Turning the Tide

Atton sighed in relief as he watched his last victim explode into a fireball of hot gas and dissipate instantly.

AR3 tweeted excitedly as they watched the battle rage on.

"These Sith are getting sloppy," Atton muttered.

AR3 beeped a reply.

"What do you mean it's because of your 'augments' on the fighter?"

AR3 whistled another reply.

Atton growled, "listen Tin-can, if it wasn't for my piloting skills, you'd be a lump of floating slag!"

AR3 let out a long whistle.

"Who are you calling 'sub-par?'"

Before AR3 could reply, scores of crimson lances soared over them.

Atton twisted the yoke, barreling the fighter away from their new foe. Atton gritted his teeth as the fighter shuddered from the impact of several bolts of energy. "I don't know how we're getting out of this," he muttered.

"Cut to your left, I'll take the leader," came a familiar nasally voice.

Atton's eyes opened wide as he heard the voice. Pulling his yoke to port and slamming on the decelerator, he watched the pair of bird-of-prey like fighters shoot over him.

In that instant, a dart shaped Republic fighter shot over Atton, firing pairs of emerald lasers that sheared away the solar panels of one fighter and detonated the fuselage of the other one.

"Good shot!" Atton declared into the open channel.

"After 15 years of war, you tend to pick up a few things," Carth replied.

Atton's jaw fell, wordless at the Admiral who had obviously saved him.

"You still alive there, Atton?"

The Jedi trainee blinked a few times before he spoke into the channel. "Yeah—yeah, I am, thanks to you."

Carth's voice filled with obvious relief. "Good, it'd be a shame if you were killed in the middle of my rescue attempt."

Atton chuckled and found himself actually liking the older man.

"Stand by," Carth spoke, his voice now filled with seriousness. "I've got an incoming bogey—and a flight of Sith fighters."

Atton clenched his jaw. "Copy that, I'm forming up on you right now, Red 15," he spoke crisply.

Seems like the old days during the Mandalorian Wars, Atton thought to himself.

Just like the old days in the Mandalorian Wars, Carth thought.

AR3 whistled a target threat assessment on the bogey.

Atton's eyes lit up. "Jedi courier vessel?"

A few moments later, Carth mumbled the same thing through the channel.

"What's its destination?" Atton asked, tightening his grip on the fighter's yoke.

AR3 threw up a trajectory diagram on the Atton's HUD, revealing the silver, angular vessel's destination.

"That ship's heading for the Krayt," Atton mumbled, realizing that that was the first time he uttered the name of the enemy dissident flagship."

"Could it be a spy or Sith?" Carth asked, his voice filled with concern as the Jedi vessel continued its trajectory.

To answer the Admiral's question, the courier zipped past them, the Sith fighters firing madly at the ship.

"Guess not," Atton murmured.

Both pilots pulled their fighters around, following the Sith fighters and the mysterious courier.

Suddenly a voice crackled on the open channel, "lay down a stream of fire and cover me—I need to board the Krayt and destroy that vessel."

"Dante?" Both men asked incredulously.

"Yeah, it's me—I'm all right," he said, his voice crackling through the channel and minor interference.

They witnessed the group of fighters fire more crimson bolts of energy that careened off the courier.

"But I won't be if someone doesn't get these guys off my back," he said, his voice worrisome.

"All right," Atton replied, as he felt strength and determination fill him.

He watched Carth's fighter fire several rounds into the Sith fighter nearest him and detonate.

The Sith fighters continued undaunted at the courier, hoping to pick off an easy target.

The only drawback was that couriers were designed to be fast, light and hard to hit.

So far, the Jedi vessel had proven its worth and adaptability.

Atton motioned his yoke, slightly adjusting his flight plan as he targeted the nearest Sith fighter. He brought his index finger to caress the hairline trigger, waiting for the right moment his reticule went red.

It went red.

He smiled.

The fighter exploded, showering Atton's fighter with debris of superheated solar panel and fuselage, as he poured through it.

Two down, two to go, he grinned.

The Sith were definitely growing sloppy.

The two Sith fighters spiraled away, leaving the courier to travel unchallenged into the hold of the dissident capital ship.

Carth and Atton moved to intercept the pair of fighters as new energy and strength surged through them.

In a matter of moments, the Sith fighters were nothing but debris and hot gas.

The Republic and Mandalorian fleet had moved to engage the falling Sith numbers.

Carth and Atton moved to engage the Leviathan, the flagship where the Mandalorians had begun concentrating their fire on.

As the pair made their way towards the now battered and single mandible vessel, their sensors lit up with a new group of signals.

AR3 tooted and whistled once more, indicating the group as friendly forces.

Republic reinforcements had finally arrived.

"It's about blasted time," Carth muttered through the open channel, watching as the forces proceeded to pummel the depleted Sith remnant.

Atton could only smile. His eyes shifted towards something that seemed to appear from the belly of the Leviathan, but he couldn't be sure, as the warship tore apart, exploding and sending molten chunks floating everywhere, crashing into a few vessels and catching some unfortunate pilots in the process.


Mandalore looked out at the combat, watching as his forces and Revan's forces doled out harsh punishment against the battered Sith remnants.

"Mandalore," Bralor spoke from the other command vessel, "we've identified a new group of vessels—they're Republic."

Mandalore nodded at the blue figure and then turned back to the battle in front of his cold, steel grey eyes behind the black mask.

"Should we move to intercept?" Kex asked, his voice eager and containing a trace of some malice towards the Republic.

"No, we won't engage the Republic—they're our allies, Kex. You'd do well to remember that." He balled a fist. Fool, there is plenty honour to gain in this battle already—don't let your pride get in the way of that. The wars occurred a long time ago.

The blue-clad Mandalorian grunted, tapping the keys and undoubtedly grumbling under his breath.

Mandalore smiled. "Have all of our vessels converge on the Leviathan—it's time to return the relic to its dark past."

"For Mandalore!" A young Mandalorian screamed, followed by others carrying the chant.

He smirked, watching as his Basilisk fighters and Jedi fighters converged on the failing Sith assault, beating them into submission and turning them into a battered mass.

Mandalore felt his strength and pride rise as he watched the destruction of several Sith cruisers.

The destroyers continued to hammer out energy, claiming a few fighters here and there, but obviously failing against the renewed might of the Clans and the bolstered Republic battle group.

This would be a day long remembered.

He took special interest in noting that his flagship, the Might of Ordo, led the assault, watching as the Leviathan lost its lower mandible, causing the Mandalorian's smirk to broaden into a smile as he remembered Malak.

Malak's former flagship's maw had lost its lower jaw as well.

Rivulets of explosions coursed along the massive Interdictor, leading all the way to the bridge as it exploded in a brilliant array of light and molten debris.

In a matter of moments, most of the Sith forces had crumbled under the might of the Clans.

This was truly going to be a day long remembered.


Visas grunted from the kick that sent her crashing into a wall. She managed to regain her senses quickly, even as sharp pain exploded in the back of her head, ducking and hearing the sizzling sound of molten durasteel from the crimson lightsaber Torn drove into the wall, where she had been but moments before.

The Revanite removed his lightsaber, only to gasp as he was kicked in the stomach and sent back.

Visas rose, twirling her lightsaber and aligning it adjacently from her hips.

The clone eyed her intently. "Your skills are to be commended," he spoke approvingly.

Visas found herself panting as she continued to draw more heavily on the Force, relying on it to guide her hand. She had never had the opportunity to face Revan and even if she had the desire to, she knew that facing the shell of the former Dark Lord was chance enough to know that she would never stand a chance against the full might of the human.

The figure scowled behind the mask when he realized she wouldn't speak. He thrust his blade out at her, catching her silver blade.

She continued to block his dazzling flurries, swinging both sides of her lightsaber to ensure the Sith never struck her.

He angled his lightsaber when he lunged, allowing Visas to guide it around and attempt to behead him. He smiled as she managed to bring it around to her right shoulder. He lunged closer and scored a minor hit on her shoulder, grazing her arm.

Visas gasped while she strafed back, bringing her left arm to her right shoulder. She breathed sharply as she felt the searing heat, even though it was a minor wound.

Torn brought his lightsaber up, circling her as if she were nothing more than sport to him.

Visas continued to circle him, ensuring he wouldn't get behind her guard or have her back turned to him. He was powerful—even for a shard of Revan.

Torn lunged again, hoping to score a critical strike, even as the Miraluka turned and guided his blade away from her.

She pirouetted around him, thrusting out with the other end of her blade and slicing through nothing but air.

Torn leapt over her, twisting his body so he could behead her.

She dove from him, hearing the thrumming of his lightsaber near her ear as she rolled away and rose, turning to face him again.

He landed on both feet, facing her. He growled. No one had ever stood against him for this long.

Then again, he never had to fight anyone by himself.

Brother, what's taking you so long? He sent through the telepathic link.

These two are far more stronger and resourceful than I had expected, Brother, Horn replied a few moments later.

Torn frowned behind his mask. He could feel the emotions bubbling on the surface of his twin and knew that these fights had gone on for far longer than either had expected.

Seizing his lapse, Visas struck, whirring her blade around her, forming an impenetrable barrier of lacerating energy, while she continued flurrying relentlessly at the Sith.

Torn found himself hard-pressed for a moment, raising his blade to block her deft movements. He shifted his head away from the jutting end of her lightsaber, narrowly evading death.

Both Jedi let out primal growls as their blades continued to clash. They continued to move towards the bow of the Krayt, heading towards the bridge.

They continued their rampage unchecked, leaving scores of molten floor panels or wall surfaces.

Visas continued to tire out, feeling her energy being sapped quickly as Torn continued to meet her blade for blade.

The assassin appeared not to be bothered in the slightest, though the Miraluka knew better.

Taking a large step back, Torn gathered all of his strength and swung his lightsaber over his head, hoping to break her defences in a power attack.

Feeling his movements shift in the Force, she took a step back, positioning one silver shaft towards him and placing both of her hands closer to the furthest side of her hilt.

Torn failed to notice the feint and swung.

Visas brought the less stable shaft of energy to her left side, guiding the crimson blade towards her. She sidestepped and with the flick of a finger, deactivated the silver shaft of energy closest to her body and completed her circle, slashing around her.

Torn gasped as he felt a quick, sharp pain course along the back of his right rib cage to his left. He watched a fine mist of blood spray away before he fell to the ground, in two pieces.

Visas deactivated her blade, bending down and resting her elbows on her thighs as she breathed heavily.


Brother! Horn screamed, as he felt a crushing void weigh down on him.

Jolee and Frreral continued their assaults on the assassin, both of their energy blades clashing against the assassin's sole blade.

Horn continued to scream, as his blades met theirs. In his pain, he sent the pair flying back, as control panels around him shattered and sparked. He still continued to scream as the pain overwhelmed him.

Jolee rose, shaking his head. That was when he felt it—the profound void that accompanied him. He exhaled deeply. He knew Visas had somehow managed to kill the other one, which somehow caused this one to move all over the place screaming in pain.

Frreral rose, bringing a large wookiee paw to his head. "Feels like a ronto paraded on me," he muttered.

"Yeah, and it's coming from him," Jolee said, pointing his emerald blade towards the creature.

Horn continued to walk around in circles, ignoring the pair of Jedi that began to rise, as he screamed out for his brother. "Where are you? I can't feel you!" He dropped his lightsaber, the energy receding back into the clattering hilt as it rolled across the floor.

"What's going on?" Frreral asked the older Jedi, in a tone very much lower than a normal wookiee would have asked.

Jolee brought his lightsaber up, and shifted his face somewhat closer to the wookiee. "I don't know—but I think it's got something to do with the Revan clone that Visas had to fight."

Frreral looked at the Jedi Master. "She killed him?"

"Seems like it," he said, his tone filled with pride and more respect for the Miraluka and her skills.

Horn brought his hands to his head, near the temples and put pressure on it as he screamed out in pain and for his brother who didn't reply.

Jolee felt the Force gather around the now unstable assassin. "I think we better make this quick before he points the finger at us."

Horn stopped and removed his mask, revealing the young, hate-filled face that was Revan. His piercing blue eyes, however, belied the bewildered feelings and crazed feelings he now harboured. "You," he spat, "somehow you are to blame!"

"I think we're too late," Jolee muttered.

Both Jedi readied their blades.


Dante continued his wobbly trajectory while his vessel's shields continued to absorb every stray blast that came his way. Almost there, he muttered in his mind, as the klaxons blared in the background, signifying minor hull breaches, broken panels and anything else that continued to fall apart under the energy blasts.

Almost there.

His hands struggled to hold the controls while his eyes darted all over the control panels, watching a new group of flashing signals that sprung up from all over the board. Oh she's not going to last… He shook his head and moved one hand away from the yoke and towards the throttle, shoving it forward, only to be rewarded with the sputtering whine of the engines as they released more energy.

Structural integrity alarms began to blare, signaling that the engines' protests were beginning to take notice.

The courier's engines were expelling so much energy in its propulsion that it threatened to fly past the actual courier vessel.

His eyes lit up with the promise of the growing size of the bay doors in front of him. Someone had left it open and he couldn't help but smile.

It was short-lived, however, for the controls exploded and a shower of sparks flew all over him, causing the Jedi to bring his hands to cover his face in an attempt to protect himself.

The courier, however, continued its trajectory, both from the pull of the capital ship's gravity and the engines that continued to groan as they began to tear apart under the strain.

Dante found himself being thrown about all over, as the ship crashed into the hangar bay, sliding and hitting the crates and other ships still docked there.

While his body continued to feel like it were a ball of flimsiplast, his hands struggled to fly over the controls in the hopes of shutting down the engines.

Sith officers ran all about the deck, hoping not to be crushed under the impact of the ship or debris that flew all over the hangar.

Dante slammed his fist into a control panel and ignored the pain that coursed over his hand as he heard the engines shut down in an emergency override.

He sat there for a few moments, as the ship lay in a tangled mess throughout the hangar bay, with knocked over supply crates, weapons canisters and Sith vessels knocked around.

His head ached and he slumped in his chair, thankful the crash webbing had saved his life. "They sure don't make them like they used to," he muttered, as a few sparks flew here and there.

Groaning, he unbuckled himself and rose, his hands eagerly supporting him on whatever seemed strong enough to support his weight.

Shaking himself out of what he felt was the worst of it; Dante moved his hands to produce a lightsaber.

He felt nothing where his lightsaber would have been and only when his gaze met the empty holster did he remember that he had lost it in the confrontation with that relatively strong Sith. "Oh, for the love of…"

He was cut off as he heard the mechanical whines of energy weapons being discharged.

His eyes went wide, remembering where he was.

He fumbled for his blaster, hoping it would prove to be more than enough to hold the Sith soldiers at bay. He was thankful that he at least had something to defend himself with. He was far more grateful it was a Mandalorian weapon in the least. Withdrawing the pistol, Dante brought it up, using his right hand to steady his left as he continued to make his way to the exit.

"I'm never going to do that again," he muttered. "Next time, I'm getting Atton to pilot this heap of junk."

The sounds of blasterfire could be heard again as it lanced into the twisted hull of the vessel.

"What I wouldn't give for a lightsaber right about now," he muttered again, this time taking a firm grip on his blaster as he looked for an opening.

He could smell the tangy scent of scrubbed air. There was a hole or leak in the ship to let him know that there was some way off the vessel. He could only hope he could get to it in time.

It would only be a short time span before the Sith lobbed grenades.

He threw some empty containers around and found the hatch of the ship.

It was right above him.

The hull sputtered with the blasts of energy hitting it. A faint orange blur was starting to form around the hull where he stood.

He grimaced. "Oh not good." He looked up, hoping to find some form of latch he could shoot out.

His eyes continued to search for it as more concentrated energy fire began to build up on the hull.

The door seemed to be an entire square with only a circular lock emplaced on the center of it.

The only problem was that the lock seemed to be imbedded within the door.

"A lightsaber would be good right about now," he murmured again, as his eyes shifted back to the faint orange blur that began to grow far more brighter.

He looked for a grenade, or anything that would help him blast the lock.

To his surprise, he found three plasma grenades.

Not exactly your standard way of breaking out, but hopefully this will do, he thought ruefully as he picked up two and tucked them into his belt, while he struggled to pile the crates on top of one another.

With Force-augmented strength, he managed to pile the crates as high as he could towards the door, hoping that this farfetched plan of his would work. His eyes shifted to the orange blow.

Somehow, they were coming through.

He ignored the beads of sweat that began to form on his brow and under his armpits, as he charged the third and placed it as close to the hatch as possible.

Now I get to see if I fry or find freedom. He turned and raced towards the cockpit and ducked under his chair, as the grenade was going to go critical in under ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six, he couldn't help but peak at the latch.

Five.

Four, his eyes shifted to the control board and back to the door.

Three. His eyes went wide. Where are the fuel pods and the reactor?

Two.

Oh Sithspit.

One.

The grenade went off, forming a spherical red haze, as electrical systems fried and the crates melted under the heat.

To his surprise, the explosion had been minimal.

He rose and moved towards the area, extending his hand and throwing away the molten slag of crates and components. He looked up and saw a neat hole of molten metal. Dante couldn't help but smirk at the thought of his imminent freedom.

He glanced at the growing orange glow and he knew that it would any second before they cut through.

He looked up and grabbed his pistol in his left hand and a grenade in his right.

Here goes nothing.

He leapt out of the hole, as the melting hole opened wide. He twisted his body and thumbed the switch of the grenade, and threw it towards the group of Sith that was attempting to cut through the ship.


Author's Notes: And now things are reaching its boiling point. I've got a few more chapters left for this, and I'd like to take the time and thank you all for being patient with me, thus far. Next up, we'll see Dante and Visas reunite, Frreral and Jolee duke it out with Horn and finally, what happens to the annoying General Erik Scrimshaw...