When a physical body is damaged, it bleeds. But over time, its own natural defenses come into play and heal the wound. There may be a scar, and it may take some time, but most damage can be repaired through the natural order of things. Occasionally, however, something goes wrong. The body tries too hard to heal itself and ends up causing a greater problem. In trying to heal something that shouldn't have been healed, a tumor forms and eventually causes a collapse of the whole system. At that point, the subject either dies, or outside intervention is required to correct the problem.

This is true with all things, even concepts expanding far beyond what one might consider rational. A galaxy can be wounded. A galaxy can bleed. A galaxy can also heal itself, in the right circumstance. But from time to time, someone comes along trying to fix a problem that needn't be fixed, and a cancer is formed. In times like these, an intervention is required...

"Get your hands up, now!"

It took Lotharius a mere heartbeat to raise his weapon at the sight of Oryon. He was not sure what was going on, but he knew this traitor was involved. People had died, and he was unwilling to let any potential active hostiles roam free. At the sight of this, Otso readied his weapon as well, shifting his weight to aim his large assault cannon at the newcomers.

By contrast, Haran'buir did not move. The situation was escalating quickly, and his Mandalorian training had taught him that controlling the battlefield should be his top priority. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and the world seemed to slow around him.

He could see the anger on Lothärius' face as he barked orders at the Chiss. His mustache bristled as Loth's face contorted. Haran reflected for a moment on this. Over the past several decades, Lothärius had grown into a formidable wartime general. His need to protect those under his command often took precedence over his responsibility to maintain peace on both sides of the conflict. Haran had studied Lothärius' tactics over the years, and he wondered, not for the first time, if his guilt over the apparent loss of his friend had influenced his tactical decisions more than he was consciously aware of.

These thoughts all came to him in a fraction of a second as he examined the field. To him, the scene was playing out in slow-motion, allowing him to evaluate each player in their own right. He turned his head to the left, and watched as Otso slowly brought his weapon to bear, slinging it down under his right shoulder and popping his elbow to bring the barrel back up. Otso the loyal, Otso the muscle. Otso the fearless. It was no surprise to Haran that his stocky friend had remained on the front lines for so long. Otso was no planner, no tactician, but there was nobody you'd rather have charging into the fight alongside you. And here he was, back in the fight, drawing his weapon on a man he had never seen before, simply because his commander had done so first.

Haran turned again, and laid his eyes on Oryon Halcyon. Like himself, Oryon had been scanning the battlefield, his arms at his sides. And in a moment of sudden realization, Haran realized his mistake. While he had been examining his allies in an attempt to find the best way to defuse the situation, Oryon had been examining them as well, determining the greatest threat to the peace.

And Oryon was not looking at any of them.

Haran had only a fraction of a second to act, and drew his blaster in the direction of the outcropping that Oryon was watching. He barely had time to put his finger on the trigger when Asmodeus broke through the underbrush, sending branches and leaves flying outwards. There was no roar of anger this time. The mindless animal that Zahavi had used to kill Michael was gone. This was a warrior, cold and cunning, and he intended to flatten them before they could mount a defense.

Haran's blaster bolt caught Asmo in his side, throwing off his balance. He fell to the ground in the middle of the group and landed hard. Lothärius and Otso, who already had their weapons trained on Oryon, quickly turned them to the attacker. The students all recoiled in fear at the sight of Asmodeus, who had attacked them and driven them from their home. Bersk tried to rise to his feet to defend them once again, but quickly fell to his knees in pain.

There was no time to deliberate, no time to weigh the cost of their actions. Haran'buir, Lothärius, and Otso trained their weapons on Asmodeus and pulled the trigger.

No!

The voice echoed in their heads, and a force like a mighty wind pushed their aim sideways at the last split second. Their weapon's fire exploded harmlessly against a nearby tree. Sparks flew and small tongues of fire lit at the scorch mark. The three men looked at each other, and then at their target.

Oryon had leapt between them and Asmodeus, placing himself directly in the line of fire. His gauntlet was pressed against Asmo's neck, and one could faintly hear the sound of a tiny pneumatic pump firing. His back turned to the soldiers, Oryon looked up at Nila. "I promised. No one else."

He turned around to face the armed men. "Gentlemen. My name is Oryon Halcyon. I'm sure you all have your reasons to doubt, but I am here to help. Asmodeus is too valuable of an ally to dispose of in such a careless manner."

Oryon watched as their eyes rose higher and a shadow fell across him. This was unavoidable, and he was ready. He braced himself for the attack.

"He's dead."

Oryon opened his eye. This was not what he had expected. Asmodeus should have laid a beating down upon in revenge. What did he say? Who is dead?

Oryon turned to face Asmodeus, his old friend and enemy. The larger man was slumped down on his knees, his head bowed. "He made me kill him, Oryon. I wasn't given a choice."

Realization came over Oryon's face and a dark knot twisted itself inside his stomach. "Michael."

Asmo glared upwards at him. "This was your doing, Oryon. You failed at killing me, but your actions led to this." There was anger in his eyes, but not in his voice. His voice was calm, even. "And now we are broken. Besieged."

Oryon took a moment to steel himself. There was no time to mourn, not here, not now. The task in front of him was the same as it was a few moments ago. He kneeled down and met Asmodeus' gaze. "I can stop anyone else from getting hurt."

There was no apology, no plea for forgiveness. He did not claim to be able to right the wrongs or make up for his sins. His declaration was a simple statement of fact. He knew what he was capable of, and he knew what mattered here in this moment. Oryon had severed the link that bound Asmodeus' unwillingly to a cruel master, and he could do the same for the others under that same influence.

Asmodeus nodded. "Fine. Let's get it done." He rose to his feet and faced the students. Sesna and Zhejari stepped forward, placing them between the others and the former groundskeeper for the Academy. He looked down upon them with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Children-" His voice cracked, and he paused for a moment to regain his composure. "Children. You've done so well. You have my word, no harm will come to you."

Oryon snapped his fingers at Bersk. "You...ah...'Trash-Man'. Can you protect these students here?"

Bersk leaned against a boulder and held his side. "Sure. We'll play pazaak and tell scary stories. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

"Not a chance!" Khalon spoke up. "No way are we staying here."

"No kidding. This is our home too. You're going to take it back, we're going to help." Sesna crossed her arms. "It ain't a question."

Kaikorero stood in agreement and locked eyes with Oryon. They regarded each other silently for a moment before Oryon spoke. "You have nothing to fear from me. I give you my word." She shrugged and pulled a holdout blaster from a compartment in her artificial leg.

"Then let's do this."

Otso turned to Lothärius for guidance. "So...are we going along with this?"

Loth and Haran looked at each other, and then shrugged. "Not the strangest thing to happen today, I suppose." Loth quipped.

Back at the Academy, Zahavi had felt the link between him and Asmodeus sever, and immediately sensed why. Oryon had returned, and had apparently turned on him. This was an unfortunate development, and accelerated his plans. If he had managed to ally himself with Asmodeus, and found a way to protect himself from Zahavi's control, then there was little choice but to move to the final phase of his plan immediately.

He turned and faced the five subjects that he had kept close by. He looked them over, one by one. Elder. Rodeo. Mitvekzuk. Haborym. Barrow. All that remained of the original eight exiles that did not belong in this galaxy. The rest could conceivably be spared without compromising his mission. But the original eight, only with their death could he guarantee the protection of his future. He had planned to use them for individual purposes, but the plan was quickly decaying and there was no sense in leaving loose ends. Oryon and Asmodeus he could handle on his own. Michael was already dead. These five? Their time had come.

Zahavi opened his mouth and uttered a single word.

Kill.