. Nox was shockingly untrained for a Dark Council member, so Lana should be fine. For a while. He, meanwhile, was going to deal with Marr. And the man couldn't hide, not here and not from him.
"Break that blockade then land our troops on the stations. I'm with the first wave, and I'll update Marr's location as he moves. Alert me when it's time."
Kala nodded, giving orders, and Morgan turned to his apprentices. They seemed to glow with power, their practice with the still-unnamed Other doing them good. Their training was atypical, especially so for sith, but he felt confident placing each in the lower ranks of Lords.
Which meant, when together, they were quite powerful. Alyssa bowed, answering his unspoken question. "We will defend the fleet as you travel in the deep Force, then move on to phase two."
Lana would be doing the same as him, but his apprentices were not without backup. Fifteen of their most powerful Force users were onboard, some rivaling them in power if not skill, and all were capable of working together.
It left him free to ensure Marr was occupied, for god only knows what havoc the man was wreaking on his people. So Morgan closed his eyes, letting the ice-cold rage roll over the system. He pressed it down, seeing dozens of metaphysical eyes turning, and together they might very well have taken him.
But almost half those people where his, and enemy Lords started falling as Enosis sith punished their hesitation. Their distraction and fear. From here he could turn the entire battle, reap Imperial Lords until none remained, but Marr's presence rose. Morgan pulled back, seeing Lana prepare to meet Nox.
And, as had happened last time, the deep Force was their battle ground. Just like last time, they were evenly matched. Morgan thought he was doing a little better, dodging a rock made of gravity and carving a knife from the memory of death, but he wasn't sure.
So they fought, and Morgan could spare no attention to anything else. Not to his fleet, which was probably engaging the enemy already, nor to Lana's fight. It took all his concentration to keep Marr from setting the pace, slamming their will against one another to determine the master of Fate.
Which was neither of them, as expected. It just reinforced Morgan's certainty that this would be decided in reality, with lightsabers and blood, and he could feel Marr reach the same conclusion. The fact that the man wasn't worried about it was concerning, but Morgan released his indecision.
It had no place in war.
With an understanding reached they backed off, sniping from a distance but not achieving much of anything. Regaining mental strength, for that was the true limit in the deep Force. Not reserves or experience, but the drive to keep going. To keep fighting, putting yourself in every attack, every defence.
It did, however, leave him without much to do. Leaving was out of the question, Marr seemed likewise unwilling to let him out of his sight, but neither were they actively fighting. Morgan calmed further as they waited, slowly drifting to Lana's fight with Nox.
Eventually, as they came close enough to see Nox try to strangle Lana with an enormous hand, Morgan spoke up. Let his intent carry speech, Marr blocking the move but seeming to understand its meaning.
"If you answer a question, you can ask one in turn."
Marr was silent, watching the battle. Nox was getting increasingly frustrated as Lana kept dodging the hand, twisting the move into dozens of small ones, and Lana started breaking them. A scream of Force was the child's answer, which did nothing but make Morgan tighten his shields.
A careful destabilization and his first shield didn't even ripple, Morgan seeing Lana's attention flicker to them. Understanding was quick to dawn, and Morgan smiled. He really just loved competence.
"Ask."
The reply made Morgan turn back to Marr, who had folded his arms and gotten closer. Not terribly so, but closer. Morgan cleared his throat. "I can understand why you would attack the Enosis. I'll kill you for it, but I understand. I understand the kidnapping me, the torture and traps and war. But why, in all that is holy, did you appoint a ten year old child to the Dark Council?"
"She defeated her Master, passed the test and earned her seat." The Darth paused before speaking again. "I need her, for now. My question; Korriban made you strong. Strong enough to contest me, which is a feat very few can boast. Why hate what has given you strength?"
An honest answer. Morgan was more surprised by that than he'd like to admit, and it made him want to answer in kind. "I am closer to Je'daii than sith, though that's a bad comparison. Dark, Light, whatever other name people give it. It's just the Force, and any interpretation we could draw from it is inherently flawed. An attempt by the mortal mind to comprehend infinity. And I hate the sith because they broke me."
"You are young, so the scars are still fresh."
Morgan shrugged. "Yes. I am not without flaws, without hypocrisy or anger. But that is not why Korriban will burn. Why the Empire will fall. I believe this galaxy to be better without you in it, and I have come to find I will spill oceans of blood to fulfil that belief."
"Then you are a Darth in full." Marr rumbled, inclining his head. "The Dark and sith are not one and the same, and you embody the latter even if you deny the former. Power, vision and will. That is why we rule the galaxy."
Lana slipped past one of Nox's attacks, which made Marr pay a lot of attention all at once, and hit the girl with a curved sword. It burned with the desire to cut, and Lana pushed as it ignored the Darth's shield entirely. The weapon carved deep before rebounding, as if it had never ignored the shield at all, and the child flinched back.
Marr vanished, dragging Nox with him, and Lana turned. Morgan shook his head, ascending back to his body as he explained why he'd done nothing. Lana waved him away, having already figured it out, and he opened his eyes.
He was still on the bridge, and no one had woken him up. That meant it wasn't time to board the stations yet, but he did see something unexpected.
A dreadnought approaching at ramming speed.
The bridge was calm, as calm as it could be, and Kala stood there watching it. That meant there was probably a plan, but he saw no reason not to help. Morgan reached out, the ship so very close, and shattered the pilot's soul.
Shattered without killing, which wasn't something he knew how to do before studying Rakghouls. The man went braindead, operating on animal instinct, and Morgan told those to run.
The enemy dreadnought lurched, trying to swerve even as the pilot was wrenched from the console. Morgan exhaled, breathing through a wave of fatigue. Kala was barking orders, eyes flickering to him, and he wondered if he'd just fucked up her plan.
Whether he had or not, the dreadnoughts passed each other instead of colliding. His slowly growing military education told him the enemy had a small window to make that move a success, and it just closed. The Yamada's escort opened fire as his dreadnought unloaded missiles.
When he had first seen the defending ships guarding the ground assault, he'd assumed Marr had seen through their fake-intel. But there weren't nearly enough ships to contest them, let alone with his admiral in command.
Who had, in the time he'd spend fighting with Marr and exchanging pleasantries, pushed hard. No hesitation, no slow buildup and artfully laid plans. Kala had seemingly ordered the full fleet to advance, all at once, and had absolutely ripped through them as a result.
Those enemy ships too close to the station were a different story. Attacking them with the fleet would see their own station damaged, and they were doing nothing much to begin with. Not until they detached.
The First and Second fleet would be invading their own home, and Morgan knew exactly which one he was going to. The one currently hosting Marr.
Yet he didn't actually have much to do until that, not without tiring himself, and the Darth kept quiet as the Enosis fleet moved to board. Which, with Quinn in charge, very much didn't require his attention. That man had been more than eager to fix every mistake he'd seen over his long career, especially when it came to the chain of command.
Which meant officers knew what they were doing, colonels had their proper staff and tens of thousands of soldiers moved like a well-oiled machine. A skill Morgan found himself questioning he would ever have, building a military from near scratch.
But that was the whole point, him not needing to know, so he didn't spend too long ruminating on it. Boarded the armored transport with his Chosen, their target being one of the most fiercely contested locations.
The station's main armory.
Without it the battle would shift against the Enosis, which meant it was a high-value target. As such Morgan felt no less than six sith Lords there. Aside from Marr, who wasn't actually doing much. Conserving power, most likely, just like Morgan.
Two of those Lords split away, moving to join the defence Morgan assumed was forming against him. The defence meant to weaken and slow so Marr could finish the job.
It was like they'd learned nothing. But crushing them quickly would take reserves, so Morgan waved at his apprentices. They had fought a much more dangerous Lord than these to a standstill, and this time they had Chosen reinforcement.
A compromised railgun fired on their transport, slugs skittering off armor and shields without doing too much damage, and then they were past it. The hangar was already full with Imperial ships, though the Imperials seemed unable to close the blast-doors, and their pilot cared little. Pushed between two others, their vessel's heavier bulk tipping the others aside.
The door opened, his apprentices surged outwards and Chosen thundered after them. Morgan followed at a more sedated pace, keeping an eye on them as they engaged in battle. Which they did aggressively, and the two enemy Lords clearly weren't expecting a non-Morgan to engage them.
They would be fine. Morgan grunted and uncloaked a third Lord, the stealthed assassin fading into sight some ways away, and the woman paused. Noticed her loss of stealth as she looked between him and his apprentices, clearly deciding he was the bigger fish.
He could taste it. Her want and greed. How his death would raise her above the rest, all the others that had tried and failed diminished in her mind. For she was greater, mightier and more vicious.
Morgan could taste the arrogance, and his definition of lesser and greater Lords sharpened. Power was a key factor, yes, and so was experience, but ego mattered. Being able to keep a clear head and appraise situations clearly, for all the power in the world couldn't compensate for an addled mind.
The sith Lord, whose name he did not know, charged. Faded back into stealth, burning reserves to hide deep, and Morgan almost snorted. Hiding by making your soul glow like a bonfire. Contradictory to say the least, though he supposed not everyone could see souls as clearly as he did.
A lightsaber struck, Morgan leaned aside, the woman started to pull back. Morgan's hand lashed out, quicker than she could ever hope to match, and his arm filled with roaring energy. His fingers clasped around her throat, tightening into a fist, and she fell as carotid arteries spewed blood.
Fine mist started condensing around the wound, a healing technique he did not recognize, and Morgan shattered her skull. The Force scattered as her soul vanished, going to a place his perception could not follow.
Morgan straightened, moving into the hangar. The whole exchange had taken just over two seconds, enough time for the closest Chosen to notice and start to react, but he waved them away.
His apprentices were doing fine, hundreds of super-soldiers were securing the hangar, and Morgan moved on. Put on speed as he honed in on Marr's location, infusing intent into his detection. Speed allowed him to avoid those trying to waylay him, too, which was convenient.
And he was not going to be fooled by a fake signature again. Not like he had been when assaulting the True Empire.
Leaving behind his escort to secure a beachhead, and making sure one last time that his apprentices were doing all right, he focused on Marr. The Darth was somewhere in the battle, thousands of souls on each side with a shipyard in the middle. Morgan didn't care to think how badly his station was being damaged.
The shipyard was serving as their battleground, wide open docks giving space for Force users to move. Tight service tunnels were being fought over, Morgan spotted one of the rakatan war machines holding a tunnel all on its own, and then there was him.
Marr. Just standing there, watching five Lord-equivalent Force users fight. Three of them were Enosis, he recognized two from his advanced classes, with the remainder being actual sith Lords. The Darth could have ended that fight already, but the man seemed perfectly willing to wait.
Wait, that is, until Morgan arrived. Then the man turned towards him. The enclosed dock was without a ship, the floor stretching hundreds of feet in each direction. Enosis soldiers were holding the exit, barricades and shield-generators giving them cover, and hundreds of Imperial troops were trying to break through.
Morgan spied the long hallway behind it, which he knew would lead all the way to the main armory of the station, and that was all the time he got to assess the situation. The melee hadn't paused, one of his people lost a hand when a lightsaber met flesh, and Marr shot forward.
Probably expected Morgan to shield. To move out of the way or meet the charge. But he had three seconds before the Darth got to him, an eternity, and Morgan spent it crafting an attack.
Fueled it with intent, the very air growing still as he assumed control. The sith Lords froze, power straining to break the hold, and soon enough they would. Holding two like this, power against power, was never his strength. But then he didn't need to hold them at all, did he?
Not for long. His own people readily took advantage of their frozen state, lightsabers cutting, and Morgan let go. Braced for impact, Marr lashing out the moment he got close. Morgan blocked the lightsaber with his own, keeping the one buried in the Force right where it was.
Then Marr kicked him, which Morgan wouldn't normally have much trouble responding to, at the same time as the man materialised in the deep Force. Morgan hesitated, unsure of which attack to respond to, and tried to shield against both.
His leg was clipped, shearing away armor but not doing too much damage, while his soul shook. Morgan wondered how his soul was that deep, realised he'd been crafting intent, and then realised why Marr was so certain he would win in a physical fight.
The man could do both. Fight in reality and with his soul. At the same time.
Morgan reeled as Marr's soul finished condensing, materialising a body, and crafted a lightsaber. His actual body was moving smoothly through attack patterns, which Morgan only managed to respond to haltingly.
Soul-Marr summoned his wave of not-water, drowning Morgan's soul as he tried to escape, and Morgan's body failed to materialise. A physical lightsaber sliced through his arm, unnaturally-hard bone saving him from losing the limb, and Marr slashed against his soul. One attack after the other, Morgan able to do little more than lessen the damage.
Again and again it happened. He must have looked like an incompetent fool, staggering backwards without ever attacking in kind, but Morgan had no time to spare for that. His natural resilience, both that of his soul and his body, was buying him time, but only so much. Marr moved a little robotically, like he'd practiced the sequence instead of adapting on the fly, but what could he do about it?
Morgan reached for Fate, finding Marr there to block him, and an actual rocket detonated against his back. Morgan reeled, pushed towards the waiting Marr, and some part of him realised the missile had been hidden by the Darth. Blocked from his precognition.
More pressing was the lightsaber entering his neck, a toughened spine keeping the Darth from slicing his head clean off. Morgan pushed himself aside, shielding desperately against a soul-rending attack in the deep Force, and staggered back as Marr crushed his leg.
Bone shattered, his soul tore, and Morgan got a moment of reprieve. His two Lord-equivalent sith had taken the time to break the offensive against the armory, moving to help him when the Imperials ran. Marr slashed with his free hand, a wave of Force smashing both against the far wall, but it had bought a moment.
The Eye pulsed. Became so insistent Morgan almost thought it was right there. And then, as it flashed and blinked and insisted, nothing. The memory of absolute control remained, of being suspended on the edge of death, but it was gone.
Marr resumed his attack, Morgan sealed the wound on his neck, and gave ground. Made his body move backwards with every attack, relying more on instinct than strategy. With a push of effort his own soul condensed, forming his sword of Beskar to ward off the not-lightsaber.
The Eye was gone. Morgan knew that like he knew his own heartbeat, whatever trace it had left behind vanishing. Not to influence, it hadn't felt like that, but to observe. Even that felt wrong, and he realised there had never been a trace at all.
It was just a memory. A memory of something so Other it had imprinted itself in his mind, growing in sentience, and then it had not. Ceased. The contradictions spiralled as Morgan slowly adapted to moving his body while fighting in the deep Force, Marr pressing harder by the second.
The Eye flashed. Morgan felt his irritation spike, it hadn't been this inconsistent before, and he lashed out. Took a deep cut on his thigh to drive his fist into Marr's shoulder, spreading rot and disease through flesh. The Force feasted as Marr stumbled back, his rhythm broken, and Morgan smiled.
Which vanished as the Force snapped around the wound, driving out the disease without allowing it to feast on the technique. Not completely, Morgan realised the man was building internal shields based on the concept of starvation, but he grunted.
Figures the man would find a way to deal with that. It was the man's apprentice he'd killed with it.
They Eye fla-. The Eye. Morgan grunted and tore at the memory, ripping it clean in half even as his mind shuddered. Fuck the Eye. Fuck whatever purpose or plan or desire it had. It was his mind. His memories. The Eye could go die in a ditch.
The memory tore free and another took its place. The Eye flashed as Morgan felt his anger drain, readying himself as Marr finished with his containment technique. His last resort, literally removing his own memory of the Elder, and nothing.
Tired. Yes, that felt right. He was tired. Tired of letting hatred and anger be a crutch for power. For motivation and drive. Marr had attacked his people, and Morgan had done what he'd always done. Find the issue and try to kill it.
It had worked well enough until now, but this time it was a trap. The third stratagem Marr had planned and the third he had fallen for. Hoth, Taris, now this. A lightsaber keened to take his head as soul-Marr tried to drown him again, and Morgan let go of his anger.
Tranquility. That was what he wanted. That peace everlasting he had felt on Tython. On that Nexus Point so pure he could have spent eternity basking in its glow. His emotions drained further, like a plug had been pulled, and Morgan breathed.
The Force filled him, like it had done a thousand times before, but it felt so new. So curious and hesitant, as if it had never met him before. Marr seemed to have slowed, both in reality and not, and Morgan exhaled.
The Eye flashed, and Morgan watched it. Looked at it as the memory warped, finding the Elder looking back at him. It rumbled in something akin to approval, turning away as Morgan tilted his head.
Curious.
Marr dismissed his drowning wave of not-water, which was clearly not performing to expectation, and threw a dagger made of broken glass. A concept well-suited to shattering defences, and Morgan looked at his. Three shields overlaid his soul, but why had he ever stopped at that?
Three more snapped into place, and the dagger only broke two. They repaired themselves as Morgan stepped aside, wondering why he'd ever had trouble concentrating on something as trivial as split-input internalization.
The lightsaber missed him by less than an inch, Morgan letting his own drop. Inelegant thing. His palm burst as bone pushed forward, a white blade appearing. It thrummed with the Force, infused so deeply it might as well have been his soul.
His new blade sliced up, digging deep into the Darth's arm. Marr moved back, growing wary, but Morgan stepped after him. He wasn't faster, not really, but stepping back was the most logical move Marr could have made.
Ah, precognition properly infused with desire. Yes, that made sense.
He let the blade go and grasped Marr's other arm, energy flowing through Morgan's limbs. He had no idea why he'd ever let it react with his soul-infused flesh before, but now it moved properly. Enhanced the muscles without tearing, like it should have from the start.
One grasping the forward bicep, the other taking hold of the forearm. Apply pressure and the Darth's arm snapped like a twig. Marr pushed back with a wave of Force, Morgan letting himself move backwards while shielding against it.
Two steps and he was closing the distance again, Marr growling something about possession. Morgan felt Soft Voice enter the system, soul descending to assist Lana's fight with Nox.
The toddler-god, yes. Morgan moved his attention to her, tracing the lines of her crude enslavement technique. Shattered them, the girl too busy raving at Lana to notice. Not until it was too late. The souls howled with glee, free at last, and the child grew fearful.
Looked at him, and seemed to see something that spooked her. Fled, abandoning her physical body to return to Korriban. Morgan shrugged, turning back towards Marr.
The man was halfway across the station already. Morgan frowned, confused, and realised he'd spent some minutes tracing out Nox's likely path. Sloppy. The man would need to be stopped.
"Marr is escaping." Morgan said, Kala startling. He smiled at her, indicating the bridge of the Yamada. "Marr is escaping. Destroy any vessel attempting to leave the system."
"I-You. Of course. You seem… real."
"Influencing the perception of sight and sound is trivial. Only you can see me. Marr is escaping."
Kala narrowed her eyes. "You said that already. Is this going to be like that time on Belsavis?"
"I am not influenced by the deep Force, slowly twisting into an Other." Morgan assured. He looked to his left, the two Lord-equivalent Force users moving closer. "Apologies, it appears I am easily distracted in this state."
Morgan let the projection drop, turning towards the two. Felt Marr's soul flee, briefly captured by the will it took to abandon a body to roam the Force, and found it beautiful. The benefits of mental enlighte-
Reality asserted itself as the peace shattered, Morgan staggering back. Fell, his body feeling wrong and chaotic and noisy. The sensation passed quickly, like shaking a blood-starved limb, and he found his two warriors looking at him.
One was kneeling, head bowed deep and with a missing hand, while the other just stared. It was the latter that spoke, tone hesitant. "What just happened?"
"I'm not sure." Morgan replied, having to form the words slowly. The bowing man pressed his head against the floor, murmuring some ancient sounding prayer. Morgan frowned. "Stop doing that."
The man prayed harder.
Afterword
Next chapter will be an interlude, and then we'll move on to the second-to-last arc. Isn't that exciting?
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]