Disclaimer: I(unfortunately) do not own RWBY or Star Wars. If I did there would be many changes.

A.N./Guess what mothafukas? That's right, a second chapter to Rouge Apprentice is here.

Somewhat sorry about the wait, but I struggled writing this chapter mainly because I knew what I wanted to happen just not how. Along with a lack of motivation, constant revisions delayed me significantly. Well that and my job really takes away my time, plus the death of my cat left me depressed for a bit. There's more, but you're here for a good read, not my life issues.

Edit 5/27/2021: Noticed a few whoopsies leftover from my edit version, sorry.

Chapter 2: The Way of The Sith

True peace is a lie

In front of him was a face that looked eerily familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out from where. It looked to be that of a young man in his twenties with short black hair that faded to crimson, a well defined chin, pale skin, and brilliant red eyes shining with an almost crystalline quality. "My enemies are scattered yet powerful, but my equals are few and dead." His face seemed to soften at the last word, whether it was from respect, affection, or sorrow is unknown, but it quickly hardened once again. The man's eyes were intense, calculating even, it contained something no one his age should've had. There was a certain… hollowness to them; akin to a thousand yard stare, but not quite as… empty. Yet, at the same time his eyes practically oozed power, like an abyss of untapped primal energy.

There is only conflict

His voice was not deep in pitch nor was it high, but it wasn't rough, it flowed like a stream. It's not charisma, it couldn't be. Not when he was considered by many to be as charismatic as a brick. Then again, even bricks have their own charm. It's hard to explain, almost like the way he spoke compelled people to listen. Not to accept or agree, but to listen. It was only amplified with the extreme confidence he delivered his words, but he did have a small amount of arrogance in his voice. How could he not though? Regardless of who you were, power will breed arrogance. The only difference is how much.

Through conflict, evolution is achieved

"In the land of ice and snow, they said Atlas could never be humbled." In the skies amidst a blizzard, a city was consumed by fierce combat. Some dressed in white and blue with their mouths open to the elements defended their positions valiantly, and for the most part were successful. The other far less numerous troops dressed in only white, with an emblem of a blood red bull on their helmets. Their warm looking armor and distinctive bucket like helmets with built in goggles and face masks made them look far more prepared for the blizzard. Though it seemed the attackers would fail to take the city; it looks like that was never their objective, only to cause as much damage as possible. They were much better equipped than the defenders, and moved to abandon the city to hide in the blizzard. Biding their time for another chance to strike.

Through evolution, power is attained

"In the dunes of Western Saunus, they said Vacuo could never be conquered." Great dunes of sand surround a burning city. At the center a large pyramid-like structure burned next to a large oasis. Untold numbers of battle droids and soldiers alike marched as one towards the war zone as the wrecks of many strange ships burned in the dunes around them. What caught the eye though, was not the visage of a great nation brought low, no it was that of a woman with long black hair stood atop a dune, and surrounded by some rather rough looking individuals grinning like savages at the carnage. Each looked less like a soldier and more like pirates given military grade equipment. The armor painted with strange markings could be called patchwork if it wasn't so new looking, and any exposed skin had at least some tribal looking tattoos. She, however, stood tall and confident; dressed in short dark red robe-like garments accentuated by black accessories, boots, and stockings. Her face was obscured by a bleached bone white avian esque mask with red tribal patterns. She held a long crimson blade loosely in her right hand, and had a large unknown mechanism on her left hip. With how ornate her outfit looked, she must've been important. The whole scene was depressingly morbid, and was only made more so by the sinister and skeletal looking ships, hanging above what was once most certainly a beautiful city at one point, the foremost of which had a large black avian painted on the side.

Through power, victory is secured

"In the realm of shadow and death, they said the Grimm could never be tamed." The sky was a hellish red, filled with plumes of smoke and massive black creatures, but the ground was simply not visible, blocked by a sea of black, white, and red. The creatures numbered in the hundreds of millions, and yet that was not the most terrifying part. The creatures were bowing to a solitary figure dressed in dark grey armor with a glowing red blade in hand.

Through victory, my chains are broken

For the briefest of moments the mans' sclera turned pitch black and black veins spreading from the sides of his eyes appeared, but just as the features appeared they disappeared. "Now they say nothing. They fear me, as an evil that threatens the world, a tyrant greater than any other, and a monster who brings only misery and death!" His face lowered, whether it was in sadness or anger could not be discerned, but it rose resolute, his scarlet eyes alight in power.

And though this path may break me

"I say I am Rouge! The most powerful man to ever walk the surface of Remnant! I. AM. EMPEROR!"

I will be free

Blackwing stared at the metallic ceiling above his bed trying to remember the face in his dreams, but no matter how hard he tried all he could remember were vague images of war, and a voice reciting a weird version of the Sith code. There was one exception though. A single word rang clearly in his memory.

Rogue.

Who or what has gone rogue? Why have they done so? Is this even important? Frowning he sat up, swung his legs out to the side and stood up. Sighing he began doing his standard exercises to keep in shape, regular physical stuff, and then blade forms. By the end, his bare, scarred, and toned body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he moved towards the refresher to clean up. The hot water running down his body made all the scars he collected tingle in mild phantom pain, but he didn't mind. It served as a reminder of his failures, and the lessons learned from them.

After finishing up, he dressed himself. His ensemble was nothing too eye-catching. Some sturdy black boots, a crimson shirt and dark grey pants with a crimson stripe, small plasteel plates to provide minimal protection and maximum movement, a belt with some pouches to hold his tools and his lightsabers, and an olive green loose fitted jacket with some forearm armor. A generally dark looking outfit, but at least it's not all black. That would just scream assassin or dark, broody and up to no good.

He grabbed a bag off a nearby box, and gently unloaded its contents onto the floor. He sat down cross legged with his eyes closed, all to help him channel the power granted to him through the Force into the items on the floor. The various seemingly unrelated parts laid out before him began to float up and assemble into two small metal cylinders with a red crystal in between them. The two cylinders came together, closing the crystal within and twisted, firmly connecting the separate parts together and forming a lightsaber hilt. His eyes opened as he grabbed the hilt out of the air, and ignited the lightsaber illuminating the room with it's crimson blade.

"Hmm…" The Sith Assassin hummed in thought while examining his new blade. "Much better..." He deactivated the lightsaber, hooked it to his belt, and headed for the main chamber.

Leaving his chambers, he arrived at the Holoterminal chamber occupied by his holodroid companion IG-113 or Iggie for short. Now, one might question the need for both a holoterminal and a holodroid, and Blackwing himself would agree. It seemed downright wasteful to him. Perhaps it's a hardware compatibility issue, differing ranges or performance capabilities, or some other unknown purpose. The droid looked up from the terminal currently holding his attention and greeted him. "Ah. Master, you've finished your lightsaber just in time! Lord Vader has sent orders for you to contact him."

With a quick nod of acknowledgement he dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Iggie began to spark and flicker like a hologram until he took the tall, dark, and intimidating form of Darth Vader. The room filled with a silence broken only by the sound of Vaders' mechanical breathing until Blackwing spoke. "What is thy bidding my master?"

Vaders' skull-like visage looked down, silently examining him for the briefest of moments before speaking. "An Imperial officer has gone rogue and has turned pirate, he's set up operations in an asteroid belt near Sullust. Him and his band of criminals have been raiding Imperial supply convoys coming from the shipyards in orbit of the planet." An officer turned pirate? How disgusting. "Those shipyards are vital to the Empire and it's security. With an imperial officer leading them these formerly insignificant pirates have become a threat that must be dealt with. Your mission is to meet up with another agent of mine, by the name of Starkiller, and kill the deserter along with all who follow him. Make sure there are no witnesses to your actions. Loose ends are unacceptable."

He stayed still as a statue while his master spoke his will, silently waiting for him to finish before giving his acknowledgement. "Of course master. I'll leave immediately."

Vader regarded him, as if judging his response, for a moment. "Should you succeed in this task you will be one step closer to your destiny."

"The Emperor." He almost gasped out the words in his anticipation.

The dark lord didn't reply, instead he simply stared down at Blackwing. Vaders' mechanical breathing ceased as his form began to fizzle until it disappeared, and was replaced by Iggies' shorter and less threatening visage. "Congratulations master! You are getting closer to fulfilling your primary programming. How exciting!"

Standing up from his kneeling position, Blackwing sported a slight upturn at the left corner of his lips. Which for someone who wasn't super expressive, was about the equivalent of a normal person beaming in joy. "Iggie, set course for Sullust. I'll be in my chambers adding the new hilt to my other saber."

"Of course master." Came the reply of the ever loyal holodriod. With that Iggie set about his new task, and he left to finish his sabers. The walk to his chambers was short and silent, completely without event. Without pause he sat down and immediately began setting out the parts for his second blade. With the parts all set he kneeled and began to meditate. Slowly the parts levitated and moved together, once again the distinct form of a lightsaber took shape. Just like before, he activated the blade, never once questioning the accuracy of his assembly, and examined his new weapon. Nodding in satisfaction he clipped the deactivated hilt to his hip opposite to its twin and resumed meditating.

The Force flowed through him, perforating his very being to imprint various vague images, feelings, and sounds into his mind. A ruin long abandoned and overgrown with copious amounts of vegetation, hopelessness and rage, screaming accompanied by blaster fire and the hum of a lightsaber, a massive battle station orbiting a blue and green world, the remains of an old war adrift in space, a flicker of light in a sea of darkness, stormtroopers firing at something, glowing red eyes and fear, a fleet and a planet, grief and triumph, large swaths of land being atomized, and finally there was only black.

Although the images and sounds had ceased he did not once stop meditating, far too focused on the "vision" if it could even be called as such. The images were enough to convey what they were, but were far too... blurred to gain any significant information. Much the same could be said for the sounds and feelings, but the biggest problem was why? Why was he receiving a "vision"? Was it from the Force itself? He was no Sith(yet) and he most certainly wasn't a Jedi. Hell, he isn't even considered a proper apprentice yet. Like all practitioners of the Dark Side he had an ambition to one day become a proper apprentice, then surpass and kill his master, but it was controlled. He knew being too hasty with his ambitions would be deadly, it was one of the many things his missions of assassinating over ambitious Imperial officials taught him.

Regardless, the Force shouldn't be "contacting" him, why not contact Vader or some Jedi scum in hiding? Perhaps the Force did contact someone else, it's not like Blackwing would know if it did or didn't. However this doesn't answer the question, does the Force want him to do something? His face twisted into a scowl at the idea. He is one of the select few who refuses to be carried by the Force, the mere thought of it controlling him brought a sneer to his face. The Force doesn't control him! He bends it to his will, using its power to sow destruction and death at his master's will. The Force must "know" this, as much as a semi-sapient omnipresent energy field could know anyway, so does it not care? It's possible the vision will never come to pass, but if what little he knows about the Force and it's mysteries are accurate it's unlikely they won't come true.

"Master." Iggie's voice shattered his concentration, bringing him back to reality. "What is it, Iggie?"

"We will be arriving at Sullust soon." He unconsciously nodded, and frowned at the news. Well more frowning at how quickly time had passed. Had it really been several hours? It… mildly surprised him. He knew he had a tendency to think a lot, but normally it doesn't take much time. The vision however… It was a new and unique experience. There was no way of knowing just how long he just sat there, doing nothing as the vision was shoved into his mind. "Thank you Iggie. I'll be up there soon."

"I await your arrival master."

"Are we really doing this?"

"Would you rather we remain slaves?!"

"N-no! I'm just… worried is all." The nervous man nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder. Looking to his left he saw a middle aged man with grey hair and brilliant golden eyes.

"It's alright to be worried Dom." He said reassuringly. He removed his hand and clenched it into a fist before him.

"Each and every one of us knows what it's like to suffer here. These damned mines where each of us experienced being beaten and worked to near death for the greed of those damned Shnees." He hissed out the name like it was the source of all evil in the world. Around him, each and every person in the shack had their eyes locked on him. "Today we change that. Come morning, we will not be slaves, we will be free men and women." There were murmurs of agreement filling the room. "Does anyone wish to back out?"

Not a single soul moved from their spot. He smiled. "Good. Get what rest you can, we attack in two hours." Everyone nodded and began filling out. All except for the man who gave the speech. "Luna! Hold up a second."

The youngest in the room, a girl who could be no older than sixteen with pure white hair and sapphire blue eyes, stopped and turned around. "Yeah dad?"

His eyes softened. "I can tell you're worried." Her eyes widened before she looked away ashamed. He huffed and wrapped her up in a hug, which she returned immediately. "Sweetie. It's perfectly fine to be nervous, just follow the plan, remember what I taught you, and everything will turn out alright."

She mumbled a quiet "I know" into his chest. He smiled and began walking her out of the shack with an arm over her shoulder. "C'mon. Once we get out of here I'll buy you an ice cream."

Her eyes lit up in wonder. Sometimes he forgets she doesn't even know what some of the things he promises her are. Like ice cream for example, all she knows about it is how it's a cold sweet cream like food. She's never even seen anything like it. At first she was confused as to how cream could even be food. That will all change soon enough though.

"We will be arriving in the Sullust system in 3… 2… 1… now." Just as Iggie finished the bright swirling tunnel of hyperspace vanished, replaced by the inky blackness of real space. "Master, the Rogue Shadow is awaiting our arrival in an asteroid belt approximately forty thousand kilometers from the rebel station."

"Take us to them."

"Of course master." Iggie promptly replied. The holodroid began maneuvering the ship towards the asteroid belt leaving Blackwing to his thoughts. It's a tad unusual for Vader to send him on a mission with another one of his agents, even more so considering this isn't an assassination mission like normal. Well, technically it is an assassination, but it bears more of a resemblance to a full assault. The only difference being a lack of overwhelming Imperial firepower. It's certainly weird; still nothing he can't handle, and it certainly can't be any worse than the time he assassinated a corrupt official on Taris… then again it's not impossible to top a building collapsing with himself inside it. He snapped out of his thoughts as the Rogue Shadow grew ever closer. "Master, they're hailing us."

"Patch it through to the central chambers." He commanded; having already turned to leave the cockpit with Iggie soon following close behind. Passing through the door connecting the two rooms he wondered where he stood to the side as Iggie established a commlink.

"Connecting now master." Following these words came a brief crackle of static before the image of Vader's, unsurprisingly young, agent appeared in the form of a blue hologram. He couldn't have been much older than Blackwing himself, perhaps two years or so. His hair was buzzed and a light brown, and his face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. "You're younger than I thought you'd be."

He bristled, not taking too kindly to his age being brought up in even a slightly condescending way. Yes he's only fifteen, but that doesn't stop him from cleaving people's heads from their shoulders. Or snapping their necks with the Force. Or electrocuting them till their heart stops. Or bur- the point is he can still kill someone in more ways than most can count. "You don't look very old yourself."

Iggie left for the cockpit seeing he was unneeded and Starkiller narrowed his eyes at the jab, but decided to move onto more important matters. "You have a plan?"

"Hmmm." Blackwing thought for a moment, and before long an idea came to him. Bringing up a holo display of the pirate base gained from a quick scan, he began his explanation. "I noticed from the scan we took, the base was built into an asteroid with only a single hangar to enter and exit the base, and little in the way of defense. Perhaps some outdated starfighters, and a few defense lasers." He had to stop and take a breath before he could continue. "So I propose we use our stealth systems to rush the hangar, without instruments capable of detecting us they will have to rely on cameras and the mark one eyeball to hit us, if they even see us coming that is. We enter the hangar, shoot the place up a bit with our ships and rip the pirate operation apart from the inside. If they do detect us on our approach, we evade as best we can and hopefully reach the hangar before they launch any starfighters. If we don't… we'll have to get into a dogfight while dodging laser fire from the station… a bad situation all around."

"What makes you think they don't have good enough sensors to detect us?"

Blackwing scoffed. "These are a bunch of pirates, and we have top of the line Imperial stealth technology. The odds of them having anything besides their eyes that can detect us are so unbelievably small it might as well be zero."

"Assuming my ship has stealth systems?"

He rolled his eyes. "Your ship not having stealth systems makes less sense than whatever poor excuse of a language the Wookiees speak."

"...and the outdated fighters?"

He sneered. "These are pirates. At best they might have some Clone Wars era fighters. The likelihood of them having anything that would be able to perform on a similar level to our ships is minuscule… shall I go into the statistics?"

Starkiller snorted. "You certainly won't be making Grand Admiral anytime soon." The assassin commented derisively. "Your plan is basic and crude, relying too much on assumptions-"

"I prefer the term educated guess."

"-of the unknown, but it'll have to do." Starkiller didn't even blink; let alone stop speaking at the interruption.

"No further objections?"

"Not at the moment."

"Then what are we waiting for? Iggie, punch it!" With those words Starkillers hologram blinked out and both the ships screamed towards the station. The Sleight of Hand and Rogue Shadow weaved through the asteroid belt with expert precision. Unfortunately once the two ships were close, someone must've looked out a window, spotted them and sounded the alarm. Turbolaser fire flew towards the ships narrowly missing and colliding with smaller asteroids, the subsequent explosions of rock shards acted as makeshift flak forcing evasive maneuvers. Back in the rear ramp he had to steady himself as the ship shook from an asteroid detonating a little too close. "Iggie! Get the Hand in that hangar, and blast those pirate scum into oblivion!"

"I am working on it master." Somehow while Iggie's words were toneless they still managed to come out sounding annoyed. "Get ready to deploy master."

"Easier said than done with your awful flying!" He quipped.

"It is not my flying that causes the explosions master." He couldn't help the small grin appearing on his face, he loved that kriffing droid.

Despite the pirates best efforts, both the Rogue Shadow and the Sleight of Hand made it to the hangar, much to the unprepared pilots and various workers' dismay. Just as its rear ramp lowered the Sleight of Hand open fired with its laser cannons, superheated Tibanna gas scythed across the hangar sowing destruction and chaos wherever they struck. He surveyed the destruction from the lowered ramp on the Hand. Looks like he was right about the outdated fighters, there's a burning cloakshape, several blown up V-19 torrents, a Z-95, a couple probably busted uglies, and is that a… actually he doesn't know what it is, but the thing looks ancient. It's a mystery where in hell the scum dug up the blasted thing. Thoroughly satisfied he jumped from the ramp, while the jump wasn't from a very high point he still rolled to disperse his momentum out of habit. Coming out of the roll he ignited his twin red blades, and prepared for combat. "Open fire!"

Blaster fire erupted in the hangar, but nothing came towards him. He snapped his gaze to the right only to see Starkiller expertly deflecting blaster bolts with all the grace of an experienced killer. Several unfortunate pirates were killed by such bolts. Not one to lag behind Blackwing dashed forward, bursting through the thin wall of fire at speeds no normal human could hope to achieve. Before the pirates had realized it, he was in the right side of their formation, and three of them had already lost their heads to a swipe of his twin red blades. As the three headless bodies tumbled to the floor, he moved towards the squad falling back into the corridor leading further into the station, heedless of the screaming and dying wastes of air behind him. "Formation D7! Fire at will!"

A hail of green blaster bolts flew towards him in accurate and controlled bursts. He frowned. He quickly brought his lightsabers to deflect, and was rewarded with a cry of pain from two of the scum. His frown deepened. There was hardly any reaction from the pirates other than a small flick of their heads to the source of the sound. No shouts of surprise, no cursing, no screaming in anger, and no hesitation. These aren't some disorganized batch of brigands. No, they were something far different. As he moved closer, more and more fell to his redirected bolts allowing him to pick up speed again. By the time he reached the squad it couldn't even be called such anymore, with only two members remaining. Neither had stopped firing at him, even when one's blaster overheated she just charged him yelling "death to the Empire" with her rifle raised hoping to bash him with its stock. She made it four steps before losing her arms and being cut horizontally in half. Her comrade didn't fare much better, having one of his own blaster bolts hit him in the face.

"Damned imperial." The words were near silent, but he heard them anyway. Looking to his left he saw the female he cut in half. Her helmet had been knocked off from impacting the floor, letting him see her face. Short brown hair framed a fair skinned face with striking blue eyes that had glazed over. All in all a fairly standard human female whose breathing had stopped, making those words her last. A shame really, she would have made a fine stormtrooper. It's a wonder what could have made her hate the Empire enough to join up with these scum? Sure, the system isn't particularly kind to members of the fairer sex, but he was certain with some dedication she would have prospered. Does it not provide peace, security, order, and human supremacy? Couldn't she tell her actions disrupt the order of the galaxy? He sneered, maybe she was just some alien lover, the mere thought disgusted him. He brought up his left saber to deflect a stray blaster bolt, deflecting it into the back of a pilot.

Starkiller jogged up to him. "The pilots and hangar crew are dead."

"So are the counter boarding squads." The two assassins shared a brief glance at each other, both trying to determine if the other was injured for completely different reasons. Observation was a skill any assassin worth their salt would develop or die from lacking it, as such the assessment of each other's current state lasted less than a second, and then they quickly broke into a run to kill the rest of the station's inhabitants.

Left to his own thoughts for a moment, Blackwing began to think on what he'd observed so far. The pirates are remarkably well trained, equipped, and disciplined when compared to their space borne defenses. They were mostly equipped with relatively quick firing and accurate blaster rifles, and those that didn't have those had automatic blasters instead. All of which had been focused on him, or Starkiller, back in the hangar, and had forced him to slow down and deflect or risk death. An impressive feat to be sure. Their other gear was nothing to scoff at either. Uniforms colored an odd blueish gray which seem like they would blend into most environments, full face black visored helmets, and sophisticated looking chest armor covered in pouches. These pirates-no, these soldiers are on par with proper Imperial Stormtroopers, and not the flash cloned trash commonly found everywhere. This is… troubling to say the least. No one outside the imperial military should be this well equipped or trained, especially near a major shipyard planet like Sullust.

Though the storm of blaster bolts suddenly flying at him through the air forced him to drop such thoughts for a time when he's not being shot at. A grin worked itself on his face as a blaster bolt whizzed right past his head. This is what he lives for, it's the environment he thrives in. The thrill one feels in life or death or death combat! That feeling of facing a challenge, of facing death, and surmounting it with hard earned skill. It was a difficult feeling to describe in its entirety, the sense of oneness and joy that came with doing something you excel in.

Dodging and deflecting blaster bolts, adrenaline flowing through his veins. He rushed down the hallway bobbing and weaving with inhuman grace through the hail of death. A rocket flew at him, but it was a futile effort on the defenders' part. He dropped into a slide and reignited his sabers. Just as the rocket flew harmlessly over his head he spun his sabers, deflecting the several blaster bolts flying straight for him. A microsecond before his slide started losing momentum he rolled into a sprint. Sabers spun rapidly, deflecting a torrent of blaster fire. Another rocket flew just as he could feel the heat of the first rocket's detonation on his back. Instead of going into another slide he ran up onto the wall to his left, and then briefly onto the ceiling before dropping right into the defensive formation keeping his forward momentum the whole time. Mid air he brought his two hilts together at their bottom and twisted. The two separate sabers became one double bladed lightsaber. With a swing of his double blade, five of the eight defenders found themselves headless or bisected.

Deactivating his double saber, he jumped. Curling his body, he condensed the force around himself, and time seemed to slow for a brief moment. He released the energy surrounding him into a devastating pulse of pure destruction. People too close we're turned into ash in a matter of moments, those who weren't turned into ash were flung through the air like they weighed nothing, bulkheads buckled and bent, and barricades were destroyed outright. Still in mid air, he sensed more coming from around the corner. Upon landing he spun, and he used the force to grab rubble and swing it around with his spin. Just as his spin was nearing a full rotation he could see the first of an enemy squad rounding the corner. Arcs of blue electricity shot down his arms, and at incredible speeds jumped into the rubble just as it was flung at the oncoming squad. The results were devastating.

He stood there panting a bit in exertion. Just looking at his handiwork. Over a dozen figures lay dead from his actions, and he was no worse from wear. Starkiller shot past him faster than he could blink, tearing apart the remnants of the first squad and the whole second squad he didn't even know was there.

This is gonna be an exciting couple of hours.

Those two… monsters have been butchering his men. Almost two thirds are already dead, and it hasn't even been two hours since they've boarded. "Sir. Squads one-five and one-one have been eliminated."

He could only sigh in response. "Have squad one-four bring high explosives and heavy weapons to defensive line nine."

"Yessir." His men are good, there was no doubt about that. All of them were gifted to him by General Kota in reward for the prize he brought the old Jedi when he defected. He once commanded several platoons of some of the best stormtroopers in the Empire, stamping out the last remnants of the CIS and hunting pirates. And yet, not once throughout his entire career was he loyal to the Empire. From the very beginning he had planned to defect, to use his experience as an officer against the Empire. He simply needed to wait for his chance. Bide his time, play the role of a fanatic Imperial, and one day when he was on leave, his patience had been rewarded. So he stole some important data and valuable supplies, and immediately joined Kota's militia.

He's been at this for almost two months now, and because of him Kota's militia has been able to refit their ageing Venator and even steal an imperial dreadnaught heavy cruiser. While not enough to challenge the Imperial navy outright, it can do incredible damage if used correctly. "Sir, defense line nine has fallen."

"Already?"

"Yessir, didn't even slow them down."

"Then they'll be knocking down our door any minute now."

"Yessir."

He sighed. These were good people. Loyal soldiers dedicated to freeing the galaxy from Palpatine's tyranny. They will all die here. None of them will be remembered by history, and the Emperor's tyrannical regime will remain. Perhaps this was his fault. Had his aggressiveness towards weakening the Empire drawn their ire? More than likely. Still, he could do one last thing to spite the Empire. "Send all vital data gathered on Imperial operations to the General, then begin a purge of the databanks."

"Yessir." The poor operator paused. "It's been an honor sir." He nodded and looked around the command room. Twelve pairs of eyes looked back. "I will not lie to you. We will die here, but our rebellion will live on with General Kota. So steel your hearts men." He pulled his blaster pistol from its holster. "Today we show the Empire our resolve."

There was a cheer, but it was short lived. A red lightsaber had begun carving a hole in the door. It's sinister red glow as it slowly carved out the last thing keeping him from death was possibly the most horrifying thing he had ever seen. "Ready yourselves men!" Blasters were drawn and cover was taken. The angry red blade finished carving through the door, leaving a glowing orange trail behind it. When the blade disappeared he was sure it would be followed by immediate death.

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Nothing happened. Dread filled his gut. Seconds dragged on for what felt like hours. "Why are they-" The carved out piece of door blasted inward with a deafening boom, and then there was nothing.

The command room was absolutely wrecked. Bodies were strewn about across consoles, the floor, railings, and sparks occasionally burst from cables or destroyed consoles. The defenders didn't put up much of a fight, but they never faltered. They fought until they died, not once trying to surrender, fully aware it would only lead to death. So, stuck between cowering and death or fighting and death they chose to fight. He could respect that.

"This the traitor?" He gestured to a mostly intact corpse.

Starkiller knelt down and brushed some hair covering the corpse's face. "Black hair, blue eyes, scar across the left temple, approximate age 39, and dressed importantly. Yeah, it's him."

"Finally! say what you will about these scum, but they put up a hell of a fight. For people not trained to take out Force users that is." He spun on his heel and strode out the room. "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna get back on the Hand; take a shower, and meditate."

The feeling of satisfaction from a job well done swelled within him. It's not everyday he takes part in such a… he was thinking "slaughter", but the word doesn't quite fit. Yes it was a one sided massacre, but it still had enough danger to his life for him to find the word unfitting. Any and all thoughts were halted by the distinct snaphiss of a lightsaber activating and the feeling of imminent danger flooded his senses. The sheer intensity of the feeling forced him to whip around, reactivate his sabers, and immediately raise them in a block. Whatever he was expecting it most certainly wasn't Starkiller's red lightsaber crashing down on his own. Blackwing's hasty block shattered under the impact, but he quickly used what momentum he could gather from the failed block to redirect his sabers up into another block. However Starkiller was not only physically stronger, he was also faster, and his blade work was superior to his own. With a quick flourish, Starkiller reversed his grip on his lightsaber and swung upwards. The swing forced his own twin blades upwards and away from his body, leaving them too far to block or counter anything.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem as he is usually always the one to initially strike allowing him to dictate the course of engagements, in which case his own personal lightsaber style rivals even the most lethal of lightsaber forms. With his style revolving around an unrelenting assault of his twin blades, twirls, slashes, parry's, and other such maneuvers flowing flawlessly into each other. The style is vicious and overwhelming to most, especially when used in tandem with his dual blades combination function, forming a twin bladed whirlwind of death. Truly if his style had one flaw it would be its near single minded focus on the flowing offensive strikes has left it's defense woefully underdeveloped. When put on the back foot, the style becomes the near opposite of Soresu in defensive capability. Much like right now. Where he is on the back foot, and feeling the full consequences of his focus on offense.

Returning the grip on his lightsaber to a normal hold at the apex of its upward swing, Starkiller brought his crimson blade into a downward slash. Blackwing did the only thing he could. He dashed to the left. Not something that could be called graceful, but it did the job and saved his life. But it didn't save all of him.

PAINPAINPAINPAINPSINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINUNIMAGINABLEPAINOHBYTHEFORCEITBURNS!

A wordless scream of pain escaped his mouth. His right arm was gone. No stump. No nub. Nothing. Just completely gone at the shoulder, with only the joint left in the socket. It laid there on the floor still clutching his deactivated lightsaber as if it were ready to continue. His left saber was quickly abandoned along with any attention he gave to his fellow assassin in favor of clutching fruitlessly at the cauterized wound. This was a grave error. Starkiller quickly spun, coated his arms with Force lightning and prepared a Force push. Finishing his spin, he unleashed a powerful Force lightning push combination. He could feel some of his ribs fracture or break when the push impacted his chest with the force of what felt like a speeder going at full speed, which incidentally sent him flying. The lightning danced over him, scorching his skin, burning his bones, and boiling his very blood. His flight through the air took less than three seconds, but to him it felt like an eternity until he hit the wall and was knocked into blissful unconsciousness. However something took over all of his thoughts just before the impact.

Rage.

Incomprehensible, all consuming rage.

If anyone had been able to see his eyes for that brief moment, they would have seen his eyes were no longer a natural gemlike ruby in color.

They were a reptilian yellow.

Query: What is the status of Master?

Searching...

No heartbeat detected.

Calculating...

Likely situation: Deceased.

Prerogative: Acquire safe location and await retrieval by The Empire.

Query: Likelihood of retrieval?

Calculating...

Estimated probability of retrieval of secret Imperial assets at 1.82749%

Query: Activate shutdown protocol?

Affirmative.

Executing protocol...

Starkiller impassively stared down at Blackwing's corpse, which still spasmed from the occasional lingering electrical bolt. He put up a pathetic defense as expected. A frown marred his face briefly. Throughout the entire mission he had been subtly observing his fellow assassin, and he couldn't have been more disappointed.

Shaking his head Starkiller turned to walk away and activated his commlink. "Proxy, I need a pickup. The loose end has been taken care of."

"On my way master." Yes Blackwing had been skilled with his blades, but not as much as himself. He was also exceptionally powerful in the Force with a prodigious grasp on how to use it effectively, but when it truly mattered he failed to utilize it as he was caught flat footed. Granted he looked to be at least two years younger than himself, but that's no excuse for being so… easy to kill. "Master, something odd has happened with the Sleight of Hand."

The news made him stop in his tracks and scowl. Bringing his commlink to his mouth he couldn't help the irritated inflection in his voice. "What kind of odd?"

"The Hand suddenly jerked towards a nearby large asteroid and latched on. Then all signals from it disappeared. Transmissions, power, IFF, everything just gone, as if it never existed in the first place. If I didn't see it happen I would never know the ship is there."

That was odd. Very odd. "Does it look like it might try to attack? At all?"

"No. It's like a corpse. Silent. Immobile. Dead." That was an ominous choice of words, but probably more accurate than Starkiller would like to admit. Proxy always had a knack for that kind of stuff. "Then it doesn't matter. Let's get out of here Proxy."

"Damn them!" The sound of something impacting a tree echoed in the night. A lone female Faunus with wolf ears stood hunched over panting for breath, and shaking from exhaustion. She looked slightly malnourished, and her pure white hair was matted down with sweat.

"Fuck." Her lungs burned, muscles ached, aura gone, and tears threatened to spill from her sapphire blue eyes. She couldn't fucking believe it. The plan had gone to shit, how could they have known about the hidden auto turrets? But the plan still worked. Well, partially. Instead of everyone being free from those damned mines, only she managed to escape during the riot. Her father, Onyxia, Daisy, Aoi, Axel, Dom, everyone. Those damned SDC bastards killed them all! Years spent training and plotting in secret, all of it fucking wasted! What's the point in being free if everyone she cares about is dead? Was being subjected to slavery and abuse by those sick fucks not enough?! Just thinking of those monsters made the SDC brand on her back burn in phantom pain. She could still feel her flesh boil! When she crushed that guard's windpipe and watched as he choked on his own collapsed throat, or shattered that other one's temple with her fist and saw her drop dead instantly, or any of the others she killed in her escape. She'd felt possibly the greatest sense of satisfaction she would probably ever feel. It was honestly euphoric, vengeance felt great, it didn't matter if they begged or cried for mercy. They didn't give her any when they beat her for falling behind on her Dust quota, or whipped her because they felt like it. It didn't matter to them if she was just a child at the time, they beat her all the same. She showed them the same courtesy, as did all the other Faunus they had abused for years.

But she was finally free. Free from the damned mines where she slaved away for untold hours. Free from the bastards who murdered her mother, and forced these brands on her and her father. Slowly a chuckle forced its way from her throat, soon it became full blown laughter. An empty laughter devoid of amusement echoed through the forest. She collapsed to her knees as tears streamed down her cheeks while her body shook with laughter. There was no mirth in the laugh, just a hollow sense of accomplishment. It was enough to send shivers down one's spine if anyone had been around to hear it. Her heart was broken by the anguish of losing all but her life, and yet she continued laughing. It was a broken laugh, strained.

Alone.

After a short while both the laughter and tears subsided. She staggered to her feet. She had to go through with the rest of the plan. Granted, following the plan now will be significantly more difficult on her own, seeing as she doesn't possess very much knowledge about the outside world. With the exception of it being dangerous, and some bare bones basic knowledge of course. She still had to try though. Letting the countless hours of secret training go completely to waste would be unacceptable. Everyone's hopes of freedom had been placed on her ability to punch a hole in the SDC defenses for them to escape, but they're all dead now. All she could do to honor them was survive and get revenge. She still needed to make it to the port, and stowaway on a freighter. From there she would make her way to Menagerie, no fuck that! She's going straight to Mistral, and joining the Whi-

There was a flash of blue with a strange pulsing sound, and darkness consumed her vision.

The Faunus girl collapsed to the ground with all the grace of a bag of rocks. Immediately afterwards two figures in forest camo scout trooper armor walked out of the tree line. The matte colors of the camo blended near seamlessly into the dark forest, and had anybody been around to observe they'd have been hard pressed to spot the two scouts before they had entered the clearing. "She looks to be in good condition."

The other scout trooper said nothing and crouched next to her with a scanner. A blue "field" scanned up and down the unconscious girl's form. Two red indicators popped up on the screen, and the scout holding it began tapping buttons. "She looks a little thin and young though."

He was still greeted with silence from his partner. "Dax?"

More silence. "Dax! Are you listening to me?"

The scout groaned, and turned to look at his partner. "Would you be quiet? We're on a mission."

"This is about the mission."

"That doesn't mean you can start yelling. This is supposed to be a stealth mission, Ronik." He chastised.

"I'm not dumb enough to have my external speakers on during a stealth mission!"

"And I can't work with you screaming in my ear!"

"Will you just answer the question?!"

With a final look at the scanner Dax put it away, and sighed in exasperation. "Alright Ronik. She's slightly malnourished, and she has several injuries. Nothing that won't heal given time."

"Was that so hard?" Ronik mocked. Dax however did his best to glare a hole in in his head.

"Anyway, she'll be a good specimen for the eggheads up on the station."

"...A shame. She's kinda cute."

"Ronik! She's like" He stole a glance at her unconscious form. "thirteen!... ish?"

"I'm just saying! Given a few years she'd probably be a knockout." He couldn't see his partner's face behind his scout helmet's faceplate, but from the way he was staring… it probably wasn't a look of approval.

"Can't even compliment someone without being criticized." He muttered.

Dax just continued to stare.

He let out a sigh. "Look, I'm pretty sure her staying down here with one of us would make it easier for the both of us to sleep at night. Sending people up into space to be experimented on all the time has done no favors for our conscience. I'm not saying I'd do anything to her given the opportunity, just maybe take care of her for a bit or something, then send her on her way or uhh… I don't know, something!"

After a moment Dax nodded, agreeing with his reasoning. He could feel something akin to a weight slowly placing itself on his mind over the course of the past decade, so he certainly understood what Ronik was talking about. "Yeah… you're right about… well, all of that really. However, we still have a job to do, and regardless of what horrific things may or may not happen on the station we still have to send her in the next shipment."

"Like I said, a shame."

"You're such a bleeding heart." He deadpanned.

"Shove it up your exhaust port." Dax sighed and shook his head, but as he did so, something on the unconscious girl's back caught his eye. He could barely make out what looked like the corner of a burn scar from under her pitiful excuse for clothing. Curious, he moved the article of clothing slightly to get a better look, and boy was it something. "Well Ronik, you would probably be better off letting her be sent to the station instead of taking her with you."

"What? Why?"

"Take a look."

Ronik let out a low whistle. "An SDC brand? She's an escaped slave?"

"Been a slave for a while now, judging from how old the brand looks anyway."

"That's messed up." Dax snorted at that. Both him and Ronik knew of the Empire's use of slaves "back home", but that was almost always non-humans and criminals. Not innocent kids like her. Sure he could see the hypocrisy, but like many in the Empire he didn't much care for non-humanoids. He didn't hate them, just didn't care. "Certainly more messed up than the system back home."

"They deserve it after they started the Clone Wars!" Ah right. Ronik did technically fight in the Clone Wars. Granted back then he was little more than a child who picked up a blaster and shot some droids, but he still saw things someone at his age shouldn't have. After all the CIS didn't always use battle droids, and the Republic wasn't always able to defend a planet. Regardless, it's not worth the argument to point out how the leader of the CIS was a human. "Anyway, she'd probably strangle you in your sleep."

"Yeah, probably…" Ronik stared at the brand for a moment, deep in thought. "Hey, I'm gonna take some pictures of that brand."

"Why?"

"Never know when that kind of info could come in handy." He replied with a shrug. "Besides, the Commander might be able to use it for something."

"The commander has the entire system in his control. What use could it possibly have?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, blackmail the SDC for resources or something. You know as well as I do the Commander isn't particularly fond of using overwhelming force for literally everything. Unlike standard Imperial doctrine." He muttered the last part under his breath. "It's why Lord Vader gave him control of this whole operation." He spread his arms wide, gesturing all around him. "He's a lot like that general from the Clone Wars. What was his name? Cloudrunner or something like that." He absentmindedly scratched at his head, despite the helmet, in thought.

"You mean Skywalker?"

He snapped his fingers into a pointing gesture. "That's the one!"

Dax thought for a moment. He did vaguely recall his lessons from the Imperial academy mentioning the exploits of Skywalker. If he remembered correctly Skywalker was one of the best, if not the best, generals of the whole war. Well known for using unusual tactics, leading his

troops from the front, and achieving stunning victories. Actually, now that he thought about it, didn't Skywalker lead the 501st Legion aka Vader's fist? Which is the same legion the whole operation is technically a part of, excluding the non-combatants of course. He briefly wondered if the commander ever met the General… "Gah! We're getting distracted again! Take your blasted pictures, then put the inhibitor on her! We need to get back to base."

Ronik raised his arms up in surrender. "Sheesh, no need to get snappy."

"Then get to work!" He snapped, ironically enough. "While you do that, I'm gonna get the speeders ready." With his piece said, Dax left for the tree line.

"Fine, fine." He knelt down and pressed a button on his helmet. Several detailed pictures were immediately saved to the datastick in his helmet, ready and waiting to be handed to his superiors. Satisfied, he took a circular device off his belt and pressed a button on its side. The device expanded into a collar-like contraption with a red light dully glowing right next to where the button was. Just as he clamped it around the unconscious girl's throat, numerous micro needles sprouted from its inner surface and embedded themselves in her neck, and the red light turned green. Her eyes shot open and she gasped in pain as a white barrier flickered and died around her whole form. Just as quickly as she woke she fell back into blissful unconsciousness, completely unaware of the fresh hell awaiting her.

Ronik frowned at her sleeping form, huffing he picked her up. Throwing her over his shoulder, he began moving towards the tree line. "Sorry about what's gonna happen to you up there kid. It's nothing personal, just my job. I know you can't hear me, but it makes it easier to do this if I apologize."

A.N./Fuckin' 'ell that took awhile to finish writing.

For clarification this is inspired by The Silver Eyed Force User, while there will be similarities, there will be far more differences. Again I know my writing is lacking so criticism is welcome as long as it is meaningful and actually helpful, if not… well whatever.

Should I answer reviews… meh why not?

Guest#1: It wouldn't be much of a story if I spoiled it now would it? Buuuut I will say Summer is going to make another appearance, whether it's through a memory/flashback or as a living breathing character is for me to know and you to find out.

Guest#2: Vader is a very busy man with many responsibilities, as such he doesn't have the time to raise a baby. As for him being attracted to the light side because of his silver eyes… is that how they work? I sorta just thought it gave people super Grimm slaying powers of DOOOOOM! And I've actually changed his eye color to red like Raven's. I figured having silver eyes is Ruby's thing, and giving the same to Rouge would take away that uniqueness, plus I didn't want them(silver eyes) to be the focus of my story. Plus he already has the Force, giving him silver eyes would've been pointless.

Also, it turns out I like to write when drunk.

Peace muh dudes!