A/N: I'M BACK! Damn I hate having writer's block. I hate life that gets in the way. I especially HATE that I have to make you all readers (my fans) SUFFER waiting this long for an update.
So... I have read your reviews and I have decided to RESCIND MY DECISION TO MOVE ON TO AO3 AND CONTINUE TO POST ON FFN!
Let's all hope that this decision doesn't come to bite me in the ass and that my story doesn't get taken down for obvious reasons. It's a pain to update both AO3 and FFN anyway, and its not like I have a lot of time in the first place.
ANYWAY... please read and review. Enjoy and REVIEW! Review review review!
Chapter 21
A week after the conclusion of the battle at the Balmorran Arms Factory…
The hangar bay of Sobrik spaceport bustled with activity as Aaric strode toward his ship, his matte black clean fatigues billowing in the brisk winds of the planet. The Sith apprentice had just returned from Grand Marshal Cheketta's execution that was happening in Sobrik's main square for all to see.
This was contrary to what was agreed upon with the Republic Senate where the Grand Marshal was supposed to be repatriated in return for the withdrawal of the Republic fleet in three sectors which would allow the imperial navy to swoop in and conquer the now unprotected planets without fear of reprisals
Darth Lachris orchestrated the event and had Cheketta brought out in shackles wearing nothing but his briefs. The dark lady herself had ensured that the execution would be broadcasted to within the Empire's borders only. Publicly, however, a missive would be sent to the Republic Senate; informing them of the former Grand Marshal's unfortunate demise when his supposed transport suffered a catastrophic failure and crashed into an asteroid field somewhere within the Empire's borders.
Not that the Republic would have been able to force an investigation anyway with them being in the losing end of the negotiations and not wanting to anger their citizens even more. Reading between the lines it would be an unspoken but open secret that the former Republic officer would be offed as a warning.
The mostly imperial audience had jeered and boo-ed at their now defeated foe and threw trash at him as he railed against his captors about the deal he had struck with a Sith under Lachris' command and that he and the captured prisoners of war were supposed to be treated fairly.
Lachris could only give a sinister grin as she informed the utterly shocked Republic war veteran that she had no knowledge of this supposed Sith under her command; and since he and his troops had broken the treaty as he had so willingly publicised, they were no longer bound under said treaty to be treated as prisoners of war and that they would all be sentenced to enslavement or death should they resist the former.
Aaric only smiled from afar as he could still see, even from that distance, the blood draining from Cheketta's face as a nearby Sith adept readied to deal the deathblow with his lightsaber.
Hn. Let this be a last lesson to you, Cheketta. Baras' apprentice smirked to himself as he turned away just before the strike fell. Never make a deal with a Sith in desperation.
Another problem he had to settle was his popularity amongst the troops of the Imperial Consolidation Corps. Almost everyone was clamoring to transfer out to serve under Aaric's banner. As much as it made the apprentice delighted that he was gaining fame amongst the imperials, he felt it wouldn't be prudent at the moment since Baras still required him to be discreet.
Still, he couldn't exactly turn down the offers outright. Thus he compromised with Colonel Vrain: Whenever Aaric decided it was prudent to gather forces under his command to better serve his or his master's needs, he would have first pick amongst the best troops who had volunteered to transfer out.
For now, his matters on Balmorra had been settled. It was time to move out.
Turning a corner, he was none-too-surprised to see Lieutenant Quinn standing by his vessel, her Imperial uniform crisply pressed, awaiting his return.
The Sith apprentice clicked his tongue in mild irritation. He hated it when his intuition was right sometimes. Hn. Baras must have instructed her to tag along and spy on me in the guise of joining my crew. Well, with time I'm going to turn the tables on him! Just you wait, Baras!
Quinn noticed his approach and bowed respectfully. "My lord, I hope you don't find my appearance here obtrusive. I beg an audience."
"A simple 'request' will suffice, Quinn," Aaric smiled, he never got tired of seeing how her uniform accentuated her figure. "As much as I would like to see you beg in other circumstances, begging in this instance is not something becoming of an officer."
Quinn's demeanor shifted, flushed cheeks followed by a sheepish expression crossing her features. "Pardon my word choice, my lord. I will speak plainly. As you know, Lord Baras enabled my reassignment to anywhere I choose. It is an evolution I have longed for and assumed would never come."
"Aiding your mission on this planet has reawakened the ambition I began my career with:" Quinn continued, conviction evident in her gaze. "To make the most profound impact possible for the empire."
Aaric's response was deadpan. "Well, I'm glad to have helped to reignite your passions. Is that all? I have new marching orders from Darth Baras and my ship is scheduled to take off soon."
"Of course. I'll get right to the point, my lord." Quinn nodded, gathering her resolve. "I have decided that there is no more a glorious way to make a difference to the galaxy than to serve you!"
Kneeling before Aaric, she gave Aaric a gaze of steeled resolve. "I hereby pledge myself to you. I'm ready and willing to serve in whatever capacity you see fit."
Aaric's visage went from genuine surprise to outright seriousness. The apprentice was planning on rejecting Quinn no matter what she offered. But for Baras to even go as far as instructing Quinn to offer her brains, talent and sex? It was evident that his master was pulling all the stops and leaving nothing to chance to ensure his apprentice was kept under surveillance at all times.
This was more than what Aaric could have ever expected. Darth Baras was definitely going to regret that decision.
The apprentice bent down slightly and clasped a firm hand around her jaw, a small gasp eliciting from her lips. He lifted her head so she could meet his piercing gaze. "Choose your words carefully, Quinn. Are you sure this is what you want? To be at my disposal in any way I see fit? To do anything I instruct? To serve at my every whim and pleasure?"
Quinn, nervous but firm, gulped. She knew exactly what he was implying and it made her shiver at the thought of having to debase herself like this.
All for the mission. She chanted repeatedly in her head. All for the good of the Empire!
But just as the conversation intensified, Vette appeared at the ship's loading ramp and interjected. "Who cares what she can do? I could use some help around here!"
Aaric groaned in exasperation, irritated by the spoilage of the mood. Turning to Vette, he said "If you want I can set 2V-R8 to listen to your instructions if it will stop your complaining. But if you abuse the droid or make any illegal modifications to him, I'm punishing you!"
Vette's demeanor quickly shifted to joy. "Great! Thanks!" And disappeared back into the depths of the ship.
Quinn, relieved, continued to express her commitment. "Please my lord. Given the chance, I am sure I can prove my usefulness to you. I'm a top-notch pilot, military strategist, and a deadly shot. I can fly your ship, plan your battles, assess your enemies and kill them with extreme prejudice. You won't find a more tireless and loyal subject. I offer my military prowess and dedicate every ounce of strength to your cause."
Aaric pretended to consider her words. He knew that Quinn wasn't going to accept refusal anyway. But if he was going to have a spy on board, it might as well be someone that he could eventually control and turn. Having a woman as beautiful yet talented as her serving as his executive officer would also be a nice touch.
Oh, he was going to enjoy having fun breaking her loyalty to the bastard Baras!
"Well, in that case, how can I refuse?" The apprentice relented. "Good to have you aboard, Quinn!"
"Thank you, my lord," Quinn replied, her relief palpable. "I have my things all packed and ready to board. I will submit my reassignment papers as we depart."
With a nod, Aaric gestured toward the ship, and as they all made their way on board, a new alliance forged, set to embark on the next chapter of their journey through the stars.
Aaric's Fury-class interceptor stood still in the void of space just out of Balmorra's orbit. The whole crew, now comprising of the newly joined Quinn, Vette and the Sith Apprentice himself had gathered at the ship's central chamber, a dimly lit room dominated by a large, flickering hologram of Darth Baras.
Baras's deep, resonant voice echoed through the chamber. "Apprentice, I see you are ready to put Balmorra behind you. Good. The elimination of Commander Rylon grants security to my spy network, but there is still more to be done. Before I unleash you on Nomen Karr and his Padawan, you must eliminate my spy on Nar Shadaa. Head there immediately."
Aaric, standing at attention, replied with unwavering obedience. "Understood, master. My ship is en route to Nar Shadaa as we speak."
Baras nodded in approval, his ominous figure looming in the hologram. "Good. I did not say this before, but I'm impressed that you have broken your slave to such an extent that her loyalty and skill was enough to considerably assist in the invasion of the Balmorran Arms factory. It seems you are taking my advice to heart."
"Of course." Aaric lied. There was no need to feed Baras any more information than necessary.
"A piece of advice, apprentice." Baras warned. "Do not become too attached to your toys. You do not want to go through what Darth Malgus did. But I digress."
Aaric raised a questioning brow at his master but did not follow through with an inquiry. He noted at the back of his mind to investigate this Darth Malgus fellow to see what happened to him.
"And it is good to see you once again, Lieute-... No. 'Captain' Quinn." Baras greeted. "I was surprised when I received your request to be reassigned to my apprentice once more. I hope you will find serving under him most enjoyably challenging and yet rewarding at the same time."
The newly promoted Quinn, standing nearby, lowered her head in a respectful nod. "The pleasure is all mine, Lord Baras. I assure you I will serve him with the same conviction and fervor as I have served you in the past."
Baras's holographic image crackled slightly, but his deep voice remained steadfast. "Good. Apprentice, contact me again when your ship has arrived in orbit. Only then will I provide more details of your mission. Baras, out."
With that, the hologram flickered and faded into obscurity, leaving the crew in silence. Aaric turned to his companions, determination in his eyes. "Prepare for the jump to Nar Shadaa. We have work to do."
As the ship's engines roared to life and the stars streaked past the viewports, the crew set course for their next destination. The apprentice sat in the commander's chair as the rest of the ship began the jump to hyperspace.
Nar Shadaa was perfect for the next phase of his short-term plans. Located within the so-called 'neutral' territory controlled by the Hutt Cartel, he would be able to obtain custom-made gear for both himself and his ship without worrying about the scrutiny of imperial border security or customs officers.
Even before the ship had left Sobrik, Aaric had already arranged two things:
First, Gann Sakoal had agreed to officially retire from the imperial military once his work on the Troida factory was finished. Subsequently, he would become employed as Aaric's private researcher in whatever projects the apprentice assigned him for.
Currently, he had the old science officer continue to work on variants of the mind-wiping drug of which the apprentice already received a few sets of samples to experiment with. But his latest project was to reverse engineer Grand Marshal Cheketta's armor, melt down the materials and fabricate a new set of armor customised for the apprentice.
Of course, the apprentice made sure that any communique with Gann or his ex-wife was done discreetly, encrypted and any record of it deleted and scrubbed from the ship's logs. He couldn't risk Quinn revealing anything to Baras that he could hold over his head. In addition, he was thankful that the Balis twins had promptly shuffled the former Mrs Sakoal; now 'Kara Balis', away to his residence on Dromund Kaas before the sexy Captain joined his ranks.
Secondly, he had contacted Lara and Tara Balis once again; sending them the schematics of his newly acquired, standard-issue, Sith ship and asking them to send over a team of engineers to customize it to his exact specifications.
Concurrently, he had arranged for them safe passage to his abode in Dromund Kaas so they could train their new 'sister' Kara Balis in managing his real estate among other duties.
The ship rumbled as it prepared to jump to lightspeed. Vette and Quinn strapped themselves into their seats and looked towards Aaric for confirmation. The apprentice nodded and Quinn pulled on the lever next to her, sending the ship into hyperspace.
Once the sight of the familiar blue tunnel materialised, Aaric immediately unbuckled his seat belt.
"Watch over things while I'm in the cargo hold." The apprentice stated while walking towards his destination. "I do not want to be disturbed unless it's a life or death situation."
The crew's sleeping quarters of the Fury-class interceptor was a compact yet functional space. In it were four bunk beds, four lockers and a common weapons rack. Spartan and barebones relative to Aaric's more luxurious quarters, but they were better than what Vette was used to in her youth.
The newly promoted Captain Quinn, however, was a little miffed that despite her rise in rank and her new role as Aaric's executive officer, she was forced to bunk together with her new superior's slave; In the same room, no less!
Despite this, she decided to push on with her directives and started methodically unpacking her belongings, arranging her meticulously organized gear within the quarters assigned to her.
Vette, with her characteristic skip, strolled into the room, her vibrant blue skin a stark contrast against the darker surroundings. "Hey there! I'm Vette! Remember me?" she greeted cheerfully.
Quinn glanced up, her expression neutral, and returned to her task without acknowledging Vette's introduction. Her manner was distant and controlled, a reflection of her disciplined approach to her work.
Vette, undeterred by Quinn's apparent disinterest, continued, "You do remember that I helped out master quite a bit on our last mission? Oh y'know… Taking down the Balmorran Arms Factory's generators?"
Quinn paused briefly, assessing Vette with an arched brow. "Your assistance might have been appreciated, but it doesn't change the fact that you are a slave, and I am not here to engage in conversation with someone of your… station."
The Twi'lek drew back at the response and Vette's eyes narrowed, a flash of annoyance crossing her features. "Woah there… arrogant much? Just 'cause you wear that spiffy uniform doesn't mean you're any better. Got a stick up your butt or what?"
Quinn's composure remained unwavering, her tone cool and controlled. "My duties lie in service to Lord Aaric. I suggest you focus on your own tasks and leave the matters concerning me to the relevant individuals."
Vette huffed in frustration, folding her arms across her chest. "Yeah, whatever. You might be here doing your little executive officer thing, whatever that is, but I'm more than just a slave. Aa- I mean, at least master knows that."
Huffing, Vette left Quinn to her own devices. The Twi'lek smirked to herself knowing that soon the officer would get her comeuppance: That for all her skills and abilities, Quinn was still a sexually enticing female. And whichever hole Aaric wanted, he would have it sooner or later.
"GRLK! GRLK! GRLK! GRLK! HMMMMRRRRRPPHHH!"
A guttural roar of triumph reverberated within the cargo hold as Aaric used every ounce of strength in his final thrust of his hip; smashing it as hard as he could against Mashallon's skull and puncturing his hard member into her gullet. The sight of her throat bulging obnoxiously only gave the apprentice more pleasure as he deposited yet another hose-load of hot cum straight into Mashallon's stomach.
Yadira, on the other hand, could only watch in shock and anger as her captor sexually brutalised her Jedi compatriot; furiously struggling against her restraints in a futile attempt to somehow break free and save the investigator from the Sith's torture. Her screams muffled by one of the metallic tentacles stuffed into her mouth whilst she periodically moaned in pleasure against her will as another rubbed a vibrating end against her clit and pussy.
The sight of the padawan's struggles only made Aaric sadistically gleeful of the power he had over them. Extricating himself from the Jedi investigator's throat, he grinned maniacally at what he had in store for both of his prisoners.
He would have Mashallon become nothing more than his personal, living, breathing fleshlight; all of her holes to be used for nothing else other than to bust a nut to take the edge off if needed. Since she wasn't going to give up anything other than her name, rank and identification number like a broken droid on repeat, he might as well use her like one.
Yadira, on the other hand, he would continue to mold her to his will via sensory and psychological torture. She still stubbornly held onto the belief that she would stay true to her path as a Jedi. But Aaric knew he already planted a seed of doubt within her.
All that he needed to do was to continue to egg her on, dangling half-truths and tampered evidence to see through the lies of the Jedi.
"Ahhh! That's better. It seems we're all acquainted now. Right Yadira?" Aaric sneered as the pink Twi'lek shot a death glare in response. "Now, now. Don't give me that look. At least now you have a new friend to accompany you on this lonely journey… and share the load too."
"Now that both of you have had time to acquaint yourselves with each other, it's time to give you some breathing room, Yadira."
Yadira was confused by his statement. "What game are you playing?"
Aaric replied. "Just a test of your skills. If you can land a hit on me, I promise to be a little more… lenient… in our interactions."
"If you don't… Well it will just be the same as usual until the next time I deem fit. Suffice to say, I am going to be more busy once I reach my next destination. So if you want more chances to strike me down or escape, I suggest you put in your best show for me."
The ysalamiri perched on a nearby stand, its presence nullifying the Force, leaving Yadira powerless. She had always relied on her connection to the Force, her agility, and her lightsaber skills. Now, stripped of her weapon and her abilities, she felt a flicker of fear—something she hadn't experienced in years.
Aaric stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor. With a flick of his wrist, he released the mechanism holding her chains, and Yadira collapsed to the ground, her body stiff and unyielding. She glared up at him, her pride refusing to let her show weakness.
"You think you can beat me, Jedi?" Aaric sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Let's see how well you fight without your precious Force."
Yadira didn't respond. Instead, she lunged at him, her fists clenched and her movements sharp. She aimed for his throat, her training guiding her strikes, but Aaric was faster. He caught her wrist mid-swing, twisting it painfully until she cried out. With a brutal shove, he sent her sprawling to the ground.
She scrambled to her feet, her pride refusing to let her stay down. This time, she feinted left, then swung a kick toward his ribs. Aaric caught her leg effortlessly, his grip like iron. He yanked her off balance, sending her crashing to the floor again.
"Is this all you've got?" he taunted, circling her like a predator toying with its prey.
Yadira gritted her teeth and charged again, her strikes growing more desperate. Each time, Aaric countered with ease, his strength and skill overwhelming her. He punched her in the stomach, the force of the blow driving the air from her lungs. She doubled over, gasping for breath, but he didn't let up. He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground and slamming her against the wall.
Her vision blurred as he tightened his grip, cutting off her air supply. She clawed at his hand, but it was no use—he was too strong. Just as her strength began to fade, he released her, letting her crumple to the floor.
"You're weak," he spat, crouching beside her. "And now, you'll learn your place."
Yadira tried to crawl away, but Aaric grabbed her by the lekku, yanking her back. He flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. With the other, he began to undress her, tearing away her Jedi robes until she was completely exposed. His own clothes followed, his muscular frame towering over her.
She struggled, but her body was too battered to put up much of a fight. Aaric smirked as he ran his fingers along her body, his touch rough and demeaning. When his fingers found her pussy, she tensed, her pride screaming for her to resist. But her body betrayed her, a traitorous heat building despite her humiliation.
Aaric's fingers worked mercilessly, forcing her to cum against her will. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the moans that escaped her throat, but it was no use. Her body convulsed as the pleasure overwhelmed her, her face burning with shame.
"Look at you," Aaric sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "A Jedi, reduced to nothing but a whimpering slut."
Yadira's strength was gone. She lay there, broken and humiliated, as Aaric stood over her, his dominance absolute. He could see her willpower was still there. But he knew a chink had now formed in her armor. She would soon turn to his side.
Darth Baras's image flickered into view, a towering figure even in his holographic form.
"Ah, apprentice. I see you've landed on Nar Shadaa. It is, I'm afraid, the armpit of the galaxy."
Aaric, with a smirk, couldn't resist a teasing remark. "Sounds like your kind of place, master."
Baras responded in his usual deadpan manner, "In my youth perhaps. Nar Shadaa is a place of frivolity and distraction. Gambling, spice, rampant black market, and gang territory disputes. But you are here to eliminate my spy, agent Dellocon. Normally it would be a trifling task, but Dellocon has acquired a powerful ally."
Aaric joked further, "Another eliminating another one of your own? Gosh, next thing you'll be telling me that I'll need to off myself too!"
"Now is not the time for flavorless jokes, apprentice," Baras retorted sternly.
"Agent Dellocon fell under Republic scrutiny thanks to Nomen Karr's Padawan," Baras continued. "He's smart and figured I would have him killed. So he sought out another benefactor named Lord Rathari. He is an upstart Sith Lord that overtly disrespects me and seeks to constantly stand in my way."
"Rathari prefers a more blunt approach, and the dark council has granted him dominion over some Sith interests planetside," Baras explained further. "Agent Dellocon knows much about my organization, and I cannot have Rathari in possession of such a precious resource."
"Burn this upstart Lord Rathari to the ground. Destroy everything he works for... then kill Agent Dellocon," Baras commanded.
"I see you're not averse to overkill," Aaric commented, his tone bemused.
"To you, it might be, but this kind of defiance cannot be tolerated," Baras replied firmly. "Halidrell Setsyn runs my slave operation on Nar Shadaa. She has been a valued operative for many years. She is ready to receive you and can fill you in on Rathari's movements and interests. That is all."
With Baras's hologram fading, Aaric turned to his crew, his expression set in determination. "Prepare to descend to Nar Shadaa. We have a Sith Lord to dethrone and a spy to silence."
As the ship made its descent towards the neon-lit underworld of Nar Shadaa, the crew braced themselves for the turbulent conflicts and dark intrigues awaiting them in the shadows of the bustling city-planet.
The ship autopiloted itself and landed onto one of the hangar bays in Menzeti spaceport. From what Quinn had briefed him, the spaceport itself was owned by one of the Hutts who was supportive of Imperial interests on Nar Shadaa.
The neon-lit streets of Menzeti spaceport on Nar Shadaa buzzed with activity as Aaric and his team casually strolled through the crowded thoroughfare. Suddenly, an unfamiliar astromech droid rolled into view, its photoreceptor scanning Aaric.
A whir of whistles and beeps emitted from it; droidspeak. "Identity scan = complete / / Processing uploading"
Quinn reassured the team, "No need for alarm. That's an Imperial Astromech droid. Seems like someone is looking out for persons of interests..."
Vette, with a touch of sarcasm, chimed in, "Wow, great! More work for us to do!"
The astromech droid communicated in its peculiar language "Master = Imperial command presence / / holographic link = open."
A hologram resolved into a human woman in a maroon-colored Imperial officer's uniform, her sharp features and buzz-cut hair betraying an air of authority despite the faint unease in her posture. The insignia of the Imperial Diplomatic Service gleamed on her chest.
She inclined her head slightly, the attempt at deference evident but mechanical.
"Forgive the unorthodox introductions, my lord," she began, her voice measured yet tense. "I am Maro Vizhen, head of special operations for the Imperial Diplomatic Service. You have been identified as someone who may assist in eliminating a growing... irritation to the Empire." She clasped her hands behind her back, steeling herself. "It should be a trivial task for a Sith, my lord, but I want the world to see your power."
The apprentice crossed his arms, unimpressed. His black cloak shifted slightly as he leaned back, weight resting on one foot. Golden irises glowed subtly beneath the hood that cast deep shadows across his face. Beside him, his Twi'lek companion, Vette, shifted her weight, arms crossed, lekku twitching in amusement.
Aaric scoffed, his tone dripping with derision.
"Spare me the bootlicking, Imperial," he said with a slow shake of his head. "If I wanted the world to witness my power, I wouldn't need your assistance to make that happen." His lip curled slightly, revealing the hint of a smirk. "Let me guess—you have a situation you can't handle, and now you're groveling to a Sith who just happened to be passing through?"
Maro Vizhen's composed facade wavered for the briefest moment, her mouth opening as if to protest before she hesitated, reconsidering her words.
"W-well, when you put it that way—" she stammered.
Aaric's expression darkened. His patience was already thin.
"Just get to it," he snapped, voice edged with irritation. "I don't have all day, and I am here on my master's business—something I can confidently say is far more important than whatever mess you've managed to get yourself into."
Vizhen straightened, pushing through her embarrassment. "O-of course, my lord," she said hastily. "I was tasked with securing alliances on Nar Shaddaa—Hutt clans, corporations, gangsters. But one faction has resisted all of our overtures."
She inhaled deeply before continuing.
"Ukabi. He is the local leader of the Exchange—a galaxy-spanning criminal syndicate specializing in high-tech vice. We sought to bring them under our influence, to use their extensive network of spies, slicers, and scientists to our advantage. Instead of cooperation, Ukabi has given us defiance. The Exchange spends more than some planetary governments on intelligence gathering and illicit technologies. Those they cannot buy, they kidnap. They would have been valuable assets, but Ukabi has chosen to respond with hostility. He drugs and tortures my messengers, sending back what remains of them as a warning."
She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she added, "We need to make an example of him."
Aaric arched an eyebrow. His head tilted slightly, his amusement barely concealed.
"You Imperials really don't handle rejection well, do you?" he remarked dryly. "You make an offer, someone refuses, and instead of moving on, you escalate. Now he's torturing and killing your people, and you act like he's the problem?" He exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'm beginning to think your diplomatic service isn't particularly diplomatic."
Vette snickered under her breath, her sharp blue eyes flicking toward the hologram as she whispered, "Got that right."
Maro Vizhen's composure cracked further, a flicker of desperation creeping into her expression. "Regardless," she pressed, "he must be punished. We need to show strength. The Empire must never appear weak." She squared her shoulders, voice turning steely. "I want his army crushed, his arms caches looted, his chemical refineries razed. I want a message sent so brutal that no one on Nar Shaddaa will ever deny the Empire again." She inhaled slowly, then added, "If you would grant us this favor, of course."
Aaric exhaled, feigning exasperation, though deep down, the idea of unbridled carnage amused him. He clasped his hands behind his back, pretending to weigh his options.
"So your grand diplomatic strategy is to reduce everything to fire and rubble?" he mused, shaking his head. "And people say Sith are the ones who thrive on chaos." His gaze flickered to the hologram. "Fine. But what exactly do I get out of this?"
Maro Vizhen barely hesitated this time. She had been prepared for this question.
"The Diplomatic Service will compensate you fully for your time," she said smoothly. "And, of course, the wealth of the Exchange is yours to claim."
Aaric glanced at Vette, who gave him an eager grin. "Now that's more like it," she murmured.
Maro Vizhen continued, her voice regaining confidence. "The Exchange operates out of the Corellian Sector. Your path of destruction begins there. When you're through dismantling their operation, you'll find me at my command post. I'll be watching the chaos from my chambers."
Aaric turned away from the hologram, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the boredom of the conversation.
"Then you'd better have a good view," he muttered, already stepping toward the exit of the docking bay. Vette and Quinn soon fell into step beside him, hands tucked behind her head.
"Alright, big guy," she teased. "Let's go show these diplomats how a Sith gets things done."
"Halidrell Setsyn's compound is in the Corellian Sector as well." Quinn quipped. "We can meet up with her first and then we can prioritize our follow-up actions"
The hologram flickered out, leaving only the quiet hum of the astromech droid, which let out a short whistle before rolling away.
Aaric's crimson eyes gleamed as he strode toward the neon-lit expanse of Nar Shaddaa's underbelly.
It was time to make an example of Ukabi.
The trio strode through the crowded walkways of the Menzeti Spaceport, moving toward the taxi platform where an assortment of battered speeders lined up to ferry passengers into the neon abyss of Nar Shaddaa. The air was thick with the scent of ozone, engine fuel, and the unmistakable musk of a city that never truly slept. Towering holo-ads projected oversized images of Twi'lek dancers, starship dealerships, and gaudy casinos, their flashing lights reflecting off the grimy durasteel walkways.
Aaric walked with his usual measured confidence, his dark robes shifting with each step. His gaze swept over the sprawling chaos of the city-moon, amusement flickering behind his crimson eyes. He had heard of Nar Shaddaa's filth and corruption, but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely—it was a wretched hive of excess and crime, yet there was an underlying beauty in its decadence.
Vette, on the other hand, looked entirely at ease, her hands clasped behind her head as she walked with a casual bounce in her step. The Twi'lek's sharp blue eyes darted from one holo-sign to another, a grin playing at her lips. Every so often, her lekku twitched—perhaps in recognition, perhaps in nostalgia.
Quinn, by contrast, was the complete opposite. She moved with rigid efficiency, her posture impeccable as she scanned her surroundings with precise, calculating movements. Her Imperial officer's uniform was immaculate despite the grime and disorder around her, her boots clicking softly against the durasteel platform. Her sharp blue eyes swept every shadow, every alleyway, every loitering figure.
Aaric noticed how her hand rested near her holstered blaster, and he smirked. "I expected you to be uptight, Quinn, but I didn't take you for the paranoid type," he mused, watching as she subtly shifted to keep both him and Vette in her periphery while maintaining vigilance on their surroundings.
Quinn didn't so much as glance at him. "Caution is not paranoia, my lord," she replied coolly. "It is tactical awareness. We are in a hostile, uncontrolled environment where Imperial authority holds little sway. That necessitates vigilance."
Vette chuckled. "Y'know, I think I like you, Quinn. All business, all the time. You must be a real hit at parties."
Quinn exhaled sharply—an almost-scoff, but too controlled to be outright disdain. "Social frivolities are an inefficient use of time."
Vette threw Aaric a knowing look. "See? I knew she'd be fun."
Aaric smirked but said nothing, stepping onto the taxi platform as a battered speeder pulled up before them. The pilot droid gave a garbled binary greeting, its chassis covered in soot and what might have been dried blood. The door hissed open, revealing a cramped, dimly lit passenger compartment that smelled faintly of spilled spice and ozone.
Aaric slid in first, stretching his long legs as much as the cramped space allowed. Vette flopped onto the seat across from him, lounging comfortably with her arms folded behind her head. Quinn sat beside Aaric, stiff and proper, her back straight as a durasteel rod.
The door sealed shut, and with a jolt, the speeder lifted off, accelerating smoothly into the neon-streaked skyline of Nar Shaddaa.
From up here, the true scale of the Smuggler's Moon became apparent—endless skyscrapers stacked upon one another, connected by a labyrinth of sky bridges and tangled repulsor lanes. The city pulsed with light, vast rivers of airspeeders weaving through the atmosphere in coordinated chaos. Below, holograms the size of starships loomed over entire districts, advertising everything from underground fight pits to exclusive spice dens.
Aaric watched the spectacle with mild amusement, but what truly entertained him was Vette's reaction. She was grinning ear to ear, her sharp eyes gleaming with nostalgia.
"Feels good to be back, huh?" Aaric mused, leaning back against the seat.
Vette shot him a smirk. "Oh, you have no idea. This place may be a deathtrap, but it's my deathtrap. Every flashing sign, every shady alleyway—it's like a warm hug of crime and bad decisions."
Aaric chuckled. "Comforting thought."
She shrugged. "Some of my best memories are here. Some of my worst ones, too, but hey—that's Nar Shaddaa for you. One day, you're making a fortune smuggling goods past Republic blockades; the next, you're running from a Hutt with a grudge. Keeps life exciting."
Quinn frowned slightly, arms folded across her chest. "Your lack of discipline is... unsurprising."
Vette gasped dramatically. "Oh no, Quinn disapproves of my life choices. However will I recover?"
Aaric smirked, looking between them. "I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful rivalry."
Quinn exhaled through her nose. "If we are finished wasting breath on irrelevancies, I would suggest discussing mission parameters. We are approaching the Corellian Sector."
Aaric glanced out the window. The buildings here were older, cruder—less neon, more raw durasteel and exposed infrastructure. The Exchange's influence was visible in the increased presence of hired muscle on the platforms below—heavily armed enforcers loitering in clusters, exchanging credits and whispered words.
He turned back to Quinn, watching her as she analyzed the landscape below with unerring focus.
"You never stop, do you?" Aaric observed. "Always watching, always calculating."
Quinn didn't look at him. "Complacency is fatal, my lord."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "And yet, you chose to serve under a Sith. Dangerous company for someone so... methodical."
For the first time, Quinn turned to meet his gaze. Her piercing blue eyes were unwavering. "I serve the Empire. That means adapting to any command, any superior. Even a Sith."
Aaric chuckled. "How pragmatic."
Before Quinn could respond, the taxi jolted as it began its descent. The neon haze of Nar Shaddaa faded into the grimy sprawl of the Corellian Sector, the streets below a patchwork of crumbling infrastructure and high-tech fortifications.
The time for banter was over.
As the speeder touched down, Aaric's smirk widened.
"Let's go make an impression."
The neon glow of Nar Shaddaa's Corellian Sector bathed the streets in shifting hues of crimson and violet as Aaric Tritum, Vette, and Quinn strode through the bustling district. The air was thick with the scent of coolant leaks, street food, and the ever-present ozone tinge of energy weapons being fired in the distance.
Aaric found himself mildly entertained by the sheer excess of the place—luxury casinos and dilapidated slums pressed up against each other in a way that defied logic yet somehow embodied the spirit of the Smuggler's Moon. Vette, on the other hand, moved through the crowds with an ease that spoke of familiarity. She had a bounce in her step, her lekku flicking occasionally as she took in the familiar sights and sounds.
"You look right at home," Aaric observed, smirking.
Vette grinned. "What can I say? I grew up in places like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this—less neon, more gutters—but close enough."
Aaric's gaze shifted to Quinn, who, in contrast, was rigid as durasteel, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Every shift in movement, every suspicious glance from a passerby, she clocked it all with silent efficiency.
"You're awfully tense for someone walking through a district that thrives on casual crime," Aaric noted dryly.
Quinn's lips pressed into a thin line. "I simply find it unwise to let one's guard down in a place like this. Criminal elements thrive on complacency."
Vette gave her a sideways glance. "Do you ever relax, or is being wound tighter than a faulty power coupling just a Quinn thing?"
Quinn did not dignify the remark with a response, much to Vette's amusement.
Before long, they arrived at their destination: a nondescript warehouse with a flickering neon sign reading Setsyn Commodities. If the word "commodities" wasn't a dead giveaway, the lack of official branding and the surplus of hired muscle lounging nearby certainly was.
Aaric barely had time to step through the door before the unmistakable tension of a standoff filled the air.
Inside, a woman with fiery red hair tied into a messy bun stood at the center of an argument, her hands on her hips, facing off against three Exchange thugs. Two of them wore standard blast helmets and gang leathers, but the third—a grizzled-looking man with a scar running from his brow to his jaw—was without a helmet. That alone marked him as the one in charge.
"Sweet talk me all day, darlin'," the Exchange captain drawled, "but the Exchange is movin' in on this operation of yours. No amount of sugar's gonna change that."
Halidrell Setsyn's expression was all confidence and bravado, but there was a razor's edge in her voice as she replied, "Believe me, you're going to prefer the sugar to the spice. Take one step closer, and there'll be two dozen Sith surrounding you."
The Exchange captain chuckled, shaking his head. "Two dozen? That's a dead giveaway, darlin'. You got none."
The tension in the room thickened—until a new voice cut through it.
"One is all she's going to need."
Aaric stepped forward, his presence filling the space like an approaching storm. He let the weight of his words settle, watching with satisfaction as the Exchange thugs stiffened.
Halidrell's lips curled into a smug grin. "See? Not so smug now, are you, captain?"
The captain, to his credit, didn't immediately back down. Instead, he adjusted his stance, cracking his neck. "So you do got a Sith up your sleeve! Well, we've been trained to take out Sith. Time to flex our musc—"
His words were cut off—literally—as Aaric's lightsaber ignited in a snap-hiss and cut through the man's throat in a single, fluid motion. His body slumped to the floor, head rolling a short distance before coming to rest against a crate.
The two remaining thugs barely had time to react before Quinn and Vette each fired a precision shot, dropping them before they could even reach for their weapons.
Aaric exhaled through his nose, deactivating his saber. "If I had a hundred credits for every time someone announced their intent to attack instead of just doing it…" He shook his head.
Halidrell let out a slow breath before sauntering over to him, offering a casual grin. "Well, well. You have a flair for dramatic entrances. I probably could have handled that, but I'm grateful for your timing. You're the apprentice Darth Baras prepped me for, yes?"
Aaric smirked. "Was it that obvious?"
Halidrell chuckled, arms folding across her chest. "The obvious is my specialty. That's why I keep petitioning the Darth for a raise."
Something about her amused Aaric. The casual confidence, the sharp wit—it was refreshing. His gaze drifted over her form briefly, taking in the way she carried herself. There was an effortless charm to her, a mix of tomboyish boldness and flirtatious ease that made it difficult to tell if she was merely being playful or if she meant something more.
"Well," Aaric said, his voice taking on a slow, teasing lilt as he looked her up and down, "if you do a good job, I might put in a good word for you with my sweet old master. Maybe you'll finally get that raise."
Halidrell tilted her head, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "Looking forward to it." She gestured toward the warehouse interior. "Let's get started, shall we?"
As they moved further inside, Vette shot a glance at Quinn, her voice low. "Did we just get sidelined?"
Quinn merely gave her a quizzical look, clearly not understanding what she meant.
Vette sighed. "Never mind."
The dim glow of amber lighting cast long shadows over the worn durasteel walls of Setsyn Commodities. The warehouse had been converted into a functional meeting space, though its primary purpose as a front for Halidrell's operations was obvious—cargo crates were stacked high in the corners, some stamped with Sith Empire insignia, others marked with less official emblems.
At the center of the room, Aaric Tritum sat at a durasteel table across from Halidrell Setsyn, both nursing drinks. The Corellian whiskey in Aaric's glass swirled lazily as he twirled it between his fingers, while Halidrell leaned back, her own drink half-raised in a casual grip.
Quinn and Vette stood nearby, Vette idly shifting her weight between her feet, clearly bored, while Quinn remained ever-vigilant, hands clasped neatly behind her back, expression impassive.
Halidrell exhaled, eyeing Aaric with a mix of appraisal and amusement. "So… you're here to take out Lord Rathari." She swirled her own drink thoughtfully. "Won't be easy. He usually just appears, devastates, then disappears. Like a ghost that leaves corpses."
Aaric took a slow sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn before setting the glass down with a soft clink. "And I assume you have a plan in place?"
Halidrell grinned, puffing her chest out ever so slightly. "Of course! Baras trusts me for a reason."
Aaric let his gaze drop for a fraction of a second, deliberately, before meeting her eyes again. Halidrell caught it, her smirk widening just a bit.
She continued, "First, Rathari's been strong-arming the Hutt Cartel. From what I hear, they're close to signing over some important territories to him. He and his apprentice, Girik, are in a conference with the Hutts at the Cartel headquarters. If you burst in…"
Aaric stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Funny… from what you've just told me about Rathari, he doesn't sound like the type to negotiate."
Halidrell nodded. "You're right. He doesn't like talk. But he knows how to apply political pressure. The Hutt Cartel is an Imperial ally. Rathari can't just beat on them. He has to play diplomat."
Aaric scoffed. "That must pain him."
"You have no idea," Halidrell chuckled. "But unfortunately, the same applies to you. If things turn violent between you and the Hutts, better if there's no one left to identify you."
At this, Quinn spoke up for the first time, her voice crisp. "Eliminating the Hutts would have severe political repercussions. The Cartel holds considerable sway on Nar Shaddaa, and losing their alliance could damage Imperial operations in the sector."
Aaric drummed his fingers on the table, weighing the options. If he played this right, he could secure influence over the Hutts himself rather than simply eliminating them. "I'll try to keep the peace with our allies," he mused aloud. "They're important to the overall effort against the Republic."
Halidrell shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. "Up to you. I just think the other possibility won't carry as many restraints."
Aaric smirked at her lack of concern for politics, but before he could comment, Halidrell hesitated. Then, deciding to go for it, she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to add weight to her next words.
"When all this intrigue is over and Rathari is a memory," she said smoothly, "maybe we can get to know each other better."
Aaric met her gaze, his grin turning foxlike. "That will definitely be in order."
Halidrell's smirk deepened. "I look forward to it." She took another sip of her drink, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I have a feeling you and I will get along real well."
From the corner of his vision, Aaric caught Vette crossing her arms, her expression unreadable.
Halidrell set her glass down and stood, stretching slightly before glancing over her shoulder toward a group of waiting enforcers near the loading docks. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a shipment of slaves to send out, but I'll be here if you need me." She winked, adding playfully, "Good luck, my lord."
Aaric inclined his head, watching as she sauntered off, her stride confident and entirely unhurried.
As soon as she was gone, Vette let out an exaggerated sigh. "So that's happening now."
Aaric turned to her with a smirk. "Something on your mind?"
Vette rolled her eyes. "Nope. Just standing here. On the sidelines. Like some kind of extra."
Quinn, as ever, remained oblivious. "If you feel your contributions are lacking, perhaps you should strategize ways to be more useful rather than complaining."
Vette groaned. "Never mind. I liked it better when you were ignoring me."
Aaric chuckled, finishing his drink. "Alright. Let's get moving."
Vette shook her head but followed as they made their way toward the exit.
The trio left Setsyn Commodities, stepping into the neon-lit streets of Nar Shaddaa, where the air was thick with spice fumes and the ever-present hum of speeders overhead. The city never slept, its underbelly teeming with criminals, mercenaries, and opportunists who thrived in its lawless districts. Aaric pulled up the coordinates Maro Vizhen had sent—Exchange arms caches, chemical refineries, and logistical hubs. These targets were integral to Ukabi's operations, serving as supply lines for his growing war machine.
Each strike had to be fast and devastating. There was no room for prolonged engagements. The quicker they dismantled these assets, the faster they could move against Lord Rathari before he solidified his position with the Hutts.
The first target, a weapons depot, was nestled within a repurposed freight terminal. The Exchange had fortified the location with turrets and patrols, but they were complacent—secure in the belief that no one would dare challenge their hold on Nar Shaddaa.
Aaric and his team changed that notion very quickly.
Vette found a vantage point on a scaffolding overlooking the depot, setting up her scoped disrupter pistol. "I've got eyes on a couple of guards—lazy, unarmored. This is too easy."
"Don't get cocky," Aaric warned, drawing his lightsaber. "We need to move quickly before they realize what's happening."
Quinn flanked left, keeping a blaster pistol in hand. "I'll create an opening. When they turn to engage me, press forward."
The moment Quinn took his first shots, all hell broke loose. Exchange thugs scrambled for cover, but Vette's precision shots dropped two before they could return fire. Aaric ignited his crimson blade and stormed into the depot, deflecting bolts and cutting down any who stood in his way. One guard, desperate to retaliate, grabbed a thermal detonator—only for Quinn's blaster bolt to send it tumbling from his grip. It exploded in a fiery burst, taking out the remaining sentries.
"Clear," Vette called.
Aaric wasted no time. He used the Force to rip open a storage container, revealing rows of blasters and disruptors. With a simple gesture, he sent the entire cache flying against the fuel cells lining the walls.
Quinn was already placing detonite charges at key structural points. "Fifteen seconds."
The team sprinted out just as the depot erupted into flames, the explosion sending shrapnel and fire into the night sky. The cityscape around them remained indifferent—violence was just another backdrop to Nar Shaddaa's endless dealings.
One by one, the trio dismantled every Exchange target along their route. Vette covered from a distance, Aaric broke through enemy ranks like a storm, and Quinn maneuvered through gaps, ensuring their tactics were precise and ruthless. The Exchange never saw them coming. By the time they realized they were under siege, it was already too late.
When the last refinery burned, choking the streets with acrid smoke, Aaric turned to his team. "That's the last of them. Time to meet Maro Vizhen."
The Imperial Diplomatic Service outpost stood in stark contrast to the surrounding slums, an island of rigid order amid Nar Shaddaa's neon-lit chaos. The building itself was an unremarkable duracrete structure, functional and utilitarian, with none of the extravagance or filth that characterized the city-world. Dark-armored Imperial guards flanked the entrance, their visors reflecting the ambient glow of the street. The moment they recognized Aaric's Sith status, they straightened into parade-rest, stepping aside without question. No challenge. No hesitation.
Inside, the command center was equally spartan—durasteel walls, low lighting, and rows of terminals manned by uniformed officers. The air was thick with the hum of electronics, punctuated by the occasional chirp of encrypted transmissions. Everything was designed for efficiency, not comfort. There was no place for excess here, no concessions to Nar Shaddaa's opulent debauchery. It was Imperial through and through.
At the center of the room, Maro Vizhen stood at a large holo-table, engaged in a tense conference call. Three imposing figures flickered in blue light above the console, their postures rigid, their eyes heavy with scrutiny. Though her voice was composed, her stiff shoulders and the tight grip of her hands behind her back betrayed her unease.
Aaric stepped forward, scanning the participants. He recognized power when he saw it—Maro was the weakest link here. The three holographic figures, in contrast, radiated authority. This was not a conversation between equals.
A bloated Hutt dominated the leftmost projection, his massive form sagging lazily against a cushion, but his small, calculating eyes were anything but sluggish. His deep voice rumbled through the chamber, thick with disdain.
"You are bold, calling us now," he drawled in Huttese. "I do not like bold."
Maro forced a smile, her fingers twitching at her sides. "Godoba, please. I have good news."
The Hutt—Godoba the Hutt, Aaric noted—let out a slow exhale, his massive bulk shifting as he regarded her with skepticism.
Beside him stood a crimson-plated droid, its sleek, humanoid frame adorned with faintly glowing energy lines that pulsed with each syllable it spoke. DX-TX, Aaric assumed. The droid's photoreceptors flared, its voice clipped and mechanical, yet sharp with accusation.
"Do not attempt to dissimulate."
Aaric smirked faintly. A polite way of calling Maro a liar.
Maro's throat bobbed as she cleared it. "No dissimulation intended. But I wanted you to meet someone." She turned toward Aaric, her expression a brittle mask of confidence overlaying something far more fragile. "My lord, allow me to introduce the diplomatic service's allies on Nar Shaddaa. The Shadow Syndicate."
Aaric folded his arms, his gaze sweeping over the holograms. He could feel it—not hostility toward him, but toward Maro. The weight of suspicion lingered in the room, unspoken but thick as tar.
His voice was calm but firm. "Who are these people?"
Maro exhaled sharply and gestured around the table.
"Godoba the Hutt—owner of Club Vertica Casino and five city sectors. Your ship is docked in his spaceport."
"Yes," Godoba rumbled, his tongue flicking out briefly as he regarded Aaric. "And you are standing in my building."
Maro continued, motioning to the red-skinned Devaronian with curled black horns standing at attention.
"Vaarko Tiyai—leader of the Nar Shaddaa Labor Alliance. There are no better slavers in the galaxy."
Vaarko inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "A pleasure," he said, but his tone was detached.
Maro's hand flicked toward the droid. "And last, DX-TX. Primary hub of the DX Annihilator Network."
The droid's optics flickered. "Your destructive prowess is respectable. Negotiations permitted."
Aaric raised a brow at that. The droid had evaluated him within seconds and deemed him a worthy asset. Interesting.
Maro clasped her hands again, clearly eager to steer the conversation away from scrutiny. "Together, they represent key powers on Nar Shaddaa. Ukabi and the Exchange could have joined them. But thanks to your strike, we needn't worry about the Exchange anymore."
Aaric tilted his head slightly. He didn't miss the way the three leaders exchanged glances. The unease in their expressions.
He exhaled through his nose. "Judging by the looks your 'allies' are giving you, they seem to think otherwise."
Vaarko's lip curled into a sneer. "You may be more right than you know, Sith. This woman has lied to you."
Maro stiffened, eyes widening. "What?! I—I wouldn't—"
Godoba let out a deep, rumbling sigh, shifting his bulk in obvious frustration. "Does she even know what she has done? Your strike may have crippled the Exchange's business operations… but every time a fool attacks Ukabi's holdings, devastation follows. Unto the attacker."
Vaarko's sharp, clipped voice followed. "And in the end, Ukabi expands his territory."
Aaric's gaze flicked to Maro, his voice dry. "I take it that wasn't part of the plan?"
She flinched but squared her shoulders. "W-we're hardly vulnerable—"
"Quiet."
Aaric's voice cut through the room like a vibroblade. The command was simple, but the authority behind it was absolute. Maro snapped her mouth shut instantly, eyes wide with apprehension.
He stepped closer, gaze cold and unyielding. "You gave me false information, underestimated a powerful foe, and in doing so, made me party to causing a full-scale war. That, Vizhen, is the problem."
Maro trembled, her throat bobbing as she fought back panic.
Vaarko leaned in slightly, his yellow eyes gleaming. "My sources report Exchange death squads on the move. As you destroyed his assets, he will destroy ours."
Godoba let out a horrified wail, his massive tail thumping the floor. "Death squads in the casinos! Slaughtering customers, massacring my slaves! My revenue!"
DX-TX's voice cut through the chaos, eerily unbothered. "Ukabi is drawing energy for his chemical enhancement facilities. He augments soldiers for battle. He must be stopped now."
Aaric inhaled slowly. Maro had miscalculated badly. If he hadn't been here, her diplomatic career—and the Shadow Syndicate itself—would have ended within hours.
The three Shadow Syndicate leaders remained eerily silent, their eyes heavy with judgment as they scrutinized Maro Vizhen. The weight of her failure loomed over the room like a storm cloud, the realization of her blunder sinking in. She had overplayed her hand, underestimated Ukabi, and in doing so, placed them all in danger.
Maro swallowed, her throat tight, and turned toward Aaric, desperation creeping into her voice. "I—I'm not a strategist. Y-your recommendation, my lord?"
Aaric inhaled sharply, keeping his irritation in check. The damage was already done. Now it was a matter of controlling the fallout. His mind worked quickly, assessing his options. He had two choices: launch a direct assault on the Exchange's stronghold while their forces were spread thin, seizing the opportunity to cripple them further—or intercept the death squads and prevent the massacre that would weaken the Shadow Syndicate and plunge Nar Shaddaa into chaos.
He turned slightly, keeping his voice low as he addressed his two most trusted aides. "Opinions, anyone?"
Quinn spoke first, her disapproval evident in her clipped tone and the sharp glare she directed at Maro. "My lord, our priority is Darth Baras' mission. We should leave Maro to deal with her own incompetence and move on. The chaos she's caused will only work in our favor—less attention on us means we can eliminate Lord Rathari unimpeded."
Aaric expected as much from Quinn. Cold. Tactical. Efficient. The lieutenant had little patience for anything outside of their primary objective.
Vette scoffed, shaking her head in frustration. Arms crossed, she looked at Quinn like he had suggested something utterly absurd. "That's a terrible idea. Master, if we just leave, we lose any chance of keeping the Shadow Syndicate on our side. And when the Exchange finishes their slaughter, they'll come after us next. You really want to be on their bad side while trying to complete Baras' mission?" She let out a huff. "This isn't about being nice—it's about playing the long game. We take out those death squads, and the Syndicate owes us. That kind of leverage is priceless."
Aaric's lips curled into a smirk. Vette had a point. She thrived in the cutthroat environment of Nar Shaddaa—she understood how to turn chaos into an advantage. Quinn's suggestion was logical but short-sighted. The Exchange would retaliate eventually, and when they did, it would be far easier to deal with them if the Syndicate saw him as an ally rather than another opportunistic Sith.
This wasn't about heroism. This was about power.
Aaric turned back to the gathered figures, his decision made. "We can't let the Exchange's death squads roam freely," he declared, his voice edged with finality. "How do we intercept them?"
Vaarko's eyes gleamed with approval, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face. "The Exchange has a private landing pad in the Corellian Sector. That's where their squads are being deployed from. Destroy their ships, cut them off before they spread across the city, and maybe…" He trailed off, the implication clear. If Aaric succeeded, the Exchange's offensive would collapse before it even started.
Maro straightened, trying to salvage her dignity. "I—I'll alert our forces here and keep the Shadow Syndicate in line. We can discuss this further when you return."
Aaric's smirk widened, his voice laced with amusement. "Of course. We'll have much to discuss once I come back." His golden eyes flicked over her, and the unspoken threat hung in the air. Be ready for it.
With that, the trio turned to leave, stepping out of the chamber and into the neon-lit streets of Nar Shaddaa. The stakes had just risen—but so had the potential rewards.
The air in Nar Shaddaa's lower sectors was thick with industrial fumes, the scent of overheated metal and synthetic oils clinging to everything. The Exchange cargo docks were located in one of the moon's more heavily fortified districts, a sector controlled by Ukabi's forces. The architecture here was distinct from the spires of luxury and corruption above—blocky, functional, devoid of excess. Durasteel catwalks crisscrossed over stacks of crates marked with smuggler insignias, and security droids stood at attention near loading bays. The hum of repulsorlifts filled the air as dock workers moved shipments of spice, weapons, and whatever contraband fueled the Exchange's empire.
Aaric walked ahead of his team, his long stride purposeful, unhurried. Vette kept pace beside him, eyes flicking around with casual interest, while Quinn followed a step behind. Unlike Vette, she was anything but relaxed.
"My lord," she started, her tone carefully measured, "I must once again voice my concerns. We are diverting resources away from your primary mission. Darth Baras' directive—"
Aaric sighed through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "I heard your concerns the first time, Quinn. I even considered them."
Quinn's hands clasped behind her back, but her posture was rigid with displeasure. "And yet, my lord, you dismissed them."
Vette snorted. "Oh no, how dare he make decisions for himself."
Quinn's glare could have melted durasteel. Aaric, however, chuckled softly.
"You are a brilliant officer, Quinn, but your thinking is…" He paused, turning his head slightly to regard her. "Limited."
Quinn's brows furrowed, her lips parting slightly in protest before she schooled her expression. "Limited, my lord?"
Aaric came to a stop, glancing around the docks before turning to fully face her. The flickering neon of a distant sign cast shifting shadows over his features.
"Your reasoning was sound," he admitted. "Your tactical analysis was—predictable. But you failed to consider the bigger picture. You assume that, as a Sith, I must act without regard for the Empire's broader interests to simply serve my master's whims." He gestured vaguely. "Baras may think that way. I do not."
Quinn's jaw tightened. "Darth Baras—"
"Is not here." Aaric's voice was calm, unyielding. "And he will never see the full scope of this battlefield the way I do. Remember: You serve me now. Not him. He has released you from his debt, has he not?"
Quinn kept silent while Vette grinned, watching the exchange like a spectator at a duel. "I love when he talks like this. Very 'big picture.' Very dramatic."
Aaric ignored her.
"This is not merely about eliminating an enemy, Quinn," he continued. "It is about ensuring the Empire's continued influence here. If I allow Ukabi to run unchecked, what do you think happens next?"
Quinn hesitated, the gears in her mind turning. "…Nar Shaddaa descends into chaos. Ukabi consolidates power."
Aaric nodded approvingly. "And in turn, we lose allies. We lose infrastructure. We lose an opportunity." His voice dropped slightly, quieter, but sharper. "Sith need not always take actions that weaken the Empire simply to appease their master."
Quinn's shoulders squared, but Aaric caught the flicker of thought in her expression. She was reevaluating. Good.
"If you want me to listen to your advice over a 'lowly slave' like Vette," Aaric added smoothly, "perhaps you should adjust the way you think."
Quinn's eyes narrowed.
Vette grinned. "Yeah, good luck with that."
Aaric turned back toward the docks, walking forward again.
Quinn hesitated for half a second before following.
Up ahead, a pair of Exchange enforcers blocked the entrance to the cargo bays. Their blasters rested against their armor, and their eyes locked onto the approaching trio.
One of them tilted his head. "You're in the wrong place, friend—"
His lightsaber igniting in a crimson blur, Aaric cut through the first Exchange thug with a brutal, diagonal slash, his blade leaving a molten trail in the air before the body even hit the ground. The second enforcer barely had time to react before Aaric's saber snapped outward, its tip plunging through the man's chest with surgical precision.
As the two bodies collapsed, Aaric barely spared a glance at the carnage.
He tilted his head toward Vette.
She grinned. "My turn."
Vette tossed a concussion grenade into the room beyond, the compact explosive clanking against the durasteel floor before detonating with a concussive boom. The shockwave sent crates and furniture flying, a handful of enforcers toppling backward from the force.
The moment the explosion cleared, Aaric surged forward, his saber a whirling arc of death. Vette followed, raising her scoped disruptor pistol, lining up a clean shot before dropping a guard with a precise blast to the head.
But as they advanced, the dust and smoke cleared enough to reveal the full scope of the room.
It wasn't just a security checkpoint.
It was a coat checker—and full of guards.
Most were not incapacitated.
Aaric barely had time to register the dozens of armed figures standing at the ready before blaster fire erupted in all directions.
Vette cursed. "Oh, great."
Aaric lunged forward, deflecting shots as he moved, his saber weaving through the air. Quinn dropped to one knee, bringing her blaster up, and fired into the nearest group of enforcers, aiming for center mass. The guards, though stunned by the explosion, quickly regained their composure, using overturned tables and supply crates as makeshift cover.
Aaric was already on them.
A rapid thrust, a slash, a deflection—each movement calculated, precise. He ducked beneath a clumsy swing of an electrostaff, his lightsaber coming up in a vicious counterstrike that severed the guard's arm at the elbow. The man barely had time to scream before a follow-up slash across the throat silenced him permanently.
Vette vaulted over a crate, twisting mid-air as she landed behind an enforcer. Before the man could react, she pressed the barrel of her pistol against the back of his skull and pulled the trigger. His helmet visor exploded outward, his lifeless body crumpling to the floor.
Quinn, ever methodical, precise, moved into a flanking position, keeping her fire steady and controlled. Her shots were efficient, not wasting a single bolt as she systematically eliminated stragglers.
It didn't take long.
The guards were dangerous in numbers, but they lacked coordination. Within moments, the room was silent save for the hum of Aaric's saber.
Vette exhaled, spinning her blaster in her grip. "Next time, I vote for checking what's on the other side of the door first."
Aaric ignored her and pressed forward.
They emerged from the coat checker into the Exchange cargo bay.
It was a massive open-air platform with three designated landing pads—Alpha, Beta, and Gamma. Each was occupied by a dropship, their engines already thrumming with power as the Exchange prepared to launch. From their elevated position, Aaric had a clear view of dozens of Exchange death squad operatives.
Even from here, it was obvious: they were arming themselves.
Vette winced. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
Aaric didn't hesitate. He charged.
Blaster fire erupted in all directions, the squads immediately reacting to the Sith charging their position. Aaric's saber spun through the air, deflecting bolts with practiced ease as he closed the distance.
Vette held back, crouching behind a supply crate, lining up her first shot. Her scoped disruptor pistol let out a sharp whine before a bolt punched straight through an enforcer's chest.
Quinn moved into position, her precision shots cutting down targets one by one.
The Exchange death squads were heavily armed, well-trained. But Aaric quickly realized the truth—they lacked cohesion. There was no military discipline, no tactical coordination. Each group fought individually, rather than as a unit.
That was their weakness.
Aaric capitalized on it.
He struck like a force of nature, weaving through the battlefield, his saber carving through enemy after enemy. A death squad captain tried to flank him, only for Aaric to sense it—he spun, sidestepping just as a vibroblade missed his ribs by inches. Aaric's lightsaber came down in an overhead strike, cutting the attacker from shoulder to hip.
Vette cackled, firing shot after shot. "This is almost too easy!"
Aaric reached Landing Pad Alpha first. A squad of Exchange soldiers was scrambling to load supplies onto the first dropship. One of them spotted him, shouting something in Huttese before grabbing a grenade.
Aaric extended a hand—
The grenade froze mid-air.
The soldier had just enough time to scream in horror before Aaric hurled it back, sending it crashing into the ship's open cargo bay. The explosion ripped through the hull, setting off secondary detonations.
Landing Pad Alpha was engulfed in flames.
Quinn, meanwhile, had positioned herself toward Landing Pad Beta, cutting down anyone attempting to reach the second dropship. With practiced efficiency, she moved through the chaos, her blaster precise, her movements tactical.
Aaric saw an opportunity.
With a single, fluid motion, he hurled his lightsaber toward the ship's starboard thruster. The blade sliced through the exhaust ports, the engine whining in protest before catching fire.
Another dropship down.
Vette had already moved toward Landing Pad Gamma, dodging return fire as she sprinted toward a fuel container.
"Cover me!" she shouted.
Aaric raised a hand. A wave of the Force sent a cluster of Exchange enforcers flying backward, clearing her path.
Vette skidded to a halt, aimed, and fired.
The fuel container detonated instantly.
The final dropship—*Landing Pad Gamma's escape route—*was swallowed in a violent fireball.
And just like that, every ship was destroyed. The death squads were stopped. They prevented catastrophe… for now.
A/N: And CUT! Less smut, more action, more story. Let me know what you think!
I'm thinking of Aaric slowly adding more women to his crew until it becomes a harem. Yes? No? Let me know in the reviews as well!
P.S: THis goes out to user "Bluenait" who said "this supposed diry talk is really pathetic and badly written".
Well if you're gonna just say that without even trying to give me advice on how to make it better then its not really constructive criticism isn't it? And therefore it is not valid and I'll do what I do best. Don't like it, then don't read cuz there's gonna be more of that to smother by beautiful fans with.
Until the next chapter! Cheers!