Countdown to Apocalypse

General Erik Scrimshaw stood staring out at the planet below. He had been ordered to orbit Corellia, by the one he and his fleet had sworn loyalty to. He was dressed in his normal red and orange command uniform, carrying the General's pips on his collar. Erik had always been considered a handsome young man, with short dark brown hair, angular features, a medium build and his soft brown eyes. The well-lit bridge was pristine, as controllers monitored their stations and he slowly paced the command center.

His thoughts had turned to when he had been forced to eliminate all of those who were not loyal to him—in order for him to move on and join forces with the illustrious Traya. Those who would have presented the greatest threat to him were dealt with immediately, as they were sent to a barracks and gassed. The others were dealt within a series of 'malfunctions' throughout the older frigates that they had all been assigned to.

He was young, and an exceptionally capable commander, which is why it was no surprise to him that he had been promoted to General of a task force. If you were still here, Father, you would be proud.

He sighed, knowing full well that no one had known much about young Erik Scrimshaw. He recalled his father, who had served in the Mandalorian and the Jedi Civil War alongside Revan and Malak. That man had been a skillful Admiral and he had come to an end when his protégé had killed him in a fit of vengeance. It was no surprise that Scrimshaw would have joined the Republic Navy and sworn his allegiance to the Sith. Carth Onasi killed Saul Karath and Erik Scrimshaw would repay the favour by wiping out the Republic that Onasi so fervently attempted to save.

Even if he were an illegitimate son, he had known his father and his exploits. The fact that Erik had become one of the top officials in the Republic Navy spoke about the skills he had inherited from his father. Saul would have been very proud of him.

Saul had once told him that the best way to trap an enemy was to lull him into a false sense of security. Well, Carth, he thought deprecatingly, let's see how secure you really are.

"Sir," one of his lieutenants called out to him. "We have an incoming transmission from Mistress Traya."

"Good, I'll take it in the briefing room." Scrimshaw walked out of the bridge, as he passed through the austere hallways, passing by fully armoured soldiers and officers that saluted him. As he entered the chambers, a large, life-size figure of Mistress Traya appeared.

"Greetings, General," she replied in her dry tone. Her face had somehow become paler—though the holographic displayers weren't able to properly reveal her true skin colour. It also appeared that she had some blotches across her high cheekbones. Her eyes had also appeared to be slowly atrophying, but he couldn't be sure.

"Greetings Mistress," he bowed.

"I trust all is well?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Have you picked up the shipment?"

He nodded, "yes, Mistress."

"Good," she replied. "Are the detonators set in the Stage Three planets?"

"Yes, Mistress. My field officers report that they are."

"Good." Her expression hadn't changed the slightest, which unnerved Scrimshaw ever so slightly.

"What are your orders?" He asked, eager to get back to the bridge and be far away from her. He could hardly comprehend how his father had managed to stand comfortable in the presence of Darth Revan and Darth Malak, though there was the off chance that Saul might have been uncomfortable in their presences.

"Target the facility on Corellia and obliterate it."

"The facility?" He asked, shocked.

"That is what I have said, General."

"But what about the lives surrounding the planet? The countless soldiers and manpower we have—," he paused as his throat was constricted by an invisible hand that seemed to be crushing his windpipe. His hands went to his throat, hoping to remove the invisible hand.

"Do you doubt my orders, General?" She asked, her voice hinting at his imminent death.

"No, Mistress," he struggled as he tried to breathe.

"Good," she replied. "Then do as I say. Target the facility and fire your heaviest charge and destroy it. After that is done, activate Stage Three and prepare your fleet for the jump to hyperspace, where you will go to Coruscant and begin to assault the planet's defences and fleet. My fleet shall bolster your forces considerably."

"Yours will be done, Mistress," he rasped, as he felt the immense pressure leave his throat, causing him to crumple to the ground, panting for precious air.

"Good. I'd hate to lose a worthwhile Commander such as yourself, General." She smiled mirthlessly, her thin lips forming an even thinner smile on her formally regal face. Her figure winked out, and the message came to an end.

Scrimshaw sat there on the floor, breathing heavily and pondering his fate. He rose several moments later, recomposing himself as he walked away, towards the bridge to order the Mistress' will.


"Good, now reach out with the Force, extend your surroundings and hear the subtle vibrations. Follow the swirls and arcs of the Force," Visas whispered, as she sat side by side with Atton, both of them in a meditation trance.

He could feel the extensions of the Force, as blue, white and yellow swirls guided him far away from the vessel, as he saw people of every colour, race and gender throughout the whole of Corellia. He could feel the undercurrents and tones of life, as babies were born; children celebrated their birthdays and the passion between two lovers.

Hey, this isn't so bad, he thought, while he stretched out further with the Force, attuning himself to the whims of the Force.

Quiet, Visas sent to him. Focus on the waves and undertow of emotions throughout the planet—feel the life, the vibrancy of it, almost as if it were nothing more than a coarse, calm river that is slowly picking up speed.

He felt the not-so-subtle shifting in the Force and emotions, as he felt a wave of hysteria, sadness, and rage fall into the mix, watching as passionate lovers turned on one another, as buildings detonated, as lives were torn apart in a variety of seconds. He witnessed the merciless slaughter of innocents at the hands of rakghoul appearing creatures, as they tore into their flesh, while figures in black mutilated young children.

Men and women in white creating vats of young children, training and honing their skills, as they killed each other with horrifying efficiency that sent shivers of revulsion coursing down Atton's spine.

Atton, calm down, Visas assured him, sending soothing waves to calm him down.

He slowly began to calm, as he witnessed another image. This was of a young man, in a Republic uniform who looked at his officers and barked orders to fire a torpedo into a planet.

Another image changed to two figures, clothed in black and wore masks on their faces, as their lightsabers clashed with a blue lightsaber from another figure—a Jedi. The Jedi with a blue lightsaber also wore black, but carried a longcoat that flowed with his movements. In that moment, the figure ducked and rolled, blocking both blades that came towards his face, in an attempt to behead him. In that moment, Atton saw the face of Dante, struggling hard to defend himself against the onslaught of the two powerful foes. His lips were caked with blood and his cheek was slightly bruised.

His eyes snapped open, and he turned to face Visas, who had just woken from the trance. "We need to get Dante!" He said, as he rose, feeling the tight soreness in his muscles. He cast that aside as he raced towards the helm, jumping into the seat as he flipped several switches and heard the whine of the engines.

She rose, and looked at him quizzically. "What did you sense?"

He glanced at her, as he guided the freighter towards the building. "Trouble."

As the vessel hovered on repulsors, Visas and Atton looked at the scene before them.

Dante was fighting admirably—and hopelessly—against two powerful Dark Jedi that bore the presence of someone Atton felt he knew.


Dante continued to block and parry against their swings. He rolled away from the desk, as it was sent flying away, out of the building.

The pair eyed Dante with something akin to interest in his fighting stance.

This one is indeed worthy, Horn sent to his brother.

Very worthy, Torn replied.

Dante felt the whining in the Force, as he realized Visas and Atton had arrived.

Hold on, Dante, he felt Visas say within his mind.

He watched as the Naver twins assaulted him, forcing Dante to raise his lightsaber up and down, as he deflected each overhead and underhand strike they imposed on him.

The pair continued to move around Dante, continuing their dance, as Horn brought his blade overhead, forcing Dante back, while Torn slashed horizontally, forcing Dante to deflect and pivot himself around.

Dante, growing tired from the relentless strikes, parried Horn's strike and carried out with a riposte, sending the assassin back. Spinning around, he slapped Torn's blade away, as he jumped, pushing all weight and power into his right foot as he kicked the assassin in the face.

He turned and extended his free hand, sending Horn flying back. He paused as he felt a subtle pinprick in the Force. He felt it was almost as if the minor pin in the sky above was growing heavier with speed and weight, as it came bearing down towards where he was. His eyes opened wide as he realized what it was.

The pinprick in the Force was undoubtedly why Atton and Visas had come for him. The pinprick was a torpedo or missile that happened to be gathering immense speed and its target was the facility that Dante happened to be inside of at the moment.

Driven purely by instinct, Dante raced towards the window, leaping out with the Force, as he heard the whine of the freighter's engines, as it flew under him. He landed heavily; as he saw two green striped Republic fighters come racing towards them.

Before he could slide off the freighter, he clipped his lightsaber to his belt and with both hands, sought for a crevice or some handle that he could hold on to, as the freighter weaved through several buildings. He watched as he saw a fierce blue drop crash into the structure and detonate into a massive explosion, as the fire and debris ripped through the area, tearing down two adjacent buildings and enveloping the area in black fumes that darkened the night sky even further.

He sighed, as he saw the two CorSec fighters peel away and leave the scene. He felt a mass wave of death enter through the Force, leaving a profound void of the Dark Side, but he could still feel the residue of the Dark Side there. He also felt two familiar presences survive and escape in those fighters.

Somehow, Horn and Torn had caught wind of the missile and managed to escape, undoubtedly killing the CorSec pilots in the process.

He turned around as he moved to enter the freighter from a dorsal hatch. Entering it, he came down and entered the cockpit, gaunt, as he said to Atton, "thanks for the pickup." He coughed for a moment.

"No problem" the brash pilot replied. "After all, if we didn't, we'd have a hard time trying to find Theresa," he couldn't help but add.

Dante smirked and hobbled to the main hold, causing Visas to look on with concern.

"Go to him, Visas," Atton suggested softly.

"He seems to need some help," she said, rising and leaving.

Atton could only smile. Maybe his little project would come in handy in a myriad of ways.

Visas approached him, helping him remove his coat as she took him to the medbay. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, as he sat on the medical bed. He removed his holsters and both of his lightsabers, as he removed his shirt.

"You're wounded," she replied, as she noticed darker patches of the Force on parts of his body.

"Not really—just bruised. Deflecting lightsabers is one thing; getting hit is another." He tried to chuckle but felt himself coughing from the last attack.

She felt his chest with one hand, tracing over a scar on his chest as he pulled back, causing her to recoil.

"Cold," he stated.

"Sorry," she replied, her face flushing slightly red. "I need to feel your bruises—to see how I can help."

"I'll be all right," he began, only to feel Visas' hands touch the bruises on his chest. He didn't add that his lips were caked with blood and he was bruised on his left cheekbone. He was surprised at the lethality of those two, but then again, he never had to face Revan at any time. He replayed the duel in his mind, attempting to place how those two fought, as a thought came to him: they were twins. They would have been able to coordinate their attacks quickly, which added to their lethality.

Not even he and Rena combined could have been that lethal, even with their bond.

He breathed in sharply, causing him to flinch as he felt a sharp pain course near his ribs.

"Are you all right?" Visas asked.

"My ribs," he groaned as he lay down on the medical cot.

She planted her hand over his chest, trying hard not to blush, as she let the Force flow from her hands and into his body, as she felt the minute shifting in the cellular behaviour, as they moved to help heal his torn muscles and fractured ribs.

If Dante noticed her blushing, he didn't say anything. In fact, he closed his eyes, resting his hands on hers, as he channeled the Force through her, adding to her considerable skill in healing. He kept adding the Force to her abilities, as she continued to spur his cells on to healing his body.

After a moment longer, she had finally finished in healing most of his wounds, though she was not as tired, mainly due in part to Dante's efforts.

Panting, he looked at her, "tell Atton to make our way to Coruscant. I need to see the Jedi Temple." In a matter of moments, he lost consciousness for no particular reason, other than that he was tired from exerting himself.

She kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "rest, Dante. You need it far more than anyone else." She placed a soft blanket over him, as she watched him rest. After another moment of placing his objects on a seat, she left towards the cockpit, to inform Atton of their next destination.

When she sat down in the cockpit, Atton looked at her, as they entered space.

"So? Did you tell him?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't, he was tired from exerting himself. He sustained some wounds—but he's all right now." She rubbed her hands, remembering the touch of his hands on hers, and how they connected when he channeled the Force into her, to aid his injured body.

"Oh," he replied. He spotted several Republic cruisers jumping to lightspeed. He looked at his sensors, noticing the lack of a Sith vessel. "Something's not right," he said after a moment.

Visas looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"There is no Sith warship, fleet, you name it. In fact, there was only a Republic battle group that had just jumped to lightspeed." He checked the sensors again. "No Sith warship. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Before he passed out, he said to go to Coruscant, to the Jedi Temple."

"Will do," Atton replied, as he tapped in several keys. "I think that is where the Republic group went," he added as he pulled the level and they entered hyperspace.

After a few moments, Atton locked the ship on autopilot, as he rose and left to the main hold, along with Visas. "We need to check the Holonet and see if there is something we should know about that explosion."

She glanced at him unconvinced.

"Maybe a journalist knows who fired that missile or something," he replied, looking askance.

Visas didn't say anything, as she sat down. Those deaths that occurred in that facility seemed a lot greater than anything I've felt in the Force. What went on in there?

He opened the Holonet and was shocked as he saw a journalist speaking about the dissolution of the Republic and the detonation of several facilities on several Mid-Rim and Inner Core planets.

"The casualty toll is catastrophic. In the Galaxy's worst incident, several factions have pointed the finger at one another, as countless millions lie dead throughout the Galaxy, and countless thousands are missing. The toll is at fifteen million, two hundred and seventy-three thousand, eight hundred and nineteen dead, while there is approximately four hundred, twenty-one thousand, one hundred and sixty wounded. The explosions occurred throughout most of Galaxy—mainly in the heavily populated regions, ranging from Eriadu to Adumar. No one is sure who is actually behind these attacks, but reports have led to suspect that there were Sith and Republic saboteurs responsible. There have even been few claims of Mandalorians attempting to reprise their role in another war, but that has yet to be confirmed."

Atton let out a low whistle as he looked at Visas. "I knew something wasn't right. Can you believe it? I wonder who's behind this."

Visas shook her head. "I can't be certain, but I think it may have something to do with Atris."

"Atris? That Jedi Theresa fought on Telos? I thought she was dead?"

She shook her head again. "No, Theresa spared her life. I can only assume that Atris has fallen to the Dark Side—as Dante had suspected."

Atton's eyes went wide, almost as if he forgotten the conversation in Kuat. The truth was that he was inebriated and couldn't pay attention until their altercation with a group of disgruntled species. "Wait, what? Why didn't he kill her on Telos?"

"He went to Telos to look for her," she explained, sighing, "instead, he found Mical."

Atton narrowed his eyes, as he felt a pang of jealousy at the mere mention of the Disciple who tried to intrude on the then budding romance between Theresa and Atton. "He's still around?"

Visas shook her head sadly. "No, I am afraid not. He had been corrupted by Atris, which led to Dante and his…Apprentice to fight against him." She couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable and a bit jealous at the minor mention of Dante's pupil. "Mical was killed," she added quickly, hoping to hide her thoughts from Atton.

Atton was silent for a moment, casting his head down as he felt a twinge of regret in him, as well as sadness. He felt ashamed to have said something cruel without realizing Mical had been twisted. As much as Atton sometimes loathed to admit it, he still respected the Disciple, and was shocked to hear of his passing. After another moment, he looked up at her. "Well, what happened to Atris?"

"No one knows. Dante has been searching for her all this time," she replied.

"Well, when he wakes up, we should be back on Coruscant. We should tell him of what happened."

"I can only fear for the Jedi in the dark times ahead," Visas muttered, as she couldn't help but turn her thoughts towards Dante, fearing for whatever cruelty fate had in store him.

She went to the dormitory and sat on her cot, crossing her legs and throwing herself into a trance as she breathed deeply, losing her state of being and delving far into the Force.


She stood there, her lips bloody, body bruised and one mangled arm, but she stood defiant. She had one last act to go, as the room around her was filled with klaxons and alarms blaring that warned her of imminent destruction.

Visas had one chance to end it all now, before the Galaxy would perish. She turned away from the view of space, watching someone screaming out for her.

She looked and gasped as she saw a burnt figure drive something into her, causing her to double over in pain. She looked up and saw the burnt face with one good eye and most of the jaw revealing itself.

The figure brought a blaster up to her head. The figure's hand had been burned away, and only the tattered and torn red and orange uniform of the Republic gave any indication of who the figure was.

She looked away and before the figure could squeeze the trigger, she shoved out with the Force, destroying a console that caused the figure to scream out in rage.

Screaming, the charred form squeezed the trigger, and Visas' vision went black for a moment, as her world came tumbling down.

She watched on as the room caught on fire and she whispered three words to the one person who had been lost in his own sea of rage. "I love you," she mustered, before darkness enveloped her.


Atris sat comfortably in her throne, smiling as she saw the reports of the dead on several planets. Good, she thought, as she sipped some wine from the cup in her hand, now the Galaxy has experienced a bloodied nose. It is time to reveal to them the catastrophic fate that awaits them with Stage Four.

She tapped several keys on her console near her armrest. A blue-hued image of General Erik Scrimshaw appeared. "Ah, General Scrimshaw, I trust that you obliterated the facility?"

"Yes, Mistress, I have done as you have ordered."

"Good," she replied. "Are you en route to Coruscant?"

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, somewhat monotonously.

Atris bit down the urge to give him another lesson with the dark powers she had learned from those holocrons. "Excellent. Things are beginning to work favourably. Are those baradium cores and other detonators planted on the rest of those strategic locations?"

"Of course, Mistress."

"Good. Soon we shall be ready to engage Stage Four, and then," she said, her expression growing darker, "we shall have what the Galaxy has so desperately tried to keep from us."

"Excellent, Mistress," he replied.

"We will arrive in a few hours. I trust you will be able to survive for that long?"

He smiled. "I will be able to survive longer than that, thanks to the modifications your fleet engineers were kind enough to impart on my fleet."

"We're allies, after all," Atris replied, "you will get your prize and we shall all have our vengeance on the Jedi and the Republic."

With that, the figure shimmered away, leaving Atris alone to enjoy the prospects of mayhem that would follow, as the cores detonated in a series of flawlessly timed explosions, causing chain reactions that would spur all Galactic forces to slaughter one another.

The Galaxy will find itself on its knees before it finds itself annihilated by the weapons of the Masters. I shall burn the Galaxy—including the real Masters of the Sith Empire. In the end, she thought, sipping from the precious wine once more, I would have already purged the Galaxy of all life.

For the first time in a long time, things were starting to finally look up in the world of Darth Traya. The countdown to Apocalypse had begun, and Atris was just getting warmed up.


Author's Notes: And so things are really getting to its boiling point. The Jedi will find themselves in a fight for their lives, the Republic will find itself clinging onto its will to survive and the Sith...well, we shall see what fate has in store for all.