Shadow of the Phoenix

by SLotH4

Centuries have passed since the Empire fell, and decades of war and strife have forged a ruthless galaxy. An expansionist Galactic Alliance looms over an upstart Mandalorian Union. A hardened Jedi Order teeters on the brink of light and dark. The Fellan Imperium awaits their chance to ascend once more. As rising tensions threaten war, it only takes a spark to set the galaxy aflame.

13. Flowers of the Nation

A/N: Who the hell am I? I can't possibly be myself. You know why? Because I posted the last chapter less than two weeks ago. And it's not like this chapter was fully ready to go and I was just biding my time, it was a couple of prewritten scenes at best. And yet, here we are.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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Shadow of the Phoenix

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Flowers of the Nation

---

The Temple on Tython was cool at this time of year as the seasons changed and the wildlife adjusted. Conciliator Pio Rodas stood at attention near one of the landing annexes set apart from the Temple proper. He contemplated his newest charge and what he would tell her. He thought about her circumstances and the deftness needed to navigate them.

The clouds parted as a shuttle cut through their fluff and hurdled toward him. He could sense the Jedi pilot and their single passenger. She was strong in the Force, but it was flavored with dangerous hues of emotion.

Anger.

Sadness.

Fear.

But also hope.

The shuttle settled into the docking couplings and lowered its ramp. From the opening emerged a young twi'lek girl. Her dossier put her at twelve years of age, with half her life spent in the tender embrace of a brutal slave master. Rodas suppressed a frown, quietly hoping the Militant Order might step up and wipe out the Cartels and end this manufactured suffering once and for all. If they were going to act like barbarians and ignore the tenants of the Jedi Code, they could at least do something useful. For now though, he would see to the girl's wellbeing.

She was free.

She could heal.

He ushered her into the Temple with a warm smile, one she hesitantly returned as she followed. The Sphere of Conciliation and Reflection offered healing to those of unsound mind. It was a noble profession, though one that some would abuse when it suited them. Rodas shooed the thought away and focused on his mission, helping this child.

The first task was to determine her traumas and how to excise them if necessary. It took months before she trusted him enough to submit to the process – it could be damaging if done too quickly or forcefully. When he finally saw into her soul. Witnessed her memories like a telepathic voyeur. He nearly vomited.

The things this child had endured at the stubby hands of her hutt master were vile and soul-deadening. That such evil could exist anywhere was disheartening. It also meant she'd be here on Tython for a long while. This was no one-time fix. Her entire experience needed to be pruned and molded into something else.

He conferred with other Conciliators as the months went on. About how best to help this girl. About how best to prepare her for the life of a Jedi – and if she couldn't handle that, to prepare her for a life without the Force.

Rodas began snipping connections in her memories – isolating the most traumatic ones first. Then there were the memories of routine suffering. The indignities she'd suffered on a daily basis. They couldn't be isolated, so instead, he pulled the memories free – offering them a home in his own mind. And now the oily violation she had felt for so long became his own.

There was so much damage on her psyche and so little he could do for her. The most they could do was suppress or remove the memories. Leaving a traumatized girl with no context for her feelings. She would have PTSD without any connection to what caused it.

She would suffer with this for the rest of her days.

Rodas felt strongly that only the ways of the Jedi could help temper it.

Their sessions continued for another two years as she adjusted to her new life and studied the basics of being a Jedi. During that time, they discovered her unique talents as she explored the ruins of the planet with her caretaker – she was a Spirit-Talker, able to converse with those long-dead. It was an incredible talent, but one with great risks. Rodas and the other Conciliators agreed she wasn't ready for that kind of power. That kind of temptation.

They told her to avoid the spirits. They warned that they would tempt her to the dark side. She was sufficiently paranoid of corruption that she readily acquiesced and actively shunned the dead. Rodas feared she might feel betrayed if she learned the truth – that most spirits were relatively harmless, the Jedi simply didn't trust her.

She was nearing the end of her time on Tython. She'd been researching the different Spheres to determine which was best for her. To Rodas' dismay, she had settled on the Militant Order. She had something of a temper and vengeful streak that seemed to come out of nowhere – echoes of her trauma. He could only hope that her Master, whomever it ended up being, would help her to find peace and wholeness. They would have her dossier and his contact information. There was nothing more he could do.

He sat beneath a native ak tree on a gentle hill. The girl was nearby, sitting on a rock and dangling her feet as they watched the sunset.

He broke the silence with the most important question he could ask, "What do you want to do with your life?"

The child furrowed her brow as she contemplated. "I wanna help people."

"That's all any Jedi should want," Conciliator Pio Rodas said with a proud smile, "I wish you well in that task, Numa'lestin – and I think that is exactly what you are going to do."

---

Taral cupped his palm over the end of the cigarette and willed the leaves to smolder. The glowing embers flavored the air with maroon-tinted smoke. He pulled the stick from his mouth with a satisfied sigh and flipped it over, offering it to his companion, butt-first.

Numa's face scrunched up in disgust before the weariness of the past several hours set in and she reached out with a slightly shaking hand. She held it awkwardly and took a hesitant puff – erupting into a coughing fit as Taral laughed.

"Oh gods!" she wheezed, "How the hell can you smoke these?!"

He shrugged and took back the cigarette. "Acquired taste. It helps with my nerves, but I find satisfaction in each puff." He paused. "…I smoke them for her."

Numa's face softened at his melancholy expression. "Who?"

He hesitated. Then he took a long drag on the cigarette. "My Master. She told me not to smoke them. Said they made me weak – reduced lung capacity and whatnot. She caught me smoking once and smashed my fingers into splinters."

Numa deadpanned. "And yet you sound like you miss her."

"Maybe…" His eyes became distant. "She taught me strength, but in the end I was powerless."

"Powerless?"

"She was a Banite Sith. We believe in the Rule of Two. We are anathema to the Sith Collective. There once was an Order of Bane, but when their coup failed, they were sentenced to an eternity of suffering in the Screaming Hall." He paused. "My Master was added to their number just before I left."

"I'm sorry, Taral."

He shrugged. "She was weak in the face of strength."

"Do you feel nothing for her?"

"…I feel cheated. I was her Apprentice. It was my duty to kill her in combat and seize her mantle. Now… I don't know if I was ever good enough to be the Master."

Numa was quiet. It was strange to see his arrogance so muted.

"Anyway," he continued, "How're the survivors?"

"Relieved, I think. They have hope now that the Jedi are here." She gestured to a pair of ships that Master Ritten had sent. "They didn't deserve this."

Taral snorted. "Few people ever get what they deserve." He paused. "Forgive me. I'm just feeling a bit… nostalgic."

Numa frowned, her eyes sympathetic. "Was it like this when he attacked your home?"

He looked at her, his eyes distant. He shook his head. "These people will live and heal. My people were killed to a man. But Tlon Fett left alive the one person who – by the grace of the Elder One – will bring him to bloody justice."

"I understand."

"Do you? At this point in time, that's my main driving force. That and…" He trailed off.

"What?"

He smiled. "You'll see when we reach Cholganna."

Numa cocked a tattooed eyebrow before shrugging. "You've been very cagey, Taral. You haven't told us anything except the destination."

Taral dropped the cigarette nub and ground it into the mud with his boot. "It's not easy… relying on others, I mean. In the Sith, everyone is a potential enemy. The only one you can truly trust is yourself."

"We aren't Sith, Taral. You can trust us."

He was quiet for a moment. "I think I can trust you."

Numa beamed at the admission and had to stifle a giggle at his scowl. He looked so embarrassed by the revelation. She was happy though. Perhaps Master Skywalker was right. Maybe she could save him.

Taral sighed. "In retrospect, we'll probably need backup on this. We should talk to Skywalker and see if there's anyone he can spare." He paused. "I'll explain everything on the call."

Numa nodded and bid him farewell, returning to the center of the village and meeting up with Otol Kerrn and the other healers.

Kerrn looked over with a frown. "A full-third of the villagers have been killed or taken. Those left will be permanently scarred by the experience in all likelihood."

"Anything more we can do?" she asked, looking around with sad eyes.

"Well, we are apparently leaving now that the other healers are here," he explained in a tone of exasperation.

Numa smiled placatingly. "We did what we could, Otol."

He whirled on her; his lips pulled back in a righteous snarl. "There's more we could do! These people need our help! We're Jedi, but we're leaving them because a Sith is telling us to leave!" Kerrn bellowed, "He doesn't care about anyone, Numa. I bet he'd prefer these people were dead so we could leave sooner!"

She frowned and centered herself lest she lash out – she was too tired for it. "He's not as evil as you think, Otol, and I understand your frustration because I share it. But we have done everything we can. We've tended to the wounded. We've alerted our Sphere. When we leave, they'll be cared for by our people." She closed the distance and put her hands on his shoulders. "There's nothing else the two of us can do."

Kerrn bowed his head and sighed. "I know… it just feels like… like there was more we could have done."

"Not unless we got here sooner."

Kerrn frowned and glanced around the village. "Yeah… I know." He paused. "Master Ritten is dedicating our Sphere's resources to helping these people. The Gra'tua are as vindictive as they are brutal, they poisoned all the krill ponds – without aid, these people will starve within a month."

"Then it's a good thing we're here to help." She smiled and looked at the survivors. Fear not, gentle beings, She Who Acts will see you through this.

---

THE RAVENSTONE

AARB-CLASS BULK-FREIGHTER

The detour to Sorgan had cost them nearly a day in travel, but Taral didn't mind. He sympathized with those people. He was probably the only one on this ship who knew exactly what those people had suffered. Now though? Now they were back on schedule, traveling the Perlemian Trade Route.

He familiarized himself with the planet they were traveling to. Cholganna. Temperate jungles and oceans. Little to recommend it beyond its native nexu populations. He hoped they wouldn't have to contend with the vicious felines.

They were still days away, hopefully enough time to formulate a viable plan of attack. He still wasn't comfortable relying on these Jedi. He'd fought alongside Numa on Dxun, and he'd seen Txon in action when Numa was sold into slavery, but it still felt really weird. He thought back on his life and wondered if there was ever a time he actually fought alongside someone as a matter of course. There was nothing in his recent past amongst the Sith.

He had to go all the way back to his childhood. The drills his father would run him through. The war games he'd play with the other children – 'Splintered Age' being a perennial favorite. He almost couldn't remember the faces of his friends. Not that it mattered these days. They were all long-dead.

He shook his head, glancing at his Jedi companions as the call connected and the holoprojector hummed to life. The hologram resolved into the regal form of former-Grand Master Daniel Skywalker. His robes were immaculate and his stance was proud if slightly slouched – his cane buttressing his form.

"Master Skywalker, heard you're out of a job," Taral snarked.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Retired, thank you."

"So, before we start," Taral said, "I need to confirm that this line is one hundred percent secure. Because any leak is going to jeopardize everything. Including our alliance."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I'll ask that you refrain from threatening our precarious agreement. I'm not on the High Council anymore, so it falls to you to maintain the relationship." He fiddled with something outside of the holoprojection. "I've activated a one-time-use encryption key on top of the cyberdefenses I already use. We're secure."

Taral nodded and took a deep breath. "I want to hit a Sith facility in the Outer Rim. I've given it some thought and I don't think the four of us can't handle it alone. We need Jedi assets. Those that are both capable and uncompromised."

Daniel's eyes hardened. "Why have you not mentioned this place before?"

"Because I wasn't interested in sharing while I was stuck on Nar Shaddaa. I'm willing to work with you but you need to understand that my trust in your Order is very narrow."

"I see. And now that you're free, you're willing to share breadcrumbs with us," Daniel said, his tone deliberate and warning, "That is not how this alliance is going to work, Taral. Your freedom is contingent upon aiding us. Hiding information does not aid us."

Taral grimaced, it felt like giving up leverage. "Fair point. I know of a few Sith worlds and facilities. I'll compile a list before we deal with Cholganna."

"That would be appreciated. Why are the Sith there on Cholganna?"

"They maintain an Academy hidden in the jungle on the southern continent. It's dedicated to training younglings and educating them on Sith philosophy – alongside the stuff other elementary schools teach."

Daniel listened and made some notes on his datapad. "Why do you want to attack Cholganna, specifically?"

Taral fidgeted slightly. "They have something of mine there. I need your help in getting her out unharmed."

" 'Her'?"

"I'm curious as well," Txon said, "Who is this child with the ruby skin and ebony hair?"

Taral froze for a split-second before tearing a chair off its screws and hurling it at the Jedi Master – who deflected it with barely a gesture. "Stay outta my mind, you motherfucker!"

"You were broadcasting," countered Txon.

The tables and chairs in the room started to rattle as Taral became angrier.

Numa placed a placating hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Taral. This isn't helping. Now please, tell us about the girl."

Taral pulled away angrily, but relaxed nonetheless. "Her name is Mischa. She's my… daughter."

The Jedi were all silent, a quick glance and he saw surprise in Numa and Kerrn's eyes. He turned away in embarrassment. I can be a good dad even if I'm a fuck-up, dammit.

"So you're the father," Daniel said, nodding along, "One of my contacts in the Sith Collective mentioned the girl. Supposedly, she's the only child Vathila ever officially acknowledged as hers."

Taral frowned. "Did you compromise one of the Sith Masters? Just how well-informed are you?"

"I know enough to be dangerous. The Sith Collective is not nearly as opaque as Vathila believes."

"Hmm," Taral hummed as he tried to tease out the details, "It would need to be someone from an Order that's not all-in on being evil bastards. That whittles it down to Caedus and Nox, maybe Kaan and Revan, but I doubt it."

Daniel smiled. "It's poor form to reveal one's sources."

"Ah, plural, interesting. That you would know my daughter though… one of Vathila's people? A defector?" He continued to piece it together. "It was that red-skin in Caedus, wasn't it? Ah man, what was her name again? Kia-something? Eh, doesn't matter."

Daniel's face betrayed nothing. "You have a sharp mind, Taral – but a predictable one. Now please, tell us about your daughter."

Taral smiled as he remembered his little girl, it was strange to have pride in someone else. "She was powerful. Even in the womb you could feel it. And once she was born… she could affect the world around her when she slept. Waking dreams and fantastic visions. It was terrifying, but also exciting." He cleared his throat and spoke more directly, "You are, of course, correct. Her mother is Vathila. And as a result, Mischa is a massassi, hence the red skin and black hair. At this point she should be around eight years old."

Numa asked, "What's she like?"

Taral became sheepish. "…I don't know. I left when she was two. What she became and what she knows…" He shrugged.

"She's not going to come willingly. You understand that, right?" Kerrn asked, "I've dealt with brainwashed cult members in the past and they are not happy when you turn their world upside-down – doubly so with the kids."

"I know. We'll deal with her disposition later. For now, I'll bring along a Force-suppression collar and knock her out for transport," Taral said, with a weary expression, "Not exactly the reunion I was hoping for."

"Perhaps, but it is a necessary thing. If we do nothing, they'll be raised as monsters." Kerrn frowned. "She and the other children will have been traumatized by their upbringing – I suspect the Conciliators will have their hands full once we rescue them."

Taral narrowed his eyes. "Just so we're clear, Mischa isn't going anywhere near Tython. I'm not rescuing her from one cult to stick her in another."

"You need not fear anything from us, Taral," Daniel said, "Frankly, I'm hesitant to send any to Tython, but it is a necessary step. Thankfully, there are Conciliators that I trust in this." He tapped his cane. "If we are to launch an attack and help these children, it's important to know what we're up against."

"The first thing to deal with are the automated defenses, they have anti-air autoturrets and ground-to-space missile batteries. Once in the facility itself, there's security guards and droids that patrol the grounds. Plus the teachers are mostly Sith Masters." Taral tapped a finger to his chin. "And the students are liable to attack any intruders as well, I suppose. The older ones at minimum."

Daniel nodded. "How heavy is the security detail inside the Academy?"

"Less than you'd expect. Sith security is handled by the Order of Ragnos, generally. They enforce the tenants of our alliance, to ensure no one starts fighting before the Jedi are dead. They're tough. They hold to old ways, to the point where they use metal swords instead of lightsabers. They're extremely dangerous." Taral smiled. "That said, Cholganna is a notoriously boring assignment. The guards will be young; well-trained but unseasoned. Also, from what I've seen, Ragnos is more concerned with internal cohesion than outside threats. Secrecy is our greatest defense."

Daniel pursed his lips. "Just to be clear, you're already en route and you're only just now contacting me? When you knew from day one what the four of you would walk into?"

Taral clucked his tongue. "Well, y'know… trust issues."

Daniel stared at him incredulously for a moment before sighing. "Fair enough. Cholganna seems to be a relatively soft target. Perfect for a first encounter." Daniel rubbed his thumb over the handle of his cane. "Then this will be the beginning. The next phase in our eternal war. We have two options then. Either we use the Militant Order in an all-out assault, or we use the Shadows to sneak inside and sow some chaos."

"I'd prefer something quiet. This is a rescue mission first and foremost," Taral said, "How long would it take for you to deploy the Shadows to Cholganna?"

Daniel's lips twitched into a smile. "The second you land."

Taral was confused for a moment… then it clicked and he narrowed his eyes. "And here I thought I wasn't underestimating you. Well-played, Skywalker."

He saw Numa out of the corner of his eye looking terribly confused at the exchange. He ignored her and refocused on his surroundings, starting with Daniel.

"Contingencies are important in my line of work. Doubly so with unreliable assets," Daniel said almost offhandedly, "I think for this operation we will utilize both the Militant Order and the Shadows. While you and the Shadows find and exfil Mischa, the Militant Order will wait in orbit for cleanup duty after you're done."

"And if things turn to shit, I assume they'll hot-drop to assist?"

A nod. "Precisely."

"Smart."

"What about the other children?" Numa asked, "If there's a battle, those kids will get caught in the middle."

"My only concern is Mischa," Taral said, "the others are dead weight. I'll leave the details up to you fake pacifists."

"Please, the Order hasn't been pacifistic for centuries," Txon muttered dryly.

"No shit, that's why you're fake."

Daniel spoke up, deciding to ignore the jibe, "I'll inform the Battlemaster of the situation and secure an appropriate military contingent. While you wait for them to arrive, the Shadows will infiltrate the Academy and locate the principal. Once reinforcements arrive in-system, you may extract her."

Taral breathed a sigh of relief. He was so close to seeing his daughter again. "Thank you, Skywalker. I'm in your debt."

The smile returned. "Glad to hear it. Is there anything else? Any details you left out?"

"Quite a few I reckon, but only two things that come to mind. First, the teachers will be from different Orders. Their capabilities will vary as a result – though most will be from Revan and Kaan." He paused. "I don't think any would be overly dangerous in any niche sense save for two: Master Chikchik and the Headmaster. Chikchik is a chadra-fan from the Order of Nihilus and is a wound in the Force and a deadly assassin. The Headmaster though… I don't know anything about them, but given the nature of their position, assume they are the greatest threat. No one becomes Headmaster without being formidable."

"I see," Daniel said, tapping his cane in thought, "I'll warn them of the danger. What was the second thing?"

Taral grimaced. "Secrecy is our greatest defense. If a Sith stronghold is lost… they might trigger a self-destruct. Once triggered, you have sixty seconds to shut it down – which is basically impossible without the codes. My understanding of it is minimal, but I heard they spread it out. They use multiple charges on the supports to collapse the structure before triggering the main bomb. This is a multi-megaton munition we're talking about here. It will vaporize the site and anything within."

"Smart. We would lose anyone on-site as well as any evidence that might be there."

"The main bomb… I don't know how big it is. I don't know if it is antimatter or nuclear. The second it's armed and the alarms go off, everyone needs to evacuate. I cannot stress that enough," Taral said, his tone deadly serious.

Daniel sighed and nodded. "Understood. We'll take precautions and I'll contact you once their forces are en route. Until then, may the Force be with you."

The Jedi all bowed to him while Taral merely nodded. The hologram dissipated and the lights came back up to full brightness. Turning around, Taral froze for a second and scoffed as he noted the two additional Jedi he'd never seen before.

It looked like a man and a woman. Both dressed in Jedi robes – the man in dark green and the woman in a deep burgundy. They each had a single lightsaber on their hips and no other weapons. And now that they were out in the open, he could sense them clearly and feel how powerful they were. Had they been ordered to detain him, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

"You two are the Shadows, I presume?" he asked wearily – though he giggled slightly seeing Numa jump in surprise.

"They were here the whole time?!" she exclaimed.

"They came aboard before we left Nar Shaddaa," Txon said.

Numa turned a glare upon him. "And you didn't think to inform us?"

"It might have compromised their objectives."

"Were you told of us?" the green man asked, his head cocked slightly.

Txon smiled. "Sensing those who wish to remain hidden is a trifling thing for an Extension of the Will."

"Fair enough," said the burgundy woman, "We understand the task before us. Is there anything else we should know?"

"Hmm, I think that's it." Taral furrowed his brow in thought. "Oh wait, there's one thing, the surrounding jungle is probably saturated with proximity sensors. If you bump into one it'll set off the alarms."

"We'll be careful. Once we reach Cholganna, the two of us will perform the necessary reconnaissance. Preferably at night."

"Probably for the best," Taral said, "Just be mindful of the nexu. They hunt at night."

Both Shadows smiled at the warning. "So do we."

---

Mischa rubbed her tired eyes for the umpteenth time. She kept all the lights on in her room – same as she had for the past several days. When she walked the halls of the Academy, she couldn't shake the sense that someone was watching her from the shadows. But every time she looked, she saw nothing – why would the Force lie to her like that? She didn't know.

Instead, she focused on her task. Her body begged her to give in and sleep but her mind rebelled. There was too much knowledge that still wasn't hers. She lovingly gripped the datapad in one hand as she scrolled with the other. A half-dozen scrolls were strewn about her bed – their secrets claimed hours ago.

Sith sorcery. So exotic and niche that most couldn't understand. Yet when she pored over the theories and the rituals… it all clicked. She could feel the Force as it was meant to be. She could see the power that had been out of reach for so long.

She glanced at her arm and frowned at the bandage. She'd created an illusion and accidentally projected it on Pawpatine. The kitten had gone mad and attacked her before suffering a stroke and dying in the brush. It was a painful lesson. Her kitty didn't deserve that. She had cried in her room for days afterward, only recently coming to terms with losing her only friend. She had to be more careful – both with casting and with targeting.

Mischa was studying a tree of techniques – interconnected like a family of attacks. Fear begot Nightmare begot Insanity. Each level of illusion creating a reinforcing personal hell for the victim. Would she know what they saw? Only if she read their minds, which she wasn't skilled at. No, she would see the effects of her spells and nothing more. She'd already seen the effects on animals: cowering, squealing, biting, and clawing at invisible horrors that rankled their instincts or left them paralyzed with fear.

She was in the middle of researching spell combinations – mixing disparate techniques in unique ways to enhance the effects or to catch an opponent off-guard. It was an ocean of possibilities that she'd only dipped a toe into at this point – it was overwhelming and exhilarating.

In her studies, she kept coming across the name Darth Zannah. She was a master of Sith sorcery and many of her techniques influenced modern practitioners to this day. She had created a holocron during her life and Mischa desperately wanted to use it, but… she couldn't. Zannah was a Banite – whatever that meant – and because of that, the holocron was forbidden until she was older. Much older.

Maybe if I do well, mama will let me use the holocron sooner.

She grabbed one of the cages from the far wall and placed it in the middle of the room – this one held a bark rat – and was moving through the motions of a new spell and was ready to cast it with a simple clap when she heard a muffled click near the door. She froze in mid-cast and turned her head, watching as it slid open without the typical whoosh. In walked a pair of boots seemingly melting out of the shadows, followed by another, and another. The first two walked in without a sound – as if she'd gone deaf.

She looked up, the thrum of panic on her skin. She didn't recognize them… but they dressed like Jedi. Two of them spread out to either side while a twi'lek woman brought up the middle. She opened her mouth, but Mischa was already moving her hands.

A final clap completed the spell and the three Jedi fell prey to the visions.

---

Numa's mind exploded into a kaleidoscope of color and wonder and emotion. The room had disappeared alongside the girl, and now there was nothing. Then the scene shifted. She felt her body change – her large breasts evaporating alongside her clothes. Her neck was weighted with a metal chain and her exposed skin was puckered with goosebumps.

Her stomach leapt into her throat when she heard the deep, guttural laugh that echoed in the room. From the darkness she could just make out a corpulent slug of dark blue hue. The hutt pulled on the chain and she was thrown across its greasy belly.

Another pull of the chain and she was straddling its face, feeling its writhing tongue between her legs as she screamed and begged for it to stop – invoking the Goddess Ko'm'san multiple times to no avail. She hit at it with her fists – now reduced the limbs of a youngling – but it just laughed at her defiance.

The tongue continued and she wept.

Powerless and fearful as it violated her.

---

Mischa watched the woman writhe and cry on the floor. Her suffering brought no small amount of pride to the young massassi girl. She'd used Fear on a Jedi! Mama would be proud of that! She imagined her smiling and reaching out with a loving hand—

Then she noticed the other two shaking off her spell like it was nothing. One of them kneeled to help the twi'lek while the other braced themselves, hand on their hip clasping a lightsaber. Her mind was in a panic, too frazzled to cast another spell. Even if she tried, there was no way she could complete it before the Jedi attacked.

She saw movement by the door. In walked a man in dark robes. She stumbled backwards at the sight of him. He looked like a Sith, but she didn't recognize him. Another Jedi ran in and tried to help the thrashing twi'lek woman as well, but the dark man ignored him.

"Impressive work, Mischa," the dark robed man said with a smile, "but I need you to release her. The last thing I need is for Numa to bite it this early."

Mischa inched back, bumping into the bedframe, her eyes wide – too panicked to cast another spell. "St-Stay back!"

The smile became predatory and the man lunged at her, grabbing the scruff of her neck by the collar of her robes. She thrashed and screamed. He reached out with his other hand, holding a Force-suppression band.

In desperation, she screamed out with the Force just before the band clamped onto her neck.

And the entire Academy woke up.

---

In low orbit over the Sith Academy hovered an assault-frigate of the Jedi Militant Order. The engineering of the superstructure reduced its profile against LADAR scans, keeping it hidden in plain sight behind the clouds on this starry night. Each of the Jedi shuffled and fidgeted, ready to unleash hell at a moment's notice.

O-Vhu Tar felt the same thrum of excitement in his blood and had taken to meditating to keep it in check. The Sith were here. Their greatest enemy. And he was here with his comrades to rain down bloody vengeance before the bastards could plunge the galaxy into chaos. On the trip to Cholganna, he'd checked, double-checked, and triple-checked his equipment. Like the others, he was decked out in armor reminiscent of Clone Wars-era Jedi apparel. Easy to move in thanks to the nanothread undersuit, his limbs and center mass were encased in ceramic plates designed to protect against blasterfire while the cortosis-weave core plating protected against lightsabers.

As a Battle-Sage, the cerean Jedi's armor was lighter than the others'. He relied more on the Force than the blade and needed a greater range of motion. He contemplated taking his cloak along, but dismissed it as unnecessary and potentially detrimental – Force forbid he get tangled in the thing and killed.

Everything was fully functional, in its proper place, and given a parade ground polish. He was well-rested and well-fed.

He was ready.

Good thing too, because in that moment of reflection, he felt a disturbance in the Force.

He felt fear.

Someone very strong in the Force was screaming out in fear and he and everyone else could sense it. Which meant the people in the Academy could too.

The alarm was sounded.

General quarters called.

"This is it, people! Get to your pods!" Battle-Commander Yaroslava Blahova bellowed, the echani woman joining them in the assault, "The Academy's droids and autoturrets are compromised. We're dropping into a free-fire zone. If it isn't Jedi, kill it!"

O-Vhu pulled his open-faced helmet on and took heart in having the Battle-Commander with them, because despite his training and experience, he'd never faced a Sith before. He joined B'lor and Ando in one of the three-person drop pods that lined the ship's underbelly – their gleaming white Sentinel armor awash in reflected light from the displays. The countdown was swift, and at the zero mark they disengaged and went into a thruster-enhanced freefall.

The Academy was hidden in the forest and without lights to guide them. For a second, he feared they might veer off-course, but the infiltration team had set up a transponder beacon to guide the landers. A few minor adjustments and they made their way to the target.

The thud of their landing was jarring, even with the suspension systems, even with the Force. The door blew off with a controlled explosion and the three of them poured out into the chaos of the Academy grounds. Dozens of lightsabers abound in all the recognizable rainbow the Jedi used, each clashing with the matte silver of Sith swords their enemies wielded.

For the first time in his life, O-Vhu saw a sith pureblood in-person – or was it a massassi? Regardless, it was a man. He was young, perhaps in the prime of his life. His red skin bristled with sinewy muscle. There was excitement in his yellow eyes, but also fear.

O-Vhu smiled. They'd been warned the security guards would be inexperienced. His emerald blade held high, he lashed out with the Force and tripped the guard. As he stumbled over his feet, Ando slid past and slashed him across the back – slipping his blade between the plates of gleaming armor. The man fell to the ground dead and the trio moved on.

Their first clash with their eternal enemy was somewhat anticlimactic, but no matter. He could sense dozens of other guards. Perhaps one of them would prove more worthy.

There was a scream to his left. Turning, he saw a pair of guards – one massassi and the other zabrak – fall as the silver glow of Battle-Commander Blahova's double-bladed lightsaber sliced through their flesh. She paused to push a strand of ivory hair out of her eyes before surveying the area. The courtyard was theirs.

They funneled toward the main entrance – blades at the ready for the obvious chokepoint, but there was little in their way. The defenses were there, but a firefight between the guards and their compromised droids provided an opening for them to push through.

They found smoldering bits of droids strewn about. The guards had been tending their wounds but immediately leapt into action. Swords met lightsabers. Force pushes were countered or tanked.

O-Vhu noted the diversity of the guards. Though many were massassi, there were others as well: human, zabrak, twi'lek. Each carrying a gleaming Sith sword and fighting with the ferocity of a wild animal.

A Sentinel fell to the blade that separated their head from their shoulders. A fountain of spurting blood slickened the polished duracrete floor.

Another was slashed across the belly. Their intestines spilling out as they fumbled to contain them. Their attacker hurled back with the Force.

A thermal detonator was thrown O-Vhu's way. He batted it aside with the Force, only for it to stick to the floor instead of bounce – its casing covered in vongineered bio-adhesive. He yelled out and jumped back. The plasma from the detonator swept through their line with most shielding themselves or diving out of the way – save one, who took the brunt of the explosion on their arm.

They screamed in agony and were pulled to safety by the Battle-Commander before she rushed forward again to strike down the last of the defenders. She looked around the room at the smoke and the fire and the blood and the bodies. Her expression didn't change, but O-Vhu could see a frenzy in her eyes that made him uncomfortable. He wondered if the other Jedi felt similarly.

"Listen up!" she yelled, the din of battle still in the air, "We're gonna split up and search each crevice of this cursed place. I want at least two teams on each door. Kill anything that resists, but try not to harm the students. The more kids we can save from the Sith, the better."

They each nodded and moved out to a different door.

Three dozen Jedi came to Cholganna, and at least two dozen were still battle-ready.

They spread out through the Academy like an invading contagion.

Their righteous cause spelling death for their eternal foe.

---

Mischa thrashed and kicked and screamed to no avail. Taral smiled, she had fight in her, and judging from that scream that rattled his very core, she was stupendously powerful in the Force. He placed his free hand on the crown of her head and willed her into unconsciousness. She tried to fight it but went limp all the same. He held her in his arms, feeling a flutter of something in his stomach – the romance holos would call it a father's love while the cynics would call it anxiety for the future.

With Kerrn's assistance, Numa stumbled to her feet looking especially rattled – Mischa's spell wearing off once she was collared.

"You okay?" he asked.

She looked at him with frantic eyes before they relaxed slightly. "Yeah… yeah, I'm good." She looked at Mischa asleep in his arms. "She's powerful."

There was pride in his voice, "She takes after her parents."

Numa gulped, the memory of her visions fresh and raw. She glanced at the Shadows and frowned. Taral could feel her dismay that they were not similarly affected. Not because she wanted them to suffer, but because she wished she too could resist the illusions.

"Numa?" Taral began, holding out his daughter, "Please take her to the ship and confine her to my room."

Numa took the girl, careful to support her head. "Where are you going?"

Taral unhooked his lightsaber and held the hilt in his hand, unignited. "The war is joined, my dear Jedi. It is my place to fight, so I will. I'll aid the Jedi where I can, but I'm here to purge the Sith – the true Sith, not just the guards roaming the grounds with their swords but the Masters and teachers." He glanced at the Jedi Shadows. "You two keep her safe on the way to the ship."

The Shadows nodded and exited the room, fading into the shadows and clearing a path outside. Taral watched, trying to tease out the technique before giving up and making his way down the hall as Kerrn and Numa went the opposite direction with Mischa in hand.

Txon remained behind and Taral looked at him. "Not going back with them?"

"And leave you to wander alone? Perish the thought."

Taral sighed but said nothing else as the pair made their way deeper into the building. Their boots echoed off the walls, this section quieter than the rest. Once the attack had begun, everyone had converged on the courtyard to repel the invaders. He was grateful for it. He didn't want anyone to interrupt him.

They passed room after room. Some were occupied with a child or two, but most empty. They both ignored them – others could deal with the rescue. Taral continued walking toward the communications room with Txon following. He had a message to send. It wouldn't be subtle.

They walked into a small atrium and froze. Sitting on the edge of a banister was a chadra-fan woman clothed in black robes. Her fur the color of midnight. Her aura like intangible smoke.

"Hello, Chikchik," Taral greeted neutrally.

＜＜I warned Lady Vathila against putting you on the leash. I told her to put you down,＞＞ the chadra-fan said as she rolled her shotosaber in her clawed hand, ＜＜but she refused… and now you return with the Jedi at your back.＞＞

Taral tilted his head. "Every message should carry weight."

Chikchik scowled at that, but continued inspecting her foe – ignoring Txon for the moment. She wiggled her leathery nose. ＜＜You're different than you were. You're a wound in the Force… like me.＞＞

He nodded, caressing his unlit blade with itchy fingers. "Little gift from Vath when I left. Is that how it works in the Order of Nihilus? Does Monika rip the Force away and then reestablish it?"

＜＜On occasion, though most are simply brought to a location that is itself a wound in the Force. We meditate and embrace the wound until it marks us.＞＞ Her ears twitched and she cocked her head. ＜＜Who was it who reestablished your connection? There's no way it was the Mistress.＞＞

"Are we sharing secrets now?" he asked with a smile, "I'll humor you. I found a new Master in orbit of a dead and broken world. She opened my eyes."

＜＜Hmph. Another pretender to the truth our Mistress teaches, nothing more,＞＞ she dismissed.

"Vathila is the pretender, Chikchik. Believing herself queen of a rickety kingdom." Taral reached out with the Force, thankful to see they were well and truly alone. "It's pathetic in a way – despite her centuries, she's still ignorant of the nature of the dark side. I'm not surprised Master Kishhodt rejected her lies."

Chikchik snorted in her batlike way. ＜＜Biala embraced a flawed doctrine and brainwashed you to accept it as well. The Rule of Two is as flawed as any Sith philosophy, if not more so.＞＞

"Well, I beg to differ on that point, but I'm not here to debate." Taral squared his shoulders. He could feel the tension in the air. "I'm here to reclaim what is mine. And I have, but since I have your ear, how was Mischa? As a student, that is?"

Chikchik hissed like a beast. ＜＜Fool! You take her away right as we unlock her potential? You'll do nothing but stunt her if you succeed.＞＞

"Knowing him, you're probably right," Txon said.

"Fuck off," Taral spat, "But it's an earnest question, Chikchik. How was she?"

She shrugged her little shoulders. ＜＜She has great potential, but she reminds me far too much of you when you first came to us. Power just out of reach, though we were making progress before your arrival.＞＞

"Mm." He flexed his fingers around the shaft of his hilt. "A proposal then. Come with us. Train her as you have. You'll have whatever resources you need for this."

Txon arched his brow but said nothing.

Chikchik paused, surprised at the suggestion. ＜＜Tempting, truly. During all that time with her, the only thing I desired was to focus on her alone. She was so gifted. And who could pass up the thrill of a challenge? But alas, my place is with the Mistress, Lucius. I will not betray her.＞＞

"Even though you consign yourself to death?"

Her rodent-like face scrunched up in indignation. ＜＜Are you so certain of the outcome? You are no Sith Master, Lucius.＞＞ The skin of her knuckles went taut as she clenched her fist around the shoto. Her hatred lightly colored the Force around her a dark maroon. ＜＜Though, if by some unholy miracle you end up killing me – probably with your friend doing most of the work – it would fall to you to complete Mischa's training. To that end, her aptitudes are in Sith sorcery and little else, but she is powerful in her niche.＞＞

He ignored her jab and thought back to Numa's encounter with the girl. "Illusions?"

＜＜Among other things. She will surpass all the sorcerers of old if she continues her training. Our Lady is impressed.＞＞

He smiled, feeling a swell of pride. He knew how hard that was. "Then I suppose there is nothing else to say on the matter. Before we begin, I have a question if you'll indulge me," Taral began, shifting his weight to his heels, "Is Master Kishhodt still alive?"

Chikchik blinked slowly and tilted her head. ＜＜She is. Hoping to rescue her?＞＞

He shrugged. "In a sense. There can be only one Master of the Sith."

＜＜Still clinging to the Banite mantra?＞＞ she chuckled, squaring her feet, ＜＜No worries, Lucius. You'll see her when your locked in the Screaming Hall beside her!＞＞

Gathering the Force around herself, the chadra-fan bent the light and disappeared into nothingness.

Even with his heightened senses, Taral struggled to find his adversary. Not only was she invisible to the eye, but she was also invisible within the Force. Taral kept his humming lightsaber close as he prepared to defend himself from attack – with Txon doing the same.

They waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was actually closer to two minutes. Nothing happened. She had disappeared and there was nothing. No sound. No movement. He tried to find a spot in the Force that was simply empty, but… even that proved impossible.

"You sense her anywhere, Txon? Anywhere that's dead in the Force?"

"No. 'Tis troubling," the Jedi Master replied.

"Alright, let's move."

They continued walking down the hall – though now Taral's movements were stilted and every muscle tensed. The anticipation left his toes tingly and his heart racing.

He felt truly alive in that moment. Judging by the smirk on Txon's face, he shared the sentiment.

---

Each team of Jedi explored the labyrinth of halls in sets of three or more. O-Vhu's team moved through the facility with a hurried yet cautious stride – having split off from the team they were with at a fork in the hallway. The guards were strong and difficult to fight – despite the antiquated weapons they used. No, not 'antiquated,' just analogue. Sharp metal cut just as well as anything else.

Each of them was wounded in some way – mostly superficial cuts and bruises, thank the Force. B'lor had a slight limp from a deep cut on the calf – only the bacta injection countering such a wound. They stuck together. Friends in arms, they moved like a well-drilled unit. They picked off the guards with precise movements and ingrained teamwork – only really struggling when confronting two or more Sith at a time. Three-on-one wasn't a fair fight, but the Sith had no qualms about fairness and neither did the Militant Order.

The feeling of death that permeated the air was flavored more by Sith casualties than Jedi. It made him smile to feel their success.

O-Vhu turned as the door opened on the other end of the room, his emerald blade held high. He froze for a moment as one of the security droids flew through the door and landed in a sprawling heap at his feet. He watched as it writhed about, the Force slowly crushing it in its grip. He looked up to see who was responsible for this.

There, standing in the doorway was a powerful man. O-Vhu looked him over and was surprised that another Jedi had gotten ahead of them already. But then he took in the sight more closely.

Their unique blue-and-white armor – thick and harsh, like Warden armor but more angular in places – complete with an angular helmet that obscured their face.

The glow of their sapphire blade – cold and thirsty for blood.

The uncomfortably righteous hatred in their aura – like thick emotional syrup that seeped out of their bones.

The tensed nexu flexing its quick-twitch muscles by their side – its eyes hungry and is maw dripping with saliva.

All of it set O-Vhu's teeth on edge. He squared his shoulders. "Identify yourself!"

"Look what you fools have done," the armored man spat, "We were so close to helping these kids. And then you show up."

"I said identify yourself!" O-Vhu commanded once more.

The man strode forward without fear of the trio arrayed against him. "I'm the Headmaster of this Academy… and I'm your dirty little secret, Jedi. You want to know who I am? Go ask Tocrum." He smiled, vicious, righteous, and exhilarated. "If you survive!"

With a wave of his hand, the lights went out and they were plunged into darkness. Only the glow of their lightsabers illuminated anything as they rushed to meet the approaching blue of their enemy.

There was confusion in the battle as they each swung and swatted – tripping over each other at times. Something felt off, like an outside force was clouding their minds ever-so-slightly. All they saw were the blues and greens of their blades and the Headmaster's – until, inexplicably, he deactivated his weapon. The room was that much darker now. Sensing their foe was difficult – not because they couldn't, but because he was a beacon of the light in the shadows just like them.

No, it was something more than just that.

It was that righteousness and clarity flowed from him, as it did all those who embraced the crusade of the Militant Order. The conviction, the certainty, that they held as they marched upon the degenerate and evil of the galaxy.

It didn't make sense.

Why does he feel like a Jedi?

Why does he feel like us?

From the darkness came the snap-hiss of a blue lightsaber. It struck B'lor before deactivating back into shadow. B'lor's green lightsaber fell from their grasp and was extinguished. Now it was just him and Ando against—

Ando's blade shut down with a yelp and the room was shrouded in darkness. Only the green of O-Vhu's lightsaber offered any illumination. There was another snap-hiss of a blue blade less than a meter from him.

He lashed out and caught the wielder by surprise, the first hint of such this entire time. Pressing his advantage, O-Vhu parried their weapon out of the way and thrust forward, burying his emerald blade in his foe's chest between the armor plates. He felt a rush of satisfaction in killing a Sith—

"No!" O-Vhu screamed, as his blade illuminated the face of his adversary… and he saw the curved helmet of his friend Ando. He froze and reached out to catch his friend even as the Force screamed at him to flee—

The long-forgotten nexu slammed into his shoulder and bit into the muscle. Razor-sharp teeth shredding tissue and sinew as equally-sharp claws scraped against his armor in a feral disemboweling strike. On instinct, O-Vhu called Ando's blue blade to his other hand and thrust it into the beast's gullet. Shoving its carcass away and feeling his right arm separate from him, still clenched in the beast's maw.

Now it was just him and the Headmaster. O-Vhu stumbled to his feet. Blood poured from the shredded stump near his shoulder. His stance was shaky, and he felt lightheaded. The shadows became darker and the blue light that approached seemed liquid and unsteady.

He pulled up his own blade. Ando's blade. It swayed before him and the room spun with it. His breath was shallow and he could feel sweat dripping out of every pore. A shot of bacta or kolto might help but he would still be vulnerable. He might die—

"Hold still," commanded the Headmaster.

"Wha—?"

Searing pain exploded in O-Vhu's mind as the Headmaster's blade sliced through his right shoulder. He hadn't even seen the strike. He collapsed to the ground, still dizzy and confused, but it stopped getting worse.

"That should stop the blood loss," commented the Headmaster as he deactivated his blade and turned the lights back on. He looked over at the dead nexu and frowned. "She was a gift from Princess Carolin. I took her in as a kitten, yet from day one she was my friend. I should kill you for what you did to her, but I think you've paid enough of a price for this adventure, little Jedi."

If O-Vhu were more aware of his surroundings, he might have sensed the pain in the Headmaster's aura and voice.

"If you make it out of here, tell Tocrum that Daq Minhone sends his regards."

With that, the Headmaster walked away and out of the room. Would he escape? Would he kill other Jedi?

Before he slipped into blissful unconsciousness, O-Vhu Tar wondered quietly why a man so bright in the light, would surround himself with such darkness.

---

How long had it been since he fell? He didn't know, but he heard something that stirred his senses – hurried steps echoing in the distance. O-Vhu struggled to open his eyes. The fluorescent lighting stinging his sight before it adjusted.

It was a pair of Jedi – Shadows by the look of them – who came upon him. They hurried over to assist, gingerly levering him into a sitting position. The change in posture gave him a fresh sense of vertigo – the coagulating puddle around him giving silent testament to how much blood he'd lost. He felt the familiar sting of a bacta needle and the expanding warmth as the healing solution mended his stump.

Someone new ran into the room shortly after. He looked up as she skidded to a stop. She looked familiar to his addled thoughts.

"O-Vhu!" Numa exclaimed, kneeling next to him and shifting Mischa in her arms, "By the Force, what happened?"

"The Headmaster," he said, his voice weak, "Numa… he was a Jedi."

Numa smiled sadly. "The corruption of the dark side can take anyone, O-Vhu."

"No… no, he was a Jedi," he said as forcefully as he could, "He was a beacon of light… Why? Why would he join the Sith?"

Her face was confused. Worried maybe? He had trouble picking out the details.

"…I don't know," she answered.

"Tocrum… what did he… do?" he asked before drifting off once more.

Numa hissed, "Shit, he's out. Can one of you carry him to the ship with us?"

The Shadows both nodded, with the green man throwing O-Vhu's arm over his shoulder and shuffling him out. The burgundy woman continued ahead to make sure the path was clear. Numa and Kerrn followed behind, gingerly stepping past the bodies of two Jedi they didn't recognize.

---

Taral cursed as he shuffled through the hallway, clutching his belly where Chikchik had slashed him. He knew the Assassins of the Order of Nihilus were good, but this was… she came out of nowhere! He couldn't see her. He couldn't sense her. He couldn't even hear her.

The fact that Txon was similarly blind – as evidenced by his own wounds – was only vaguely reassuring. Given how easily the man could read his thoughts, Taral felt less inadequate in losing track of Chikchik.

She might be right behind him – a frantic glance revealed nothing. He didn't know where she was, so he kept moving – relying on instinct to guide him. The Force was his ally, but it was hers as well. He silently cursed himself for getting into this situation. He was sure the Queen would scold him when he got back.

If he got back.

He turned down another hall. His boots echoing off the duracrete. He looked around and realized he was near the communal showers. A plan formed in his mind. Steam would counter her invisibility—

He jumped back as the Force screamed out at him. His lightsaber lashing out in time to catch hers. He saw the hate in her beady, black eyes as he stumbled back – tossing a high-explosive grenade with his other hand. Chikchik deflected the explosive back at them with the Force as she disappeared once more. Txon stepped in and swatted the grenade away, right into the doorway to the shower room, where it exploded and collapsed the entrance.

Taral cursed and dashed away with Txon following a step behind. His nerves were on edge. She was wearing them down and killing them with bug bites. He was covered in small burns, as was Txon. He tried to maintain his focus. To stay on guard. But every minute of not seeing the Sith Master added to his anxiety and fatigue.

He knew Chikchik was watching and waiting. Biding her time for the most effective strike. If there was just some way to draw her out into the open…

"Get ready," he whispered to Txon.

The Extension of the Will of the Force nodded imperceptibly, tightening his grip on his lightsaber.

"I have no interest in your games, rat-face!" Taral said, emphasizing the racial slur at the end.

He spun around and threw his lightsaber at the wall where he felt a split-second of anger. The chadra-fan appeared out of thin air, shoto in hand as she deflected his lightsaber. Txon lunged forward and fell upon her. The attack might have overpowered her, but before it connected, she dove out of the way and wrapped herself in a Force-cloak once more.

Taral cursed, then spun around and caught her blade before she cleaved him in twain. They held each other back – growling and hissing as animals do in battle. She levered against him and pushed him back slightly. He let go of the tension in his body and fell backward – Chikchik stumbled at his unexpected action. That's when his left hand left the lightsaber and drew his blaster pistol and shot her directly in the chest.

Chikchik screamed in pain and fury before twisting and swatting her blade through his blaster and forearm.

They both disengaged to lick their wounds.

Taral's left hand was partially missing – his ring and pinky fingers sliced off alongside the hand and wrist connected to them. He still had his thumb and two other fingers, though. Just enough to grip something, but much reduced in utility.

Chikchik probed her wound, breathing heavily. She hissed and wheezed and growled at him. Judging from where he'd shot her, it looked like he destroyed one of her hearts. With only one left, she had three days tops to live – and only one goal until the end.

Txon sprinted forward and lashed out. Chikchik blocked and dodged as best she could, his blade singeing her robes as her own wounds slowed her down. She leapt back and cloaked herself again just as Taral surged forward – though now her position was betrayed by the water-clear blood that dripped on the floor.

The hunter was now the hunted.

---

Numa closed the door to the bedroom – leaving Mischa collared and cuffed to a metal pipe near the plush chair she was sleeping in. It felt weird doing so, but the girl was dangerous. She made her way to the ship's med-bay to check in on O-Vhu once more. He was submerged in one of the three available bacta tanks – an addition that Taral had vociferously endorsed during the retrofit… for some reason.

She chuckled at the thought that Taral wasn't already in one himself. Though she suspected that would change once he was back on board.

She sat down in one of the chairs and watched O-Vhu bob in his tank. The beeping machines fading into white noise as she contemplated her future. The war with the Sith was here, and she was a part of it. A piece of her relished this, while another recoiled. She'd seen the brutality of low-scale conflict. She'd seen unimaginable suffering – as recently as Sorgan. The galaxy wasn't ready for this… perhaps it never would be.

And what of her own thoughts? She still felt tormented by the visions Mischa had forced upon her. That vile hutt that laughed at her suffering with such glee. Its face was obscure – though she could imagine its crooked maw. Why did she see such a thing? She had no memories of ever dealing with a hutt before – other than attacking Irba the Hutt's powerbase when she and O-Vhu were both in the Militant Order.

Was it Irba? Her skin was a dark color, though more green than blue.

Numa frowned at this mystery. The unease in her stomachs made her wonder if she should even seek out an answer.

---

Taral and Txon made their way down the silent, empty hallway, keeping their lightsabers at the ready. The trail of clear blood had run dry and now they were predating from room to room. There was no sign of her. They were approaching the entrance to the Academy's greenhouse when they felt a shift in the Force and a door at the end of the hallway opened and four armored Jedi strode in.

Their nominal leader was an echani woman. Taral didn't recognize her, but he could see the experience and professionalism in her stride. He also saw the look in her eyes. Best if he tread carefully.

"Master Jedi," he greeted, keeping Biala lit but pointed to the floor.

She and her group stopped, the Knights around her standing at the ready. She looked at him for a moment before speaking, "You must be Taral. I understand we have you to thank for finding this place."

He nodded, being sure to keep alert. "More or less."

"I am Battle-Commander Yaroslava Blahova," she said, narrowing her eyes, "and you seem distracted."

Taral scoffed, "If you're expecting a betrayal or some shit, I'm happy to disappoint. Truth is, Txon and I are hunting one of the Sith Masters. She's an Assassin, so we're having trouble finding her."

Blahova caught his meaning and tightened her grip on her saberstaff. "Probably the last one then. And you can't sense her?"

Txon spoke, shaking his head, "She's a wound in the Force like him. Combine that with her use of Force invisibility and the task becomes impossible."

"I see." She nodded, glancing to Taral. "I can barely feel you even looking at you. How peculiar."

Taral smiled. "I get that a lot. We're searching each room but it's slow going. If you wanna help, we haven't checked down that hall."

He pointed to their left and the Jedi saw several doors before them.

Blahova addressed her Jedi, "Split into pairs and check each room. Be cautious. You won't see her or sense her until she's right on top of you."

A chorus of affirmations resounded as the Knights broke off down the hall. Blahova did not follow.

"You're not joining them?" Taral asked.

"No. I'm joining you."

Taral resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Her distrust was palpable. "Fine, whatever. Let's check the greenhouse."

The trio entered the long and humid room. Fluorescent lighting illuminated row upon row of plants and pots. Some plants were meant as food or medicine, while others were meant to produce poisons. Any botanical need a Sith could dream of could be fulfilled by the flora growing within the greenhouse.

Then there was the section in the back – Chikchik's private garden. Flowers and fruits native to Chad grew in abundance. Against the wall near the Chadran flora was a small cabinet containing gardening equipment.

Taral paused. "You feel that?"

The others nodded and readied their weapons. One final glance was spared before they pulled the door open with the Force – their blades at the ready. Inside was not the chadra-fan they sought, but a small, whimpering massassi boy. He stared up at them. His almond-shaped eyes wide and fearful.

"Get outta there, ya little shit," Taral commanded, deactivating his lightsaber.

Reaching into the cabinet, Taral grabbed the boy by the shirt and lifted him into the air. The red-skinned child wore dark gray clothes and was fairly strong in the Force.

Blahova raised her blade. "Don't you dare hurt him, Sith."

"What the fuck kind of monster do you people take me for?! I am trying to hel—"

He sensed the attack just before it struck. He twisted out of the way as Chikchik's crimson blade pierced the air – and lodged itself in the massassi boy's chest. The boy's screams fell silent as his teacher's lightsaber burned through his lungs, killing him almost instantly. Taral felt a twist in his gut as the child perished, but he knew not why. He didn't want to kill the kid, but he also didn't care.

So why was he ill-at-ease?

Master Chikchik seemed even more affected by this though. She was frozen in place. Her shotosaber barely gripped by her numb fingers as she stared into the child's lifeless eyes. She just watched as the fabric of the child's clothes began to smolder. It was all in a blink of an eye.

Then the child fell as Taral rolled away. Blahova stepped forward, and lashed out with her lightsaber. Chikchik stumbled back, clutching her wrist. Her eyes went to the floor, lying next to the boy was an inactive shotosaber clutched in a furry, severed hand. She didn't scream. She didn't beg. She fell to her knees and stared, her breathing shallow.

Taral smiled as he walked past the Jedi. He grabbed the fur on the back of Chikchik's head, lifting her limp body off the ground. He dragged the small woman to the center of the room as Blahova and Txon watched – neither stopping him.

He made sure Chikchik could see exactly where he was taking her – just waiting for realization to hit. When it did, the chadra-fan began to thrash and claw at the hand that grasped her fur. She let out a shriek of terror and began desperately begging for forgiveness and clemency. As they walked closer to the object of dread, her sensitive ears were overwhelmed by a quiet gurgling.

＜＜Please! Have mercy!＞＞ she begged loudly between her sobs and screams.

Taral stopped at the rim of the large water fountain in the center of the compound's gardens. He could see Nabooian bluefish darting about the semi-opaque water. He had to pause and get a better grip on Chikchik as her flailing continued. Chadra-fan were inherently afraid of drowning. He smiled as he drank in her fear and anxiety, allowing it to reinvigorate himself – easing the tension in his sore muscles.

"Those that beg for mercy," he said coldly, glancing back at the Jedi as he did, "are too weak to deserve it."

Her screams were quickly silenced as her thrashing form was submerged in the decorative water fountain. The only sounds heard within the room were the splashes of water as she thrashed about and the sound of large bubbles breaking the surface as she screamed under the water. As the bubbles died down, her thrashing became more frantic and desperate. She had expelled her last reserves of air and was left with only water to breathe. As the water rushed into her lungs, Chikchik's body gave two powerful spasms before finally going still.

He held her down for a moment longer to be sure before he removed his hand, leaving her to bob in the water. He frowned as blood and water dripped from his glove – she'd slashed open his forearm in the struggle. He mentally shrugged, allowing the pain to sharpen his thoughts before turning to his Jedi companions.

Blahova watched him, and he her. Neither breaking eye contact nor moving to leave. Would she attack him? Would Txon? Or did they approve of what he had done? Perhaps not his methods but rather his resolve. Whether it was a lightsaber through the heart or lungs full of water, the end result was the same.

One less Sith in the galaxy.

Finally, he broke the silence, "I believe she was the last in this section of the Academy. The rest should have defended against the initial attack."

Blahova watched him for a moment before deactivating her lightsaber and hooking it to her belt. "Then I suppose our business is concluded, Sith. This was illuminating."

"Really? And here I thought you'd object to my methods."

She shrugged. "Your methods are brutal… but so are mine. We fight greater evils than ourselves so that the galaxy may know peace. You are no Jedi, but in a war like this I'm not sure that matters."

He smiled, glad to have made a good impression.

"My sentiments echo the Battle-Commander's," Txon said, " 'Tis an unfortunate reality of the galaxy we inhabit."

Taral nodded. He was glad that he had these two here and not Numa and Kerrn. They would have definitely objected.

"I will rejoin the others in sweeping this place clean of Sith filth. Until the next time we meet, Taral." She bowed.

He returned the bow and watched her leave. With her gone, the fatigue he'd been fighting returned with a vengeance and he swayed slightly on his feet – not too much, lest Txon believe him vulnerable. He shuffled over to one of the plant beds and pulled off some leaves from a bota plant and started chewing on them. The medicinal herb reinvigorated him. His stride became more purposeful and less weary.

"Where are we going now?" Txon asked, "There's no one else down here."

"The communications room. I have a message to send." His smile was cheshire. "If you're gonna be there, please stand off to the side and don't say anything. This is… personal."

"As you wish."

They made their way through the halls, only their steps to keep them company. A noise from the right drew their gaze to an open doorway and a monitor that played a recording of a Sith 'interrogation.'

"This looks like a room for children," Txon observed, pointing out the small chairs and tables, "What is the purpose of the video?"

Taral frowned, he remembered this. It was a sore spot between him and Vathila. "It's anything and everything they might encounter as adults. Torture, rape, murder. It's all force-fed to the older children to desensitize them before they're shipped off to Sadow."

"Another Academy?"

"Yeah. One for teens and adults." Taral shook his head in disgust and turned on his heel. "C'mon, it's just down the hall."

Txon glanced one last time at the video display before following Taral. Once out of sight, the image shifted to a captive Jedi named Morgan Kleos. She pulled at her chains as a man with dull, almond-shaped eyes and a shaved head approached and climbed on top of her naked body. A strange metal contraption was affixed to the back of his head, compelling him to do something he would otherwise resist.

---

DOSUUN

Deep beneath the craggy peaks of the Raxis Mountains, Lady Vathila stewed in her seat. It had been over an hour since they'd received the distress signal from the Academy on Cholganna. Veritas watched her closely, worried for his Mistress. Their most-recent plans regarding the war with the Jedi had the Sith attacking in roughly ten years. That the Jedi would flip the script so abruptly…

He was thankful to see she was still limiting herself to a glass of wine. The second she switched to brandy, he knew it meant her fury had no equal. They'd watched the direct feeds and saw in near-real-time the decimation of the guards from Ragnos followed by most of the teachers. They saw the children – those who were subdued – being herded aboard Jedi shuttles. And then they saw him.

She hid her rage well, but the Force did not lie. Seeing Taral swaggering through the Academy had angered her so greatly that Veritas nearly passed out from proximity. Seeing him best Master Chikchik was especially galling – even if he had help.

When the call came on the QEC, they both knew it was him. The arrogant expression of his in the projection was enough to set Veritas's teeth on edge – the hubris of this boy to look down on his betters. It was borderline heretical.

Taral said, "Hey there, Vath—"

Veritas could feel a spike in the Mistress's hatred at the nickname.

"—It's been quite some time from my perspective."

"Not long enough from mine," she retorted, "I'll be happy to have you leashed once more for your insolence. I have plenty of stockpiled inhibitor chips."

"Where's the fun in that, Vath?" he asked, his irritating smirk never wavering, "I don't think you'd enjoy me as much if I were a mindless robot."

She sipped the last of her wine and set down the glass. "You'd be surprised."

"You really expect me to believe you'd settle for that? After how important I seem to be to you?"

The Mistress paused; her confusion flavored the air though it was quickly drowned in mirth. "You think I'm interested in you?"

Now it was Taral who seemed confused – or maybe aloof was more accurate. "Well yeah, what else is there? I had no family or connections when we met. What else did I have to offer?"

"You really don't know, do you? Even after all this time? Oh, you poor stupid fool." Vathila smiled, sweet and vindictive. "I wasn't interested in you. I was interested in the intelligence you keep locked away in that thick skull of yours."

Veritas watched for any sign of confusion or disbelief on the boy's part but found none. He hides his feelings well.

"This thick skull of mine is a blessing and a curse, Vath." Taral smiled. "That's not why I'm here though."

The Mistress reclined in her chair. "You'd rather discuss your little rebellion? It will fail, just like everything you've ever done."

"This is no rebellion, Vath. This is a Kaggath."

That declaration stunned both Veritas and his Mistress, with the former speaking incredulously, "…You can't be serious."

"Of course I am. This is war, Vathila, and the Kaggath is our dance of death."

Veritas bristled at the man's impertinence. His confidence was uncanny. Was he truly so deluded he would challenge the Mistress in such a way? Surely this was mere ignorance or madness. He kept quiet and watched, confident in his Lady.

The Mistress pinched the ridged bridge of her nose in exasperation. "First of all, it's pronounced Kaggath, you uncultured mook. Secondly, it's a contest between Sith Lords, which I am, and you are not. Lastly, it's a war between our power bases, mine spans the galaxy, and yours doesn't seem to exist. What are you trying to do, Lucius?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," Taral said before striking an exaggerated pose, "Let the Kaggath begin!"

"I told you, it's pronounced Ka—" Her words were arrested as he cut the link, leaving her slightly stunned. "He… he hung up on me…" She growled in agitation, the furniture rattling in response. "Frustrating little bastard, who the hell does he think he is?!"

Veritas remained silent, watching with fascination his Mistress's frustration. She was usually so calm and collected, and yet this boy could rattle her. Well, in fairness, he'd stolen her daughter away.

"Veritas?" she finally said.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Trigger the self-destruct on Cholganna and bring me a bottle of my finest wine."

"At once." He turned to leave, marveling at how composed she was—

"Actually, bring the brandy." A tired pause. "The whole bottle."

—never mind.

Veritas hesitated only slightly. "As you wish."

---

Taral stared at the deactivated QEC holoprojector with pride. His veins pulsed with adrenaline. He'd never spoken to her like that before. It felt good. So good he might have missed the blaring alarms and flashing lights that began a moment later.

He looked at Txon before both men spun around and ran from the room. Taral fumbled with his comlink. "Olin'ya, they triggered the self-destruct! Get everyone on board and bring the ship around for pickup at the Academy! We need to get into orbit now!"

"Yes, Lord Taral," she said succinctly.

He could hear orders being shouted in the background before the line went dead. He pumped the Force into his legs to boost his speed, flying through the halls at an unnatural pace with Txon beside him doing the same.

Sixty seconds.

That's all the time they had before everything was atomized.

So they kept running.

Past bodies and debris.

Past a dead nexu that had gotten in somehow.

He counted the seconds in his head. Cursing furiously as he realized that just getting to the ship wouldn't mean anything if they were still caught in the blast.

They burst through the front doors and saw the scorched courtyard as a dozen ships hurriedly flew up into the atmosphere. And there before them not a hundred meters away was their salvation. The Ravenstone. Her loading ramp was down and her engines humming nicely. Taral hollered into his comlink to take off as they neared the ramp. The ship jostled and lifted slowly off the dirt as they leapt into the open causeway.

He heard several explosions behind him. A quick glance and he saw the Academy collapse in on itself as the support columns were destroyed.

They were out of time.

Taral screamed at them to close the door and get strapped in. He hurried to the cockpit, his pace never slowing. "Go, go, go, go, GO!" he screamed, pouring the Force into the last word.

The pilot, J'Roe, pulled hard on the throttle and the ship lunged forward and up into the sky – knocking down anyone who wasn't strapped in. They were nearing the ozone layer when the sun dimmed as a brighter light shined behind them. The onboard radiological sensors went haywire as they were bombarded with neutrinos.

The shockwave hit the ship and threw them off course. The turbulence threatening to ground them. But J'Roe held firm and the Ravenstone continued its climb into the stratosphere and beyond.

Taral collapsed into one of the worn leather seats and exhaled a shaky breath before laughing hysterically.

He'd survived.

He'd rescued Mischa.

He'd killed Chikchik and told off Vathila.

This was a good day.

---

Veritas stood at attention, as he always did when in his Mistress's company. The Academy of Cholganna was no more, and every other Sith facility or world was put on high alert. A missive had been sent out calling for an emergency meeting of the High Council. Every Master of the fourteen Orders of the Sith Collective would be in attendance – either in-person or by QEC. Taral and his Jedi allies had become an existential threat. It required every Order to assess, prepare, and, if necessary, disengage and relocate – an impossible task for some, like the Order of Snoke with its literal billions of members.

Even if Taral were eliminated, he had likely already shared a list of Sith locations with the Jedi – and they didn't know which ones he was aware of. And if he had not shared them yet, it was only a matter of time. Which is why every single bounty hunters' guild in the galaxy was contacted and given the name, picture, and description of the Mistress's wayward toy – along with that of the Jedi in his entourage. A bounty of fifty million credits would make it impossible for Taral to show his face in public. Excessive perhaps, but the Mistress was feeling particularly spiteful. In addition, there was a million-credit bounty for information on his whereabouts – that way she could send Sith Assassins or other Collective assets against him.

She held off on posting the bounty to the Golden Board though. The Zann Consortium required full dossiers on any targets, and she wasn't interested in providing that information just yet. For now, she wanted him harassed and hounded by ignorant hunters looking for a big score. Once the swell of enthusiasm died down, then she would post it on the Golden Board.

The second she involved Zann, only the best would dare take the contract – fully-trained Jedi or Sith were very difficult targets for anyone to face.

Lady Vathila reclined in her seat sipping another glass of burgundy-colored brandy – a dusting of violet coloring her cheeks. She watched a looped video of Taral using the young massassi boy as a shield in the greenhouse. She smiled and chuckled to herself as she watched it.

Veritas coughed into his hand. "Mistress, I do not wish to speak out of turn."

Her amber eyes slowly rolled over to look at him, her smile never leaving her lips. "And yet you're so willing to think out of turn, even when you're in my presence."

"Forgive me, Mistress." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "If you'll pardon my impertinent curiosity. He's killed your son. Why do you find that humorous?"

"Oh, Veritas, I'm not laughing that he killed my son…" Vathila said as she took another sip of her libation, sinking further into the plush cushion of her seat, "I'm laughing because he killed his son."

The door to the room slid open and one of the Twins strode in, Zytmnr judging by the aura and contraption grafted to his throat. The bulky massassi took a knee before Lady Vathila and bowed his head. [[Preparations are complete, Mistress. We may leave at any time.]]

Veritas winced at the harsh monotone of the vocoder implanted in Zytmnr's throat. Officially, it was the only implant that was compatible with his damaged vocal cords – melted as they were by a traitor's lightsaber. Privately, most assumed it was a joke on the Mistress's part. A blasphemous slander… though he had noticed the ghost of a smile on her face whenever Zytmnr spoke.

Not today though.

Lady Vathila sighed, a hint of melancholy in the gesture. "I've called this place home for over three hundred years. I was here when Darth Krayt was still skulking in the shadows. And now…"

She finished her brandy and set down the glass before wearily pulling herself to her feet. She glanced around the room and nodded once before turning to them. "Get everyone to the ships."

[[Yes, Mistress,]] said Zytmnr as he rose and left with a bow.

Lady Vathila looked around one last time before following him out – Veritas not far behind. They traversed empty halls and open courtyards. They joined the others in the turbolift to the surface – a brisk wind whipping the tall grass at the foot of the mountain as they shuffled into the waiting crafts. Their holds were stuffed to the gills with weapons, supplies, and artifacts – anything and everything of value.

Dozens of ships lifted off into the upper atmosphere, splitting into pairs and jumping to hyperspace in random directions. They would coalesce around fallback worlds in Wild Space until Lady Vathila chose a new base of operations.

Her ship was the only one to pause in orbit of Dosuun. She stood on the bridge and looked down on the planet she called home for so long. The ultra-high-definition screen reproduced a perfect view of the Raxis Mountains – their snow-capped peaks like a splash of cotton in the dirt.

She gave a short nod and one of her underlings triggered the base's failsafe. The mountains spiderwebbed with glowing red cracks before collapsing in on themselves, crushing the underground base. Before the dust settled, there was a blinding light as what was left was vaporized in a multi-megaton nuclear explosion. The nearby spaceport was consumed in the blast as well, leaving Dosuun without any major settlements to speak of.

Lady Vathila watched without any change in expression as Dosuun died. But Veritas could sense her cold fury as the mushroom cloud rose into the stratosphere and the vaporized mountains salted the earth with radioactive fallout. Her hatred was focused into concentrated rage that burned with the passion of a thousand suns.

He had never felt such anger from her before.

He almost felt bad for Taral.

---

A/N: The scene where Taral fights Chikchik was written ten years ago! A decade I've been sitting on this, just waiting to show the world. And that's true for a lot of things. I have many fully-written scenes languishing on my hard drive just waiting to see the light of day.

Also, Xabiar created a Discord server for his own XCOM stories and included a channel to discuss "Shadow of the Phoenix" and its related works (such as the various Addenda and SotP Tales). If you would like to join the server and come to the channel to speak directly to us, just use the code NeKH6YF and go to the channel "sotp-discussion."