Chapter 19: Wild Heart: The Mind Games
"Now, Agen, where were we before you had your little impulsive reaction?" Ruin began, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the training mat. "Ah, yes, your freedom, your friend and your future." With a gesture, he summoned a table and a tea set across from the side of the room, all of it perfectly coming into place just in front of him. He beckoned with his other hand to Agen and all of a sudden, the boy could move. In surprise, he stumbled a moment, before immediately spinning round to try the door. No dice, it may as well have been solid wall for all his efforts meant. Ruin gave a sigh, watching him. "Agen, I started seeking you out partly because I was under the impression that you were a clever boy. I am one of the most powerful Force users currently alive. Do you legitimately think you have any chance of leaving without me letting you?"
Casting his look around the room, Agen only scowled. Any exit? At all? No. It was a well-lit, modestly-sized room that was sparsely furnished, but a good deal nicer than the room next door. No way out, though, unless he felt like breaking the window between this room and the other.
"The window is reinforced," Ruin added, beginning to pour the tea. "Agen, I could force you to sit – pun not intended." He gave a small chuckle to himself. "But I would rather not. Come on, dear boy – let us be civil here. The sooner you listen to me, the sooner you will have the opportunity to help Stass – which, incidentally, is a promise. All I am asking is for you to hear me out."
It was with gritted teeth that Agen – after taking another look at Stass, through the glass, who was now writhing in her chair, eyes glassy – relented. Shooting a murderous gaze at Ruin, he crossed to the other side of the table and sat. Ruin's smile widened and he passed a cup to him, which Agen ignored.
"I'm not your enemy, you know," he began, getting a rather sceptical eyebrow from the boy. "If I had not come to Teth to seek you out, you never would have found Stass again – you would have just remained lost in the streets. I brought you here and am going to provide you the opportunity to help her. You're welcome." He ignored Agen's dagger-glare, taking a sip before continuing. "Now, on to business. The Jedi. How do you feel about them and your place in them?"
"The Jedi are guardians of peace and justice," replied the boy, without hesitation. "We keep people safe, fight those who prey on the innocent and above all, keep vigil for people like you." He actually spat the last line, flecks bouncing off of some unseen barrier about a foot from Ruin's face.
"I see. And what exactly are 'people like me'? Your tea is getting cold by the way."
Mutinously, Agen took a sip. It was actually pretty good. Pity the brewer was, well, a Dark Lord of the Sith.
"Those who wear false faces, who seek to corrupt people and turn them to the Dark Side. I already know where this is going."
"Oh you do, do you?" Ruin gave a raised brow of his own.
"You're going to use Stass as an example – tell me she's weighing me down, try and get me to abandon her-"
"I am here to do nothing of the sort," Ruin sniffed, highly affronted. "You have already made up your mind about me – made presumptions about things you don't even have the slightest understanding of. No, Agen, I am most certainly not going to ask you to do that. On the contrary, I originally left The Order precisely because I was unwilling to accept a life cut off from others." Agen could only stare, in shock, his mouth hanging open. "Granted, that was almost two thousand years ago now, so I wouldn't use it to judge the current Order very much. That said, I am here to talk to you of the virtues of the Dark Side, yes. But first, would you care to answer my question – what do you think about the order? What is your opinion on it? Not the standard run-of-the-mill line of what it does. Are they very good at stopping 'people like me'?"
"They do well enough."
"Do they?" Ruin chuckled, nodding his head towards the window. "Certainly not helping Stass, is it? For that matter, I started as a Jedi. As did Revan." He began counting off on his fingers as he spoke. "Malak, Githany, Exar Kun, Desolous, Zannah – why is it that so many of our most powerful came from your ranks?"
Agen had no answer, only irritably sipping his drink.
Phobos stepped past Stass to lock eyes with Saesee. She had an idea; a smirk to match. The tableau of Stass's past begun melting away as the pair squared off, the scene as wax in a furnace.
"Darth Phobos," Saesee began, for once not stooping as he was wont to, but drawing himself fully to his full, though not especially considerable, height. "I would ask you to leave now, leave this world, before you endanger the ceasefire any further."
She gave a chuckle, while beginning to limber up, eyes aglow.
"I think not. No evidence in the mental realm, after all."
"Very well." Saesee gave a small sigh. "Then I shall have to make you."
Phobos cracked her neck, to either side, stretching her arms as she did.
"Well, shit-tier, could you be so kind as to please hold?" She gave Stass a kick, plunging her through the floor like an ink drop into water, where she sank away from the pair. "The god-tier needs to play now."
The scene around Phobos and Saesee was practically all liquid now, falling away to reveal a new setting. The Forbidden Court, Aishintu, on the planet Tholoth – where Stass had first been rescued from her mother. An exquisitely grand room, its occupants frozen in place, fine tapestries, paintings, artefacts and sculptures on display all around. Both of them now stood in the centre of the room, on either side of the throne. "Do you like it, Master Tiin? I worked rather hard on the recreation. Not a bad venue for a battle at all."
Saesee didn't reply, only silently taking his weapon from his belt.
"Seriously?" Phobos almost laughed at him. "Renowned and legendary master of the mind, in a mental battle through The Force where you could call on literally any mental abstract you can think of as a means of battle… and you choose to imagine a lightsaber? I'm… I'm actually disappointed." Time to begin. She spread her arms out wide, the ornaments of the room shifting, unfolding and reconfiguring, growing legs and spiky limbs and little fangs. "Me? I'm going to open with a swarm of carnivorous antiques."
And so it began in a blur, Saesee igniting his blade and moving rapidly, cleaving apart the vermin-like constructs as they jumped at him. He left an amethyst trail in his wake as he cut across the room, robes billowing, to meet her. Their blades locked, Phobos having ignited one end of her sanguine weapon just before he hit. She riposted in an aggressive swipe, skittering away. Suddenly, her blade was gone, the empty hilt spinning in her hand. The reverse end ignited, barely being blocked in time. Then the other end was back, vicious slash after slash. Keep him on his toes. Saesee could barely keep blocking under her aggression, let alone the little automatons of hers that had caught up. He broke off, pushing her back with The Force, buying him enough time to actually attack again. What would he do?
He clashed again, this time, his weapon's beam coiling by itself around hers. She dropped it as his snake-like blade darted for her hands, her every finger elongating and hardening into cruel claws. He didn't pursue her himself, though. His lightsaber blade, more like a snake now, did that. It extended after her, chasing her down. As it struck, she bent like she was made of plastic, contorting and deforming her body around it, outpacing it, evading its every turn. She closed this time, dodging the glowing snake and coming up to bring her claws to Saesee himself. He sent her back with a crack of the whip, forcing her to jump away and coil herself round a column.
Quick as a flash, she plunged her hand into the wooden pillar. The floor under Saesee erupted, a giant wooden hand clenching. Hopping back, he was a hair too slow, a large splinter stabbing into his right hand. In pain, he dropped his weapon, the snake dissolving as it the hilt fell.
"I'll admit," Phobos called from her perch, "That was a good one." Her skin was hardening, gaining a brown hue. She sank into the wooden pillar. "What else you got?" The wall behind Saesee folded with a crunch, forming another clawed hand. It threatened to crush him where he stood.
Flames. Heat.
A white-hot explosion burst from him, eating through the hand. With a creak, the Theelin leapt out of the panelling, escaping the blaze. As she landed, a great gust blasted through the gaping hole where a wall used to be, blowing out the inferno. Phobos rid the wind, pirouetting to the other end of the hall. As she stood and looked to where Saesee had been, she saw nothing. Where had he gone?
Stass was floating, drifting in a sea of images. All her past. All horrendous. They swam around her, images, sounds, feelings… her past laid bare.
What a joke.
She was four, being schooled in garrotting. On vermin. Her small hands were guided with a surprising amount of loving care from her mother, leading her grip to tighten the wire around the helpless creature's throat. It had flailed and wailed and then it hadn't. One of the best lessons yet, her mother had whispered warmly in her ear. Unspoken was the fact that 'best' in this case meant it was the first time she'd done as instructed and not resisted. Stass could still feel the red-raw marks from the previous lesson, where she'd resisted and paid for it with the tight noose of wire.
She was three, watching Naoru's interment. The stone sarcophagus sealing the adorned cadaver, embalmed to perfection and given the full ceremonies. Mother had spent the whole funeral standing behind Stass, hands on her shoulder. Tears silently dripping. As she was led out of the crypt, Rika approached.
"Aeris, delegation arrives at three – are you able? Or should I send them away?" There was more than a little concern in the retainer's usually stoic face.
"No, no. I can manage," Aeris assured her, "grief… is the enemy. I am needed. The audience awaits; the player must be flawless." With visible strain, her visage stiffened, moulding and reworking. After substantially longer than normal, it had taken on an immaculate mask. A porcelain doll. "A deep crimson theme, today, I think." The colour of mourning.
Stass was five. Rika was staring down at her in shock. Ugly scars, bruises and what even looked to be an old burn seared across Stass's exposed torso. Sickening blotches of red, blue, purple and green of all the differently aged injuries. A bitter and vicious account of her daily life as a child of Aeris Allie. Rika's hand found her mouth as her eyes took it all in. Stass squirmed as she did so, like a worm in the dirt, shying away from the light and the gazing at her wretched secret. Finally, as Rika fully processed what she was looking at, she filled her lungs and roared.
"MEDIC! GET ME A MEDIC IN HERE!"
Four again. Camouflage training. She was in a tree, trying her best to blend in and praying her mother did not find her. That always brought punishment and pain. Maybe she'd be lucky this time? Maybe, just maybe she wouldn't be found. The forest was quiet – it was possible mother had gone to an entirely different area to search. She at least thought she'd chosen rather cleverly in where to hide. It had been an hour now and no sign nor sound of-
Her thoughts were yanked away as she was out of the tree. Aeris deposited her unceremoniously to the leafy floor with a sigh.
"Oh Stass, why do you have to disappoint me like this? It hurts me so."
Pain endurance followed, naturally, as it always did for failure of an exercise. It had always been a very insistent rule. More memories overtook this one, washing one after the other like waves, every dark little day under her mother's thumb. When would this end?
"Lurking down here, Stass?"
She looked up. She was in her bedroom back on The Ouran. Or at least what looked like it, though less… fresh. Before her swam a rather ghostly image of Master Tiin. Or more accurately, his face sporting a warm, small little smile.
"Not like I have much choice," she replied from her curled up position. The room had a stuffy, sweltering warmth to it; she could feel the sweat running down her forehead. Festering, almost blinding beams of sunlight poured through the window, throwing the ill-kept, fetid chamber into sharp focus, wilting every nook and musty cranny under it. She herself clung to the least-lit corner of the room, shying away from the burning rays.
"I think not." Master Tiin's spectral head swam in the room's miasma, coughing a few times, the pungent creeping decay beginning to have an effect on him. "Phobos is… distracted, but only barely. I won't be able to stay for long. Just… please listen – it's not her anymore. This is you."
"Yeah. And?" Stass grunted more than spoke.
"And I think you should take some stock. Have a look around. Set yourself in order."
She gave a bitter laugh, hacking up violent chokes of mucus as she did.
"Right. Me, sort my head out – good joke." Her whole face fell in an instant. "Just leave me here. Go, stop Phobos, find Agen. I'm useless to you anyways."
To her surprise, he only grinned again.
"Oh really? I think you might be underestimating yourself a little. Have a look around – explore and feel. Remember. Or at the very least, open a window or get out of this heat." Even as he spoke, his blurry image was getting fainter, almost dissolving into the haze. "I really have to go now. The door is unlocked – you only need to open it! You're in your hands now-"
And like that, he was gone. Vapour on a non-existent breeze.
Stass gave a groan, leaning against the cool wall and trying not to wilt under the temperature. Why the kriff would he believe in her? More beads of rank perspiration trickled down her, the harsh sunlight creeping more and more into the room. At this rate, she would poach like an egg.
She wasn't sure how, but she somehow mustered the strength to wrench herself onto all fours. Not much, but a start. She wasn't going to give in now. Master Tiin couldn't help her. Adi couldn't help her. Agen certainly couldn't. K'Kruhk, Bultar, Coleman, Xiaan, A'Sharad, nobody was going to pull her out of this. Except her. She'd probably lose her mind trying, but she was at least going kicking and screaming… or crawling and choking, as the case may be.
Her nails dug into the carpet. It was filthy, caked in matted, greasy hair and dust. She held on regardless and used the grip to pull herself forward. Her other hand followed. Then back to the right. Left. Right. She kept at it, hauling herself to the door. Leaning against it, she rested for a moment, before wriggling a finger up to press the button.
It darted open like a bullet, letting in a breeze, a draught, a veritable gale of cool, clear, fresh air. Stass just sat there bathing in the feeling, cleansing. In a second, she was much better. Not nearly 100%, but getting there. Shakily standing up, she left the mouldered bedroom behind her without a backward glance, stepping forward and into dark, refreshing shade. Shelter. But what now? The passage before her was lined with doors. Normally, these would be other Padawans' cabins, but somehow, she doubted they'd be so straightforward in this place.
Tentatively, she rested her fingers on the panel of what should be Agen's, opposite hers.
It opened at her command, to reveal a curious scene. Simple, in and of itself – her and Agen on a bench in the Room Of A Thousand Fountains, heads together, reading one of Agen's books. It had had a good story, but the art was all over the place, prompting her to mock it. He'd agreed and they'd spent the entire afternoon picking out the very worst breakdowns of artistic merit they could find in it and riffing the absolute shit out of them. He'd then leant her another book with what was hands down the most stunning art she'd ever seen. It was a fond memory.
Stass quietly shut the door, leaning a head against it. Letting a long breath out, she turned to the next door. Bultar.
Inside was another diorama – their youngling Gathering. The expedition to Ilum all younglings took to gain lightsaber crystals. Little twelve-year-old Stass ambling through the caves of ice in search of her crystal. She was broken from her search by a flurry of snow dropping onto her head. Looking up, she saw, of all people, Bultar Swan, then largely unknown to her… hanging upside down having somehow gotten both her feet stuck in a ceiling crevice. To this day, Stass still had no idea how she'd managed it, but regardless, Stass's chosen method of help was inelegant but effective. Using The Force, she'd reached out and pulled each foot free, dropping Bultar in a crumpled heap into snow. It had broken both Bultar's ankles, but again, Stass had a solution for her solution… even if the last one had broken a pair of ankles. Her healing.
That had been a fun day, Bultar eventually feeling well enough to start a snowball fight. Letting out a chuckle, Stass shut the door.
The third door along should have belonged to Padawan Bant Eerin, who she only sort of knew. Here, however, it was labelled Coleman Kcaj. Her Master.
Beyond it lay her room back on Coruscant… about… four or five years ago, maybe? A younger Stass sat on the bed looking defeated, shoulders slumped, head drooped. Coleman was sitting beside her and one of Agen's magazines rested between them. It was not like the previous ones she'd seen and been shown by him. Coleman was speaking.
"… and what makes you think he's only-"
"I looked," she cut across him, "They were all like this."
Coleman only gave a small sigh in reply.
"Figures," she continued, "should have known. Shouldn't have been so dumb."
"It is unfortunate for you, yes. But Agen is as he is and there is no changing that. It's not like he's not your friend, after all."
"Y-yeah… I'd just hoped-" She didn't finish, eyes glistening.
"Perfectly natural, Stass. Nothing to be ashamed of in the slightest." One of his gangly arms tugged her against him, gently. His bony hand rubbed up and down soothingly. "I know it's hard, but it'll pass. You're bonded. Not in the way you might wish, but it is valuable and really quite beautiful. Now, shall we go and talk to Agen about this? He deserves your honesty, I think."
It was through smiling tears that the real Stass shut the door, not bothering to dry her eyes. It never stopped being funny to her just how much that memory brought both sadness and joy at once. There were more doors, but she didn't think she really needed them and time was probably a factor.
"Okay…" she called out, looking around for something different. "I get it. I get it. I get the point. Now, how do I get outta here?" There was no answer. Evidently Master Tiin was still occupied. Probably fair since he was fending off one of the most dangerous people in the known universe on her home turf. Her eye, nevertheless, found an odd blue glow at the end of the hall.
Wasting no time, she stepped into the room it emanated from. The light was coming from words, etched into the forehead of a bust of Master Tiin. She read them and couldn't help but give a small smirk.
"Good advice. Well then, let's go." She held up both palms, a matching blue aura forming – her healing. She felt the soft, breezy soothing as she placed her fingers to each temple. Immediately, a windstorm burst through the wall, tearing it apart, plucking tiles free and eroding them to dust. Carried on the howl was the soft voice of Master Tiin, repeating the words he'd left carved for her:
"Physician… heal thyself."
It savaged the scene, tugging, yanking, sanding everything away, leaving her, to her total lack of surprise, in the Allie estate courtyard on Tholoth. The gust abated. Sunlight bathed the lovely enclosed garden, warm but not stifling thanks to the gentle breeze that remained. And opposite her was her final obstacle.
Aeris Allie. Mother.
Between them was Stass's lightsaber, resting on a traditional stand. Aeris smiled at her, then spoke.
"Oh, my special little girl. Look how you've grown. But you won't do it. You wouldn't kill your mother. Such a good, obedient child." Her confident, loving face – the face that had haunted her – was now an obstacle for Stass. An opponent she needed to best.
"Y-you're wrong!" It was a more of fumbled shout than anything. Not much punch to it.
"I am? You don't sound too convincing, dear. Come on – stay here with me. We could be so happy."
Stass took a breath, then said it again, with actual conviction. It wasn't actually that hard.
"You. Are. Wrong. You're dead. You died years ago. I was you- your puppet, your personal little doll for you to terrorise and control. You've haunted me all my life, but that's all you are! You're a ghost. I have friends. I have family, a future and my own life. And it's my choice, not yours."
Aeris's face faltered at that.
"Stass… Stass, you can't mean that. You're my angel! My perfect little girl, my-"
"No." Stass cut across her with finality, meeting her eyes with a dagger stare. "I'm not yours, I'm not some shitty little doll AND I SURE AS FUCK AIN'T AN ANGEL!" The shouting, the long speech, the ability to just, just silence this evil bitch… it was empowering. She'd never felt anything even remotely this therapeutic or damn euphoric. "I'M NOT SOME HELPLESS KID WHO'LL JUST ROLL OVER AND LET YOU RULE ME ANYMORE!"
Her weapon hilt rattled, shooting from the stand to her waiting hand. Speechless, Aeris's eyes were wide, her elegant, perfect jaw slack. But her daughter wasn't even close to done.
"I am a Jedi." Stass snarled, "You are a monster." The emerald blade burst into life with a familiar, radiant hum. "And you're in my way!"
In a single, precision strike, an eighteen-year-old Tholothian victim became her own hero. She flew forward, closing the distance. She buried her weapon to the hilt. Right on target, into the gut.
Darth Phobos prowled the scene, flitting between the frozen inhabitants of the Forbidden Court, reaching out with her senses to search for the elusive Master Tiin. So many ways to hide in the mental realm. Where could he be?
In the walls? The floor? Had he vaporised into a cloud, perhaps? Maybe dove into a painting? Regardless, she would find him soon. Sooner or later her senses would pick him up. But first, a probe.
"You cannot hide forever," she softly said as she weaved between two rather obese nobles paused in the act of taking a tea ceremony. The tea was, like everything else, frozen mid-pour. A static stream of beige. Could he be in the tea, perhaps? No, nothing that she sensed.
"But if I did, it would be less exciting," came his voice rattling out from nowhere in particular.
"This would all be smoother if you surrendered now. Retreat your investigation and everything stops. I get the R&D department their favour and you get four Jedi who aren't completely worthless. It's a good deal, no?"
"It would, if you hadn't already lost.~" That was amusement in his voice. Phobos's eyes narrowed.
"Oh really? Are you sure we are playing the same game?"
A soft chuckle. His smooth, soft, permanently calm voice was strangely unsettling to her.
"Oh, Dark Lord, I am fully aware we are not playing the same game. In fact, I am counting on it."
Phobos stopped between a heated argument of some sort, the topic and result lost to the past forever. Something was wrong. If he wasn't playing her game… could it be that she couldn't sense him because he wasn't all here? And if he wasn't all here, that meant he could return anywh-
A twinge of movement. One of the statuesque arguers… wasn't. Then Master Tiin burst out of the false skin, arms grappling her. What in the actual fuck was he doing?
Any counterattack she might have conceived of was cut short by the floor exploding. Purple filled her vision. Then pain, her mind. A lightsaber blade erupted from her stomach, impaling them both. The wall beside them burst open to admit a yellow blade that dug into her side. From the ceiling, a blue blade. Green from another wall. Red. Pink. Orange, brown, blue again, black, silver, white, green – a rainbow pierced them on all sides.
Gritting her teeth, she hissed through the pure red-hot pain. Not enough to kill either at their powers, but a devastatingly effective holding move. Never something she'd ever try – far too self-sacrificial. His plan was clear now; someone else would strike while she was helpless. And she could do nothing.
Phobos closed her eyes.
It struck.
The vibrant emerald of Stass Allie's weapon stabbed into her back in the real, physical realm. The mental realm folded, plunging them all back to reality. Saesee to Adi's bed and the other two to the bunker. Stass's head spun as the image of her mother collapsed to reveal Phobos.
The Dark Lord collapsed in a heap. It wasn't a kill-blow, unfortunately. The Sith scrambled away to the opposite wall in blind panic. But she had a smoking injury all the way through her lower torso. Trembling with shock at what she'd done, Stass kept her weapon at the ready. The communicator. It was just lying there on the table where Phobos had left it. Stass snatched it up.
"Don't move!" She called across to Phobos, "Or I'll broadcast your location across the galaxy."
Gasping, with one hand clamped over her abdomen, Phobos stared.
"The truce."
"Yes," Stass replied with a smile. "The truce. If you don't get the fuck out of here right now, you can kiss that goodbye. How's that figure into your plans?"
The Theelin only stared longer. In fact, she gaped. It was a long, strange stand-off. But finally…
"Well played, ki- Stass. Well played indeed." Phobos grunted as she rose to her feet. "Very well then. I'll do us both a favour…" In a second, she faded from view, as if she had evaporated. "And just disappear. Take care."
And then she was gone. All trace of her. No sound, no sight, no sense in The Force.
A moment later, the door that was the entrance burst open, Coleman skidding to a halt through it and kicking up fragments of permacrete. He also appeared to be carrying Norcuna.
"StassMasterTiinfilledmeinwithtelepathywhere'sPhobos?"
Stass had to give Coleman's rushed sentence a thinking over before replying, slightly dazed.
"She's… gone."
"Gone?"
"Evidently so," came a voice from the side. It was Ruin, standing in front of the open door. Immediately, Coleman dropped Norcuna and drew his lightwhip, a coil of silver cracking into life. Norcuna readied beside him, his curved hilt at the ready, orange blade ignited.
"Stass." Norcuna said curtly, fully serious. "When I say the word, run. He'll likely kill me, but you and Coleman could still get away."
"How noble. How quaint," Ruin said, his dark eyes cold with hatred at Norcuna. He plucked a hilt from his belt, a pink blade humming to life. The man took a classic Form V stance. "Always the same with your self-righteous hubris. I will crush you, erode you and your foundations, sully your very name so that none would ever think to describe you with reverence. I will topple your tallest towers, despoil your most treasured memorials. I bring only ruin to your way of life."
The blade extinguished.
"But not today. You may have your apprentice back, Master Norcuna." He bowed to the Twi'Lek. "For as long as you can keep him." He then addressed the other two, with a friendly smile. "Stass, Coleman. So young, so salvageable. Consider yourselves to have an open invitation to meet me at any time." And with that, he strode out the door.
Hardly able to believe their luck, Stass and Norcuna almost collided in their haste to get through the door. Agen seemed physically fine, sitting on the training mat and looking rather confused.
It was only when Stass had given him a clean bill of health that she finally asked the question.
"Is… is it over?"
"Yes," Agen replied, letting out a long breath. "Yes, I think it is."
And then he yanked her into more of a deathgrip than a hug.
"But for the love of The Force, please stop giving me reasons to have a heart attack."
Kohlma was a sad little moon. Sombre and mournful almost by its nature, with its many graves and murals and monuments to the dead, the remembered fallen of countless conflicts. The heavy rain currently washing down contributed to it, too. Not windy or stormy, just raining. The destination of the three was one of many elderly, decrepit citadels that dotted the lush, forested mountains. This one, however, had lights glittering out of it – bright blue from the glass.
The three began striding across the bridge, towards the entrance, which was shut up tight – great fortified gates framed with wall turrets that swivelled to train on each of them as they approached. Three men.
One in the middle wearing the robes of the Jedi order with a hood drawn up in vain effort to keep the rain off. One to the right in fine, smart attire, with a curved, guarded hilt at his belt and a cloak – and again, with a hood to make the token attempt to stay dry. And one clad from head to toe in Mandalorian armour, raindrops dinging off, a pair of pistols clearly holstered on each thigh – a rocket-tipped jetpack mounted on his back.
The three came to a halt in front of the thick, tall double doors, waiting. In a moment, there was a creaking clank as they swung open, only a little, to emit two people, both armed, clothed in loose hooded cloaks and with glowing, red eyes. The gate closed behind them. Words were exchanged – lost in the sound of the downpour to all but the five. The guards did not seem to like what the man in the Jedi robes was saying, nor the noble. The armoured one remained silent. The conversation deteriorated rather quickly, the guards levelling weapons.
A green blade ignited from the Jedi's sleeve, followed by a sanguine one from under the count's cloak.
"If you attack us, we may be forced to kill you." The Jedi warned one final time. He really didn't want to fight.
But it was to no avail. The first raised his weapon. He never got to fire, a smoking hole in the face administered by the gunslinger, quick on the draw. The other got a shot off, only to find it immediately returned into her knee. Striding past the pair of beaten guards, the Jedi redirected more shots from the turrets, destroying them in but a moment. He continued to the entrance, reaching out a hand, griping the air, using the Force to wrench the doors slowly apart. Over forty-two thousand credits worth of high quality reinforcement was beaten in mere seconds, opening the way into the entrance hall.
As his companions followed him, the survivor lashed out, a vibroknife dropping into her palm. Her counterattack was cut short by the count's blade gliding through her torso. A nearly-flawless execution of a classic Makashi opening slash. The carcass hit the surface of the bridge with a thud.
The three entered the citadel, the Jedi and count lowering their hoods. Their way was blocked by some two-dozen guards, and mixed into their number were a few wearing skull masks. Bando Gora Assassins: a cult of death-worshiping murderers, here to defend their mistress.
"Jango," Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas said, tilting his head sideways to speak to the Mandalorian. "Minimal casualties, please." Fett nodded, drawing both blasters as the Jedi raised their own weapons.
"As possible."
Kohlma was a graveyard moon, teeming with the dead. Tonight would not even make a significant contribution to the tally.