Iros hesitantly lifted the lid off the dumpster, and tried his best to ignore the smell, and whatever his foot was digging into. Thankfully, no squads of troopers were hurtling towards the wall. Whatever was going on out in the jungle, it looked like it had been resolved. With a groan, he heaved himself out of the trash, and shook something moldy off his shoe. "We're clear," he said into his comm.

Not long after, the others came out of their various hiding places, and they began their journey back to the cantina through the city's alleyways. "Bribe Tabac you said," sneered one the gangsters they had teamed up with, a blue green Feeorin. "One of the most corrupt Imps on Yuca, stealing the Imps' loot will be like taking grub from a dokma, you said. If we had been a few minutes earlier, we'd have gotten vaporized!"

"Like I could have predicted that was going to happen!" retorted Iros. "Besides, it's not like you had any better ideas!"

"What are we going to do now?" moaned one of the Feeorin's goons, a sullen Falleen. "The whole planet's going crazy, I even heard Vader's back!"

"Simple," bragged the Feeorin, as they marched towards an abandoned courtyard. Iros kept silent, but rolled his eyes upwards. "We go back to the Hive, put our droid into the next match, and scam those suckers dry. It'll take longer than stealing loot from the Imps, but at least we won't get frakked by the Rebels or Imps—"

A shadow flew across the nearest roof. "The Imps are here!" Iros interrupted. "Make for the hotel up ahead!"

Everyone bolted for the small building in question, which was still lit by a colorful sign. As they left the alley, Iros prayed that the Imps tailing them were lousy shots, they wouldn't have much cover on the street—

Instead of laser bolts, what looked like tendrils of silver energy shot at a pair of speeder bikes parked outside of the hotel. But rather than explode, the speeder bikes burst to life, and whirled right into the closest criminals. They soared through the air and into Iros and the others like sentient clumsy missiles. As soon as his head stopped beating against the ground, Iros drew his blaster as fast as he could, trying to find what had attacked them.

Their attacker leapt from the roof and right onto the sign, like a feral predator, and Iros got his first good look at it.

It was a…thing, dressed in a black coat. An alien, but unlike anything Iros had ever seen before. It was reptilian, covered in red skin and scales, especially on its head. The scales there lay flat against its skull, and quivered eagerly. It had no nose, only two slits for nostrils, like a snake. Two bright poisonous green eyes were fixed on Iros, its fanged mouth bared in a grin, and it raised one hand with something clenched in it towards him, its claws quivering like a maestro conducting an orchestra. The cheery light given off by the sign somehow made the creature look even more sinister. "Unlike the Jedi," it drawled, in a male voice that repulsed and compelled Iros at the same time, "you'll find that the Zavar weren't satisfied with merely using the kyber for lightsabers. No…when it came to the power of the kyber…we made sure to master it!"

Before Iros or the others could comment, a human burst out of the hotel, a rifle in his hands. "Get lost, aliens!" he shouted, the rifle aimed at Iros's head. "You want to bring the entire Empire down on top of us—?!"

Iros noticed the strange alien roll his eyes, and then with unnatural grace, jumped off the sign, with what looked like two glowing crystals in his hands—

—and then silver energy shot out of them of them, enveloped the sign, and wrenched it clean off the wall.

It fell to the earth and instantly flattened the human. The alien landed on all fours on top of a landspeeder. Iros saw that the other crooks who had drawn a weapon had lowered them somewhat, as if unsure what to make of this newcomer. Then some lights flickered on in a few of the windows above them, with the unmistakable sound of movement. The alien's lip curled, and he turned back to them and said, "Can't be bothered with any witnesses right now. Wait here, and I'll make you rich. If you try and run, well…"

He stalked inside the building, and stopped in the foyer in front of the desk. Iros had no idea how the alien was going to deal with all of the patrons…

Then the alien raised his arms, and silver lightning shot out of his clawed fingers.

The lightning tore through the walls and ceiling like a lightsaber through flesh. Flames instantly sprung to life, and all too quickly, became an inferno that began to devour the hotel. Screams quickly followed, as the residents realized what was happening. They only increased in volume as the fire grew. Iros glanced at the others; they looked stunned and terrified at what they were witnessing. And then the alien raised his clenched fists, each full of a stream of lightning that had hooked into the ceiling, and brought them down. The ceiling collapsed and the hotel began to crumble.

A burning Shistavanen stumbled down a nearby staircase, howling with agony as it rushed to the entrance. It actually made it out of the building, until the alien tossed one of its crystals. A blade of energy formed from both ends and flew at the poor furball. Its head bounced into the street, as its body collapsed, and the crystal returned to its master.

The whole hotel was on fire now, including the entrance. Without so much as a single word, the alien calmly walked out of the building, his hands in his coat pockets. Iros often heard the Devaronians and similar aliens being compared to demons…but partially thanks to his natural appearance, and partially due to the fire, none of them looked as monstrous as this creature. He took one hand out, and with a glowing crystal, waved the flames away. He glanced over his shoulder at the building, until the whole building fell in on itself. Then he turned towards them, and said, "My apologies about that. I am Hyerox Xiracoz; I am in need of some hired muscle, and more urgently, experienced pilots. I hope you know where I can find some?"

Eager to avoid suffering the same fate as the hotel occupants, Iros spoke first. "There's a cantina!" he spluttered out. "The Ahmuzen Hive! We can take you there right away!"

The others nodded furiously. Hyerox gave a satisfied chuckle, then threw something into Iros's lap. It was a jewel the size of one of his remaining eyes. "Good Gran," Hyerox told him. "Now up and at them, my friends. We have a busy schedule to attend to, but do as I say, and all of Yuca and its riches will be yours."

Despite himself, Iros felt a prick of greed in his heart, and he saw that same desire for wealth in his comrades' faces. They hurried to their feet and started to lead him to the cantina. But the burning hotel was still in Iros's sights until they disappeared around the nearest corner.

"As you can see," the bald cybernetic Imperial said nervously, "the Imperial Assault Spider Droids—or IASDs—are operating at peak efficiency."

Inside the shuttle, Vader stared at the images displayed from the holoprojector. Seeing these new walkers brought back memories…one memory in particular. He pointed at the droid with the missile launcher. "That weapon. It's similar to one that was used by the Separatists."

Despite his current situation, Moff Locus actually grimaced in disgust. "Yes," he replied, "the Defoliator." He snorted. "Neimoidians. Despite what few accomplishments they actually did have, they were terrible with names. Now the Gorog…that's a name that'll make the enemy think twice about rebelling."

Vader stared at the Gorog's handiwork. "Its results however, are clearly inferior to the Separatist's version."

Dromus looked offended. "Not at all, my Lord. Moff Locus was very specific when he commissioned this. We can control how powerful and widespread we want the weapon to be, in order to minimize damage to Imperial territory."

Vader crossed his arms. "I see…I must admit, Locus, despite your failure at procuring the weapon, you and your staff spared no expense for your backup measures."

The duo went pale, but nodded respectfully. "I hope for your sake," Vader went on, "that you are not so unfortunate that the Gorog's namesake doesn't show up to add to your troubles. The last thing you need is for the mutants to add it to their cause—"

Dromus sighed softly. "I think we'll be safe, my Lord. The weapon's actual namesake is long since dead."

Vader locked his gaze on the lieutenant. "What do you mean?"

Dromus went even paler. "I didn't name it after the beast…it was actually a person…someone whose legends I grew up hearing on my homeworld of Kaua. A Besalisk named Darth Gorog."

For a long moment, Vader was silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Vader saw Locus glance in his direction. "Then by all means, Lieutenant Dromus. Tell me of this legendary Darth Gorog."

The lieutenant stared blankly at him, but after a deep breath, he began.

"Long ago, poachers and hunters used Kaua as a hunting grounds to prove their worth. They brought creatures and sentient beings from across the galaxy to set loose on the world, from the jungles of Hauluk, to the waters and caverns of the Aolulari Rings. For years, the islands, sands, and oceans ran red with the blood of their prey.

"Then one day, they brought a monster to the Rings. It was still young, but they had hoped to raise it to adulthood, to become the finest trophy in their collection. Instead, they were the first meals the Gorog had on Kaua. It broke free from its captors, and fled into the darkest corners of Kaua, where its size, appetite, and hatred continued to grow.

"All too soon, the Gorog reached adulthood. It caused more destruction and pain to Kaua than the hunters ever could. The Republic sent soldiers and mercenaries to try and destroy the beast. Not one of them ever returned. Finally, the Republic sent the Jedi to conquer the Gorog. But not even the might of the Jedi were a match for the Gorog. They lasted longer than the others, but like all of the Gorog's opponents, they were crushed by the mighty monster, and all seemed lost.

"And yet, that very same day, a ship arrived. They had learned of the Jedi's mission, and had followed them to see the results. But their curiosity brought them too close to the beast. With a flick of its wrist, the Gorog swiped the ship out of the sky. Some survived, clutching their wounds, while the remainder of the crew became the last lives that the Gorog took.

"For that was when our Lord walked out of the wreckage."

Dromus actually wiped his forehead. He looked equal parts terrified and reverent. "With his lightsabers in hand, he charged the Gorog. Four blades became two, and then four again, as the Lord battled the Gorog. Its roars echoed across the world; the Gorog had never been challenged until now. All beings were meant to be its meal, or to be crushed under its foot. The Lord's blades cut deeply into its flesh, but it refused to submit to its better, and every one of its blows sent waves across the Rings.

"And then finally, the Lord put away his weapons. I looked as he raised his four hands into the air, and beheld true horror. The sky was the first to disappear, and then the sun. It was as if the Lord had stolen the heavens. And with the purest of hatred coursing through his veins, the Lord unleashed the tempest's fury. The storm grew darker than the heart of the Maw itself, thunder bellowed, and lightning smote the Gorog. Its skin burned, its eyes burst into flames, and the beast that had once known no equal, now knew its superior. As the lightning boiled the sea, it fell down one of the Rings, where the Lord declared its bones would stand as a testament to his power for all eternity."

Vader tilted his head slightly. "Perhaps you think my time and patience are infinite, Lieutenant?"

"I'm almost done," Dromus hastily assured him. "Then he looked upon us, and declared, 'The Gorog is dead. I have taken its life for my comrades. I will take its world for our Empire. And I now take its name for myself. I am Darth Gorog the Merciful. Bow before your new master, or your bones will join the beast's.'

"I had been through many quests and ordeals. I thought I had known and overcome true despair. But now I knew something more terrifying…I now knew the truth.

"The Force had forsaken us.

"All we could do was hide in the shadow of Darth Gorog, and pray that his mercy never died, lest we suffer his wrath."

Dromus sank back in his chair, the fear on his face actually making him look almost human for once. "If I may, my Lord," Locus spoke up. "Back when the Empire was still the Republic…I heard my fellow officers talking about someone named Darth Maul. Unfortunately, I was still recovering from my injuries on Umbara, so I was never able to get much information about him. Well, apart from that he was somehow involved in the Invasion of Naboo so many years ago. Was he an associate of yours…?"

Vader was barely aware of a slight tremor that ran through the shuttle. They had arrived at the Capital. But mentally, he was a galaxy away from all of this…in a hangar where Qui Gon and Obi-Wan fought a nightmarish Zabrak…and at the pyre, where he was forced to say goodbye to the man he had owed everything to…"No," Vader replied flatly. He abruptly stood up and walked to the exit. "Don't bring it up again, Locus."

As they walked off the ramp, Vader looked around at the Capital's military base, where apart from the cowering officer waiting for them, were more familiar and welcoming sights. TIE Fighters, his own personal TIE Advanced—

Vader stiffened. Out in the city, he saw a pillar of smoke. The imbeciles around him wisely decided to back away. "What happened?" he eventually ground out. "What did the Rebels destroy this time?"

The officer had the look of a man who knew he was dead anyway, but he said with admirable professionalism, "It was a hotel, my Lord. Burned to the ground, no survivors. We haven't been able to determine the cause or motive—"

He was so surprised he briefly forgot his anger. "No," he said softly. The others looked bewildered. "No…this wasn't the Rebels. This is our new opponent."

Now it was Locus's turn to look enraged. "Whoever it is, we'll find them, my Lord. I'll have whatever units we have available sweep the entire Capital."

They turned to leave, but the officer cleared his throat. He looked relieved that he wasn't going to be made an example of. "I do have one bit of good news to report; we heard back from our units in the field…"

"Here it is," said Iros, and gestured at the building. "The Ahmuzen Hive."

Under the hood of a borrowed cloak, Hyerox frowned. "It's a spice shop."

"Merely a front, sir. The cantina is in the basement."

"It had better be."

One of Iros's goons held the door open for Hyerox and he walked in. Thanks to the lockdown, the shop was deserted, but there was still one person in the shop behind the desk. As they walked past rows of spice containers, the burly Devaronian lifted one hand while the other went below the desk. "I'm sorry," he said in heavily accented Basic, "but we closed right now, come back after—"

"He's with us, Raax," Iros interrupted. "He's in the market for some pilots."

Raax ran his red eyes over Hyerox and snorted. "Fine, but don't think mystery man will have much luck right now. Sounds like the blockade is tighter than a Hutt's wallet thanks to whatever is going on out there."

He opened the door behind the desk and ushered them in. Hyerox let Iros lead the way into a cramped office with another desk and a cabinet full of artifacts. Iros walked past it and tugged on a Kalikori's string. "Name and business?" said a voice from a hidden speaker.

"Iros, I'm here with company, trying to hire some pilots."

A segment of the floor slid open. "Fine," said the voice. "But if there's any hint of an Imp or ambush…"

Hyerox smiled to himself as they walked down the hidden stairs. They reached another door which quickly slid open.

The Zavar took in his new surroundings with grudging approval. The owner was no slouch; the underground cantina was bigger than the entire store, with a bar taking up all of the back wall, and a sizable arena in the center. A pair of droids battered at each other inside of it, each with deactivated wrist blasters, but still trying their best to reduce their opponent to scrap. Unlike the shop above, there was a decent crowd of humans and aliens in the cantina, either at the bar, tables, or around the arena. But most of the eyes that weren't focused on the fight were watching the screens above the bar, where different scenes of the Empire fighting the Rebels were on display.

Then Hyerox noticed the bartender, a steel grey Yucari who was missing a mandible and an eye. His remaining red eye narrowed as they approached. Hyerox took a seat in front of the bar, and said, "Greetings, sir. I take it that this impressive establishment is yours?"

The Yucari glanced at Iros. "He's a lot more refined than the other dregs you bring in here, Iros." He hoisted a shotgun out from under the bar and aimed it right at them. "Should I be expecting the men in white to come in unannounced soon?"

"No, Ontho," said the Gran hurriedly. "He just wants some pilots for a job."

"And not to get past the blockade," Hyerox added. "I'm not worried about it at the moment. I need hardened, experienced fighter pilots, who would have no qualms with whatever I need them to incinerate—"

An Iktotchi with a mechanical hand slumped into the seat next to him. "Really?" he leered at Hyerox, as he sharpened a knife against one of his horns. "Because the only ones who are currently offering jobs like yours are the Rebels. That means encounters with Imperials. And none of us are in the mood to deal with Vader and his goons."

A duo consisting of a Trandoshan and a green Twi'lek, both with razor sharp teeth, joined them on the other side. "Arkeem," pleaded one of Iros's fellow Gran, "please, you really don't want to—"

The knife flew out of Arkeem the Ikototchi's hand in a silver blur, and the Gran collapsed to the floor, the knife stuck in the middle of his head. "Hope he wasn't essential," Arkeem chuckled. "Stick around any longer, and you might find yourself in the arena over there. It's been a while since the droids have had an organic opponent."

The Trandoshan and Twi'lek grinned in anticipation. Iros and his remaining men looked nervous. Hyerox sighed. "Very well. You've made your point. I'll have to try somewhere else then. But please, allow me to indulge myself. It feels like I haven't had a good drink in years…"

Arkeem glared at him, suspicion clear in his eyes, but he nodded. Ontho put his shotgun away, grabbed the nearest bottle, and poured it into a glass. "Here," he grunted, and put it in front of Hyerox.

Hyerox picked it up delicately and sipped the whole glass in one go. Arkeem and his cronies looked at him, mildly impressed—

And then Hyerox activated one of his crystals and slashed at Arkeem's chair stand. The Iktotchi stumbled to the ground, Gran and the others fell back, and Arkeem's comrades lunged at Hyerox. He slammed the glass into the Twi'lek's face, and the tailhead shrieked with pain as he fumbled into the Trandoshan. The lizard snarled, and tossed the Twi'lek out of the way, but it was too late. Hyerox ran his claws straight into the Trandoshan's chest, cleaving through the thug's pilot suit and scales like butter. The lizard's eyes bulged as he looked down at the blood pouring out of his chest. Then Hyerox noticed one of the other bar patrons, another green Twi'lek, get up and helped the first Twi'lek to his feet. The two presumed brothers charged at Hyerox with murder in their eyes—

—only for Hyerox to kick out his two front legs.

The looks on their faces, as they stared at the legs piercing their chests with now lifeless eyes, was hysterical. Shocked, horrified, and panicked at the same time. Their reactions were echoed by the other patrons, who stared as Hyerox kept himself steady with his other two legs. And then he flexed his claws and the light in the Trandoshan's eyes was instantly snuffed out as well. Hyerox's claws and the tips of his clawed legs slid out easily as the trio collapsed to the floor. He enjoyed the seeing the cantina's horror as his legs slid back together beneath his pant leggings, which also seamlessly closed shut.

There was a sound and Hyerox noticed Arkeem was back on his feet, another knife in his hand. "Alright, you four legged bastard," he growled. "Let's see how good you are when your opponent is—"

Hyerox spat out his drink into Arkeem's eyes. The Iktotchi cursed and tried to flee, but before he could, Hyerox swept a foot under him and Arkeem fell for the second time. Hyerox planted his foot on the Iktotchi's chest, drew both crystals, and swiped. Arkeem howled with rage as his horns rolled across the floor.

Hyerox looked up. Every eye in the bar was on him; a few had gotten the message, but the rest drew their weapons. "No blasters!" shouted a Rodian at the others. "I don't want to die because you were too stupid to fire a blaster at a Jedi—!"

Taking full advantage of the distraction, Hyerox fired tendrils of energy at the droids in the arena, and pulled them to him. There was an ominous charging sound as the droids' blasters reactivated. The patrons fled for cover as Hyerox opened fire.

But not to kill, not unless he had to. He needed as many competent subordinates as possible. But he still made sure to get his point across. Bottles, mugs, and glasses shattered as the bolts flew through the air, and several pictures that had been hung up on the walls were quickly vaporized. A moment later and Hyerox was certain that he had gotten the message across to them.

A minute or so later, curious heads began to poke out from behind their cover. Nobody seemed eager to fight him. Good. "Listen up," said Hyerox, and he let the droids drop to the floor in a heap. He didn't speak too loudly, but he had no doubt everyone heard him. "After this little skirmish, you know I'm not some no name slime from the back alleys of Nar Shaddaa. My name is Hyerox Xiracoz. I came here looking for fighter pilots. Rest assured; I have the proper motivation for you right here."

He took a bag out of his pocket and emptied its contents onto Arkeem's face. Gold and jewels bounced off his eyes and nose as the fool tried to cover it. Hyerox noted with satisfaction at the naked greed on the patrons' faces. "This is only a sample of the fortunes that I can provide you. Accomplish this task and you will be further compensated. And there's one more thing I need. Can you help me with that, Ontho?" he added as he turned towards the bartender.

The Yucari stared at him with loathing and fear, his shotgun shaking in his hands. "What?"

Hyerox lowered his hood and gave him his best smile. "Do you have any spare droids or parts? I'm going to need as many as you can provide."

Luke grimaced as he stared up at the sky. "How long do storms last on this planet anyway?"

"I've heard some of them can last for weeks at a time," Nailah replied, as she gingerly got off the transport. She rubbed a sizable bruise on her head. "Lucky us; I already feel like my head is going to explode—"

"My guns need the upgrades. Stop hogging all of our hard-earned credits for yourself."

Nailah sank against a tree along the river, her hands on her head. Dendro, Tor, and Ru were carrying crates off the transport, with SN arguing right behind them. "Your guns can already put down everything short of an AT-AT," the droid bickered, as he adjusted his grip on his own crate. "It's my turn to get some overdue modifications."

"That's what you said about the last job," Ru growled, and he caught a small statue made out of valuable gems as it fell out of his crate. "It's always your turn."

The droid pointed an authoritative finger as best he could. "Exactly."

Luke grinned as he looked at Naliah. "Admit it, Naliah. It could always be worse. We could have 3PO here instead of him."

She glared sullenly back at him. "I'd rather listen to 3PO's warnings than spend one more second with that bug bot."

Her expression lessened somewhat as Kashvi walked out with their gear. "That's all of it," she noted, and she sat down with a sigh of relief. "Have you heard anything from Yucari Base?"

They gave a start. "Haven't even called them," murmured Naliah. She gave a slight smile. "In my defense, we did have our hands full back there."

She took out her comm. "Yucari Base, this is Captain Dvaita. Mission was a success, the weapon has been destroyed. Over."

The only answer they got was a static buzz. Luke felt an unpleasant buzzing on the back of his neck. "Yucari Base," Nailah repeated, her expression hardening. "Please respond—"

They finally got a response. A flurry of unidentifiable bumps, but then a clearer sound. The sound of heavy beats, followed by grunts of pains, and then finally, a somewhat distorted but understandable voice. Luke glanced at his comrades, who were staring at the comm like it was a lifeline. "Natron Vuis," said a human voice, heavily distorted by its modifications. "Former Lieutenant of the Coruscant Security Force. Your silence will only prolong your suffering." There was crack and a strangled yell. "Where are your comrades?"