Chapter 49
(A/N: For the yelling bit that is in bold italics: imagine John DiMaggio yelling times ten or twenty in terms of volume and tone. Also: bear in mind: this is just an Alternate Universe Cross-Over. I planned on making this much longer, but time and the real world, you know?)
He waited at the usual location for her: a rocker bar down in Mantle, right underneath looming Atlas. He never took off his helmet. Not in front of others. It was time to go back to a bit of the old ways... the ones that he helped establish. Key word: helped. As he was parched for thirst, but didn't want to reveal his true face to anyone, he sat at a bar, thinking.
He had lived a long-ass life. A long life, far longer than anyone of his particular species or ethnicity. If anything: he and his vod, Adam, would be considered 'ancestor' material in the old religion of his particular ancestral nation. He sighed, thinking of it. Its steppes and deserts, its glorious and bloody history (but the war crimes were a real pain in anyone's ass), and the people. All gone now. He sighed at this, the old memories coming back. The blackened skies over his homeworld, the monsters that came from the black mists, their eyes as black as midnight, their skin a pale complexion like that of a vampire, their teeth fangs, and their numbers seemingly endless. So many lost to the mist, so many lost to the hordes, so many lost to that strange darkness that showed up all of a sudden that strange day all those years ago. Another lifetime or several ago, in fact.
Then, he felt a change in the air. As if time stood still for something... or someone. He turned his helmeted head, the dim glare of the overheads making his visor shine. The stranger before him was actually quite familiar.
"Hello there," He said, leaning against the bar. Everyone around him, save the Employer and himself, stood frozen in time.
"It has been a bit since we last spoke," The gray-haired Employer said, smiling.. He reminded him strongly of Jacques Schnee. Asshole. If you're going to have workers, treat them with respect and pay them like you're supposed to. Wealthy bastard. Back in the old days, he'd have torn his goddamn palace to the ground, killed all his guards, and beat his bitch ass to within an inch of his life and tossed the fucker off the goddamn floating island-city in the sky.
"So it has," Byron Oros said, tilting his head as he leaned against the bar counter. "What do you want?" He asked, his tone reflecting his long years of service.
"I requested your friend, Adam Sym, that his assistance was needed in dealing with a particular situation. Namely: two Zabrak Nightbrothers, a strange alliance of criminal groups under their iron fist, and namely: 'your world' under their hostage." The employer said with a formal tone, with emphasis on 'your world'.
"I've had several worlds. I've campaigned a lot." Oros said.
"And that you have, with great success I might add." The employer said, nodding as he reminded his subordinate. "However, I am talking of the world you helped unite." The employer reminded him. At this, Oros tilted his head, the memories flooding back. "Mandalore?" He asked aloud. "What the hell happened there now?" He groggily asked. The answer didn't please him. In fact, it downright infuriated him.
"House Vizla did WHAT?!" His now enhanced voice much louder. So loud in fact that the glass would rumble and the building would shake if time had resumed and the Employer wasn't using his powers. The Employer repeated the answer.
"A GODDAMNED SITH?!" Oros's voice made the glass start to crack further. The employer explained and clarified.
"TWO DARK-SIDERS?! ONE OF THEM AN EX-SITH?!" Oros asked for clarification. The employer nodded at this and repeated what he had said earlier.
"THEY'RE DOING WHAT TO WHOM ON MANDALORE?!" The answer made Oros even more infuriated.
"AND THAT DI'KUT VIZLA MADE A DEAL WITH THESE PETTY ZABRAK SONS OF BITCHES?!" The glass of the windows now shattered. The Employer nodded at this calmly, hiding a smirk.
"GET ME OVER THERE RIGHT NOW ALONG WITH MY WHOLE DAMN HOUSE! I WANT TO SET THE RECORD FUCKING STRAIGHT ONCE AND FOR GODDAMN ALL! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS FORCE-DAMNED SHIT GOING ON! THIS ALL ENDS RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"
XXX
One moment: he had everything in his grasp. Obi-Wan was held captive in stolen Mandalorian armor. His hated enemy- forced to watch his lover about to die by his hand with the darksaber that was taken from the late Pre Vizla. Vizla's lover, and Satine's sister if he was sensing things right, was out there... opposing his rightful rule. That bitch had no idea whom was in charge now. Technically and politically speaking: as he had won in a one-on-one duel for the right to rule Mandalore and Deathwatch: he was the winner. Of course, he would find out the hard way about others coming to take his place... or rather... take their place back after a long hiatus.
All of a sudden, before he could take the darksaber out as Obi-Wan watched in horror with Satine Kryze, the now-defeated and shamed former Duchess of Mandalore, hanging in the air and about to be thrust towards his would-be activated blade, he heard a whistle that distracted all of them. All heads turned to see a very strange sight. A human male in a gray suit with a gray tie and collared shirt, gray jacket, gray everything, save the skin and whites of his eye... stood to Maul's right and Obi-Wan's left. He was a bit tall. Perhaps nearly two meters? His hair was slicked back. He smiled as he held one hand behind his back and then proceeded to raise one hand as he was about to ask whom he was and how he got in here without the guards noticing. The figure snapped. One snap. And all Hell broke loose.
Immediately, the air erupted with explosions: masonry exploded all around them in a loud, thunderous 'roar' as glass shattered everywhere. Similar explosions were heard and he momentarily lost his hearing as everyone was forced to fall from the sheer volume and force of the explosions. That, and a wave of the dark side hit his senses in full force like an overwhelming tide of righteous anger and bloodlust. It would've made him more eager for battle... but this? He coughed as the dust came into his lungs along with everything else. He gripped his conquered darksaber hilt tightly and activated it while coughting. This was like an entire army's worth of- His gaze stopped on a pair of armored feet... massive armored feet that were twice the size of his brother's. His gaze then went upward to a pair of armored legs, followed by the traditional Mandalorian chest armor... only it looked like a much older design... followed by a-... there was no possible way that a Mandalorian could be that big. He craned his neck just to see the chest. The being's hands were at his sides, balled into fists. He oozed anger and fury along with no small amount of indignity. There was the Dark Side... and then there was this. He stood up, the being not going so much as to attack him. Obviously, this was some kind of challenger. There were no blasts yet as his Mandalorian guards arose with their captive. The entire room was now filled with similar armored and towering figures. Only, this one wore armor as black as midnight with a double-pronged-barrel blaster that he had never seen before. The thing's chest heaved in anger as if restraining every urge to choke him to death with his bare hands. Then it stopped heaving. He also noticed that it felt old... ancient even... far ancient than could be imagined. That and the armor looked old... very old. He hadn't seen that sort of armor outside of old holocrons and the occasional museum.
Maul blinked and looked at Obi-Wan whom looked around in awe at the sight. Maul turned his head to where that strange human had stood and found him missing. Strange... he could've sworn... Just then, someone... something... spoke.
"BEFORE I PUMMEL YOUR HORNED ASS INTO THE FUCKING FLOOR," The thing boomed in front of him. "I MUST ASK WHO THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE?" The thing asked, taking a step forward. He could feel the former Duchess do her best not to quake in fear. No one had worn this kind of armor in milennia, even centuries at least! And the size and the dark-side emanating from this being and perhaps the whole possible platoon's worth that made the guards question their loyalties.. whom were they?
He looked up at them.
"I am Maul, rightful ruler of Mandalore, formerly of the Sith." Maul defiantly said, standing up with his darksaber. He felt the being eye it though the helmet shifted slightly.
"'Rightful'?" The being repeated and then started laughing aloud, the halls shaking followed by even more such laughter from his apparent bodyguard. The being in front of him turned to his cohorts and spoke in a strange and guttural language. He felt a sudden sense of fear from Kryze and the other Mandalorians. Something that made them want to run.
"Ta nar üüniig sonsov uu? Ene zaluu ööriigöö 'zöv zakhiragch' gej boddog." The bodyguard laughed at the apparent jest. Maul grunted while gritting his teeth while activating his darksaber. Immediately, a massive hand blocked his strike and then the other hand. Maul tried to force-kick him only for the being to actually stomp on his foot before he could do so... breaking it with the metal crunching under the weight and force of the blow.. He cried aloud in pain as he fell forward. The being had been fast... the only way he could do that was by... He looked up at the being in front of him, now towering even more so.
"What..." He breathed through the pain, trying not to scream as Obi-Wan watched with both interest and fear. "-are you?" Maul asked as he sensed Savage try to reach him. A loud crack was heard and he heard Savage's yell as he somehow flew out of the building. "BROTHER!" He roared, seeing him fall to his death out of view.
XXX
Byron Oros glared at the little horned bastard that now cowered like a little wimp as his so-called 'brother' died. His body most definitely being crushed to death. Outside, throughout the city, throughout the entire cold remnant of the world that he had once united and ruled as its first ruler before leaving for parts 'unknown'... his Clan stood before conquered and would-be conquerers, oppressed and oppressors, rebels and tyrants, traitors and possible loyalists.
Byron stepped on the Zabrak's hands, ensuring to grind it beneath his feet. His screams were joy to his ears.
He kneeled down, his head above the dark sider's own.
"'What am I'?" He asked the question in mockery. He made sure that his face was so close the Zabrak's face could see it reflected back at him. "Thousands of years ago: I ruled this planet with every clan bowing before me: both Houses Vizla-" Oros turned to regard the so-called 'Duchess' "AND KRYZE!" He roared in anger. He shook his head at the woman, pointing his finger at her.
"Woman, we'll have words after I deal with this fucking prick!" Oros angrily barked. Kryze shook her head in shock at the language uttered against her.
"Don't you dare yell at her!" A man in red Mandalorian armor, probably stolen, snapped at him in shock at Oros's lack of chivalry. Oros grunted. He could sense the Force off of him. One of Adam's people. Goddamn it, they were going to have to set the record straight when that business with Adam's daughter in law was over.
"Ordinarily: I'd kick your balls, but I know one of you so-you're lucky." Oros simply said, shrugging. He turned back to the Zabrak to see him grab the- what the fuck was that? He grabbed the hand before it could strike him. His own rage overpowering the Zabrak's sense of betrayal.
"You think you have anger?" He asked, chuckling. "Allow me to tell you who I am," He said, flicking his wrist and extending his grip's strength. The Zabrak's wrist broke and became limp as the Nightbrother howled in pain.
"I am the 'Ruler of All Houses'," He began, now grabbing his prisoners' neck. "I am the Warlord of the Southern Wastelands," He listed his titles. "Unifier of All Clans, 'Khan of the Southern and Eastern Horde', 'Founder and Father of House and Clan Oros', whom were betrayed by their own people before an ill-concieved and ill-advised war against the Republic-protected by my brother's people!" He said, lifting the prisoner to above his head. At the mention of this, the Zabrak's eyes widened as he started to realize just whom and what he was.
"I am Byron Oros! Founder of House and Clan Oros, cruelly betrayed by their kinsmen over the false war with the Jedi... against my own commands! I: who unified Mandalore into one world to spread our people amongst the stars! Whom helped give Mandalore its laws and the virtues of justice, honor and aided in teaching the very concept of war! I: who was taught and friends with the original Mandalorians: the Taurang!" Oros yelled this last part on every comms channel so that the world would know: his clan and he had returned. A wave of fear and anxiety came over the world along with no small amount of awe.
"We have returned to claim what was ours... as it is long past time we made our point:" Oros said, his voice now off of the channel. "Enemies of my family aren't allowed on my world," Oros said to the now fearful Zabrak. "And that Jedi?" he nudged his head towards the disguised Jedi Knight before hen whispered in a voice so low only the two of them could hear. "News flash, pal: the Jedi are my family as well." He looked at the Zabrak in the eyes before he carried out an unsaid sentence. "I am Mandalore the First: And I have spoken." He announced before tossing the Zabrak out of the throne room. The Zabrak screamed as he fell. He didn't look away as he fell splat onto the floor. Nodding with satisfaction, he gave one last order before turning around to sit down on a destroyed throne, his body now becoming smaller. As did that of his bodyguards and kinsmen. The Mandalorians of the present looked at the past in shock as he gestured for them to gently raise the Duchess and her apparent lover onto their feet.
"My apologies for the intrusion and the outburst," he said, folding his hands while leaning forward. "But, I've got a full schedule and I mean to pay some debts." He said, looking at the two of them. "Now: what's this about House Vizla causing a war... again?" The First Mandalore asked in tired anger. Below, the remnants of Deathwatch were hunted down along with those loyal to Maul. Most died either with honor or without it. Others just fled.