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"Run, auntie!"
Korkie's cries transformed into moans of pain. One of Maul's men had knocked the boy unconscious with a whip of his blaster and slammed his head into the pavement with an echoing crack.
"No!" Satine cried, glancing over her shoulder in horror.
But she could not stop.
A deep-seated ache gripped her chest as she sprinted atop a high-rise—her nephew was still so young. He did not deserve this for helping her.
Feet slapping the ground, the Duchess waited with choked breath for the signal to respond on her comlink.
No signal. No signal. No signal. the device buzzed at her despairingly.
The transfer of power had begun. Within hours of his escape, Maul had dethroned Pre Vizsla violently with a stroke of his lightsaber. Believers in survival of the fittest, the Death Watch horde gave their loyalty to the Sith, becoming his personal army.
However, not every member of Vizsla's insurgency bowed a knee to Maul. A small force still resisted the Dathomirian interlopers—led, ironically enough, by Satine's estranged sister, Bo-Katan.
The sisters were polar opposites—yin and yang. The older Satine valued life, safety, and peace, while the younger, headstrong Bo-Katan reveled in the traditional, violent, and glory-obsessed past of Mandalore. Defiantly, she had joined Pre Vizsla's movement not long after Satine had acquired the throne, unwilling to serve a pacifist.
They never saw each other after that—at least, until today.
Bo-Katan and a few of those still loyal to House Vizsla had helped Satine's beloved nephew, Korkie, in bailing out the Duchess—any enemy of Maul was now Death Watch's friend. They certainly needed some.
After the small, ragtag group had broken out into the open, it quickly became apparent that Bo's numbers were far outmatched by her former comrades.
Even as Satine ran now, black and red soldiers soared above her head and through the air on hissing jetpacks as they fought against their silver-blue counterparts. Rockets were launched, blasters were fired, and men fell from the skies with bone-rattling cries…all was chaos. Satine was in the middle of a hornet's nest, dodging the stingers.
"C'mon…c'mon!" she growled at the stubborn communicator, keeping her eyes focused on the screen.
The edge of the plateau came within sight. She was running out of room, out of time. Just as she slid to a halt on the cusp of the dizzyingly tall building, the device beeped in her palm—she had achieved a faint frequency, a connection to the Jedi Temple.
An explosion shook the ground, throwing her off her feet. Satine skidded to her knees but held onto the comlink like a lifeline. Hunching over it, bits of hot rock and debris sprinkled against her back as she whispered fiercely.
"This is a message for Obi-wan..."
Heads close together, Anakin and Obi-wan walked quickly through the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Deep in conversation about their findings on Dathomir, they argued about where to go from here. They knew of Savage's origins, but his present condition remained a mystery.
His bloody trail had gone suddenly cold. Had he found what he wanted?
"We should be out there," Anakin complained, jerking his sharp chin. "Y'know, actually looking for the monster?"
The blood-orange rays of the fierce Coruscant sky cascaded through the high windows of the Temple's atrium. It pierced the sparkling tiled ground, coloring everything in fiery hues.
"Patience," Obi-wan chided, fingers twisting in his honeyed beard. "We must wait for our enemy to reveal himself before we react. Striking blindly only adds to his advantage."
Frustrated, Anakin harrumphed.
"Yeah?" he challenged through clenched teeth. "Well, while we sit here, waiting, he could be out there killing people! We have to do something!"
Obi-wan heaved a worn sigh and ran a hand over his face. Anakin might not have been his padawan anymore, but he still had much to learn.
"I know that," Obi-wan admitted reluctantly. "But we have no idea where Opress is or what he wants. What do you suggest we do? We can't just pick a spot and go willy-nilly. Unfortunate as it may be, we have to be patient. We cannot let our feelings get the better of us."
Hulking, nostrils flared, the veins popped on Anakin's long, sturdy neck.
Dressed in his usual dark colors, he stood half a head taller than Obi-wan, giving off a looming, intimidating impression. Battle-scarred, tanned, and with a tangled, shaggy mess of sandy hair, Skywalker had come a long way from his youthful innocence. He had lost the baby fat in his face, leaving it razor-sharp. A perpetual scowl creased his brow, and his broad lips did not stray from a grimace often these days—he had seen much war, much suffering.
At the moment, his arms were glued to his sides, ending in black-gloved fists as he walked alongside Obi-wan with lengthy, agile strides.
"Fine," Anakin finally managed to snap, ignoring his friend's advice. "How about you stay and I—?"
"Obi-wan. Speak with you, we must."
The two Jedi halted.
Standing at the height of a child, Yoda beckoned the returning Kenobi with a wave of his withered, green claw.
"Hold that mutinous thought, will you?" Obi-wan said to Anakin with a smirk, slapping the boy on the shoulder as he took off in his Master's direction.
The bat-eared Yoda's perceiving, crinkly, dark eyes sparkled mysteriously as Obi-wan approached. Hobbling, he led the Knight to one of the conference rooms on the main floor.
"Sure…" Skywalker sighed from behind. "Whatever you say…"
He muttered a few more choice words under his breath as he walked away, embittered. Smirking, Obi-wan rolled his sapphire eyes as he followed Yoda. The boy certainly was a handful…
However, Obi-wan's amused smile vanished as he entered the dark, circular room. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling blossomed as his gaze met Master Ki-Adi-Mundi's.
Mundi—a Cerean with a snowy, wispy beard and a massive, oval-shaped, head—peered at Obi-wan with an unusually anxious expression.
"You wanted to see me, Masters?" Obi-wan questioned timidly, hanging back.
The panels clasped behind him with an echoing snap. The Masters said nothing. A large, holographic communicator sat in the center of the space, drawing Obi-wan's attention. With a click, Mundi switched it on.
Obi-wan felt the air slip from his lungs, felt as his heart grew secret wings and flew out of his body, through his throat. Displayed in front of him—re-painted as a blue, static hologram—was Satine. Even with the distortion, Obi-wan saw the terror on her features.
Another switch flipped and her see-through form sparked to life.
"This is a message for Obi-wan Kenobi," her voice trembled, warbled. "I've lost Mandalore. My people have been massacred!"
A faint bang could be heard in the background. Satine peered over her shoulder worriedly before turning back around. Her fear-stricken face became resigned, strained—she was cornered.
"I can't explain everything now, but Almec is the prime minister and he has the support of the crime families," she rushed, clutching the communicator in her hand like a talisman.
Obi-wan's face paled. He put a hand to his mouth to cover the fact that his chin was quivering.
Then, a bite of pure anger boiled his blood as a Mandalorian soldier with odd spikes sprouting from his helmet encroached upon the picture. The Duchess did not turn around but leaned closer to the comlink.
"Obi-wan, I need your help!"
The transmission flickered and vanished—Satine disappeared from sight and the room went dark.
"I want her alive," Maul hissed from his stolen throne.
The Sith sat on the edge of the cathedra, his claws clutching the granite armrests as his yellow glare seared a helmetless, greenhorn soldier in front of him.
"Y-y-yes sir!" the young, fair-head man stammered, saluting.
Maul curled a lip.
"Do you know what will happen if you fail me, boy?" he said in a snarling wheeze.
The Mandalorian shook his head and gulped. Maul watched the lad's Adam's apple bobble with a hungry, malicious expression. He flashed his jaundiced, tainted, fanged canines—a ravenous dog.
Lifting a hand, Maul coaxed the soldier's helmet from his grasp. It levitated toward the Sith lazily, floating serenely as if on an invisible puppet string. Every eye in the room followed its trail, every conversation stopped.
Then, with the ease and agility of a striking cobra, the Sith ignited his blood-bathed lightsaber, leapt from the throne, and slashed the helm in two before it reached the last step. Smoking and burned, sparks flew from the ruined thing as it tumbled from the air.
Its charred halves bounced forebodingly down each step and then rolled.
Maul sat back down.
"Go," he declared softly.
Quaking, the unseasoned, ex-Death Watch fighter nodded, bowed, and scurried away with his tail between his legs and his obliterated helmet forgotten.
Savage grinned evilly as he watched the Mandalorian pup, but his brother frowned.
He despised such obvious weakness.
"Follow him," Maul whispered to his apprentice, leaning over. "Find the girl. Bring her to me. Spare no one."
The other Dathomirian nodded once and strode coolly from the room. Maul leaned back in the opulent seat of power, stroking his tattooed chin with a talon. His newly acquired militia mulled about him, waiting for his orders.
Everything he had planned was coming to fruition at last—his return to power, his criminal empire, a loyal following…
Kenobi's head… he added to himself.
Once he found the child, it would be just one more knife in Obi-wan's heart. He did not expect the Jedi to survive the dual blows of Satine and her daughter—he would die of a broken heart or be a prisoner of his own unbearable guilt forever.
An evil, twisted grin tugged at Maul's striped mouth as he imagined his nemesis's devastated face. He licked his chops, for he could almost taste Obi-wan's furious grief, his ashamed despair.
Only on that day, in Kenobi's blackest hour, would the Sith finally have his revenge.
Crash landing, Obi-wan's ship sputtered its way onto a docking platform. The bucket-of-bolts fighter hit the ground with a bang, hissing steam and dripping fluid as it did.
"Blast it, Anakin…" the Knight muttered as a section of the controls ignited in a flurry of sparks. "That's the last time I borrow a ship from you."
He suspected this was Anakin's payback for not allowing him to chase Savage's tail around the galaxy. In his mind's eye, Obi-wan imagined his friend was having a hearty laugh over it.
Anakin had certainly not wasted a second in sarcastically chiding Obi-wan for being "impatient" and "emotional" when the idea of rescuing Satine first came up. Nonetheless, Anakin had proven good on his word to provide transportation for such a mission, despite his many snarky comments.
A jet of hot steam exploded from overhead, fogging the windshield.
Well, it's the thought that counts…Obi-wan thought with a scoff.
Punching a button, he then departed hastily from the cockpit before he caught fire himself.
Dressed in a stolen bounty hunter guise, he shoved a stained, cracked helmet on, masking his face. Wrinkling his nose underneath, the whole outfit reeked of booze and sweat.
As he came out onto the docks, a lone guard approached, gripping a blaster threateningly. Strangely, his armor was not decorated with the typical colors of Mandalore. It was splashed with stripes of obsidian and blotches of burgundy. Makeshift antlers sprouted like satyr horns from the sides of his helm.
"Sorry for the mess," the disguised Jedi apologized with a nervous laugh. "It's my friend's ship. He's a terrible mechanic. Not an engineering bone in his body..."
A piece of paneling from the fighter's wing clattered to the ground, emphasizing that point.
"Do you have a landing permit?" the guard snapped, unimpressed by Obi-wan's rambling.
"Of course," Kenobi lied confidently. "Come with me. I'll get it."
Motioning for the soldier to follow, he strode back up the ramp.
As the unfortunate Mandalorian clambered into the hull after him, Obi-wan sucker-punched him in the exposed part of his uniform, in the neck. Voice choked off, the Jedi then sent two more precise, devastating jabs. The sentry toppled, falling face-first to the ship floor with a satisfying flop.
Dragging the unconscious body off to the side, Obi-wan then exchanged clothes with the guard, donning the unusual red-black armor. Attaching his lightsaber to the foreign belt, Obi-wan jogged down the ramp and took off in search of Satine. He only had a few hours before his cover was blown.
Somewhere above in the shadowed rafters of the harbor, unbeknownst to the Jedi, several pairs of eyes followed him, intrigued.