Author's Note: I want to make it clear that this is a standalone piece, and everything will be explained as the story progresses. However, it IS set within another fanfiction author's universe.

The author rangermike posted two stories on FFnet: "The Children" (Books I and II) and "Descended from Heroes and Villains." In 2010 he allowed me to write a story based in that setting, which is what you're about to read now. Unfortunately, Descended and the Children - Book II were removed from FFnet a while back. It isn't necessary to read them to understand "Shadow of the Phoenix," but it doesn't hurt. Plus, those stories were AWESOME! If you are unfamiliar with them, I have copies of all the chapters saved in PDF files. Just message me if you want a copy.

I also want to give a huge shout-out to my Editing Gang. Without them, this story would be utter garbage.

I was asked what I wanted to achieve with this story. What my goals were. How it would be different.

In short, I want to bring a little realism to an overly optimistic setting where good and evil are black and white.

What happens to the Jedi when their corrupt leaders shroud themselves in righteousness? What happens to the Galactic Alliance, the successor to the New Republic, when it is allowed to fester and decay? What is the face of evil in a universe where 'good' is just a point of view?

No one's hands are clean.

UPDATE: Shout-out to HailToTheKing/Throne_Of_Terror (he goes by both) for the awesome cover-art he made for this. Show him some love, people! He makes cover-art for Xabiar as well.

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."

Shadow of the Phoenix

Prison Break

The din of blasterfire filled the air. A distant shriek echoed down the street. An endless river of silver armor surged through the city. The unending screams faded into the ether…

Taral came to with a splitting headache, but stayed still and listened, noticing strange noises all around. Distorted at first, the sounds slowly became words.

—male human, late-twenties to early thirties. Olive-green eyes, almond-shaped. Slight build with wiry muscles, numerous scars on the epidermis. X-ray scans show healed fractures and torn ligaments. Several non-ferrous implants to reinforce worn joints and broken bones. Additionally, there appear to be metal fragments embedded between the occipital lobes. It looks like a cranial implant. It burned out and I've removed what I could, the database couldn't identify the fragments, so I think it's a prototype.

I see. The Clan Leader was asking about the prisoner; said they couldn't get any of their own. It sounds like his mission on Tatooine was dicey.

The prisoner is unconscious at the moment, but his vitals seem stable.

Alright, keep an eye on him; we'll be landing in two hours.

Understood. Thank you, Commander.

Taral opened his heavy eyelids and immediately regretted – bright sterile lights burned his vision. His eyes felt dull and dry as he squinted against the light, blurry and distorted shapes slowly resolving themselves into a pair of humanoid figures and some blocky furniture. He reached up to massage his temples in an attempt to dull the pain, touching the textured fabric of gauze bandages instead of hair.

He realized that he was locked in a one-person force cage, wearing nothing more than tattered pants. An energy field descended from the emitter ring in the ceiling in a cylindrical, barrier curtain that was painful to the touch.

He called on the Force to dull the pain, but nothing happened. Sliding a hand to his throat, his fingers clutched a smooth metal band – his muscles tensed as electricity surged across his flesh. He grunted in quiet agony as the muscle spasms amplified his headache – which was clearly a migraine at this point – drawing the attention of one of his captors. She was an older woman, with salted hair and a white medical uniform.

"You're awake, good. How do you feel?" she asked, pulling out a datapad and sitting on a nearby stool.

"Where am I?" Taral asked, ignoring her question.

"You're aboard the Gayiyli; do you remember how you got here?"

"No," he replied, eying the room.

"You were with a group of trandoshans on Felucia who attacked us. We captured you after the battle."

"Felucia… that's the, uh…" Taral trailed off, struggling to recall what he'd seen on the HoloNet, "the place with the mushrooms, right?"

"It is. You really don't remember?"

"No. A pity, I'd have liked to see the forest," he said before furrowing his brow, "What is the date?"

The doctor checked her datapad. "The 23rd of Tispex, 457 ABY – Coruscant Standard."

Taral was silent as he calculated how long it had been since he last remembered. It came out to just over one year. Then he turned his thoughts to his captors, 'Coruscant Standard,' those glyphs on the wall, the guard's armor… Mandalorians, but which faction?

"Maybe we should start with introductions – I'm Doctor Tiffan Morus, and this is Verd Riorr," the doctor offered as she gestured to the armed guard near the door, "What's your name?" The question was met with silence and narrowed eyes, so she moved on. "Are you hungry? I can send for a meal if you wish."

His brows rose at the offer. Could he trust them? If they worked for Tlon Fett then this treatment made no sense – they should have been working him over with a serrated knife, not making small talk. In the end, his stomach answered with a low grumble, bringing a soft smile to the doctor's lips.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,' " she said as she pressed the comm button on her desk and addressed the ship's galley in Mando'a, Please send up a tray of the 'late bird special' with a bottle of water to medical room 43a. No metal.

Acknowledged. Esk-Trill-Aurek: six minutes.

The woman nodded her head as she killed the link. "It won't be gourmet, I'm afraid. Military rations are an acquired taste."

Taral eyed the woman curiously. "Why are you doing this?"

"It wouldn't do for you to starve to death under my care," the doctor said with a smile, "Not used to such treatment?"

"It's just unexpected."

Dr. Morus made a note on her datapad. "There were metal fragments embedded near your brain stem. Do you remember receiving any cranial implants?"

He hesitated. "…I have a pair of aftermarket tizowyrms, but nothing else."

"And those are implanted in the ear, interesting. I wonder if the fragments are related to your recent 'amnesia.' "

The doctor continued probing him with questions – who he was, where he came from, what he remembered – but received silence more often than not; Taral glanced around the room instead, focusing on the door and the holorecorder above it. A ding at the door brought an end to the 'interrogation' as a tray of bilerat stew and gihaal paste was delivered. The doctor offered her thanks and inspected the meal, probably ensuring nothing on the tray could be repurposed into a weapon. Satisfied, she placed the tray into a rolling duct which connected the force cage to the outside.

Taral eyed the channel as he pulled the tray out, dismissing it as too small to fit through. The smell was unpleasant, but he didn't even notice. He tore into the faux meat and gritty starches with wild abandon.

She eyed him curiously as he wolfed down what was generously referred to as 'food.' "Are you military? I've never seen a civilian consume this gruel without vomiting; you almost look happy."

"I'm used to worse," he said with a mouthful of flavored protein substitute.

"I can only imagine," the doctor said, "Enjoy it while you can. It sounds like Aliit'alor Fett has taken an interest in you."

Taral froze in mid-chew as he heard the name, his brow quivering a moment before relaxing into a disinterested frown as he started chewing again. So, they are part of Fett's Gra'tua. She must be trying to gain my trust before the torture, he thought as he wiped up the last of the gihaal paste with a sliver of haarshun bread.

"If you're ready, I have some more questions," she said.

The back-and-forth continued for several minutes until he refused to speak anymore. The doctor relented and returned to her desk, leaving the young man to his thoughts.

Last thing I remember I was strapped to a table on Dosuun. How did Fett get ahold of me?

He ran his fingers across the silver ring around his neck, the contraption shackling him to the mundane. Force inhibitors were effective against Jedi and Sith as both groups literally radiated Force energy. However, there were unique Force-users throughout history who expressed their gift in the opposite manner – they were 'wounds' in the Force, acting like living siphons.

A tiny nudge with the Force would be immediately absorbed by the siphon, preventing the collar from registering and neutralizing it. The collar's locking mechanism snapped open, but he kept it pinned to his throat with the Force – seeming to the guard to be unchanged.

The sensation of reopening one's perceptions to the power of the Force was indescribable – like explaining color to the blind. Senses heightened, colors more pronounced, sounds perceived at a higher level. The feeling was narcotic. The ambient energy of the medical room – which had flowed in a lackadaisical manner – now gained momentum and slowly began to swirl around him.

He clambered to his feet, making a show of popping his stiff back and lifting his arms in a mock stretch – before ripping out the emitter's power cables with the Force. As the barrier curtain dissipated, he threw the guard up and against the wall with a prepared Force push – smashing the holorecoder with the impact – and rushed the soldier, swatting the doctor aside with a weaker throw. He slammed into the guard with his shoulder, wrestling for the blaster rifle even as it loosed several wild shots into the wall.

A quick palm strike to the helmet dazed the guard long enough for Taral to rip the rifle from his hands and shoot him in the stomach. He raised the rifle for the killshot when the doctor leapt onto his back, scalpel in hand. She reached around to try and slit his throat, only to be blocked by the stolen blaster rifle and his unarmored forearm, cutting a deep furrow into the flesh and muscle.

Taral roared in pain as he backhanded the doctor before smashing her nose with the butt of the rifle. He turned the barrel on her as she fell against a nearby cabinet, clutching her broken, bloody face. He was tackled from behind as he pulled the trigger and the shot went wide.

The guard kneeled over him, forcing a knife down even as Taral held the Mandalorian back. The blade inched closer as the guard put all of his weight into the push. As the metal bit into his throat, Taral lashed out with the Force, but the guard was prepared for it and was unmoved.

Taral freed his right hand and pushed it against the guard's wounded stomach, using the Force to squeeze and pull his damaged innards. Even as he was overpowered and the blade dug deeper into his skin, he was able to push it away and into his shoulder as the guard flinched from the internal attack. Doubling down, he shoved two fingers into the wound and ripped the knife out of the screaming guard's hand, slamming the blade into the Mandalorian's throat.

Pushing the gurgling body away, Taral rose to his feet and wiped the guard's blood from his eyes. He clutched his bleeding shoulder and growled angrily; his movements now slightly impeded. The groan of the doctor drew his attention as she struggled to stand. Grabbing her by the hair, he slammed her face into the cabinet and threw her to the ground, sitting on her chest and wrapping his hands around her throat. She kicked and clawed, but gradually became torpid and her eyes grew unfocused as she lost consciousness.

Taral kept the pressure up, knuckles white beneath the blood.

Kill or be killed.

The sound of an alarm pierced the silence, startling him with its wail. His fingers went slack, and the doctor gasped for air, coughing as blood from her nose flowed into her mouth. The coughing died down and her breathing steadied as he grabbed a pair of binders from the dead guard and chained the woman to a water pipe in the corner. He cursed his hesitation; it would have been so easy to simply kill her.

With the doctor secure, he turned to tend to his wounds when the door began sliding open, he reached out and crushed its gears, sealing the room from the outside. Beyond the door he heard someone yell for a fusioncutter. He cursed and frantically searched for a way out – blood dripping from his fingers.

The quiet whoosh of flowing air brought his attention to the doctor's desk. Squatting down, he saw a metal grate pumping out cold air. The screws holding the cover in place began to unscrew themselves and fall to the floor. Taral swallowed hard as he eyed the cramped ventilation duct as he wiped the blood from his face and arms with a damp cloth. If he'd had anything other than a scalpel and half-charged blaster rifle, he'd have taken his chances with the front door.

The whine of plasma on cold metal reached his ears. Glancing back at the door, he saw a small dot near the top begin glowing orange as they cut their way through the armored paneling. Sucking in a deep breath he grabbed a first aid kit and crawled under the desk and into the claustrophobic opening. The duct was cramped, barely enough room to fit his shoulders which dragged against the freezing metal. Once his feet were inside, he managed to close the metal grate and reattach it to the wall with the Force – he doubted they would be fooled though. Trapped inside, he took a few calming breaths before dragging himself through the metal tube. The whine of the fusioncutter growing ever more distant.

After cleaning his wounds and sealing them with synthflesh, he slowly crawled through the endless twists and turns of the labyrinthine ventilation system. His skin rippled with goosebumps and his teeth chattered without pause. Then he heard a new sound up ahead. It came from a secondary shaft that branched off to the right at an intersection. He hissed in pain as a shard of exposed metal near the connection joint sliced through his bicep. Blood poured down his arm, but quickly coagulated in the freezing air. He ignored the discomfort and followed the noise to a vent cover that overlooked a dark room. He Forced the hatch open and pulled it into the shaft so as not to make any noise. He looked through the hole and saw nothing but darkness in a vast empty space.

Hmm? Taral looked up and saw a turbolift rushing toward him. There's my ride.

He prepared to leap out when a new sound reached his ears. A high-pitched buzzing. Panic shot through his gut as he heard the buzzing drone echo in the vents behind him.

They were going to find him.

The whoosh of the turbolift drew near, but the buzz was incessant.

His heart thumped. Could he jump out and reattach the vent cover before he fell?

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

The lift rushed past, blocking what little light was available.

As soon as the light returned, Taral leapt from the vent – trying to reattach the vent cover as he fell, but failing to secure it. He reached out and grabbed the falling cover before he landed on the roof of the turbolift as it slowed its descent. He made his way over to the grated maintenance hatch, careful to maintain his balance. Let's see who's riding this thi— What the fuckity-fuck? A lone devaronian Jedi entered the turbolift and pressed one of the higher floors. A Jedi? On a Mandalorian ship?

He pushed the stray thought out of his mind as he set down the useless vent cover and began to open the hatch as quietly as he could, all the while flooding the Jedi's senses with perceptual 'white noise.' Reaching out, he disabled the holorecorder built into the ceiling corner opposite the door before dropping silently to the floor. The Jedi remained oblivious until Taral grabbed his horns and wrenched his neck. He then used the Force to throw the body through the maintenance hatch before leaping through himself.

Hmm, basic white and brown robes and… Taral's thoughts ground to a halt as he beheld the devaronian's lightsaber, a snap-hiss bathing the lift tube in yellow light. "Wow, this thing's garbage, hmm… kit suggests he's a medic. That makes sense, they were never much for fighting."

He stripped the body of its clothing and discarded the tattered pants he was wearing, realizing too late that the Jedi's attire was the wrong size. He discarded the bandages on his head and released the long brown waves of his hai—

Taral's eyes went wide as his hands ruffled the buzz cut he now wore, the stubbled scalp reminding him of his time with that pirate gang. He groaned at the memory, staying his annoyance before pulling the large hood over his brow. His head had been throbbing since he awoke, and with the bandages removed he felt utterly wretched; he touched the inflamed tissue beneath the hood and winced in pain. Ignoring his discomfort, he dropped back into the turbolift and closed the hatch with the Force. He walked over to the control panel and pressed the emergency stop button. As the turbolift jolted to a standstill, he pressed the haptic button for the orlop deck and began his descent.

He stood in the center of the lift – roughly where the Jedi had been – and reactivated the holorecorder behind him as he contemplated his current situation and how he became a Mandalorian prisoner. His thoughts were brought back to the pain emanating from his skull; what was it from? The cranial implant the doctor mentioned?

And then he glanced at his left wrist, at the corded red bracelet that adorned it. That's when it hit him.

"If you won't stand beside me as an ally, then you will kneel before me as a slave."

Taral sighed as the memory passed. Oh, Vath, why must you hurt me so?

His thoughts were interrupted as the turbolift ground to a halt and the doors opened up to a small lobby. He tried to appear as nonchalant as possible as he walked past dozens of armed and armored Mandalorians; it seemed to work as none of them paid him any mind as they rushed to their stations. The alarms were still blaring, the sound reverberating in his skull, but he avoided plugging his ears for fear of drawing attention.

A large holographic map on the wall caught his eye; near the center-left were the Mando'a words for 'Hangar Bay.' It wasn't too far away. The alarms finally died down as he walked, but everyone was still tense.

The doors to the hangar opened as he approached, revealing an expansive room filled with fighters and support craft. Most of the ships were suspended from the ceiling, held aloft by vertical columns with horizontal struts. Luckily, there was no need for him to climb, as there were several starfighters resting on the floor.

The RP-16E Venom heavy-fighter took the basic design of the RP-16 Venom fighter and extended the body, filling the new space with additional armaments and equipment. Each had the same basic paint scheme as all the other ships in the hangar; the ion engines and its stubby wings were coated in a desert-tan, while the cockpit and most of the hull were painted a light burgundy.

Taral approached the heavy-fighters with an appraising eye. He opened the canopy of one and jumped in, getting his first view of the controls. Mandalorians used a hybrid analogue/haptic interface – whereas the Alliance and Imperial navies made extensive use of haptic-exclusive technology, leaving them vulnerable to enemy hackers and EMPs. He was thankful for the simplicity of the controls… not that it did him any good. With increasing frustration, he began pressing buttons and flipping switches, quickly locating the air-conditioning… the exact opposite of the fighter's ignition. The Force remained mockingly silent.

I'm almost happy you're not here to see this, Biala.

After five minutes, during which he activated a radio which played only the Mandalorian national anthem and found he was incapable of turning the damn thing off, Taral finally located the ignition knob. The fact that it was clearly labeled 'ignition' just made him grumble in annoyance.

As he reached for the knob, there was a rapping on the transparisteel canopy from one of the Mandalorians. "Jetii, we've been over this before, you're authorized to roam the Gayiyli, but you are not cleared to poke around the starfighters. Please get out and return to your quarters."

Taral ignored the man and turned the ignition knob, powering up the ion engines and awkwardly lifting the fighter off the deck, bumping and scraping against anything close by. Alarms went off in the hangar bay as the staff and pilots quickly mobilized. The pilots ran to their fighters as Taral made off with his RP-16E.

The hijacked fighter passed through the bay's magnetic field just as the control room switched the barrier from passive to active. The pursuing Mandalorians were delayed for a second or two as the field again switched to passive.

The RP-16E Venom heavy-fighter had an inferior Class 2 hyperdrive, so his options for escape were fairly limited. There was a nearby planet and he could just make out the lights of a city in its shadow. Looked to be part of a binary planet system, orbiting an almost identically-sized world. The slightly larger of the two was a light brown color, suggesting prairie and desert. The smaller planet was an emerald sphere covered in lush, green forests.

Only one way out, Taral thought as he slowly turned toward the planets, Shit, where's the turbo on this thing? He pressed several buttons and watched as the ship's spotlights activated. "You gotta be fucking kidding me! Where's the—? 'H-Drive,' perfect!" he whooped as he pushed the lever forward and felt the increased g-forces of the ship's acceleration.

The distant starlight shifted to blue as the hyperdrive spun up. It was risky jumping so close to a planet's gravity well, but if he could just skim the perimeter of it, he could put some distance between him and the crui—

His starfighter gave a hard lurch and his chest strained against the harness. He looked around as the stars returned to white pinpoints, desperately trying to discover the issue, only to curse when he realized he was caught in a tractor beam. The projected force-field pulled him back to the ship as a small group of fighter-craft began circling him like a flock of Wayland clawbirds.

Taral began pressing buttons, hoping to find a way to break free of the tractor beam, but nothing worked. One of the knobs tuned into the radio-feed of the other pilots, the ship speakers erupting with various jibes in their native Mando'a, mocking the piloting skills of their target. His eye twitched as he listened to their conversation, desperately trying to keep his composure and ignore the urge to explode with rage and invective into the radio mic.

It didn't last long.

With a growl, he activated the targeting systems and prepped the fighter's missiles. Hearing a soft chime, he opened the mic and punched the launch button. "Suck my torpedoes, motherfu—!" Only instead of torpedoes and missiles launching… the windshield wipers activated. "…Goddammit."

He let out a withering sigh as he closed his eyes and slumped in his seat, head lolling back against the headrest. The jeering pilots on the radio faded from his perception as he resigned himself to fate. Should've taken a piloting course.

THE GAYIYLI

NAU'UR KAD-CLASS CRUISER

Master Tokare Venra sat in his hoverchair as the stolen fighter was pulled back into the hangar bay. The old Force-user had been meditating on the ship's bridge, reflecting on the state of his mission, and was rather impressed the prisoner had managed to escape, for the most part, undetected.

He'd been dispatched to Felucia to recover ancient artifacts under Mandalore Javen'Panlie's protection. The data cache was carefully hidden within the gullet of the Ancient Abyss, a mega-sarlacc pit of titanic proportions. Long ago the holocrons and other artifacts had been sealed away in watertight, beskar crates and brought to the pit by one of Panlie's ancestors. They took the crates into the belly of the beast, cut open the lining of the creature's stomach, and placed the crates inside to protect them from digestion and later excretion.

Thieves had discovered the cache and descended into the belly of the beast, cutting through scar tissue and ripping out the crates. Master Tokare and a team of Mandalorian Supercommandos arrived before they could flee, butchering the thieves to a man – all save one.

A Dark Jedi in matte armor ripped into the group like a dire-cat, red lightsaber slashing to-and-fro. Two of the men he'd brought were left crippled, while he himself brought the young man down. And yet, when felt through the Force, the boy seemed as absent as a stone. Tokare quickly realized the boy was a wound in the Force. Force wounds were not unheard of; several 'area-wounds' existed throughout the galaxy. Places of unimaginable genocide, when an entire planet's population was wiped out in a single moment. But a Force wound within an individual hadn't been seen since the Jedi Exile Dacen Vorsut and the Sith Lord Darth Nihilus.

What little they knew came from the memoirs of the miraluka Jedi Visas Marr. Her account of her servitude to the 'Lord of Hunger' was horrifying. A man who literally sucked the life out of anything nearby, to the point that his presence in the same room could kill.

Tokare could perceive a small amount of Force energy flowing into the boy. It was enough to completely mask him within the Force, his aura too weak against the din of the ship's crew.

Tokare watched the boy step out of the cockpit, discarding his dark brown cloak and activating his stolen lightsaber. The old Force-user frowned as he looked upon the robes the boy wore; he'd feared the worst when he felt Jedi Knight Manu Grahrk's aura fall silent.

His frown became thoughtful as the boy flipped the yellow blade behind his back and assumed the idle stance of the reverse Shien technique. When they'd dueled inside the Ancient Abyss, the young man had relied solely on Ataru. The reverse grip was exceedingly rare, such that the most recent practitioner of note was an Imperial agent named 'Starkiller,' and he had died over four hundred years ago.

Taral felt the thrum of the lightsaber in his palm as he surveyed his opponents. Mandalorians and… hmm? he thought as he looked upon the diminutive alien, Oh dear god, if he's like Azov…

"Much hate in your heart. Turn away from the dark side. Only suffering will it lead to," Tokare pleaded.

Taral counted twenty-three Mandalorians in front of him and dozens more on their way. They were no threat, at least not in his mind. No, the only one that gave him pause was the diminutive alien sitting in the small hoverchair. He'd only ever met such a creature once, and while he was curious how it would fight, the power he felt made him nervous.

"Surrender, dark one. You need not die here," Tokare said.

"You're pretty chatty for a corpse," Taral said as he casually walked toward Tokare, eying the old alien. He looks so familiar… why can't I place him?

The Mandalorians readied their weapons as Master Tokare stood upon his hoverchair and ignited his lightsaber, the blazing viridian blade bathing him in silver-green light, accentuating his natural olive skin. "Enough blood you have spilled. Allow you to kill anyone else, I will not."

He sprang from his chair in a decapitating strike. Taral smiled, bringing his lightsaber up and catching the viridian blade before pushing back. Tokare landed feet-first on the ground before leaping up and jumping off a nearby fighter plane, landing above Taral on the wing of a Venom fighter.

"Ataru, eh?" Taral said to himself as he fell back on the Soresu technique, "Reminds me of Chikchik."

Soresu kept the blade close to the body and allowed for quick blocks and short-range strikes. The style was pure defense, meant to wear out a foe and then strike when they became fatigued. Taral watched Tokare's every move, waiting for him to make a mistake and leave an opening. The effort left his mind foggy; the bright lightsaber beams and the crackling noises they made when they touched intensified the pain of his migraine.

He did everything he could to keep his face from betraying his inner weakness. Master Tokare seemed to believe the feint and used the Force to throw his lightsaber at Taral in an attempt to end the duel. The blade spun as it flew through the air, like a disk of green energy. Taral swatted it aside with the Force, only for Tokare to guide it into the support struts above and force Taral to dodge the falling starfighters.

Rolling out of the way, he switched to the Djem So technique and actively attacked the small alien. It was his preferred attack style, meshing well with his reverse grip and aggressive personality.

He's definitely a Master, but something's off. He fights like a member of the Militant Order, but they'd never work with Fett, would they? Taral thought, his thoughts still fuzzy.

He brought his saber down, hoping to kill his unarmed foe, but instead he was blocked by a beam of silver-green plasma. Rearmed, Tokare managed to hold Taral back with a strength that belied his small frame.

The angles of his blows and the diminutive target he painted were the only advantages he held. For all his strength and skill, Tokare could not sense his opponent's movements and he was a bit out of practice using only visual cues. It was like fighting a droid; the Force remained silent until just before the blade struck.

Tokare leapt from wing to wing trying to disorient the boy. But nothing seemed to work, as yellow and viridian blades clashed and met blow for blow.

Realizing there was no advantage to his height, he jumped down to the floor, leaving himself vulnerable for a fraction of a second. Before his clawed feet touched the floor, he was hit with a massive wave of Force energy, sending him flying into the hangar wall. The Force wave spread out and pushed apart the fighters on either side of him. The cold duracrete wall splintered from the impact, only his connection to the Force saving him. As his body slumped to the floor, he was struck with a powerful surge of Force lightning.

It was then that the Mandalorians opened fire. Taral nimbly leapt over one of the fallen Venom fighters, using the Force to roll the ship toward the soldiers on the other side. The gunfire died down as all but two managed to scramble out of the way. Master Tokare struggled to his feet despite his concussion, and was hit with another surge of deadly electricity that rendered him unconscious.

Two dozen Mandalorian troopers swarmed over the wreckage and opened fire. Taral juked back-and-forth, evading any blaster bolts he couldn't deflect before leaping into their ranks and cleanly decapitating one of the soldiers. Those within striking distance unsheathed their vibroblades as they rolled away, trusting the cortosis-weave to protect them from the swirling yellow beam of death. One bold swordsman struck out, his blade biting into Taral's side while he was distracted deflecting blasterfire. The combination of blades and blaster bolts forced him to retreat – several burns and cuts marring his skin.

Taral fled behind a pair of heavy-fighters and tripped a swordsman with the Force when he got too close, pulling the man's blaster pistol into his hand as he spun around and swung at the man's neck – only to miss as the soldier rolled free. He cursed as another volley of blaster bolts rained down, one of them breaching his defenses and striking him in the thigh as another burned a hole into his hip. He dove behind a broken starfighter, shooting his blaster as he scrambled behind cover. The shots were glancing and ineffectual, but succeeded in forcing the Mandos into cover.

Taral took a moment to catch his breath, his stamina dwindling, and his Force energy reserves nearly tapped. The lightning and throws had consumed too much, and now he was left to rely on his blade and blaster – exhaustion kept at bay by frustration and anger. He cursed his circumstances before he heard the clatter of debris landing nearby. He turned his head and his eyes went wide as he beheld a dozen fragmentation and flashbang grenades not a meter away. Acting on instinct he hit the pile with a tepid push and shielded himself with his forearms.

The explosion sent him flying into the side of a starfighter. The back of his head smashing into the metal as his ears rang and his skin tingled. He pushed himself off and staggered behind another fighter as his position was swarmed with more grenades. Ignoring his concussion and shaking off the last of the flashbangs' effects, he took a page out of Tokare's handbook and flung his lightsaber toward the ceiling.

As the hangar struts gave way and starfighters rained down upon his men, the Mandalorian Commander ordered one of his snipers to subdue the Dark Jedi with a tranquilizer dart – hoping the projectile would go unnoticed amongst the blinding blaster bolts.

The dart struck home before Taral ripped it out of his neck and shot the Mandalorian trying to flank him, the blaster bolt bouncing off the beskar chestplate. The Commander ordered several more shots fired, but they were deflected or dodged.

It was then that Taral reached out with the Force and strained to drag several starfighters into a defensive wall – only to curse as the ships refused to budge and even more grenades landed nearby. He stumbled back as the small bombs detonated, not even attempting to push them away.

The Commander cursed as another Mandalorian was injured in the exchange. He grabbed a tranq-mag himself and rushed the warrior from behind – bobbing in-between starfighters so he wouldn't be seen. The barbs of the darts stuck out the side of the magazine – making it an effective, though crude, delivery system. He leapt around the broken ships strewn in his path, but before he could stab the Dark Jedi, he received a weak bolt of Force lightning to the chest, followed by a blaster bolt to the knee between the beskar.

"Mando trash! You think I'm defenseless?!" Taral spat, "Why won't you just stay down?!"

A swordswoman came up behind Taral, blade held high, but before she could strike, he spun around and cut off her hands. She screamed even as the blaster pistol came up to her T-visor.

The Commander regained his footing and rushed Taral from behind, driving the darts into his neck as the blaster bolt passed through the woman's skull. His lips formed a small victorious smile as the darts emptied into his veins. It was short-lived, as Taral spun around and brought his lightsaber up in a diagonal backhand strike – the blade cutting through the Captain's abdomen between the beskar plating and severing his left arm.

The Mando crumbled to the floor in three pieces as Taral ripped the darts out of his neck, already feeling their effect. He stumbled and braced himself; his vision swimming as his eyelids grew heavy. Have to kill them… freedom before… submission…

Taral kept fighting… but he knew it was hopeless.

One of the Mandalorians hit him in the back of the head as hard as she could with the butt of her rifle. He dropped to his knees, the already damaged flesh screaming in quiet agony. He grit his teeth and tried to stand, blocking the follow-up strike with his forearm – only for his left ulna to shatter under the force. A snap-kick to the face dropped him belly-first to the floor. He tried to repel her with a pulse of energy, but it was barely more than a strong breeze. She struck him in the back of the head one final time, rendering him unconscious. She raised her rifle to crush his skull and avenge everyone he'd just killed—

"ENOUGH!"

The soldier froze and turned to see Master Tokare struggling to his feet.

"Step away, Alor'uus Parr. He is not to be killed. In solitary confinement, he should be," Tokare said.

The Corporal and remaining Mandalorians moved to carry out Tokare's orders. The majority of the reinforcements from throughout the ship had arrived near the end of the battle; with the fighting over, most turned their attention to their dead and wounded brethren, while others worked to clear the broken vehicles and scaffolding.

Tokare looked at the boy as two soldiers picked him up and moved him out of the hangar. He reasoned that with a suppression collar, he would be no threat – they must have made a mistake the first time he was caged.

"Make sure the suppression band is working and attached properly," Tokare said, as the Mandalorians dragged the Dark Jedi away.

A/N: The concept of a Force wound nullifying the effects of a Force-suppression collar was used in the second chapter of "Dark Redemption" by Scythe404 at KotORFanMedia, back when that website was still active. I borrowed the concept and adapted it to my story. I wanted to expand the explanation while simultaneously making no mention of midi-chlorians. Why? Because the way Lucas presented it was dumb. AND because after watching Belated Media's "What if Star Wars Episode I/II/III was Good?" videos, I consider them to be proper canon. Some people just do it better.

In the original draft, Taral was an overpowered monster of a Mary Sue. He swatted Tokare aside like nothing and laid waste to the Mandalorians. Ah, memories. It's shameful to think how pitiful my writing ability was at the time. I remember the message rangermike sent back after I gave him the rough draft. He said it was good, but that I had made Tokare far too weak, and he was right. First-time writers make a lot of mistakes. Main character Mary Sues are one of them.

Another mistake is creating a boring, shallow character. Something the Editing Gang helped me fix. The new and improved Taral is at least 20% less punchable!