Kurik Otela – Coruscant
"Alright," Knight Durel said, standing outside a circular grate. "This is where we saw him enter."
"The sewer?"
Tank's tone was about the same as Kurik was feeling. He was angry enough about Dilt, even if he'd managed to stuff the rage and sorrow down, and just staring at the grate was managing to bring that anger back.
"I know," Gebb-Ti said. "But we must."
Tank stared at the Bothan, then gave General Durel a nod. Kurik fell in at the rear of the formation, unaddressed and unnoticed by all.
In the guts of the undercity, the noise of the crowd was a dull, muted roar. The clamor helped hide their footsteps, keeping them undetected by whatever lay beyond.
Unless, of course, they realized we were after them.
"Did anyone see you?" Kurik asked.
"No, I...Where's the captain?" Corporal Gebb-Ti asked.
"Got shot by our runner," Tank said. "Poor guy. No great man, but at least he was decent in a fight."
"Sorry, Kurik." Even as he spoke, the Jedi's eyes were searching ahead. "He was a good man, but a smuggler's standards. If I...Stop."
The command immediately halted them all, and Kurik felt them before he saw them. His unnatural senses, now heightened by his rage. If he listened closely, he could just hear their voices carrying under the rumble of the noise overhead.
Kurik found the forms of the conspirators before they entered everyone's view, but they were close enough that he didn't even have time to make much of them before the group crept into the meeting room.
One of the forms in particular caught his interest.
He was stunned to find the Mandalorian at the head of their little pack, seemingly unconcerned that he'd only lost everything below one of his elbows just a week ago. The soldier's presence shocked Kurik as it implied a greater conspiracy at work, that the same man who'd somehow been capturing vessels outside Coruscant was now in a shadowy operation against the Jedi.
The room itself was little more than a chamber larger than most the rooms in the sewer. Weapon crates, furniture, the conspirators had set up something of an operation center in defiance of the stifling smell of the place. None of them seemed surprised that a force had shown up at their door, and their leader spoke quickly.
"Ah, here they are now," the Mandalorian said, lifting his weapon toward the Jedi. "Knight Durel, an op—"
"Tank," Durel said.
No more words were spoken. Kurik supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, Durel seemed to have little patience for monologue or flair. His lightsaber was out even before the Mandalorian pulled the trigger, and the clones were right behind him, opening up on the group of conspirators.
Kurik dashed behind cover, finding a durasteel crate nearby that had likely housed the weapons the conspirators were using. It provided a good shield for the pilot, who twisted over it and held his weapon up, firing at a nearby Togrutan with his weapon up toward Durel.
The Jedi Knight didn't seem to need the help, deflecting every bolt right back to its owner. The dual-bladed weapon flashed angrily, as if outraged by the weapons being discharged in its direction. The clones cut down four of the ten before everyone managed to find something to get behind.
An easy battle, Kurik thought to himself. Perhaps I won't even need to get involved any longer.
Then Tank turned his carbine on Knight Durel.
The Jedi seemed to sense it coming, spinning around with his blade out to deflect the first bolt right back at Tank. The clone fell away, a hole in his shoulder, then the rest of the clones abruptly opened up on the Jedi.
Two, three, four hit the ground, dead, but the Jedi Knight couldn't last forever against so many. A bolt caught him in the back, and he stumbled forward before thrusting a hand out and shoving the clone over the edge.
Kurik shook himself out of his daze, unsure what was happening but certain that there was nothing that Durel had done to provoke it. He grabbed at the heavy pistol, lifted it toward the clones, and said a silent prayer before opening fire.
He caught a clone in the back, and then they turned to him. Yet a few of the conspirators were still alive, and as another shot brought Durel crashing to the ground, the confused enemy turned their guns on the clones.
Gebb-Ti was right behind, the little Bothan pulling out of his stunned stupor and opening fire on the clones as well.
Yet, even though the clones were being fired upon from two sides, there were still just enough to form a defensive position and return fire. The conspirators didn't exactly shrink back, but they did scatter further down the room, leaving them even harder to shoot.
Kurik ducked down behind his durasteel crate, Gebb-Ti right next to him. The little Bothan grabbed something up from his belt and lobbed it toward a pocket of three clones.
One of them picked the grenade up and tried to throw it back, but Kurik had already prepared for the counter. He held a hand out, directing his will toward the explosive, just as Knight Durel had showed him.
The grenade was forced right back at the clones, and Kurik ducked as the explosion rocked the chamber, shrapnel launched over the top of the crate. The fire stopped, and the Miralukan pilot glanced over his cover, Gebb-Ti right behind him.
A fist caught the underside of the Bothan's jaw, knocking him flat to the ground. Kurik tried to angle his weapon down, only for the aggressor to grab him by his arm and pull him over with a cry of agony.
Tank stood above him, the ARC trooper none too happy about the smoking hole in his side. He swatted aside Kurik's other hand, trying to wrestle the gun from the pilot's grasp. Kurik wouldn't let him have it, but Tank seemed to decide for a much more agonizing option.
A gloved hand went to Kurik's throat, squeezing hard enough that pressure began to build in Kurik's head and the grey swirls were joined by black dots.
The clone was interrupted when a bright beam of energy burst through his chest. His head cocked to the side, as if merely amused by the lightsaber. Then he fell off of it, crashing to the ground with a clattering of armor.
Jedi Knight Durel stood behind him, wavering uncertainly on his feet. Then he, too, collapsed, curled up on his side next to the mercenary.
"Durel? Durel!"
Kurik flopped back over onto his front, crawling over to the Jedi to find him still breathing. The smoking wounds seeped blood with each breath, his eyes finding the Miralukan. A shaky smile came to his face, and he gestured toward Tank.
"Should've known," he said. "He always did want to see who was better."
"That's not funny, Durel," Kurik said. "Why did they shoot you?"
"Don't know." His lips dragged down into a ghoulish frown, blood pooling at the corner of his lips. "I can feel it, though, all over the galaxy. They're dying, my brothers and sisters. The Force, it howls and cries, it hurts. Can't you feel it?"
As the adrenaline started to fade, Kurik began to realize what he meant. The Force had always been within him, he'd always paid distant witness to its moods and whimsies. Now it shrieked, writhing and twisting as the light was ripped from it.
And such a sudden transition could only mean one thing. Durel had been right, he wasn't the only Jedi being abruptly and remorselessly executed.
"It hurts," the smuggler agreed quietly. "It really does hurt."
"Ugh...What happened?" came a voice from the other side of the box.
"Gebb-Ti, help me with Master Durel!"
"Go, Kurik," he commanded. "Go, get away from this place. If anyone knows that you know, they'll kill you too."
"Don't worry, I'll get you back to the ship and—"
"No," Durel said. "No, I'll be dead long before you get me there, and no medical help is coming. Take my saber, then go."
"Your saber?"
"A last bit of help," he replied, breath coming out in quiet wheezes. "A good backup weapon. Now go. More clones will soon come, and they won't take you prisoner."
"Okay." Kurik bent down and detached the Jedi's weapon from his side. "Alright, but how will you fend them off?"
The Jedi Knight's hand went to the belt of one of the troopers, to a thermal detonator hanging from the leather. A grenade powerful enough to bring the entire room down around them. It'd kill a lot of people, some of whom had nothing to do with the sudden betrayal. Perhaps, at the end of things, the Jedi no longer cared.
"I'll manage. Quickly, now."
Durel didn't have to tell him again. Content that the Jedi was as close to at peace as he'd get, Kurik fled the room, practically sprinting through the sewers and to the alluring safety of his ship. Gebb-Ti joined him, the smaller alien barely able to keep up with the Miralukan.
"Did you see the Mandalorian?" he asked.
"I didn't," Kurik told him. "I didn't see him, and I don't care that I didn't see him. We're getting out of here, both of us."
Once he was back out onto the streets, people stared and shrunk back, both for suspicion of his quick flight and the stench of the sewers that still clung stubbornly to him. Gebb-Ti, unsurprisingly, went without notice.
Yet they continued to run, trying to reach the landing pad the ship was perched on.
All along their route, he saw the people of the Republic world confused, scared. Not of him or Gebb-Ti. Their eyes were cast toward the temple, to the massacre that Kurik could feel. The anguish of it twisted within him, threatened to make him retch, but he had to ignore it.
They paused at the sight of a clone patrol trying to evacuate a sector where a 'rogue Jedi' had 'lost his mind' and started killing passersby. The clones saw the odd pair, but either didn't notice them or didn't care.
By the time Kurik reached the ship—his ship—he was gasping for breath, lungs burning and chest heaving.
BOOM
The concussive blast caught his attention as he started to board his vessel. He turned to the city to find a small building crumbling to the ground, the screams of civilians carrying even over the sound of hovercars passing by.
He didn't know whether to be soured by the Jedi's last act, petty as it was. Durel had always been a man who'd seemed someways between the light and dark, a maverick among his own. Perhaps it was no great surprise that he'd given in to his anger at the end.
The sounds of battle at the temple carried over the winds. He could see the blaster fire now, occasionally deflected up into the night sky, hear the cries of Jedi who were cut down. The temple was awash in a hellish red, evidence of the evil that was being conducted at its doorstep.
"This is...This is horrible." Ever hard to shake, Gebb-Ti now sounded frightened as his fists shook at his side. "The Jedi have stood for so long. Is this how it ends for them? Betrayal? Cut down by the very government they were trying to help?"
"That's why you try not to help," Kurik told him. "Smuggler's Law: don't help if you're not getting paid. Otherwise..."
He gestured out to the distant carnage, and the Bothan simply stared.
"You can feel each of them, can't you?" the alien asked.
"Every single one."
And if they didn't leave, his fate would be the same as those in the temple.
They hustled aboard the loading ramp, closing it behind him before striding quickly to the cockpit. He settled down into the chair, momentarily taking in the view of the beautiful city. Considering all of the ugliness he'd seen under its spires and the massacre playing out at the Jedi Temple, the entirety of the glittering capital city was one giant facade.
He'd be content to never see the city again.
"The Outer Rim, Ryloth, Nal Hutta, anything's better than this," he muttered to himself, starting up the ship. "Gebb-Ti, you got anywhere particular to go?"
"Don't know. Don't know what things will be like back home."
"Alright, whatever seedy port is closest."
Kurik just had one quick stop to make, first.
Sorry about the wait; I had midterms, then a few video games happened, but now I'm back on track just in time to almost be finished with this whole part.