Shattered Galaxy

Senator Greco paced back and forth in the lobby of the Senate, along with his other co-conspirators.

"What is taking so long?" One of the nervous Senators—a Bothan—asked.

"Coruscant is obviously under attack—our allies have arrived a bit earlier than we had thought," Greco assured his panicked companion. They had to have forgotten—right? His red, multifaceted eyes shifted nervously, as his fingertips tapped each other.

"Then where is that shuttle?" Another Neimoidian asked, as he paced along with the other 15 Senators.

"It will be here," a human male said calmly. "Our allies have informed me that they will be on their way."

"Good," Greco said, looking at the others. "You see? Our allies will be on their way."

"Do you really think dealing with the Sith—let alone Mistress Traya—is a wise decision?" The other Neimoidian asked.

Greco looked taken aback, almost as if the words his co-conspirator had said was just a slap in the face. "Of course! They wouldn't let any harm come to us—they need us! And we'll be in a far more powerful bargaining position than anyone else, when it comes time. General Scrimshaw will see to it that our forces will continue to match the Sith. They will respect us."

"They will think we're fools for thinking we're equals with them," the Neimoidian muttered, shaking his head, fatigued.

"You worry too much, Nasbol," Greco said. He kept his own fears inward, despite the fact he felt the same way as his Neimoidian compatriot.

The distant rumblings of the ensuing battle above and further away from the Senatorial district could be heard. It continued to shake and rattle the bones of the Senators who had brought the Sith the access codes to disabling the shield and defensive systems of the Galactic Capital. What's more, the Senators had been behind every move and decision that involved the dissolution of the Republic. The only thing they hadn't counted on was that the Jedi would survive and begin aiding the battered remnants of the Republic up above.

Greco's hands shook nervously as he continued to ponder what the Sith really had in store for them. He only wanted his prize—head of the new Galactic Order. All he had to do was sell out the Republic, and he had accomplished that feat by having all the most powerful Senators within the Republic stop Forn Dodonna's efforts to rebuild the Republic at each and every turn.

He allowed himself a smile, as he thought of Dodonna's name going down in the annals of history as the most incompetent and impotent Galactic leader throughout the Galaxy. He never liked her from the beginning, but nevertheless, he had indulged in fantasies where she was his to command.

He awoke from his trance as the building shook lightly, and the fears of the Senators filled the silence.

"What's going on?" One of the Senators yelled. "I demand to know where that transport is!"

Almost as if to answer the wily Senator, a door hissed.

A figure approached and he merely bowed. "Ladies and Gentlemen, honoured delegates—the transport is here."

The Senators sighed a breath of relief.

As they followed the figure—a Falleen male—they noticed a growing blue and crimson light bathing the entire structure.

"What's that light?" Greco's aide demanded.

The Falleen smiled. "That's just the transport coming down now."

Greco maintained a calm composure, despite the fact he was ready to break down and cry, eager to get on board that transport.

As they moved away from the building, they watched the bathing glow of sapphire wash over the entire structure and area.

"I'm glad that we're not part of that battle above," one of the Senators muttered to another.

"You can say that again," another commented. "We'll let the fools die where they stand. We're going to make it after all."

"This way, please," the Falleen indicated, as the shuttle's door opened.

The Senators, traitors to the Republic, entered the shuttle, which was piloted by a droid.

The Falleen left, along with escort guard, as the shuttle began to lift off and leave.

"Wait, where are they going?" Greco asked, as he watched the group enter another vehicle that took off in the opposite direction.

The droid didn't reply as it piloted upwards into space.

"Relax," Nasbol said, "you worry too much. They'll go off to die—we're going to see the Mistress."

Almost as if his words had been law, a screen appeared along with a figure.

It was Traya.

"Greetings, loyal delegates," she began, "I am glad that you all have gathered. Now we will witness the final destruction of the Republic and usher in a new era. An era where there are no politics—only strength, loyalty and power."

"What does she mean?" Nasbol muttered to Greco.

Traya's thin lips grew thinner, as she smiled mirthlessly. "I am afraid that means that our time together has run out. Your services are no longer needed—in fact, they are to be terminated as of this moment. Goodbye." Her face winked out and only the sounds of the Senators muttering indistinctly filled the cargo hold of the shuttle.

"What does she mean?" Nasbol repeated, this time much louder.

The sapphire glow seemed to appear brighter.

Greco's mouth formed an 'O' as he realized the darker meaning in Traya's words. They had betrayed the Republic—Traya's new era referred to no traitors. Regrettably, that meant their life—and power—had been nullified.

Greco screamed and shoved his way through the bodies, trying to look for the hatch—some way out—, as the blue light continued to be fixated on the shuttle.

The other Senators began to scream and shove, eager to find a way out.

The droid pilot continued to steer the shuttle casually, almost as if nothing were amiss.

The last things ever heard from the Senators was not about whether or not the Galaxy's problems should be solved, or whether one system stood to gain from a precious commodity that should be shared throughout the rest of the Galaxy, but in fact, the last thing heard from them were screams and moot pleas of survival.

The shuttle tore apart like paper as raw fire leapt and flew from it when the torpedo detonated across its hull.


The Sith fighters continued to swarm around the Republic fleet, bathing the remnant in a dizzying array of colours, as the arrowhead fighters of the Republic continued to fight valiantly against their darker aggressors.

"There's no way we can win this," Carth mumbled, as he monitored the battle.

It was quite simple: the Republic was losing.

He looked at the computer simulations, hoping it would be able to come up with some plan or form of attack—something that could aid the battered fleet.

The Sojourn continued to lurch as it absorbed heavy fire.

"Sir!" One of the officers called out. It was the same female officer from before.

Carth turned around, barely holding onto a console as the Sojourn lurched again. I don't know how long this baby can hold.

"The Guardian is under heavy fire—it's been pulled out of the picket groups!"

Carth's eyes went wide with horror as he turned away and stared at the farthest portside he could. He watched as the Guardian, the sister-ship to the Sojourn, was pummeled under the unrelenting scarlet fire from two Interdictor class ships.

The valiant warship continued to fire away, and much to its credit, the cruiser did mass amounts of damage to both Sith vessels.

It was to Carth's disappointment, however, when the Guardian's tri-engines tore under the strain and well-placed shots from the batteries of the Sith vessels.

The Guardian tore apart and exploded with a shattering crack.

Much to the valiant ship's credit, several hunks of the vessel's debris crashed into the two warships, doing moderate—if insubstantial—damage.

Carth turned back to face the officer. "Have the fleet move in towards Scrimshaw's battle group."

"Yes, sir," the officer replied, tapping several switches.

"We're going to pop his bubble. Have all vessels that can get a clear shot at his group target their torpedoes, batteries and heavy laser emplacements—target their armouries." Carth's lips turned into a morbid smile. "Let's see how they would like to suffer from friendly fire."

After another moment, the officer faced Carth. "Admiral, the fleet's responded."

Carth nodded tiredly. "Fire."


General Erik Scrimshaw paced on his small and confined bridge, watching the battle at a relatively safe distance. His flagship was buried in the center of his battle group, away from much of the danger of the battle, as his other subordinate commanders had placed their vessels between possible firing locations.

He smiled, as he watched the troopships—Sith and Republic alike—find their way into the planet's surface, while the real battle waged above in the dark vast openness of space. How does it feel to be bested by your much younger and obviously superior nemesis, Carth? He suppressed a chuckled, as he watched the battle rage.

The Sith fighters he had carried aboard as opposed to the Republic fighters had come in handy. They had caught the Republic fleet off guard and they had torn through the Republic's numbers before they could muster a counter attack.

He sighed, watching the ensuing battle. His keen eyes noticed something severely amiss, as he watched a concentrated array of energy and torpedoes moving towards his fleet. "What's going on?" He whispered. Following the streams of colourful energy was none other than the Republic fleet, led by the Sojourn.

It appeared that Carth wanted to pay the General a visit.

Oh no, he thought, as he watched several of his cruisers and frigates shatter and explode, bathing the bridge in a bright light, forcing the General to shield his eyes.

"Sir! We've lost two of our cruisers and four frigates! One of our carriers is on fire!" A frantic voice echoed in his ears.

"Pull us away! Pull us away!"

Erik watched as entire engines crashed into their comrades, detonating with deadly efficiency as several more vessel came apart under the relentless fire and shrapnel from their deceased allies.

Suddenly, as if to shake Erik from his surprise at the ingenious strike Admiral Carth Onasi had deployed, a klaxon blared.

"We have intruders—they're Jedi!" The same officer blurted, as the flagship shuddered slightly from the minor energy bolts that struck the vessel.

Erik turned around, his hair mussed and his teeth clenched tightly as he barked his orders, "deploy every available soldier to counter them! And let those Dark Jedi join them! I want them off my ship!" He breathed heavily as a dark realization formed in his mind: he would walk away from this at a heavy price—that was, if he walked away at all.

He turned back to face the battle in front of him and watched as his fleet and Carth's fleet moved in precariously close to one another, raining emerald and crimson energy against their hulls in a desperate bid to destroy each other.

Where is Traya? His eyes shifted further away from the approaching mass of Republic vessels, as he found the Sith engaged against a flotilla and task force of Republic vessels that were reduced to only a handful of vessels. The wench better hurry up, he thought as he watched his fighters mingled with the Republic fighters that were now hurling energy towards one another and assaulting all capital ships.


Bastila sat down in the briefing room, centering herself as Dustil did likewise. She took a deep breath and watched her apprentice carefully. "Remember, you must center yourself and embrace the warmth of the Force, almost as if it were a blanket you could wrap around yourself."

Dustil looked at her blankly. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nevermind—I've been spending too much time with my daughter. Just center yourself, listen to the stream and currents of the Force. Allow yourself to bathe in its stream, as if it were nothing more than a waterfall. Let it smother you and focus on the trickles that find their own path along your body."

Dustil closed his eyes and focused on her voice, attuning himself to the Force almost as if it were a stream.

She closed her eyes and found his presence within the Force. She brought herself close to him, watching the bright blue silhouette match hers, and their presences merged.

He gasped slightly, as he felt her open his mind, focusing slowly on the trickles that had become the voices and minds of the figures in the Republic who fought against the darker silhouettes of the Sith and Republic dissidents.

Now touch their minds, alter the trickles and guide them towards one another, pooling them into two groups.

Dustil felt his joints tingle slightly, as he turned the swirls—or 'trickles'—of the Force into two distinct pools: one red, the other blue.

Now delve into those pools and find the bitterness and joy in each of them.

He felt his aura ascend, and dive into the miniature pools that quickly grew and deepened. He watched the darkness—the despair—and the light—the joy—mingle between one another, where the darkness was slowly gaining in the sapphire pool.

Focus on the positive, touch the pool of darkness and guide it towards the crimson pool. Focus on all the memories of joys, touch their minds and pull it towards the sapphire pool. Feel the victory—let the Republic's minds focus on winning. Watch the Sith's despair overwhelm them and thrive on the lucidity of the victory for the Republic.

Dustil continued to focus his mind and slowly push the Republic officers towards victory. Slowly but surely, he could feel the dark tendrils of the Force wither away and allow the gentle and light swirls of the Force take over in the mind of the Republic soldiers.

Before he could prod them to continue, however, he felt a dark wave pass over him and send him back. He felt his presence fall into the black abyss of the pool he created for the Sith, feeling his lungs and body constrict as he gasped for air within the seemingly tangible pool.

A dark laughter could be heard all around him, as he felt the momentary merged presence of his Master shunt away from him. Dustil helplessly watched in horror as he saw a slowly materializing blue aura of Bastila in front of him, standing firm and strong as another presence wended its way into the fold.

"Hello Bastila," the deep, dark and coy voice spoke. "Trying to use that Meditation of yours again?"

Dustil saw his Master stand firm, watching almost as if she recognized the dark presence.

"I see you've allowed the Dark Side to corrupt and twist your mind, Atris," Bastila replied serenely. The blue swirls of the Force gathered around her, seemingly drawn out of the darkness that continued to plunge the trio further down.

"I can't have you cheating now," the voice replied, a hint of displeasure in the dark, shrouded tone.

"This power of yours is nothing compared to the true nature of the Light," Bastila replied, her long hair swirling around her along with the currents of the Force.

"How little you know of the Dark Side, precious Bastila," the snide voice spat back.

"I know enough to understand that you've allowed your mind to be twisted and deranged. You're nothing more than a mockery of what you once were."

"Silence!" Atris' voice echoed throughout the darkening void. Suddenly the Dark Mistress' voice became teasing. "Let us see if the second golden child of the Jedi Order can repel that which she creates."

Before Bastila could reply, she felt the blue swirls of the Force become nothing more than dark tendrils that wrapped itself around her limbs and torso, pulling her further into the darkness.

Dustil watch helplessly as another figure approached to face him.

This face held a pair of red eyes, and black hair that covered the man's elegant yet brutal face. "Taste the power of despair and feel your body become rank with death again, Dustil," the figure said, chuckling.

Dustil brought his spectral hands to his throat and felt his life ebbing from him, as a wave of complete black covered his sight. "The Meditation," he managed, trying futilely to pull away from its iron grasp, "it's killing me!"

"The irony is delicious, isn't it?"


Carth watched on as his fleet threw themselves against Scrimshaw's fleet. This is only going to get a lot worse before it gets better. He allowed himself a small smile as he watched a handful of enemy cruisers and frigates keel over and burst like an overripe fruit at the relentless energy his fleet was sending that way.

The Sojourn stopped lurching as much, but still took some damage as he watched a carrier and frigate smash into each other. He sighed. This was definitely going to be a lot worse than he had imagined.

"Sir," the somber voice of his Lieutenant managed.

"Yes?"

"We've lost contact with General Vorrsk's battle group." She looked up at him, her grey eyes revealing the emotional weight every other officer, pilot and soldier carried within them—Carth included: defeat.

Carth nodded dismally, taking care to weigh each word he said. "Have our fleet tighten up and call all available fighters to start defending our grids. It will only be a matter of moments before the Sith move on from them and get here." I guess Bastila's Battle Meditation failed, he thought dully.

Almost as if to confirm his dark suspicions, the Sojourn shook.

The Republic's numbers were dropping rapidly. It would only be a matter of time before they lost the space battle above.

Carth turned around, facing every single officer still alive and at his or her posts.

There was hardly anyone left who was unscathed.

"It's been a pleasure serving with all of you," Carth said, as he faced the maw of defeat. The Republic group had found itself thrust between the Sith and the Republic dissidents. "Have all gunners target those enemy cruisers and let's take them down with us, if we have to."

Before the tired Admiral could go on, a new group of signals had emerged, revealing a group decanting from hyperspace.

"Sir!" The female officer cried. "We have new signals!" She turned to face Carth with shock and surprise. "It's the Mandalorians! And they're friendlies!"


The figure in silver and black armour watched the blue swirls revert to streaking stars and then revealed the Galactic Capital. He stood in the command center of his prized Mandalorian warship—one of the few that somehow managed to survive the wrath of Malachor V unscathed, along with the other vessels and cruisers in his motley fleet.

Never been so close to the Galactic Capital, he thought, staring at the beautiful carnage that was being wrought all over the silver gilded planet. We could have had it in mere moments—too bad we're here as allies. He turned to face another armour-clad figure—this one in yellow and silver armour. "Deploy all fighters," came the gruff and battle-hardened voice. "Let's show the Republic whose side we're on. Let the Galaxy remember the might of the Mandalorians!"

"For Mandalore!" Cried Kelborn, the yellow and silver clad Mandalorian, who was Mandalore's second-in-command.

"And get those Jedi Revan sent us to join in," Mandalore added, "I don't want them to sit down and let us do all the fighting."

Kelborn nodded and moved towards another console, relaying his leader's orders.

"Open a channel to the Sojourn," Mandalore said; smiling underneath his mask, "I want Admiral Onasi to be greeted by his rescuers."

The screen in front of Mandalore's view shimmered, revealing a battered and tired Carth Onasi.

"Should have known it was you," Carth greeted.

"It would appear that you need some help there, Republic," Mandalore said, obviously enjoying this and reminding Carth of an old nickname.

Carth grimaced at the nickname. "Yeah, well, this is a bit vain, even for you, Canderous, so knock it off!"

"Revan said the time was right for our resurgence—remember, I'm doing this for Revan, not out of any kind of sympathy," the Mandalorian replied flatly.

"Yeah, well, I never thought I'd say this, but thank the Force for the Mandalorians." Carth paused for a moment, obviously grimacing at the thought of saying it. "We've engaged a group of Republic dissidents—well armed and they're obviously working with the Sith. I need you to engage the Sith--,"

"Whoa, whoa," Canderous replied, bringing a thumb towards his chest, "I'll carry out my own orders. You deal with your little band of rebels—I'll take care of the Sith."

Carth shook his head, annoyed, but welcoming of the Mandalorian's aid. "The Sith are being led by the Leviathan, Canderous," he warned.

Canderous said nothing.

"I thought so," Carth muttered. "We're both outgunned. I've ordered reinforcements, but I don't think they're coming. We're on our own."

"Quiet, Onasi," Canderous replied. "I'm formulating a plan to destroy the Leviathan." The armoured figure scoffed. "Leave it to the Mandalorians to clean up your mess. The Republic couldn't even destroy Malak's flagship. I don't know how you managed to survive this long, Onasi."

"Quit speaking and help us already!"

"Right—I'll have a detachment of fighters aid you. The rest of my fleet is going to engage the Sith."

"Good luck, Canderous," Carth said sincerely.

The Mandalorian grunted and closed the channel. He turned to face his loyal crew of Mandalorians he had managed to find. They had once been scattered, but now they were here, under one banner and ready to die a warrior's death. "Have a squadron of our Basilisks and Revan's Jedi aid the Republic battle group."

He turned back to watch the carnage. They're going to need it. "And deploy everything we've got towards the Sith—I want the Leviathan destroyed and the head of the fool who decided to pick it up from its graveyard."


Author's Notes: Well there you have it: the true beginning of the Battle of Coruscant KOTOR Style. Things are going to heat up big time for our loveable heroes and dastardly villains. On a lighter note: I am aware that these updates are much slower. I am still working on school, finals and trying to complete the rewrite of the ending of Catharsis. On that note, I will be updating Rise of Darth Revan soon enough.