In the hundred and twenty years since he was named the Sacred Saint of the Nihil, Akar Xiylehn had been surprised by very little. In his position of vast power and authority he controlled the lives of billions, and he enforced his will openly through the forces of the Inquisition, or covertly through the Rayaj. Rare was the time when all was not well in hand, for obedience and submission was homogeneous over the whole Nihil Empire, as it had been for hundreds upon hundreds of years; since the days of the Old Revolutions.
At this dawn of the New Crusade, however, he found himself surprised - shocked even - on not one, but two occasions, the second infinitely more devastating than the first.
Learning that a heathen from beyond the Field had tapped into the power of the Rayaj was more of a shock than he had at first realized. Not more than a day later, before he had had a chance to fully absorb the information gathered from the wreckage of the destroyed Inquisition fleet, Xharang Palace was rocked by the news of the Field's destruction.
Akar had ordered the word suppressed, the palace was quarantined and everyone involved placed under house arrest. News of such an atrocity had to be delivered carefully, or disorder would reign.
Word was sent out through the holy city of Shatoriem; the Sacred Saint would speak.
Millions of Shatoriem's residents filled the colossal Unity Square that lay before Xharang at the center of the city. Yet more clogged the dizzying streets, watching screens at every corner. The whole city waited upon the words of the Holy One.
Appearing in the midst of over a hundred ceremonial guards, Akar stepped to the brink of a balcony that overlooked the teeming masses of Shatoriem. His voice boomed over the assembly, amplified and transmitted to every screen in the city.
"Our Holy Empire has been struck by a heinous act of war. The heathen followers of the Force attack us through the Field. They weaken the Field, knowing it weakens us. They see fit to destroy the Field, to lay our Empire bare to their savage and uncivilized beliefs, to bury us once more in the oppression of the unholy Force."
The crowd erupted in indignant roars that were quieted immediately when Akar raised his hands for silence.
"We will not stand for this unprecedented aggression! We will strike back at the heathens with all the fury of our armies! The time of the New Crusade is upon us, and finally all remnants of the Force will be become nothing more than distant memories without the power to enslave so much as a single soul! The waiting is over, my people; the New Crusade begins!"
Once again, the crowd erupted, but this time in cheers of joy. The sound was deafening as all of Shatoriem raised its voice.
Captain Tarrell paced on the bridge of his ship Wilderness, high above the world of Mortear. The frigate Wilderness was one of a six-ship patrol in the Mortear system, part of the Republic's dangerously thin-stretched Deep Space Fleet. The patrol went on for interminable hours in the Outer Rim system, close on the trade routes to more important systems like Berga and Hecate and therefore considered a priority. There wasn't much beyond Mortear, just a few independent worlds filled with drifters and transients, but twice had an enemy come unexpectedly from nothing during the last fifteen years, and Republic brass wanted early warning the next time it happened.
Tarrell doubted there would be much to warn against in the next thirty years. Given the broken state in which the whole galaxy was left after the Jedi Civil War, there was very little chance of any significant threat rising for decades to come. And with all the money that was being squandered on costly, unprofitable projects like Telos, Tarrell didn't see why patrolling the hind end of Republic space was still a focus of taxpayers' credits.
To his utter surprise, the navigator spoke up suddenly, urgently.
"Sir, sensors are picking up incoming!"
"Position and bearing?" the CO asked.
"Ninety degrees off the starboard bow on intercept, Captain."
"Alert the rest of the patrol," Tarrell ordered the communications officer.
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Before Tarrell could even get over his shock at something actually happening, the navigator's voice interrupted his flurried thoughts. "Great Force, will you look at that!" he gaped. Tarrell seconded the man's apt reaction.
The amount of ships appearing on the sensor screen as they dropped out of hyperspace boggled the mind. They showed up so fast that the computer was automatically consolidating the individual blips into groups of ten, twenty, fifty, even hundreds and they still filled the screen.
A channel to the lead Republic patrol ship opened on Wilderness's bridge. "What in the name of the old prophets is that?" Commodore Landers demanded over the comm from the capital ship Levinsky.
"It's certainly no random occurrence," was all Tarrell could think of to say.
"Well, we'd better go and investigate, Captains," Landers ordered, his commands directed at all six ships.
At a nod from his captain, the navigator turned Wilderness to follow Levinsky's lead as they swung around to face the unimaginably huge fleet that awaited them.
The bad feeling that had sank into Tarrell's gut the moment he saw the numbers on the sensor screen intensified once the ships came into view. The glittering silver hulls and wickedly blade-like curves set them apart from anything Tarrell had seen during his whole career in the Republic Navy. They did not have the dreaded wedge shape that was universally feared throughout the whole Republic. Instead, if it were possible, their crablike design instilled a terror greater than anything the Sith warships could ever match.
The alien fleet was moving much too fast for Tarrell's comfort. He was overcome by a feeling of cold dread.
"Turn the ship around and head for Mortear's shadow," Tarrell ordered. No one moved. He realized he'd whispered the words too quietly for anyone but himself to hear. He repeated the command, louder this time.
"Sir? We're under orders from--" the navigator began before Tarrell cut him off.
"Comply with the order! Get my ship out of here, now!" He felt sick in his stomach as he dumbly watched the enormous fleet coming closer by the instant.
Wilderness lurched as it abruptly changed course, coming about almost a full turn to streak towards Mortear III. The crew clung to everything they could to avoid being thrown around. Angry transmissions came from Commodore Landers aboard Levinsky. Tarrell made no response.
The icy feeling of terror grew as Landers' indignant demands that he return to formation turned into desperate pleas for assistance. Sensors registered a rapid discharge of an exotic energy from the oncoming fleet; weapons fire. The screens were heartlessly two-dimensional as they portrayed an implacable stream of lethal energy engulfing the five other patrol ships. Frighteningly quick, all five friendlies dropped off the screen.
The enemy fleet was adjusting its course, heading straight for Mortear III. Its crew was silent as Wilderness slipped into the planet's shadow.
Sweat beaded down Tarrell's neck as they waited, minute after agonizing minute, holding their position in the darkness. The sensors suddenly screamed warnings as massive energy discharges washed the planet; the alien fleet was bombing Mortear III.
The colossal fleet began swarming the planet, slowly encircling its entire circumference, and unleashing hails of terrifying black energy mortars at its surface.
Tarrell realized that they were no longer safe. There was nothing he and his small ship could do against such unparalleled forces, he couldn't stop the utter annihilation of Mortear III.
"Get us out of here," he ordered the helmsman, "we have to warn the Republic."
Without a word of protest, the helmsman did just as he commanded, and Wilderness fled the scene of carnage while the seemingly innumerable enemy ships laid waste to the world below.
The face of the hologram was one the galaxy knew well. Even during the years lost in her aimless wanderings, Kuryama had been unable to escape the holovids idolizing the young Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan. During the Jedi Civil War she had been hailed by the vids as 'the Republic's best hope' and 'a Jedi prodigy'. Then she had suddenly disappeared, and many suspected she had followed Revan, and there were whispers that she might have even married the reformed Sith Lord.
Now, five years later, here she was.
"Welcome back, Revan." Her hologram smiled sweetly. When Revan returned the warm smile, a smile of love, Kuryama realized that they must indeed be married.
Revan's voice was triumphant. "I'm pleased to report that our mission was a success."
Bastila raised her eyebrow. "Indeed? I wouldn't have noticed, what with all the Sith and Jedi who've been arriving here since a few hours ago. Juhani's been up in a fret over it all."
Kuryama remembered Bastila Shan as having been little more than a child by the time she had gone to follow Revan in his crusade. She was no longer that child. Kuryama could see in her eyes the maturity of a grown woman.
Revan chuckled. "Tell Juhani not to worry, I don't expect the fighting will start before I arrive."
Bastila's smiled withered. "Perhaps Juhani is right to worry, Revan."
"We have to do this," Revan said firmly.
"I know, I just don't like it. There is a reason the two Orders have been at war for thousands of years, millenia of prejudices cannot be simply brushed aside in a few hours."
"They will have to do their best, or we are all doomed."
"I know, Revan. I think Juhani and I will worry anyway."
"Fair enough, I suppose. Oh, and Bastila?"
"Hmm?"
"We picked up two mercenaries," Revan explained. To her raised eyebrow, he added, "Don't ask me how they happened upon the Relay world. They might be of some use, so keep the ghost squadrons grounded; I know they can be trigger happy sometimes."
"Very well. Just make sure you know what you're doing."
"Don't I always?" he remarked flippantly. He turned sober when Bastila frowned sternly at him. "We'll be landing shortly. See you soon."
The blue hologram faded.
Kuryama looked at Revan, at the faint smile still on his lips.
"It would seem the rumors are true," she remarked. "Bastila Shan, hero of the Republic, married to Revan, former Dark Lord of the Sith."
Revan nodded wordlessly. Kuryama felt a sudden pang of sorrow for Mical; she knew how much he had loved her, but he was now dead.
Without emotion, she signaled the Whitecap, instructing their pilot to follow as they approached Revan's asteroid base.
Two Jedi and a dozen silver-armored soldiers awaited them in the hangar. As she strode down the Ebon Hawk's cargo ramp, she recognized one of the Jedi as Bastila; the other, a Cathar wearing red robes, she assumed to be Juhani. The Cathar regarded her and Visas - who, as always, walked before her - with an intense golden gaze. Kuryama hoped there wouldn't be trouble between the two. Visas warily watched the Cathar and the silver-armored Sith soldiers.
Not to Kuryama's surprise, Revan and Bastila embraced.
"I missed you," Bastila said.
"It was mutual," Revan responded. He turned his head and indicated Kuryama. "May I introduce General Kuryama Nari."
Kuryama nodded briskly. Bastila acknowledged her and turned back to Revan.
"You have to come, now," she admonished.
"Yes, indeed," he answered. "Kuryama, Oden, I would like you to accompany us. The Jedi and Sith need to see who they are following."
The two generals silently acquiesced and Visas continued at Kuryama's side as Revan, Bastila, Juhani, and the Sith soldiers left the hangar.
The four non-Jedi; Atton, Mira, Rigel, and Lara, watched the procession leave. There was an uncomfortable silence as all four of them stood still, feeling left out. Atton broke the ice with a signature line.
"Got anything to drink?" he casually asked Rigel.
Mira was quick to second his suggestion. "I could sure use one right now."
Rigel grinned at her, ignoring Atton. "Gungan beer, juma juice, Tarisian ale, and even a little Alderanian burgundy," he answered, counting off on his fingers. He held his hand out to Mira hopefully. "I'm Rigel."
"Mira," she responded nonchalantly, "how about that beer? I need something strong."
"Right this way," Rigel said as he eagerly led her to the Whitecap.
Lara watched them go and looked at Atton. "You want anything?" she asked.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do," he answered. His tone was harmless enough, but a lecherous grin had spread over his face and he was staring at her... below the neck.
Without warning, Lara's blue hand came out of nowhere and slapped him hard in the face.
"Nice try. A blind cannok couldn't have missed that one," Lara informed him smartly.
Atton cursed himself, thinking he should be used to getting slapped by now.
"Sorry," he managed, feeling her glare. "Maybe a glass of juma?"
"Watered," she amended.
He sighed. "I guess that's about the best I can hope for, huh?"
Lara crossed her arms in victory. "Yep, for now anyway."
Atton decided to cut his losses and go with it. He shrugged.
"Better than nothing."
No one in the room dared move; all fourteen men and women of both Orders and several different species stood stock still in a loose circle, moving not so much as a single muscle as they breathlessly watched the two in the center of the circle who faced each other with stark hatred. One was a man wearing the robes of a Jedi with a prosthetic hand in which he held an unlit lightsabre, his other hand glowed brightly with restrained power. The other was a woman in the black robes of a Sith. Her face was pallid and veins stood out harshly just beneath the tight skin. Her eyes had a terrifying orange glow that silhouetted her pupils and stained her deep blue irises. Both her hands crackled with purple lightning that seemed begging to be released.
Neither the Jedi nor the Sith made a move for the other, they were completely motionless while they assessed each other.
The door suddenly flew open, and both unmoving combatants instinctively jerked their heads toward the source of the interruption, losing their concentration in the process.
Revan stood in the doorway, glaring with such intensity that all the Jedi and Sith backed away, leaving the two belligerents in the open. He turned his glower on them and they began to lift into the air, clutching at their throats.
Visas, Kuryama, and Darth Oden filed in behind Revan to stand at his side while he held the two offenders in his grip.
He spoke in a voice that bristled with quiet, deadly rage.
"This sort of behavior is unacceptable." He emphasized each syllable of the last word, leaving no room for misinterpretation by the two who hung helpless before him. With a thought, he dropped them to the floor.
Revan took the hostility but not the firmness from his voice as he addressed the rest of the Jedi and Sith who waited. "Your allegiances, whatever they may have been, no longer matter. Personal griefs are become irrelevant. Do not make the mistake of thinking that this is the time and place to settle grudges; be they personal or ideological. You are no longer Jedi or Sith, from this point forth you are protectors of the Force.
"You are here because I called you and you answered, and because I have led you once or even twice before. The time has come due to follow me again. Whether you see me as a general or Dark Lord does not matter to me, only that you follow."
No one spoke a word.
Angrily, Revan grabbed the fallen woman's dark robes and hauled her to her feet. Her unnaturally pale face and blazing eyes were only inches from his.
"I know you," he whispered. Her face showed nothing as he shoved her away.
Kuryama inhaled sharply, recognizing the twisted face of the woman in the black robes. "Norryl?"
The woman nodded her blond head. "It's Darth Norryl now." Angrily, she thrust a finger towards the Jedi still on the floor. "Because of him!"
When the Jedi picked himself off the floor, Kuryama recognized him as well. Like Norryl, he was much older than she had last seen him, but he hadn't changed as much.
"Hello, Jilon," she said flatly. She had never expected to see him again.
"General," he acknowledged. He looked back at Norryl, and cold fire returned to his eyes. "Step away from her, General. She is not worthy to fight for you. She's a murderous traitor."
Jilon had one of the most caring faces Kuryama had ever known; seeing it twist in loathing of Norryl was terrible to witness. But Norryl's haunting face glared back at him with equal intensity.
Kuryama nudged Jilon with a Force push. Surprised, he flinched back a few steps. Before a satisfied smile could spread over Norryl's lips, she received the same treatment. The gray-robed Jedi Exile then stepped away from Revan and swept the room with her monochromatic eyes.
"Some of you I know, like these here," she indicated Norryl and Jilon. "Others of you I do not know. But you all know who I am; I am General Nari from the Mandalorian crusades. For my part in the war the Jedi cast me out," a bitter smile crossed her face, "and the Sith hunted me as an animal.
"I swore to Jedi Master Atris that I would kill her and I did. I swore to destroy an alliance of three Sith Lords and all three died by my hand. Neither Order will claim me, for I have sinned grievously against both."
Her bitter smile turned to an expression of grim determination and cold acceptance.
"Allegiances do not matter to the one who seeks your blood. We face an enemy that seeks the blood of everything touched by the Force, seeks the end of the Force itself and the death of all life. This is a threat to everyone in the galaxy, but our enemy will first hunt us. They will exterminate us until we are so few you could count our numbers with a single hand. And to prevent our numbers from ever growing, they will kill the Force. Should that happen, everything connected by the Force; all living things, will die.
"They do not care. They are outside of the Force, and see it only as their oppressor. They will gladly sit back while the whole galaxy dies, if it will mean the end of the Force.
"Now choose: With us, or against us."
After a moment of silence, a black-robed man stood apart from the others. He crossed his arms with a smile of superiority on his face.
"I think Darth Traya was right. It would be better for the Force to die," he said, smirking.
Kuryama turned her eyes to him. "So you believe," she said tonelessly. Her gaze roamed the room. "Let any among you who feels this way stand forward," she commanded.
No one moved. The Sith reached for his lightsabre.
Kuryama lifted her hands and struck out at the Sith. A storm of white lightning hit him before he could reach the weapon. He had no chance whatsoever, the lightning cooked him alive in mere seconds.
"Those who are not with us are traitors to all life, and will be treated as such," Kuryama declared in cold menace. "Existence for trillions hangs in the balance."
She was sickened by what she had done, but too much was at stake to trust traitors borne of the perditious teachings of the madwoman Kreia. Kuryama held her dangerous glare.
With one accord, the remaining Jedi and Sith in the room fell to their knees, none wanting to be the last for fear of sharing the fate of the man who had spoken. And the long hours of explanation began.