Plaz-myu got up a couple of hours later; Puath had already left to one of her many classes. The sofa was more comfortable than his own bed.
Muscular memory kicked in and he moved a wrist to his mouth, realizing he did not have his equipment. He yawned, stretched, and decided to saunter back to the Grey Condor. He had not checked in with the Major for three days; and now, with the camping trip, there was much work to be done.
As he crossed the palace, Plaz-my mentally organized a list of equipment they would need for the trip. A camping tent, two fishing rods, decent fishing lines; flashlights, electric lanterns, holocameras, emergency rations, a digital GPS and, of course, a map of the wilderness.
The Grey Condor welcomed him by opening up the hatch and sliding down the ramp.
"Master Plasma!" C9-N2 cried. "It is great to see you! The Major has been trying to contact you for ages!"
"I will apologize to him," Plasma said dismissively. "I left the comm in my room. Is he around here?"
"He left the ship two nights ago and hasn't returned!" The droid flapped his robotic arms around, screeching with a worrisome robot voice.
Plasma growled and rushed to the ship's main computer, interrupting C9's plead that they had repeatedly tried to call him but his communicator seemed to be offline. The Sith input Bradin's commlink frequency and called him.
"Major, come in." There was no response. "MAJOR, DO YOU COPY?!"
Plasma bellowed into the microphone, and only static answered back. Leaning over the console, head lowered, he whispered aggressively at the droid. He wanted to know everything that had happened before the Major left the ship.
"Oh… Oh, ah, yes; the major spent his days monitoring the radar, as he had informed you he would. Roughly forty hours ago, he detected the arrival of the most suspicious vessel. Shortly after our arrival," C9 added quickly. "Coincidentally, just after that, our communication systems seemed to have become defective.
"It took the highly skilled Major and the not-so-skilled R9-B9 an entire day to fix it. Our communications had been jammed, according to Master Bradin. Naturally, he attempted to contact you several times, without success. He correctly assumed you were not in possession of your equipment, and he did not wish to disturb your time with Tiny Master Puath, thus he left alone to investigate the ship and its crew."
Plasma listened to everything attentively; as the droid spoke, a timeline formed in his mind, where he visualized everything that had transpired since his arrival. He did not remember seeing anything suspicious but remembered the red light on his communicator and that fleeting sense of dread – and how he had dismissed them both. He took a deep breath.
"Prepare the ship." Plasma said. "I'm taking my sister to a special trip tomorrow. I will find the Major today. Keep the security systems in high priority mode. The turrets will be on sentinel mode."
Plasma rushed back into the castle, sprinting ferociously across the docks and through the royal gardens. Midway to his room, he met a pair of sentinels patrolling the corridor and spoke to them in a hushed tone.
"I need to speak with your commander. Now!"
The armored guards glanced at each other hesitantly. They had been hired by the king, and Plasma, despite being a Sith, had no authority over them. One of them, wisely, broke protocol and handed Plasma his own personal communicator.
"This is Darth Plasma," he whispered into the device. "There is an emergency. Do I speak with the commander?"
"What the hell happened to Corporal Lance?" an aggressive voice responded.
"It doesn't matter!" the Sith growled. "A member of my crew has disappeared within the property and has gone radio silent. I need you to lockdown in the premises immediately."
"Listen, kid," said the surly voice. "You don't get to boss around here—"
"You listen!" Plasma screamed. "A Major of the Imperial Navy has disappeared under your watch. Do you wish to incur the wrath of a Sith Lord as well?!"
There was no response, and Plasma continued.
"Then do as I command! No one goes in, no one goes out. Activate the turrets and set up a no-fly zone over the castle. Get your best men and search every centimeter of the property, every locker, every room, every compartment."
Darth Plasma tossed the communicator back to Corporal Lance and ran with determination. He headed for the main security room, which contained a surveillance center within a small room, at the end of the southernmost corridor on the ground level.
The Sith Lord decided to retrieve his lightsaber and armor first. If his instincts were right, he would need them. He charged through the wide corridors of the castle; as he took a turn before reaching the elevator, he unexpectedly bumped into little Puath, who was accompanied by an old, wise-looking human. Attempting to disguise his accelerated respiration, Plasma knelt before his sister and kissed her on the nose.
"Study hard, little kitten!" he said. "I'm fishing the arrangements for our trip; my ship was a mess!"
"I will!" she smiled. "I've asked mister Lanka to teach me Cathar History today!"
"That's amazing!" Plasma exclaimed. "Will you teach me everything you learned later?"
She nodded and giggled, pecking him on the cheek.
Plasma's plan to locate Major Bradin was simple: security cameras. Inside that castle there were more than six thousand holocameras, recording and storing the footage in eight blocks of mainframe. Plasma banged on the door, and it slid open.
He barged in aggressively, shoving a technician to the side, barking orders, and ignoring a pair of blaster rifles pointed at his back. He sat at a computer terminal, mounted just below a wall entirely covered with monitors.
"I need footages from two nights ago. Look for a man in black, Imperial uniform!"
The workers exchanged puzzled glances; the silence interrupted by a soft beeping.
"With all due respect," an officer said. "Who the hell are you?"
"An imperial officer is missing!" Plasma bellowed. "Give me eyes on him now!"
"Surveillance is performed by an outsourced company," a woman said from behind Plasma. "They don't share anything with us."
She pulled up a chair and sat beside Plasma. She wore the standard orange-and-grey jumpsuit of a technician. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and, in a moment, the hundreds of screens on the wall blinked with the footage from dozens of different cameras.
"We'll need to know where to look, sir," she said. "If we don't narrow it down, we'll waste our whole lives here."
"Let's retrace his steps," Plasma said. "The docking bays, look for my—the Imperial ship."
A click and a beep; the image feed appeared on the screen in front of them. It was daytime; nothing happened.
"Fast forward…" Plasma said, his eyes scanning the screen thoroughly. "He left the ship two nights ago; start from sundown."
The woman accelerated the recording and resumed it as soon as Major Bradin had left the Grey Condor, clad in his Imperial uniform. He spoke something into the communicator then walked hurriedly and vanished off-screen. The technician worked fast, and shortly after there was a far-away footage from one of the garden's gazebos in which the tiny figure of Bradin was visible entering the palace through a service door.
"That door is for employees only," the woman said. "There aren't many cameras there, just one in the waste disposal area; stand by…"
Another image popped on-screen, a glimpse of Bradin's boots disappearing around the corner. She accessed another file and found the Major rushing across the corridor, now with his blaster pistol in hand. He shoulder-charged the doors to the emergency staircase and vanished again. The technician quickly pulled up additional footage of every floor's emergency stair exits. The Major emerged on the seventh floor. He pointed his gun at something and fired three times.
Plasma jumped from his seat. The footage showed Bradin punching and kicking, seemingly, thin air. His body suddenly hovered and he was hurled across the entire corridor like a ragdoll onto a large, dim lit room.
"That's the old ballroom, on the northernmost—"
When she looked, Plasma was already gone.
Even propelled by the Force, Plasma had never run that fast before. In a few minutes, he leapt through twenty-six flights of stairs, erupting at the exact same spot where Bradin had fought; there were blaster marks on the wall and on the carpet. Down the hall, he found the doors to the old ballroom. He looked around with palpable desperation, activating the flashlight on his breastplate.
The room seemed to have been transformed into a deposit; there were cylinders and crates piled up around, and net-covered furniture. The floor had a thick layer of dust, disturbed only by two pairs of hurried footprints. The room was covered in burnt marks, spread throughout the ceiling, walls and floor.
In that room, Plasma felt the living essence of the major, faint and fleeting.
"MAJOR?!" he bellowed.
A soft beeping caught his senses, interrupting the morbid silence. Under a collection of debris and broken masonry, lay Major Bradin Zhatt. Scattered about him a dozen empty kolto injectors. His left arm had been severed from the shoulder by a clean, cauterized cut, and there was a long, molten laceration across his chest. Plasma instantly recognized the lightsaber wounds.
"Major, I'm here!" Plasma cried, huffing, and breathing heavily. Waving a hand, he removed the rubble off him, just like Komm'ett had done to him all those years ago, rescuing the little boy from a heap of garbage. At that moment, Plasma's heart sank, and he felt like that same little boy, scared and alone in the dark.
Bradin Zhatt could barely breathe; his eyes twitched as he tried to keep them open. Whatever strength he had he had mustered to remain alive until that moment. Only his eyeballs moved upwards to meet Plasma's, and the Cathar felt a gentle smile fill his soul. With a final effort, before drawing his last breath, he muttered three words:
"Assassin… for you."
Carrying Bradin in his arms, Plasma marched across the entire castle. His face had contorted into a mixture of mortal agony and incapacitating sadness, framed by the blackened veins that began slowly returning to his skin. His heart had been shattered; the first true friend he had had perished, and it was his fault.
He returned to the ship, where he could lay the major to his well-deserved eternal rest; the corpse lay on his bed as C9-N2 readied a carbonite skiff.
"See if the medical droids can re-attach his arm, C9, please…" his voice faltered. Plasma pulled a chair and sat by the Major, and there he stayed for a while.
Unbeknownst to him, the sun had risen again outside, painting the sky a pallid gold. King Kjutty Kal, accompanied by his royal guard, stood outside the ship. Plasma snarled, got up and went to meet him. He stomped out of the Condor. Furious rage oozed off his eyes, glowing again in crimson blood.
"I'll say this only once," Plasma muttered harshly, staring at the man an inch from his face. "I am leaving this planet and I am taking my sister with me."
"Plaz-myu, what do you mean?" Kal chuckled nervously, stepping away, slipping between the shoulders of his guards. Plasma raised his fist and, with the Force, yanked the man, by the wrist, back to where he stood, in front of him. The man called for his guards, but they remained hesitant, shuffling their gear on their hands.
"It is Lord Plasma," he growled. "And I have been very patient with you; I have been tolerant. Now, my friend is dead. A decorated Major of the Empire has been murdered in your property! And, by the looks of it, it seems you are partly to the blame."
"What are you even talking about?!" the King shouted.
"YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH WHEN A DARTH OF THE EMPIRE SPEAKS!" Plasma bellowed at his face, baring his fangs and rage at him. The guards subtly moved further away and lowered their weapons. "When Puath arrives, you will say nothing," he continued. "You'll wish her a good trip, and we will leave this planet. Is that understood?"
"P-please, Plasma, we can—" Kjuty stuttered. "We can reach an agreement…"
"I am Sith and you will address me as My Lord!"
Kal gasped for air as an invisible hand slowly squeezed his throat. The guards cocked their rifles, mounting them against their shoulders, hoping they would not have to squeeze the trigger. They sighed in relief behind their full helmets when Plasma released the King.
"Compose yourself, your majesty," Plasma said sarcastically, adjusting the king's clothes. "The princess approaches."
Kjuty, teary-eyed and sweaty, muffled a couple of coughs as the Queen approached with Dandra Medd. They both smiled at the men, and Dandra hopped to Plasma's side. Before she could say anything, the Sith cornered her with unexpected aggression.
"And where have you been, Jedi?" Plasma asked dryly.
"What's wrong, Plaz-myu?" she answered, looking at him. She tried to touch his shoulder, but Plasma slapped her hand away.
"Be thankful that my sister is coming," Plasma growled. "Or I would be standing over your corpses. You think I don't know that you've brought a little Jedi assassin here to kill me?!"
"Assassin?! Are you mad, Plaz-myu?" Dandra moved over, standing in front of the king. "What happened to that sweet boy who asked for help and cried over the memories of his sisters?"
"Don't pretend to know me!" Plasma pointed a finger at her face. "And wash your lying mouth before you speak of my sisters!"
Tension grew rapidly, as if electricity crackled in the air around them. The Force became heavy, and Dandra could taste the bitter flavor of the murderous intent oozing from the Sith Lord. She rested a hand on her lightsaber hilt. They stared down at each other in silence for a moment.
Perhaps for the first time in her life, Dandra Medd felt fear. She had learned that the Sith, while dangerous, were simple creatures. They were moved by power, by greed, or by ego. Darth Plasma, however, burned with tremendous passion and purpose; a core objective drove his ambition, and that made him extremely dangerous – and, worse, unpredictable.
"I had come bearing good news about Myat," Dandra said, staring into his eyes. "But how would you believe me now?"
Plasma groaned softly under his breath and glared deeply into Dandra's eyes, hand shaking an inch from the lightsaber hilt. It was then when he saw little Puath clumsily running and hopping towards them, carrying a backpack, and pulling a large, hovering chest behind her, her arm wrapped around a plushy vinecat. She seemed to be running in front of her legs, how excited she was.
Plasma's rage instantly quelled down the moment he saw Puath, and his furry face slowly morphed into a tender, smiley look. Appalled, Dandra stared at the Sith.
Darth Plasma walked towards his sister, opening his arms, kneeling down, and waiting for the little Cathar to jump into them. Puath released her luggage and hopped along the pathway, laughing innocently, until at last she leapt onto her brother's arms.
But she never arrived.
Little Puath stopped midair, floating confusedly. Plasma leaned forward, reaching out to her. She gave Plasma a last pleading look before bolting through the air backwards, into the hands of one of the Royal Guardsmen in golden armor. He tossed his helmet on the ground, revealing a white-skinned Human face, painted with a perverse, sadistic smile.
A blue lightsaber blade went through the child's back, protruding from her heart.
Darth Plasma jumped onto his feet and charged as fast as he could, bellowing with the full might of his Cathar lineage, his savage ancestry boiling his blood. The guards did nothing. The king and queen did nothing. The Jedi did nothing. He did nothing. His life, his destiny and his joy had been yanked from his clamoring hands, and he lay there, powerless, like a scared little boy in the dark.
The assassin hurled Puath's body at the Sith. It was only then when the guards opened fire at the killer, but the skilled Jedi deflected every single bolt, twirling the blue lightsaber about him. With a Force shockwave, he knocked the guards down.
"This is a message from the Jedi Order to a broken man!" the assassin shouted.
Plasma caught Puath in his arms and went down on his knees, clutching the corpse closely, and tightly; his body trembled in pain, in indescribable anguish as his heart bled inside his chest. He let out the mightiest roar of despair as he squeezed the remains of the child with his arms against his chest, against his heart. Puath was already dead, her lifeless, vitreous eyes staring up at her brother's face. There would be no goodbyes.
His screech of endless agony reverberated throughout the fortress, and a fury-soaked Force wave that erupted from his body caused the entire ground to quake and break. The landing pad rattled, and the walls cracked. He panted loudly, snarling and drooling, like a vicious, cornered beast, glaring at the assassin.
"The next corpse you'll hold," the Jedi assassin screamed. "Will be Myat's!"
The guards finally stood up, mustering their courage and their rifles, pointing them at the assassin. King Kjuty Kal and Queen Tyana were terrified, and hid behind Dandra Medd – who, at that point, still hesitated in unsheathing her own lightsaber.
"The Jedi is mine!" Plasma screamed.
"Killing a broken man," the Jedi said tauntingly. "Will bring me no honor."
Plasma carefully lay his sister on the ground, closing her eyes with two delicate fingers. He looked up and started pacing forward.
"You murdered an innocent child," he spoke with surprising calm and restraint. "You have no idea what you have unleashed upon yourself. Now you face a Darth of the Empire."
As Plasma approached, the Jedi paced backwards, swinging the lightsaber around his body. His stance was that of the fourth form of lightsaber combat: Ataru, the acrobatic, aggressive style.
"The Jedi Order has been watching you, Plaz-myu," the Jedi taunted. "Myat is in our custody, and if you—"
Red hot pain burned across the Jedi's face as a powerful, merciless strike hit his nose. A punch hit him! It felt as though he had blinked and the Sith had instantly crossed the fifteen meters between them. Blood gushed from his broken nose and the Jedi stumbled backwards.
Before the Jedi could regain his balance, Plasma's enraged fist struck again, and the assassin felt two teeth loose inside his mouth. He spit them out with bloodied saliva. Dumbfounded and shocked, the Jedi looked at the Darth before him; Plasma panted and drooled with raw fury, his contorted, twisted face growing darker and more corrupted by the second. His big, scarlet eyes were surrounded by a depraved web of thin, blackened purple veins that had grown to cover his entire face, creating a forest of furless patches.
Plasma continued to advance; he said nothing. His eyes were locked onto the assassin, his prey, but the Sith had not yet drawn his lightsaber.
The Jedi could have died, and he would not have even noticed. He had not been briefed on Darth Plasma's full capabilities. True fear took over his heart as the Cathar moved again. The Jedi outstretched his hands, releasing a powerful wave of Force, which pushed Plasma a couple of meters back.
It gave the Jedi enough time to run.
The assassin vaulted over the walls, dashing towards a nearby forest. Plasma roared loudly as he, too, leaped over the walls, following the assassin with an unnatural speed. Under a primal rage, his instincts seemed to have taken control of him, as he dashed through the woods, eyes locked onto the golden armor through the foliage.
The Jedi occasionally glanced back over his shoulder. When desperation, and exhaustion, gripped him, he suddenly halted and turned to his chaser, surprising him with two blaster shots. Plasma dodged one, but the other hit him on the chest; the durasteel and cortosis-weave protected him, but still the shot felt like a rancor blow against his ribs. It would not deter him, though.
Plasma cleared through a couple of trees and plummeted himself forward, twelve meters across the air, like a pouncing vine cat over the assassin.
With his claws out, Plasma slashed at his target's face; the Jedi avoided the strike ducking at the last moment. Wooden splinters fluttered about them. Plasma attacked two more times, but the Jedi used a thick tree trunk as cover. The Sith growled and yanked the tree skyward with a sudden burst of Force.
At that instant, the Jedi ignited his lightsaber and thrusted it forward; Plasma side-stepped with precision and advanced one more step, carving three bloody wounds into the assassin's face, from chin to forehead. The Cathar claws dripped red, and the Jedi felt the warm liquid soaking his skin.
Seeing the Jedi pacing backwards, blinking erratically, and cleaning the blood with his forearm, Plasma pressed a small button on his bracelet; then he charged.
Commotion erupted at the palace. The King frothed in agony and rage, while the queen wailed over Puath's corpse. The Royal Guardsmen and the mercenary army scurried around in a frenzy, calling in speeders and recon ships, and issuing orders into holocomms. Above them, a massive, ominous shadow blanketed the sun. The unmistakable shape of a Harrower-class Imperial Battle Cruiser loomed over the palace.
"King Kal!" Dandra Medd shouted. "Call back your ships and go back inside the castle!"
"Sir!" a soldier abruptly called. "The blockade has been destroyed! The Empire is intercepting our signals, and no ship is allowed to enter or leave the planet. What are your orders?"
"Your Majesty," the royal commander called from behind the king, looking up at the sky. "There is a small fleet inbound to the surface. We cannot face them; I'm calling off my men."
"That's treason!" the King shouted. "What do I pay you for, commander?!"
"No amount of loyalty will make me fight the Imperial Navy, sir," the commander responded calmly.
"Jedi!" the king cried, turning to Dandra. "You must contact the Republic and request reinforcements immediately!"
"The Republic would never reach us in time, Your Majesty," she said calmly. "And we cannot risk an act of war against the Empire."
"If the Republic wants my allegiance, it will have to send its Navy immediately!"
"Sir, a highly decorated Imperial Officer and the sister of a Sith Lord were murdered on your property." She shook her head. "Imperial law takes precedence. I'm afraid there is nothing I can do."
The King, wide-mouthed, stared at the Jedi, fear and anger growing. Dandra Medd put a hand on the King's shoulder and forced a smile at him.
"I'm going to find Plasma," Dandra said. "Keep your people safe. And, if there is any sense left in you, do not take Puath away."
Plasma vaulted over a huge oak trunk that had been tossed at him. He landed behind the Jedi, who turned over on his ankles and arched the blue blade at the Sith, who dodged it with ease. The assassin continued attacking, pushing forward as he struck repeatedly with the lightsaber, but was unable to connect any blows. Plasma calmly and methodically deflected every attack, like a predator toying with its prey.
Darth Plasma suddenly sidestepped and feinted a punch; the Jedi tried to parry it. The Cathar quickly leaned forward and headbutted the already broken nose of his opponent. He tumbled backwards, dazed. He waved his sword blindly as he regained his senses. He could hear the buzzing hum of the Sith's lightsaber approaching.
"Are you what the Jedi could find to murder a little girl?" Plasma scoffed.
Lord Plasma advanced again, now with a lower stance. He zigzagged a couple of times and feinted once more, predicting that his opponent would believe to be prepared for it, but shifting his weight at the last moment, landing a perfect elbow strike against the man's jaw.
Plasma did not stop. He kept advancing, pushing the assassin against a tree. Each strike empowered by pure rage and the Force; it felt that every time a blow landed, the forest trembled with pain around them. Pummeling the killer of his sister, Plasma slobbered with fury and joy, faster and faster.
With his arms up, the assassin attempted to defend himself, blinded by pain and blood. He heard the cracks of his bones under the Sith Lord's rage. He breathed with effort and could barely keep himself standing up. Plasma halted his attack, and circled around him. He smirked softly, savoring the assassin's growing terror.
"You will not die, Jedi," Plasma declared, calmly. "You belong to me now."
"You are bold," the Jedi muttered with a broken voice. "But you know nothing…"
"You will suffer as I have suffered," Plasma interrupted him, holding his face. "Who sent you? Who wanted my sister dead?"
The Jedi grinned momentarily, as if he had anticipated that question.
"Kardj'el is my master," the assassin whispered, savoring Plasma's reaction. "The man who owns Myat now. You are powerless. No matter what you do, you will never-ever-rescue Myat."
Plasma's heart, overwhelmed with rage, skipped a beat. His respiration became hotter and dense as he stared into the void.
Master Kardj'el, the fated Jedi Master that Komm'ett had warned him about; and the man that Dandra spoke of with affection. It all made sense: to hurt Komm'ett, this Jedi master would first harm her apprentice—by murdering an innocent child. That is why this Jedi had not taken Puath with him; it all had been perversely premeditated. The Jedi knew Plasma would find Puath, and they waited years only to punish him.
The image of Puath's corpse flashed in his mind, and a tear rolled down his eye.
When his conscience returned, he saw before him the Jedi assassin holding the blue lightsaber above his head, cackling manically.
"You are unworthy of your title!" he said. "Now, bow—"
The Jedi choked and gasped. He could no longer feel his muscles, he could not move his body, and he could not breathe. Plasma stared deeply into the man's soul, with a pair of incandescent red eyes. Around them, the Jedi noted that trees, stones, and dirt hovered in the air, floating in stasis, orbiting them.
"I said you would know the meaning of terror," Plasma said calmly, whispering as the powerful, constricting Force held the assassin motionless. "What do you think my sister felt, before she died? Seeing me, her brother, do nothing!"
The assassin shivered, struggling futilely. His eyes screamed for mercy while his face bloated in purple.
"My sister dying. Is that what I had to see?" Plasma muttered, his voice faltering. "Because I had to suffer?"
To the best of his efforts, the paralyzed Jedi nodded rapidly. Slowly and subtly, perhaps even unconsciously, the Sith's lightsaber slipped into his palm.
"She was only a child. You don't know what I've been through to find her, to hold her again, and to tell her that our father would not hurt her ever again; that her big brother would protect her forever, that we would be a family again… And the Jedi took all that away from me!"
In an abrupt movement, Plasma brought his lightsaber upwards, its red blade igniting along the way. After a loud buzz, the Jedi's left arm fell on the ground with a thud; there was a silent scream.
"You killed my friend, you murdered my sister, and you threatened Myat with slavery, torture, and death!" Plasma shouted. "And for what?!"
With another strike, the other arm fluttered away. Plasma released his opponent, so he could feel pain once more. The Jedi assassin fell to the ground, kicking himself away, his strength fueled by sheer horror.
"With a stroke of a sword, you took my life from me." Plasma stomped over the man, pointing the lightsaber at his face. "I will make you suffer, Jedi. You will beg for death, and I will deny it, one thousand times; and when your spirit has been shattered, and your will has been broken, you will beg again, and I will deny it again! Your life belongs to me, and I will parade you across the Empire!"
"W-wait!" the Jedi shouted with whatever strength he had left. "I'm not a Jedi, I'm not a Jedi! Forgive me! I'll tell you everything; it was Komm'ett who sent me—!"
"Enough with your lies, Jedi!" Plasma summoned the Jedi's own lightsaber to his hand and activated its blue blade. Then, lifting the man by the throat with a tight Force choke, the enraged Sith Lord stepped forward and slowly…
Very, very slowly…
…inserted the blue blade into the Jedi's stomach. With precision and patience, he slid the blade through his muscles and organs. His enemy grunting in silence, spurting tears from his eyes, sweat from his skin and blood from his mouth. With surgical precision, Darth Plasma melted the Jedi's lower spine, and thrusted the blade further until it protruded from his back, like a sculptor producing their masterpiece.
There the blade stayed, locked in place, crackling inside the man's body. Plasma released the assassin's throat, tasting the pure agony that oozed from the Jedi's scream of pain.
Unknowingly to them, Dandra Medd remained hidden atop her speeder, covering her mouth in horror at the sight of a half-living Jedi impaled by his own weapon, kept alive by the corrupted Living Force.
Plasma emerged from the forest, returning to the landing pad, a hovering, half-living Jedi followed behind him. The Sith Lord tore down the walls with a slow gesture and marched towards his ship.
The King intercepted Plasma, opening his arms with a smile, but Plasma shoved him away. The young Cathar knelt by Puath and picked up her body. Just before he disappeared inside his ship, he spoke into the communicator.
"Admiral Juna, commence orbital bombardment." He cast a last glance towards the King. "Scorch the atmosphere. Obliterate the surface. In honor of Major Bradin Zhatt and Puath Puhrr."
"As you command, My Lord."
The Harrower-class Imperial Destroyer moved slowly in orbit, unveiling the fiery remains of the Corellian Interplanetary Resorts blockade fleet. From underneath the dreadnought protruded a pair of grotesque ion cannons, their gaping mouths glowing blue as they charged; batteries of turbolaser cannons, proton torpedo tubes, and concussion missile launchers whirred towards the planet, like hungry eyes. Swarms of Imperial fighters scattered along the sky, shooting down every ship that attempted to flee.
The gargantuan warship rained destruction on Retta.