"5 minutes until reversion." said the chief navigator.

"Prepare to launch all fighters and gunboats upon reversion. One minute after they are cleared, launch all shuttles. Our goal is to get on the planet's surface and defend the temple from attack." ordered the captain.

"What about our weapons?" asked the chief gunner.

"According to our master, we will be coming out of hyperspace on the opposite side of the planet from where the enemy fleet is. We are to fire only if fired upon." replied the captain.

"All right sir. Batteries will be primed but on standby alert." said the gunner with a little frown on his face.

"Captain," came a cold voice from behind Fuller, "I will be heading to the surface as well. You will be in charge until I return. Do not fail me." said Necros, dropping his voice another few degrees for implication.

"Yes sir." replied the captain with a salute and a little gulp forming around his adam's apple.

"Excellent. I will be in the hangar bay should you need me before we launch." said Necros, before turning about and heading down the corridor from the bridge.

'It's been long, too long since I've enjoyed the rush of combat, and my blade has tasted my enemies's fear'

Putting his death mask into place, his cape swirling about him, Necros let out a booming laugh as he headed for the shuttle bay.

Xykarn smirked at Camiron, aiding his fellow Sith in the destruction of the enemy that came too close, seemingly eager to leap ahead of their brethren to attack the Sith. None the less, with a series of deflections, strikes and Force pushes, the ramble of pre-enemy force number were obliterated and promptly removed from the equation. As the small group of trainees rushed to the front of the temple, on the orders of Master Vicirus, Xykarn couldn’t help but think back to the initial start of the battle…



The pair had been training, as per usual, but when things began to change for the worse, they had launched onto the offensive. It had been a surprise, surely, as the young Apprentice hadn’t sensed any danger until the ships began to pierce through the atmosphere and start their razing of the temple and surrounding areas…

“Appears to be droid fighters, by the looks of them,” Xykarn mulled, nudging Camiron with an elbow as he motioned with a nod of his head. “Judging by the sleek lines and lack of a real cockpit area; might be simple enough to handle those ones, anyway… I have a few ideas in mind.”

Smirking, Xykarn followed closely behind the other. Around this time, the landing craft began to explode, seemingly attacked by another Sith group from the flank of the enemy. They moved quickly, keeping pace with one another, even as the craft above continued to attack the temple; luckily for the Sith, the temple was far more resilient that it appeared.

A fact Xykarn hadn’t been aware of until now.

Reaching the communications panel, Xykarn watched as Camiron worked on sending the transmission that would alert Lupercus of the situation. The former waited patiently, his jaw clenching with each impact on the upper levels, though he maintained his calm for the most part; granted there was an underlying sense of annoyance, a seething anger building at the sheer brashness of the attacking forces, but until he could be within arms length to do anything about it, that anger would remain simmering… ready to boil over as soon as needed.

Once the communication was sent, Xykarn motioned to the door. “Come on, Master Vicirus demands for us to meet at the front of the temple,” However the young man paused, feeling a shimmer through the Force as danger passed within his range of awareness. “But first, we should take care of those few pre-emptive enemies who want to jump the blaster…”



Reaching the temple front, Xykarn immediately saw the horde of enemies that charged toward the temple. He looked to Master Vicirus, his blue eyes near glowing beneath his hood. The Apprentice wore simply his leather jumpsuit, with a single over tunic that had been freed of arm lengths, to better allow ease of movement. As always, Vicirus was dressed in his mass of swirling black robes, complete with cloak and hood… the Sith Master never seemed to feel the elements, and it wasn’t exactly a chill day on Xa Fel.

No doubt the army beyond would be feeling the heat, as well, especially given their armor and bodily exertions to charge.

“What would you have us do, Master Vicirus?” Xykarn asked, bowing his head respectively, but feeling that kneeling at present would be a waste of time and effort. He didn’t feel the immediate need to immobilize himself, when he could be required to dash at a moments notice. “If we stay in place, the attacking enemy will have us pinned within the temple…”

A sad yet very real truth.

Xykarn hoped that the Sith Master hadn’t lost his mind, and decided to wait to be destroyed. The Sith, at present, were like Gundark in a cage. Lately Vicirus had been very withdrawn, almost keeping to himself as he prepared for something… and the Apprentice wondered if this had been it, though that remained unlikely, as Vicirus tended to plan far in advance.

Glancing to Camiron, Xykarn let out a slow breath and offered a wry smile. Things were about to get hectic, deadly and very serious. Many were going to die, and it remained that Xykarn planned to take as many of the enemy with him as he could…

“Don’t go dying, Camiron,” The Apprentice said, his voice low as he looked over the gathered assortment of Sith. Barely a dozen, with the felt absence of Mira and those four who had died in the early stages of the battle. Some Sith were still coming to the designated meet point, but who knew how the battle would sway with their efforts. “You and me have some unfinished business in the duelling ring…”

Calmly Xykarn reached for the lightsaber on his left hip, grasping the hilt firmly in his calloused hand. With a sneer, the young man activated the blade, watching the bright red energy spew forth. The anger he had been keeping contained began to expand, filling his body and bringing a new wave of power. He was prepared for whatever Master Vicirus deemed the Sith to do…

Their fate was now in the Master’s hands.

As the Apprentices began to gather, Vicirus allowed himself a moment to watch the enemy beyond the temple entrance. They were fanatical, a unified a seeking to destroy their common foe, working as one and surging forth like a tidal wave to swallow the Sith completely. It was inspiring, to say the least, and enough to cause the Sith Master to wonder at the expense of such a wide spread web of Force contact held in place… surely such an effort was not without a down side?

Two very specific leaders came to the fore, immediately displaying themselves as they led the charge to the temple. Both were known to Vicirus, and both had now earned the death that turning on fellow Sith would incur. It was assumed when Silk departed the planet, that he would continue his fanatical lunacy elsewhere, away from the impressionable Apprentices; yet, for some reason, he sought to claim his right to an Order he had no longer had title within, nor had any right to own.

Silk was a Sith of lower status, by every means, and while his power was fierce, he still remained a soldier first. Silk was as ready to lead the Sith as a warmonger to attempt to dominate the entire galaxy: the Sith simply did not move in that predictable manner; and if history has taught but one lesson, it is not to rely on power machines in a bid to eradicate everything in your path.

Such efforts had always proved futile, eventually.

Even if the Sith were to perish under this attack by Silk’s forces, it remained that the enemy charging the temple would merely be destroyed at another time. When you waged war, you bred defeat; it was a simple fact, and no single army could claim that they were completely victorious, no matter how twisted their sense of judgement was.

One of the Apprentices spoke, reverting Vicirus from his reverie, Xykarn’s voice piercing the veil of thought the Sith Master had succumbed to. “What would you have us do, Master Vicirus? If we stay in place, the attacking enemy will have us pinned within the temple…”

“Yet, if we move to meet them in such an open area, we will either be cut down by their craft, or caught in the crossfire,” Vicirus sneered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Youth bred stupidity, as well as naivety, besides which the young man wasn’t accustomed to battles being waged beyond the reach of his lightsaber. “No, we stand more of a chance being pinned down in our temple, simply because the enemy will be forced to enter and pursue us…”

Surely Vicirus didn’t need to mention that the Apprentices vast knowledge of the temple interior would serve them well in the close confined battle to come? Yet, for those that remained deluded by illusions of taking down hordes, upon hordes of enemy soldiers, there remained the need to instil a sense of mortality within them.

“We cannot fight so many, it remains that simple,” The Sith Master stated, his eyes glowering at the flood that rushed ever closer, almost at the steps of the temple. “We must force them to fight on our terms. Currently we are without reinforcements such as they have, and it will be a time before our allies arrive yet, if they do.”

The Apprentices clearly didn’t like the words being spoken, but it was far from the Sith Master’s responsibility to praise them for truthful fact. None the less, within the temple, within the many corridors and hidden crevices, a real chance could be taken to survive as long as they were able; and if help arrived in time to make the subterfuge worth the effort, then so much the better. Either way, Vicirus was not planning on handing the Sith to Silk on a platter to be picked apart on the open battlefield…

“You each know the temple like the back of your hand,” The Sith Master continued, giving each Apprentice a steady glare. They would do their best, they would do what they were trained to do. “You will fight the enemy within our walls, within our corridors and our hidden passages… you will move like wraiths through the darkness they cannot hope to completely remember. Each of you is aware of how to use both weapon and Force in a unified effort, and each of you will fight to the last… the Sith shall not die here, nor shall we pass the Order to a madman out to prove himself!”

Motioning, Vicirus began to lead the Apprentices back from the entrance. The enemy had arrived, and it was time to divide and conquer. The Sith Master moved swiftly, his duel lightsaber hilts held in each hand, silent until activated. He paused at a point in the corridor, motioning to a specific stone.

“Remember the face of this stone, as there are many scattered throughout the temple with the same face,” Vicirus said, knowing that most, if not all, had passed such a fact by without notice. The stones themselves were hidden within a mass of stones with similar markings, and unless one knew of what to look for, there was near to no chance of locating a passage stone. “They can be on any portion of the wall, but when touched, all activate a hidden doorway that often leads to the next section of the temple opposite your location. Use them wisely, try not to allow the enemy the same advantage, and use them when they are most effective. Now, fall back, spread out and destroy the enemy… we must use all that the temple offers if we are to defeat them.”

As the first enemies began to rush into the temple, stomping boots of armor thundering up the stairs leading to the heavy carved doors, Vicirus activated his azure lightsabers. Stepping through the throng of Apprentices, the Sith Master took the lead of the group, charging the beings entering the temple, the Force filling him and then overflowing as he called upon every aspect of his power to fuel him for the coming conflict. It was a sensation that almost seemed foreign to the Sith Master, as he had rarely had cause to call on so much Force energy, but the feeling was addictive and he held reservations about the Apprentices being able to withdraw from such an exhilarating over-sensitization…

But that remained a problem for another time, specifically after the battle at hand.

Recon, Vicirus sent through the Force, calling upon the old Sith Master who had remained from the foremost of the enemy. Begin your meditation, make our students excel where the enemy falters. Once I defeat the immediate threat to the charge, I will begin my own attacks on the enemy through the Force…

Almost instantly there was a burst of vigour that pulsed through the Sith Master, as a deeply trained Battle Meditation began to flow from within the temple, flooding over the oncoming enemy forces in waves. Speed, strength, co-ordination were all increased, the Sith brothers coming together and being made aware of the other…

“For the Sith!” Vicirus roared, slicing headlong into the thinned enemy numbers that sought to cram through the doors that were smaller than their charging formation. They were being funnelled, and this had been exactly what the Sith Master had been planning…

Deep Space - Core
Vicinity of Reversion/Correction Point 8623GH-X


Damn. Damn damn damn.


Sweat beaded on the man's forehead as he stared at the screen, his eyes focused on a point represented by pixels and a flash of plasma-powered light. His gaze was fixed to the detriment of all else; indeed, the very stars around could have exploded into the most brilliant and horrifying dance of lethal color since the birth of Time and he would not have noticed. The tensing of a muscle in his right arm brought hand to keyboard, a slender finger uncoiled from a fist he hadn't realized he was clenching and tapped four keys then withdrew. A beep interrupted his concentration and he repeated to himself, Damn.


Another flash across the screen! The man let out a low growl and again tapped the same four keys, his brow furrowing as he pondered what his entry had done. Realization dawned like the impact of a thousand warheads and his eyes went wide with alarm: he had erred! Cursing between gasps his left hand joined his right and yet again something flashed across the screen. His hands, clamly and cold in the recycled air, became a flurry of movement as he tried to save a doomed situation, but it was no use. A balled fist slammed into the console as the screen went dark, only two words scrolling across the panel. The man let out a breath he had been holding for long enough that the resultant gasp drew the glares of others. There came a tapping sound from behind. He turned.


Standing tall behind Crewman 2nd Class Al'dekei was an officer of thin stature and pale complexion, a man who were his chest not holding the insignia of a Commodore in His Majesty's Navy might have been scorned by anyone he courted for the frailty of his image. The eyes told a different story from the features, set back in his head just far enough to intimate dread to those who might cross him but not back enough to bring to mind sembelence to evil - looked like Tarkin the Great, he did not. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and though one of his polished black jackboots was planted firmly on the deck plating, the other made a not-so-discreet tapping on the floor behind the technician.


" If you cannot win here," the Commodore stated, indicating the screen with a leather gloved finger, " then how can I trust you here?" The figure moved off as quickly as he had come. Crewmen Al'dekei let out another breath, this one not the result of his previous occupation but of an encounter far too close with the highest ranking officer in a ten-system radius. He inhaled sharply and read the two words scrolling repeatedly past him on the monitor over the production credits of Republic Mech Warrior 17000:GAME OVER


Commodore Handtsin strode away from the crewman, appalled, though his face did not betray his revulsion. Of course there was little else to do as a reactor-monitoring technician on the bridge of a deep-space station but the man was new and had not yet learned how to toggle the sequence of three keys that swapped entertainment to work to placate any passing supervisor or officer. Again impassive in bearing, the Commodore smiled to himself. The hazing of a newly assigned officer was far from out of the ordinary and the memory of his own was not far off when he had arrived on his first battleship as a gunnery officer. Reverie was about to come when an approaching yeoman interrupted his thoughts with a bark of his name and rank.


" Commodore Handtsin, this was just decoded, priority one."


" Origin?"


" Unknown, sir. It meets all of the requirements in our secure codex and thus only the droid that decrypted it has read the message itself." The Intelligence officer, his black uniform only newly issued and far from perfectly-fitting, stood at an uneasy attention as the Commodore opened the sealed envelope and read its contents to himself. Location compromised, tresspassers present. Execute Order 8626


Commodore Handtsin crumpled the flimsiplast document and kept it in his hand as he turned briskly away and turned his walk into a trot as he made best time for a lift. As he went he issued commands from his comlink. " Captain Odin, we depart in five minutes, Coordinate 73, pre-planned course. Have all of our ships readied accordingly. As soon as I am aboard, cast off your moorings and engage the hyperdrive. I will meet you on the bridge."


* * *


The bridge of the Star Destroyer Anariah was a like every other bridge on the Empire's ships of the line, only a curving base of the catwalk revealing its manufacturer to be Sluis Van and not Kuat. Captain Odin paced at the entrance to the control corridor, waiting excitedly for the Commodore to grace the command center with his presence. When he did, his face was grim - not the eager transferee from the Customs Bureau he had been when the pair had first met, some ten years before.


" What do we know?"


" Nothing. We received the message and per protocol we respond. Damned Sith. High Command stuck this task force at that station ostensibly to combat pirates but since when are pirates prevalent in the Deep Core? We're here to react to Xa Fel if neccessary and now, it appears, it's neccessary."


" The message contained no strengths? No situation report?"


" Nothing. Our orders, the ones you and I received that they did not," - Handtsin waved his hand to encompass the nearby crewmen - " tell us only to respond. So we go. One battleship, one heavy cruiser, and six frigates. If whomever has set their sights on Xa Fel has more than that, we shall have to wait for Thomas and the 60th Squadron of the Line to arrive. At the closest point of their patrol zone, even if they received the message when we did, it will be two hours before they arrive. That leaves just us and our new enemies over Xa Fel for ninety minutes."


" Hmm. Well, you're the one who wanted a challange." Captain Odin saluted and moved off, leaving Handtsin to pace for a while. He glanced back through the bulkheads and into hyperspace and wondered if he had seen the deep-space station and supply depot for the last time. He had not, he steeled his constitution. He began issuing orders to overlap the Captains - better safe than sorry. Shields were to be raised the minute they reverted from hyperspace as close to Xa Fel as they could get; Defenders were to deploy in a broad arc with a third of their strength, the remaining squadrons to form a central picket sphere and base for any strikes needing launching; the two heavier ships would form a center around which the half-dozen frigates would form an outward-ly sloped cresent, thus expanding every field of fire. Missiles would be readied, torpedo tubes loaded. He glanced at a jump-clock - only twenty minutes to reversion.


When I said challange I meant some clever pirate or warlord. Not Gods-know-what. Mocking the crewman left in safety on the depot, he slammed his fist into a guardril round the crewpit. Damn. Damn damn damn!



*note - the previous Imperial by order of our leader, Drayson, is to be disregarded. This goes in its place, retroactive to that time frame*

The broken ground all round the temple was freshly turned with the impact of explosive shells and orbital fire. Black, cracked earth was punctured with smoking craters, giving the landscape an alien and surreal feel. The already darkened motif of the Sith temple was only enhanced by the smoky wreath that now surrounded it, the latest bombs flashing bright under the carpeting fog.

Out of that fog swept Dacian Palestar, marching for the open gate of the Sith Temple. Behind him marched the black-suited Void knights, the picture of stoicism that went beyond sanity. The Crimson Brotherhood, the Unspoken, the various functionaries and adepts, the hand-picked soliders and minions, all could be seen emerging from the mists of war.

This uniformity did not last, however. As they approached, step quickened and blades itched for blood. Though Dacian and his retinue remained composed, soon groups of Unspoken fanatics broke off at a run, disappearing into the smoke as the voicless whispers of their god drove them to battle. Distantly could be heard the advance of Silk and his elite brethren, the actions of this group totally autonomous from Dacian's forces.

From the scaley black mask that perched on his brow Dacian stared out at the temple, sizing it up as they approached. Before them, just visible through the smoke and fire, he could see that the Sith had gathered. He recognized faintly the man that stood at the forefront, and next to him all others were negligible. The temple master looked down upon the approaching crusade with contempt, speaking to his subordinates before retreating with them into the temple. As if spurred by this apparent slight, the crusade army picked up the pace.

It was Dacian who reached the temple first, and saw the great doors lying open. A few bodies lay strewn around the stone entryway, but otherwise the peaceful silence belied the deadly darkness that resided within and the fiery death that continued to lance into the upper halls of the building. Another rumble shook the structure and a black paraphet of stone came rumbling down. The bombardment was working.

Still composed, Dacian and his knights marched up the steps leading to the great doors, passing where once Dacian had come as a learner. Now, as a destroyer, he lead the first great incursion of the Crusade into the temple itself.

The sound of battle could be heard, distantly. Despite their multitude, Dacian's army was quiet - straining to hear even the most whispered command of their master.

"When you find the master," Dacian declared, his voice of even tone. "Ignore him. Destroy the lesser apprentices. Leave the true Sith to me." The sabers of Dacian's bodyguards ignited simultaneously - in Dacian's case, 'me' was often a flexible term.



The wilds that surrounded the Sith temple had much in common with their dark residents. They were forbidding, harsh, and uncomfortable even at the best of times. With a full-scale invasion underway, this was not what most would consider 'the best of times'.

Nevertheless, even a forbidding wilderness wouldn't produce a deadly spiked pit trap. It was a sign that the rogue Sith was resourceful, cunning, and most likely knew it was being followed. The maiden examined the trap.

The maiden wasn't Dacian's perfect agent for nothing. Exceptional amongst the absolutely loyal Void Knights, she still preserved the slimmest part of her former self, subverted not by torture and brainwashing, but by her own nature. Whereas the brutal training methods used on most knights produced fanatical drones, the maiden's faint trace of humanity combined with the absolute and ruthless efficiency of the Knights gave her unique status.

Amongst those skills that made her so valuable to her master was her blindness. A piece of fabric was tied tight over bloodied sockets, but this was no true disability. Where others relied on their sense - either natural, or Force-born - the maiden shared Dacian's own principle of not becoming dependant on any one skill. Where others were blind, she could see.

So it was as she inspected the pit-trap, still fresh with the blood of the dead knight. The Force left no trace, no hint of passage, meaning the agent responsible was an expert in stealth. What little joy left in the maiden's life came from finding that which was hidden and exposing it. As close as she could feel it, she relished the upcoming hunt.

Satisfied with her inspection, she climbed from the pit and turned to address the three remaining knights. "Fan out," she stated flatly. Verbal communication was unnecessary between those slaved to Dacian's will, but it was for others that she spoke. "Find the rogue. Beware its' traps and trickery, then return."

The three knights turned promptly on their heels and strode off in different directions, cutting through the underbrush and peeking behind trees. Once she was sure they were gone, the maiden climbed the nearest tree and there waited.

She brought to mind the jungles of Mandalore, there where she had - in a different life - hunted through the trees for beasts, keeping herself low to the ground, listening for the faint whisper that was life. Sitting in the tree, she made herself small, as then, as if to escape the world, and thence disappeared almost entirely. No emotion meant no life. No image in the Force. She was as invisible as her prey.

She would wait, watch, and see if the prey would take the bait.



Dacian's contingent marched up the shadowy halls of the Sith temple. Behind, distantly, could be heard the advance of Silk and his troops. Between the two, the temple was now filled with wild-eyed fanatics, dour darkside adepts, and a cavalcade of hand-picked soldiers. The only question was, where were the Sith?

It did not take much longer to find them, as the first sounds of battle reached Dacian's ears. Some of the rabble that had preceded his forces had been found, and even now the massacre of these lowly fodder could be heard echoing from above. Now Dacian's stride was quick, taking him up black stone flights of stairs in order to reach the corridor where battle was being fought.

There at last did he see them, the Sith, awaiting battle. They meant to squeeze him through the narrow confines of the temple, forcing his men into a pointless meatgrinder. Even now as their dark master, pulsing with power, skewered a wild-eyed Unspoken fanatic, he was already scanning the oncoming mob with bloodthirst in his soul.

"For the Sith!" the master roared, charging anew into the oncoming Palestar Crusade. Dacian, lightsaber in hand, was happy to oblige.

All at once, Dacian and the Void knights charged towards the oncoming Sith. Though they surged and roared with violence, not even the most crazed warrior dared get between Dacian and the Sith master, who now locked eyes across the dark chamber. They were both in the lead of their respective tides, like elemental forces waiting to collide, lightsabers poised to strike.

And so they did.

Thunderous noise erupted at last through the chamber as blades met blade. Dacian, though he was slight when compared to the augmented might of his foe, was cunning and quick, and quickly melted back against the first few blows - thus was the Sith master surrounded on all sides by Void knights rushing to stay by their master. Around them flowed Ordese wildmen, Unspoken soldiers armed with blade and blaster, soldiers of the crusade, all crashing into the crazed and Force-addled Sith apprentices who tried to accompany their lord.

Yet there was no comparison, for a fully-fleged Sith Lord was a presence that carved its' own path on the battlefield, and though Dacian bended all his power and all his focus to drawing the master's attention, it was only thanks to the support of his dozens of knights that he held.

The Sith apprentices, on the other hand, were being shown no such courtesy, and though the crusade parted as a river around the two great powers, they surged forwards again to press the lesser lights. Quite soon, a gap began to form between the Sith Master and his charges, even as the ground became slick with blood and the wails of dying crusader fodder broke the noise of battle.

The black gloved hand moved slightly, shifting the dirt and dust from around the blue squarish object lying on the stone tablet. The object began to shine, shimmering with a pulsating energy that caused the hand to shiver slightly.

Ahhh, this is a good find. thought the owner of the hand.

His cold blue eyes contemplating the unearthed holocron, Necros focused his energies upon the pint sized storehouse of ancient knowledge, wondering what secrets the Sith holocron had to give him.

Would it be new useful information, or just the recordings of another who only, in the end, became another failure?

He released the hold he had on the holocron, and it's shimmering energies went away, become a mere hunk of filfthy glass once again.

But the buzzing at the back of his mind did not go away.

Frowning, Necros turned around and looking back up the stairway, torwards the light that permeated the old collapsed temple before it was absorb by the black.

The sith knight again turned his eyes upon the holocron, realization entering into his mind that the buzzing sensation was not caused by it. Sighing in disgust, he threw the worthless hunk of glass on the floor and crushed it into a million pieces with his boot.

Whoever caused this interference will pay dearly. he thought with a small smile turning his frown upside down.

Necros put his death mask back into place, it's duraplastic features hiding his face from view. He re-attached his cloak, the cape swirling about him, a soft breeze blowing down the narrow confines of the tunnel from the planet above.

As he ascended the steps, his danger sense began to tingle, telling him that whatever it was that disturbed him from above may be of a danger to him. He considered drawing his lightsaber, but decided against it.

Then, the breeze carried to him, the smell of death.

And Necros knew what had happened.

He had brought with him from the temple, two apprentices of the Sith, to search for artifacts on the surface while he descended into the temple. And, should an ancient sith master's traps prove too formidable, to bring the grim news of his demise back to Master Viricus.

The fact that he could no longer sense their life forces, and could smell smoked human flesh, explained the force pulse he had sensed a few moments ago, and had thought had come in reaction to his touching what he had thought was a holocron.

But it was merely the life energies of his two apprentices leaving their bodies and ascending into the force, through his mind.

Necros's eye twitched. The apprentices had been too eager in their work to pay attention to their surroundings. They had paid for their mistake with their lives. But...it had still been his apprentices who had died, and therefore, it was his mistake, his error as well.

Necros did not like making errors.

He was nearly to the entrance to the stairs now, and at about the time he sensed their presence, he heard voices coming through comlinks, although they were muffled.

"'Two little ones eliminated. We suspect the presence of a third. Am setting up firing line around entryway.'" came the strong sounding male voice.

Necros stopped, just before reaching the top of the stairs, and becoming visible to the men, some twenty of them he sensed, line up in a row, their blasters trained on where he was walking torwards.

Reaching out his hands, he called. Through the force, he called to those whom he had put to sleep when they had first reached this area of the forest.

'Creatures of the night. Come to me, come to me, and gorge yourselves on those who would harm me, and your master.'

Several loud howls pierced the night air, and he could feel the men being distracted, just for a moment, by their calls.

Smiling now, he headed up the stairs, and emerged into the night air.

"'There he is!'" came the voice of one trooper.

"'Fire! Kill him dead!'" came another.

Necros let the energies of the dark side of the force enter into him, flooding his veins with power as he drew and ignited his lightsaber blade, the Hel-Hemarde, the weapon which feeds him power and strikes down his enemies without even cutting them.

A torrent of blaster bolts arced in torwards him. He parried, dancing about, his blade twirling about his body in a beautiful dance as bolts of energy either missed him or were deflected in every direction.

This dance though went on for no more than a minute, before a cry pierced the air, and one of the soldiers in the line collapsed. The Kath hound that had bitten into his neck snarled, and proceeded to drink the man's blood.

The other soldiers ceased fire, twirling around to meet this new threat, and saw with sudden fear and apprehension, that hounds were all over and inside their landing shuttle. As they watched, they heard the screams of the pilots being slaughtered and devoured.

Necros felt their deaths, their pain, their suffering, their fear, their hatred. He basked while soaking in the emotions that flooded into and rejuevinated the dark side of the force, empowering him, making him happy.

The other hounds let loose howls, battle cries, and leapt torwards the soldiers.

The men raised their blaster rifles, preparing to blast the beasts.

And in doing so, ignored a very important lesson that they had been taught.

Never turn your back on an enemy.

A single force push sufficed in knocking the men down onto their bellies, their weapons clattering on the ground. The hounds passed the weapons by, heading straight torwards the down men.

As their screams pierced his ears, Necros looked torwards the sky, extending his awarness outwards, and around the planet. He heard the call of his masters, and smiled.

This was going to be a glorious night.

“There are moments which define us,” spoke the Dark Lord of the Sith, Maim. “These moments are upon us always.”

The oppressive figure, draped in his brooding fashions, loomed before his apprentice, speaking.

“Silk,” the Sith Lord went on to add, “With every breath we take, we are changed.”

An odd, off putting recollection, thought Silk presently. His eyes still lingered upon the field of battle but his mind, the body ethereal, wandered through a quagmire. Why, for example, in the heat of battle did he dredge up memories best left for the quiet moments of meditation?

About him was a world of combat, a torrent of violence, a tapestry of war. He required focus, not the distracting hallucinations of years past, to solve the puzzle laid out before him. Simply attempting to translate the actions of so many and of it find a uniform norm could become an insurmountable feat in and of itself, never mind involving ones self in it.

Tactician and shaman that he was inspiration remained not long absent.

From the chaos he would paint a portrait in the force and in it incorporates all the variables, all the factors known to him. And upon completion, stepping back, behold the greater image and from it divine a more complete understanding. Knowledge was the key, information the first step towards victory.

“Hold,” he beckoned of the retinue about him. “Establish a perimeter.”

An elite cadre of converts and crimson brothers, they balked not only acting according to the will of their Sovereign. Only half-way across the field of battle with their ranks pushing forwards and line holding to the rear, the group ceased their forward push though those not attached to their commands continued to surge forward. At their center remained Silk who even as they moved to establish a protective barrier was moving slowly to his knees and pressing shut his cobalt eyes. Though their actions were largely for show, as no heavy return fire had yet been provided, the formation alluded to a practiced position known to them all and coordinated for maximum defense.

Silk, kneeling and with eyes closed tight, slowed his breathing. Turning his focus inwards, first he removed himself from the noisy ruckus which abounded. In his minds eye beat his heart and with each pump, sent waves of himself outwards, radiating through the force. His presence made no attempt to disguise itself or to move in stealthy fashion but rather, like the growing waves of a typhoon, rush heedlessly forwards. With each successive wave it garnered strength from those it passed over, reaching further even as Silk slowed his heart-rate to a near stall, quelled his breathing but to where absolutely vital.

Slowly the image began to coalesce.

Here, he saw Dacian Palestar – like his namesake radiant in the dark side of the force, a super-nova pushing ever outward. The youth, now closer his peer thanks to the hand of the Unspoken, was moving inside the temple preceded by parts of their legions. As had become the common practice in such times Silk immediately lent his attention to the man. A part of him still believed, as he had on Yinchorr, that he was the future of the Sith. There, upon feeling his touch, Dacian replied in kind and though Silk knew him to be verging upon combat, had power enough to provide him an image, a motion picture complete with sounds and sensations, such that Silk felt, in that fraction of a moment, as though he were actually there.

Another presence came to Silk then and at first he was unable to confirm it, as he had been before, but relied upon his memories to believe; this was Darth Vicirus, Vance Jas. And the Sith Lord was uncomfortably close to his comrade, Dacian. They would meet again and for the first time, in combat. Soon, so soon…

But, a Sith Lord himself, Silk would not allow himself to dwell.

In the world of the real, his voice but a mere whisper, he commanded, “Establish an uplink with the Emperor.”

Bowing and kneeling came a communications technician. He, genuflect, proffered the communicator array to his commander in chief, uttering, “At your will, Lord.”

“Speak to me,” Silk demanded of the device. “What is your status?”

From the unit came the familiar voice of his adjunct. “We are meeting no further resistance presently. Moments ago we detected an outbound transmission from the local vicinity but were unable to acquire the signal… even so it was likely encoded.”

Silk had little doubt that it had been a plea for help, a call for aide sent to the masters of this Sith Order… the Empire. The idea of it filled him with contempt; that such a grand Order should be reduced to shambles of its former self and kept in the employ of heretic unbelievers who, of their own volition, controlled Jedi and Sith alike within their own structure. These Sith were to him a plague that threatened to breed complacency among them. They required cleansing. The Sith, eternal enemies of the Jedi, working alongside the same to further the ends of a fallible regime. It sickened him.

“Was our package broadcast?.” Silk smiled outwardly, “And made sure of the appropriate destination?”

“As you commanded, Lord, the communique was dispatched upon arrival. It should be in Imperial hands by now.”

Returning the device to its human tender, Silk snatched the man by his shoulder and pulled him close directing, “You will stay at my side and keep an open channel with my ship at all costs. If you fail me, death will find for you no solace.”

And then, shoving him away, the Sith Lord rose. His unseeing, his all-seeing eyes remained cloaked behind their lids still indicating a connection yet prevailing in the force. Though Silk was versed in the ways of the Battle Meld, he did not favor it as a leading tactic as most Sith had. It required full concentration to establish and maintain, and to do so would remove some of his use here… a sacrifice he was not willing to commit. However, as he had learned on Yinchorr, there were alternatives. And so his contact persisted though not on the level of Jedi Masters past, for now he would rely on his mastery of combat mediation.

Between him and Dacian were enough relays, adepts and apprentices of their own ilk, that the two could maintain a flowing, real-time sense of things. And though they shared much Silk was not accustomed to Void Knights kept as personal guard for the Palestar in much the same fashion as Dacian himself was unaccustomed to spreading his awareness across Silks elite brothers-in-arms. But in this exchange each was granted a distant yet vital feel of things.

Once established, all having transpired in the space of perhaps ninety seconds, Silk opened his eyes once again and, inhaling deeply, exhumed his sword from the dirt in which he had previously embedded it. The hilt felt cool under his palm, it spread a sensation of resolve through him – a sensation bestowed upon him once by Maim and now embodied in the sword that was his prize.

To the radio-crony Silk bellowed, “Order the shields raised,” speaking of course of his vessel. “Stand ready for combat. We are soon to have guests no doubt. Continue focused bombardment and stand by for my word of cessation, I want those foundations shook!”

Alongside his orders his men would organize their defensive screens while retaining bombardment detail. Doubtless they would demand the pirates comply, upon threat of death… or worse and in the face of the Emperors guns, would comply for their own mutual benefit. Any alarming changes could be directed to him through his men, and he through them. Perhaps a little more assured of his play, Silk once again struck forwards.

Ascending the temple steps he was met with the hardened resolution of Dacian. Knowing the meaning of this, Silk redoubled his speed lest his eager ally be cut down by the skilled swords of a true Sith Lord. But, upon entering the temple (an strange feeling it itself after so long) realized it would be no easy trick clearing a path to his charge.

The halls of the temple, those that he could glean from his position, were crowded with attackers pouring in to the Sith defenders. In their rut the legions of the Crusade had exposed themselves to weakness. In the confines of the temple the Sith held superiority counting easily ten of his men for every one of theirs, the numbers were working to the disadvantage of Silks force. A lack of coordination, he could sense it, was coming quickly and so, saving combat for another moment, set about the task of organizing their assets.

“Crusaders,” his voice thundered through the halls, reverberated with force-borne energy, and bore through the skulls of those prone to it. “Hear my command!”

“Men of the Emperor, arrange yourselves in line! Ready your weapons and provide coverage for our bestial allies. They have no fear, only the mad resolve of animals.”

Even as he shouted aloud Silk could see his orders taking active effect. Unspoken Converts, their hands upon battle-rifles of unparalleled caliber, began moving to form lines. One man stood while another kneeled before him. A human meat-shield with rifles at the ready they began pouring focused fire against the Sith defenders. Versed in the combat techniques of such warriors, they knew that only sheer numbers could over-come a trained Sith (or Jedi) and so laid bare their triggers to the task and even as bolts bounced back their way, moved another man in to replace him.

Under the covering fire of these faithful fanatics the Ordese pushed forwards to join their victims in melee combat, clawing and biting like creatures spawned of the depths. And behind them, though few, a number of Silks own moved to keep the coordination he demanded. They barked orders, clashed swords with sabers and brandished pistols at close range and cut down with impunity their counter-parts on the side of the Sith.

Spinning, his back covered by his own guard, Silk cast his eyes upon the offensive perimeter facing the temple and cursed. With a hand unseeing, he reached out and closing it, grabbed for his radio man.

“Prepare an outward defense perimeter,” he snapped. “We have the temple secure you fools! Prepare for attack from without now but spare your guns for any who break through our lines!”

Shaking his head, casting off the man as he would something distasteful from his mouth, Silk returned, again, his attentions to the battle raging within the temple. So too did the structure itself continue to tremble as blasts continued to rain down from above. Satisfied, but for the moment, he scanned the horizon for a likely target and, thrusting past his own guards, clutched saber-bearing snot by his shoulder, pushing through the apprentices distracted defenses, and plunged deep his sword through the chest of the same.

Gurgling his death rattle, blood welling up about his lips, Silk took great joy in watching the life fade from the eyes of his selected enemy, a man who had become too entrenched in his defense that, being separated, had been an easy victim for the Sith Lord. The eyes of the boy going dim, Silk staring deeply in to those baby-blue pools with his own ever devoid, asked, “Who is next then, who shall it be?”

From his side, now standing almost shoulder to shoulder, Dacian Palestar roared, “All of them. Kill them all!”

**


To Baron Grand Admiral Desaria, T;

A reckoning is at hand.

It occurs on Xa Fel, the planet of your fuax-Sith.

We, the true Sith, Crusaders of the Palestar, have come to cleanse you of this pestilent nuisance.

My name is Dioan Silk, Sith Lord and Imperial Sovereign Protector to the Dark Lord Maim and the Crimson Empire for which he stood. You know me and we have met, face to face.

I took from our meeting a great many things. One – that you are not a man with whom to trifle. And two – that you took of me much the same.

Know this, Grand Baron of the Empire; this conflict is internal and need not spread to your stars. We of the Palestar have no designs upon your great New Order, but we will take from you these Sith you call as dogs. As pawns of the Empire, I expect they will come to you for defense, pleading as further evidence of their fallibility.

I ask you as a soldier, do what you know to be correct. And if, upon the field of battle we should meet, know that your demise will be meted out with the honor and diginity it deserves. In kind, should mind befall at your hands, I ask the same.

Lord Silk, Palestar Crusade.

Gloria Imperium

Battle; it raged all around, filled with cries, pain, blood. The temple floor had become slick from the crimson liquid that spilled so freely, while becoming an obstacle in itself to remain sure footed amid the sprawled bodies and dismembered limbs. Soldiers of the attacking enemy whimpered on the ground, the pain evident on their features as they toed the line of life passing into death. Between the flashes of heated energy blades came the sporadic fire from blasters behind the enemy front line when gaps in their formations allowed; it was a task of batting the bolts back toward the enemy during defensive lightsaber stances, filling the corridor with further pain and agony, mingled with sudden shock.

All at once there came the leader, Dacian; or who, Vicirus assumed, was one of the leaders, as the Sith Master had caught a flickering presence of Dioan Silk prior to the immediate engagement.

The lost apprentice had come to shake the foundations; to test the resolve of the Sith Order; to tempt the Dark Side and attempt a coupe to eradicate the brotherhood from standing before his whims. The realization that this army was led by none other than a shamed failure caused Vicirus to reassess those whom he had allowed to simply disappear in the past. For if one could return with a resolve to see the Sith destroyed, why not any of them? Perhaps this was the unsubtle reminder that Vicirus had required, in order to finally make a decision as to the loose ends the Sith Order had unravelling from its edges.

Perhaps…

It remained another situation to be dealt with at another time.

As the lightsaber blades impacted, sending bursts of static into the air, Vicirus saw the manoeuvre young Dacian began to make. By charging, the Sith were pushing headlong into the enemy ranks; and mixed with the sheer numbers filling the corridor, it remained that the Sith were going to be divided, separated from one another to be picked off without the additional guard covering one another offered. The Sith Master looked about him, hulking soldiers in dark armor surrounding him as Dacian retreated from the initial lightsaber attacks; in some ways it was a tactfully superior ploy, but that was assuming you were fighting a gullible foe that had little to offer in the way of destructive power to counter such a move.

Yet, despite the effort to reunite the Sith numbers, one had fallen to the blade of Silk, himself. The Apprentice in question, who had been slicing down enemy after enemy, had made the mistake of venturing too far beyond Vicirus’ immediate aid, and subsequently paid for his brashness; yet, even as the Force presence of the boy faded, so to did the Sith Master feel a new anger, a fresh wave of rage, well up within him.

“Who is next then, who shall it be?” Even amid the roars and clash of battle, the words of Silk penetrated the fog of war, filtering through to be heard by Vicirus; and in those words there seemed like a flammable element that caused the anger within the Sith Master to flare and increase. As Dacian roared, filling the corridors with his battle shout, Vicirus uttered a simple word in reply to the usurper who dared to enter the Sith temple.

“You.” The simple word was stated, as simply as one would swat at an irritating bug. The intention remained infallible, the resolve clear; and even as Vicirus began to focus himself following another death of one of his Apprentices, so to did the air begin to fill with a slowly gathering static of uncertainty.

Vicirus reached within himself, securing his grasp upon the powerful energies that rippled within him; he manipulated the flow, shaped it to his will, drawn from the sources all around him…

The corridor filled with sudden pressure, the very stone work groaning in protest, as the Sith Master released a Force-wave from within himself. The invisible power rushed outward, completely encompassing the area immediately around Vicirus. The initial surge caught those of Dacian’s guard closest to the Sith, nearly shredding the creature’s apart through sheer power, while those moving to surround the Sith Master were caught between the Force push and the nearby temple walls. The screams of pain, the contortions of crushed bones and bodies, filled the mass of destruction already present, as those Void Knights Dacian had replied upon to segregate Vicirus were violently smashed against the darkened stone on either side. Those who had been before the Sith Master were pushed backward, the Void Knights standing between Vicirus and Dacian sent flailing toward their leaders with cries and wide-eyes, like a singular propelled moving wall of bodies.

Jaw clenched, Vicirus stood straight, surveying the passage to both left and right. His quick gaze was filled with the satisfaction of death to his enemies, the mass of bloodied heaps compacted between wall and an equally hard force administrated through pure willpower. Twirling his lightsabers, the Sith Master came to a defensive stand, his Apprentices having been given the time required to defeat those few that remained to oppose them, without the reinforcing mass that had once moved around Vicirus, and to rejoin their master and form once more on his flank.

“This is your last chance to leave this place,” Vicirus sneered, his blue eyes narrowed as he stared into the pale gaze of Silk, before looking to Dacian. The venom could be seen within the Sith Master, the hatred that had now started to grow into something more tangible than simply festering bile in his stomach; no, now the hatred was like a raging inferno, and it threatened to completely encompass the enemy in its sweltering grasp.

Stepping forward, Vicirus swung his right lightsaber. Adding to his momentum the strength of the Force, the azure blade impacted with a charging alien under Dacian’s leadership; as the blade struck, not only did it slice into the being who had now fallen into a crazed state of mind, but it similarly sent the creature launching backward into his allies as a Force wave accompanied the attack.

Vicirus remained standing still in the empty space around him that was now void of the enemy, those poor fools having been crushed. His Apprentices remained just behind him, ready to fight to the last, and they were a wall of power that was not going to crumble under the onslaught of the enemy droves that thundered against it. For while Silk’s army were capable of a Force connection, the Sith Apprentices under Vicirus’ hand were far superior in using the Dark Side in every single way…

Vicirus found a smile slowly spreading over his pale face; he would wait just a little longer before he revealed some of the secrets others had long forgotten…

The shuttle sped over the planet's surface, barely fifty meters off the ground, barely five meters from the tops of the trees whizzing by below. In the pilot's seat, Necros finished setting in the autopilot course for the shuttle, then unstrapped from the seat and headed aft into the cargo bay. Waiting for him there, besides the corpses of the looters or mercenaries whom he had orchestrated the deaths of, were two of the beasts that had gorged themselves on the crew men. He had brought them along, mainly because he felt they would be useful for the tasks ahead.

He could feel the presence of others on the planet now, as he approached the temple's position. Already he had passed the gouged and smoking craters in the forest where starfighters, both Sith and...enemy Sith??? had crashed after being shot or otherwise brought down. And the enemies attacking the temple, he could feel two distinct presences, both radiating dark side energy. It seemed to be a Sith insurrection. At first he thought it was Lord Darksword, making the long awaited move to take the throne away from Master Vicirus, but why destroy everything you want to conquer?

But the presences he felt didn't belong to the Dark Lord who reigns on Corellia. These two were different and distinct presences, but somehow familiar in a way. Then there were other presences around them, soldiers of these unknown dark lords, mindless beings who were being driven onwards by their lust and hunger for conquest. Finally, there were other, smarter presences in orbit, and as the curvature of the planet continued to flash by, Necros could see a rain of turbolaser bolts descending from orbit into and around the temple. Orbital bombardement, from a capital ship of some kind.

Where were the Imperial defenses that had been left on the planet? Necros opened the secure comm channel that had been given to the Sith by the local Imperial commander.

"Captain, captain, come in, do you read me over?" asked Necros, then once again.

No answer.

Well, that could mean any number of things. Most of which will lead to the captain's execution if he is still alive after this is all over. By Necros's own hand, if necessary.

Okay then. Time to head to the Sith temple and see what he himself could do to help his brethren.

Using the force, he activated the switch that lowered the shuttle's ramp. An alarm went off in the cockpit, warning of the air drag pressures of the lowering ramp and the fact that it was open during flight.

Ignoring the alarms, Necros waited until the shuttle was over one of the many underground entrances into the temple, then leapt clear of the ramp, again using the force to slow his descent until he hit the ground, creating a one or two inch indentation on the ground with his boots. Speaking of which, he could hear the sounds of a lot of boots, footsteps to be exact, heading in his direction.

Necros turned to see a young apprentice, leaking blood from dozens of places on his...no...her body, and she was running directly torwards him, a whole host of enemies after her. He did nothing for a time but to study them, both through his eyes and the force, see what these enemies were made up of. Various words to describe them floated by his mind as he processed the information. Fanatical, zealous, mindless..., were some of the words, but their minds were warped by ones of higher power than he, so he could not control them as he normally would those who were mindless.

He could hear the screams of the approaching apprentice now as she drew near.

"Master Necros, please, help me, there are too many..." she gasped and coughed, out of breath...and time. Her wounds are too serious for her to live, even with the aide of the force. The higher masters may have been able to help, but by the time they get here, it will be too late...if they survive...

Withdrawing his lightsaber, the Hel-Hemarde, from his belt, Necros thummed the activation trigger, and the blade thrummed to life, sending waves of dark side energy coursing through him as the souls of the beings the blade had damned to hell came to life again. The apprentices eyes grew wide with hope, but alas, it was a false hope.

With a single stab forward, Necros sent the blade straight through the heart of the apprentice. It was an act of mercy, nothing more, nothing less. One would say the Sith were incapable of such mercy, but it was only torwards their enemies that it was so, not their allies and friends. Necros's eyes, so normally cold and menacing, turned soft as the apprentice looked at him with eyes that, only a moment ago were so full of hope of survival, turned down with pain, shock, and betrayal.

"You have done well, my apprentice. Now, join the force, and become the food needed to sustain your brothers and sisters in the combat to come." he said simply, no apologies, no regrets. She would understand, after she ascended. As he withdrew the blade from her body, she collapsed to the ground, dead before lifeless corpse hit the ground.

He did not draw any energy from her body, the way he normally would after killing an enemy. He did not feed off of her pain, her fear, her hatred. He forbade his blade from sucking up her soul into it's collection. But he did not blame himself for her death. No, there was only one person(s) to blame now.

Necros turned then, to face the fanatics who had been running after the apprentice. They had given pause, seeing him kill one of his own, and thought perhaps that he was an ally. They gathered there, easily a hundred in number, milling about in confusion.

His eyes narrowed, and with him holding the blade at guard position, began to advance on them. Perhaps sensing the hatred for them emanating out of his body, the aura shifting through the force, they identified him rightly once again as hostile, and again advanced in his direction, snarls and war whoops cutting through the silence of the night air as they ran headlong torwards him...and their demise.

The first two to reach him struck outwards with their spears, trying to gouge him on their hands. A slight movement in the force, provided by his right hand, nudged the tips of the spears away from him, and they were close enough to where he could slice through them both with the blade, cutting them in half amid-bodies. Their corpses had no sooner hit the ground than the others were on him.

Necros abandonded any hope of fighting them with a consciousess mind, and instead gave himself to the dark side of the force, surrending his mind to instinct alone.

Back off, I'll take you all on...

Slice, dice, parry, dodge, he did, as spears, pikes, maces, and weapons of all sort came in at him from all angles. The tide of enemy combatants swept over and around him, engulfing him, surrounding him, and trying to destroy him.

Headstrong to take on anyone...

One down, two down, three down, and not all by his lightsaber blade either. He used the enemies's own weapons against him, and the force was more of his own ally than it was their's. A force shove, a force pull, lightning, all came into play as the enemy horde continued to swell up against him.

This is not where you belong.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he came to a standstill, the blade thrumming at his side. He was hurting, through the tide of enemies, although he was good, he wasn't perfect. There were scrapes and gouges littering the skin surface of his body, blood running freely down into the ground below. That pain would have crippled a normal person.

He didn't let it get to him, he merely absorbed it, made it a part of him. De-activating the blade, he turned to see enemy corpses littering the ground, their blood flowing into a nearby creek and staining it red with their life essences.

Turning back to face the temple, Necros entered into it, to face his destiny.

Commodore Handstin gritted his teeth as thought after thought raced in his mind, none of them pleasant. He was not a dour man but he could find no beauty in the swirl of blues and whites that bathed his warships in a brilliant glow. The very fabric of space-time spun around him but still he could think only of what awaited him. His thoughts could conjecture and dream - and they did - but the reality was in fact a nightmare, the one every officer in every army and every fleet dreaded: he was careening towards battle against an enemy he knew nothing of.


" Reversion in ten, nine, eight, seven-" The jumpmaster called out the countdown from his terminal in the crewpit until he reached zero. When the words were clear his mouth, hyperspace spat them out into Xa Fel like a child would a vegtable. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Handtsin, however, knew not to trust only his eyes."


" No contacts, sir. We're taking a full system sweep and compiling it against what we have but according to our records of Coordinate 73 there are only nine percent of the orbiting satellites there should be."


Captain Odin moved close to the Commodore, stroking his short goatee as he moved. He might have chuckled at his crew's ignorance were the circumstances different: they still had no idea where they were. He dismissed the thought, promising to laugh later, and came to a halt just behind the taller officer. " Shields have been raised, we're tightening up the formation, and the fighter screen is deploying. Orders?"


The burden of command weighed heavily on the Commodore's shoulders but though he strained, he did not break. His brow was furrowed as he pondered every contingency, every possible outcome. He replied to his comman ship's captain in clear, crisp tones befitting his rank, belying none of the anxiety he felt in the pit of his stomach. " Let us push out to one third impulse, bringing us into wide orbit. Expand the sensor sphere to maximum range, soud alert at anything out of place. And Captain, send out the Shreiks."





Flight Officer Jouriell found herself blinded for a moment when her TIE slipped out of the launch bay, a misaligned landing light brightening her cockpit before the receptors on her helmet could compensate. " Damn it Control, some one please check your strips."


Fighter Control no doubt replied something snide about her foul language on the radio, but Jouriell would never know: she switched channels with a quick laugh, cutting off their rebuke, and put the Anariah from her mind. Her dual-winged reconnaissance craft was enough to keep her occupied: the TIE Shreik was the newest in a long line of Twin Ion Engine craft, this one replacing the aging Vanguard design. It had close-in struts attached to the ball cockpit from which thin, spike-like solar panels ran two meters ahead. LIke her predecessor, the tiny vessel had neither shields nor hyperdrive and only one laser cannon that could barely blast rocks from its path. A pitiful excuse for a combat issue, the Shreik was ideal for reconnoitering. By the time she had finished thinking on her coffin-esque workspace, Flight Officer Jouriell was well passed the pickets and nearing what she knew as Coordinate 73.


Nothing here, nothing there. Jouriell looked oput through the paned transparisteel of her viewports, seeing nothing. She looked over at her sensors which bleeped an innocent litany of all clear. The engines of her TIE whined after she toggled a switch and tapped twice one of the pedals beneath her feet; she sped up, trying to gobble as much sensor data as she could, transmitting it all the while to techs aboard the Star Destroyer with nothing better to do than watch blank screens. She was all too happy to oblige for as a Shreik pilot she earned fifty credits more per week than the Defender jockeys in her wake.


Was that something? Jouriell looked forward, her squint hidden by her flight mask. Shaking her head, she ran a gloved finger across the receptors on her helmet, mistaking movement for an errant spec of dust. She shook her head - but there it was again, five points off the bow. " XH 776 Ops, possible sighting. Unknown satellite contact or hostile. Stand by."


The Shreik sped up again and the bleeping of the scanner sped up with it, indicating contacts. Slowly something came into view that was much more than a moving spec which she could guess was a fighter or some escort craft, no this was large - much larger. It was black and red and the size of an SSD -


TIE Shreik XH 776 made a graceful turn to the right, correcting its course, before its ball cockpit was pierced by one well-aimed blast of concentrated energy. The blast of ionized particles tore steel from viewport and brought flame to darkness. For a second, space flared in light as one Imperial life winked from existence.





The bridge of the Anariah was hushed for the moment Flight Officer Jouriell died. Technicians in blue-green jumpsuits watched the read out of the large warship she had seen before the screen washed a bright orange then faded to static. The Commodore did not need to see the holofeed to picture it in his mind, the words of the techs was enough.


" - several thousand meters long. We read multiple contacts, unknown designs but they're acting as fighters - "


Handtsin knew the situation, having already played it out. The force before him was superior in strength but not in numbers. Regardless, he had to occupy them until Admiral Thomas arrived, and that was some time to come. He did have one advantage, the primary weapons aboard the Seydlitz-class Heavy Cruiser running off the battleship's port side. Tightening his fists around one another, he turned to Captain Odin and maintained the clear, crisp tones he needed to remain stoic for the men.


" Captain, signal the formation. We will close to maximum STL range. Frigates will maintain screen, Defenders are to stand by for orders. Scimitar Squadrons will prepare for launch. We have a job to do. Let us go see that it is done well."