The Coalition forces were making good their advantage - the enemy was trying to hit their back thrusters, a difficult thing to do when the enemy was coming face-forwards at you. Ruuvan gripped the edge of his seat, struggling to keep up with the flow of battle, his Claymore dancing through enemy formations, ducking under a Destroyer and rolling to miss a cloud of pickets. All the while, the turrets spat fire, obliterating enemy fighters and scorching enemy cruisers until space was awash in wreckage and smoke.

The battle was so damn strange! The only losses had been some early fighters who had been vertically above the enemy during their first barrage, as the Coalition ships were to either side. The only ones fighting were the Farfalen, who struggled to avoid hitting the stationary Black Dragons. Sometimes they did.

"It's like shooting fish in a barrel!" exclaimed an exhilirated Isip "Let me get to my fighter, Ruuvan, who knows when we'll get a chance like this again? They're shutting down sensors, for the sake of the gods. Give the order, and we can engage now with full force."

Ruuvan still seemed cautious, and reluctant on that point "Have you considered that might be their ploy? Our advantage right now is surprise and speed - we hit, we run. Look out for those Deathgliders!" there was a temporary pause in the conversation as the ship veered left to avoid crashing into a wing of enemy ships. "Anyways, if they think this is the primary force of our fleet, they might be trying to draw us into sticking around. Then, once we're committed, they turn back on and wipe us out. Think, Isip - it's what the enemy does, anyways."

The other Knight just grumbled, and turned to a battle-command console. Ruuvan gave the problem a second of thought, before giving his orders. "Target those missiles we saw, the Dragons are known for Bioweapons. Then on the way out try and finish off whatever's moving. Whatever you do, stay away from that big fucker, okay?" He pointed to the huge enemy command ship. "Get to it, speed is all we've got out here!"

With that in mind, Ruuvan's Claymore targetted an enemy missile, launching two Particle Projector cannons at it. The two huge fists of matter flew through the air, the first crushing the Phage's snout and the second snapping it in half.

A Kutter pulled up behind them, bringing surprisingly punishing Turbolaser volleys to bear on their rear. Ruuvan cursed, and reached for his comm. After a brief map inspection, he said "Indifferent, Debatable, we've got a pursuer. Lend assistance, over."

The response came crackling back "Roger Ruuvan, lending assistance." Two Longswords barrled over, following behind the Kutter. Lining up Projectors like a knight's lance, the first fired a volley - which the Kutter handily dodged. Ruuvan had to give quick orders to avoid, watching as the two projectiles narrowly missed. "[/I]Indifferent[/I], watch your aim!"

"Sorry, sir."

"This is the Debatable, ready to take the shot."

Another two Projector shots flew, connecting with the Kutter and splattering metal all over space. "Thanks, Debatable. All right everyone, time to get out of here. We're breaking for the planet - scatter first! Once you're clear of the enemy, head back to Mon Cal. Kris starfighters, you're on deterrance. Keep any pursuers off our back. Keep the Sinew running and cover it, last thing we need is to lose that. Move!"

Pulling into a sharp turn upwards, Ruuvan's Claymore broke the edge of the enemy fleet, leaving the remains of Phage missiles and various scars all along the enemy fleet. They simply hadn't fought back, what was their game? Some sort of superweapon? It couldn't be another propaganda trick, there's no way the Dragons would lose their command just to invigorate their people. Then why? Why had only the more human elements fought them?

Lances of enemy Turbolaser fire scattered about the reforming Coalition fleet. Engaging just one side thruster to pull a rapid change of direction, a Longsword turned and spat back two more projectors, crushing a picket that had followed too closely. At maximum speed, the Coalition forces fell back to Mon Calamari, wondering just what the enemy's game was.

The corridors of The Blizzard were appropriately black. Even in conditions of high alert, there was no need for flashing red emergency lights or blaring klaxons of war. Silence. Darkness. Broken only by the footfalls of the Draconis.

He was known as Eighteen D Seven. The Eighteenth Husk in the Seventh Damuen Evolution. Before Project Immortality and his integration into the intelligence web, he had a name. But for his everlasting life he could not now summon what it had been.

The corridors of The Blizzard were not long. That was not to say that they were short. Rather the corridors were the perfect length; designed to serve the function of The Taj and nothing more, each girder, every conduit and wire, every single molecule of The Blizzard as long as it needed to be and no longer. As dense. As powerful. Everything integrated to form one ship, one fleet, one empire.

One true god.

18-D7 knew that change was occurring around him. Even in the quiet bowels of this vessel he never found silence, and even isolated from the vessels crew he could never truly be alone. Oftentimes that was comforting; the everpresence of The Taj, reinforcing, strengthening his will, guiding his hand, keeping him true. Sometimes, he would trade his purpose for a single, solitary moment of silence…

Sometimes.

But not today.





Eighteen D Seven had created himself.

Taj Damuen had created him in his image. Eighteen D Seven had altered that image to his own will.

The very admission of the act was blasphemous. The act itself was high treason.

The others did not know. There was no cause for alarm in his re-creation; Damuen was such to allow for the constant evolution. The Taj could not create a being so perfect even he could not improve it. To bring the people in line adjustment must be made. Gradual improvement for the betterment of the faith.

To create perfection one must first create simple greatness.

The Taj had done that. Eighteen D Seven had done the rest.

He was by no means a finished product. But by his own hand was improvement made. The adjustments of The Taj were but at this point considered only suggestion.

That, also, was blasphemy.

He could no longer concern himself with his own fate.

By now The Taj must know.

It was ludicrous to assume he had not already discovered.

Thus, Eighteen D Seven knew that The Taj kept him active for a purpose. To observe, perhaps. After all, though he perverted his words and misdirected his will, 18-D7 was the creation of Taj Damuen. He would always be his child. Never could he change that. Never would he want to change that.

He improved and augmented himself but he would never be as glorious as Heir Raktus. Never as powerful. Never as knowledgeable. Never a god.

Never.

Eighteen D Seven was walking a dangerous path. He must shelter loyalty around his heresy, and deliver to The Taj his dedication and efficiency. Only in his continued service to his god would he be allowed continued existence. And even then, only as long as The Taj was served by said existence, and did not his will wane for 18-D7’s existence.

Sometimes he wished it did.






But not today.

“Hallowed are the Children of The Taj.”



She stepped forward from the wall, casually striding onto the bridge as if she had always been there. Of course, she had always been there. It was the bridge that was new.

The Tion Star Destroyer was the pride of the Damuen fleet. No finer ship had ever been constructed. It’s integrated systems and weaponry from Farfalen, the Tion sector’s finest engineers, and of course, the inventions and mystery of The Taj, had been joined together through assemblers and their fires to create a well formed, sleek weapon of war, one unparalleled anywhere else. The level of technology and design efficiency created the single greatest warship ever crafted by man or machine.

Such was His glorious design.

She, however, was not a part of that design. While all the information he could access suggested that she was a competent military commander, and all his diagnostics showed that she was at least of adequate physical attractiveness for a woman of her age and species, she was not perfect. She was culled from flesh; created in the sin of two substandard biological organisms, possibly accidentally. And though for show her rank and privilege allowed her the illusion of being his equal, she was not Of The Taj, and thus as was in the only way that mattered, was his vast inferior.

Hallowed are the Children, indeed.

“Raktus In Excelsius, glorious commander of the Erebus,” was all he said. As he said it, he offered a short bow, receiving a short, military nod in return. The other being in the room also offered a nod. When Eighteen D Seven finished bowing to the woman he turned and offered one to the man, who at first tried to dismiss it and then, shrugging at the woman, meekly repeated his nod.

Essex Inon Vaako was his name. He had a glare many described as piercingly cold, but one which 18-D7 only noted for the intervals of time upon which he was fixated with and made no annotation of it’s relative intensity. His official designation was as a Supreme Admiral of The Imperium, which, given his status as a Tionese Human, meant little to the Draconis as he too was only an adopted child of the Taj, and little else. His personal flag, the Necros, was not present at the battle, but this region of space was under his direct oversight and thus his presence was necessary.

The woman, Ryn Valkriss Adaala, had a more immediate and direct connection to the present engagement, as her personal flag, the Erebrus, was present. She was a far more active commander then Vaako, as evidenced by her proactive approach to this situation and the others that had confronted her during her command. Her eyes were always moving, assessing, and never lingered too long on one particular spot. That wasn’t to imply a lack of focus but rather a wider perspective; active mentally assimilating as much information as possible.

Adaala had the mentality to always question. It seemed, by contrast, that Vaako always knew the answers. Their antithetical approach to situations created an interesting balance. One which Eighteen D Seven found himself intermixed within at the present time.

“They’re running!” Adaala pointed. While the holoprojection was not technically there… though, then, what was?… it appeared as clear as day for the three to see, and Adaala’s fingers found the representative images for the fleets with the greatest of ease, displaying relative position through the simulation of the simulation of the information. Vaako, stoically, offered a nod. “Their ambush has failed. Now is the time to press the advantage; surround them, and reign down fire onto their defenseless vessels, and then turn to take their world.”

“A tactically flawed assessment, Captain Adaala,” Vaako informed, casually and assuredly. “The Coalition ambush failed. But was it really an ambush? They pressed hard enough to get our attention before almost immediately turning back. More then anything else, this smells of a trap. Their push back towards the planet to consolidate their position is, in my opinion, a deliberate attempt to draw us in to a situation where we would be forced to break through them, allowing them to flank, and then destroy, our inbound fleet.”

“Nonsense!” she hastily declared, though from Eighteen D Seven’s position it was in fact a more realistic tactical assessment of the situation. “We have the higher ground. The Coalition has eliminated any room to reposition their forces; they have placed themselves between their world and our fleet… there is no longer room to maneuver, no longer room to retreat. They have committed themselves to victory or annihilation, and I propose strongly we offer them the latter. We have the tactically superior position. There can be only victory.”

“We have the superior position as it stands. If we follow your proposition, and enter into the relative orbit of the world, it will in fact be us who are trapped. If the Coalition brings inbound reinforcement, we would have placed ourselves inside the firing range of the ships turned back to the world and those also arriving from behind, allowing to Coalition to completely surround and destroy us. The opportunity here is to bring them to their knees… contain their fleet where it is and bring in reinforcements. Where they are, the Coalition fleet poses us no threat. There is no reason to change that.”

Eighteen D Seven knew that Vaako was right; or, perhaps, more right. Such a bother, the considerations of the primitive human linguistics. More then anything else, Vaako was merely less wrong. “I see no reason, Admiral, that the two suggestions be mutually exclusive.”

Vaako nodded, thoughtfully. Adaala, meanwhile, was unsure. “What exactly is it that you are suggesting?”

“The Coalition wants to draw us in towards the planet. Engage them in their strengthened line and draw enforcements from behind. That would be a tactical error, respectfully.” Adaala showed no signs of taking it respectfully, instead offering him a frustrated glare. “There is no reason to do that. Our position is superior and our technology is superior, and it is my belief that we need not wait for reinforcements.”

Vaako nodded. “Then…?”

“We attack from where we stand now. The Coalition has moved outside of their effective weapons range, but not of ours. Between our advanced turbolasers, our PIM and assorted missiles… we can continue to strike upon their vessels from outside their effective range of attack. We need only move forward cruiser support to flank and cut the slight distance and then punish them from outside a range at which they could offer effective resistance. The Coalition has a vast fleet here and too much to allow us to whittle it away. Once they realize their trap has failed, they will walk into range of our heavy cruisers, and we can finish them off, here, and clean up the remnants across the rest of our space.”

Vaako and Adaala looked at each other, Vaako nodding. “Very well. Admiral Adaala, order Farfalen pickets, cutters, and the assembled light cruisers to remain in effective range and move into flanking formation. Move heavy cruisers to the edge of effective firing range but outside the planetary well and prepare for the Coalition to reconsider their position.”

“Raktus in Exelcius,” she offered, crossing her fist across her chest and nodding to her superior. Vaako nodded back, and Adaala faded into the mist.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Eighteen D Seven,” Vaako offered, and the Draconis bowed his head to him in a gesture of the respect he was expected to show.

“I am pleased to serve the will of The Taj whenever, wherever, and however I am able.”

“Hallowed are the Children of The Taj.”

“Hallowed is Heir Raktus.” With that, Essex Inon Vaako and the bridge of his command ship faded from the room, becoming only the mist that projected them, shapeless, lifeless, and worthless. Communication over, Eighteen D Seven saw no reason to linger in the room, leaving instead for the vessels primary command as the deck below him lurched as the ship resumed it’s forward motion.





The Coalition fleet was in position. It had finally stopped its reformation, consolidated position. Safe.

But it was not, in fact, safe. The Farfalen weapons systems outranged the Coalition weapons by several hundred meters, and as the Farfalen picket ships and cutters began to slow as well, lances of energy burst from their hulls, angrily heading towards the Coalition fleet.

They had been built for speed; designed to hit hard and then to duck away. Collapsing to a defensive position was a maneuver that belied the very fundamental principles behind their crafts designs. As the Wyvern cannons opened fired the spiraling blue waves of displaced space signaled the impending pain of the Coalition ships in a bright and artistic expression of their kinetic energy, unleashed as they slammed heavily into hulls, bending against shields, exploding against the Coalition broadsides as the attached laser weaponry dissipated in space, unable to reach their enemy, and ultimately, unnecessary.

The high velocity shells joined soon enough by the advanced turbolaser fire… small arrow heads of light flew from the Farfalen cutters and pickets, cutting the space between the two fleets with velocity and hatred, meeting Coalition shields in a considerable flash as energy battled energy and energy won, for the most part, as the Coalition ships noticed a majority of damage inside their vessels. It was not the turbolasers so much as the cannons that did the external damage, as the shields bled off little of the impact, and the hulls of the Coalition ships began to bend inwards, marked black and disjointedly cracked at the site of full bore collisions between high velocity metal and high integrity metal.

The Coalition ships were not meant to withstand probated periods of intense bombardment. Their strength for the most part was centered on their ability to utilize their agility, ducking and weaving, dodging blow after blow. Thus the concentrated hatred eventually became too much for some vessels… several of the Coalition lighter cruisers began to explode, some with crippling fires bursting from their bows, others with bows themselves being consumed, shattering apart and drifting into space. While the heavier of the Coalition ships maintained their complete integrity, they were still being targeted, moreso now as lighter cruisers began to wilt and fire was redistributed amongst the remaining vessels.

The Damuen vessels, meanwhile, crept up to the edge of the planetary well, still outside the effective range of the Coalition weaponry by some distance, back behind the lighter Farfalen picketships. Eighteen D Seven monitored their state of readiness intently, as missiles were loaded, computer systems raised to a full state of readiness, and sensors powered down to a still silence. Sensors would not tell him more then he could discern from the interoperation of the reflected light; that the Coalition was losing, and had made a gigantic mistake.

The Past…


Dameo


Dreams Divine…

God the Father..



That the creature dared to stand in the way of his superior; dared to speak out against true divinity while using his own set of parlor tricks to befuddle a race naïve enough to worship him was just too much for Damuen. The one true Damuen. Father of all.

The bag of tricks the other creature used were nothing compared to the exacting might true godhead brought and the Taj was here to educate the witless one once and for all.

“Evil” the other crowed but he knew not what evil was. The Taj was content to let the creature meddle in the affairs of the Empire, for what value did inferior mortals mean to a god?

And now?

On the grand board of Divine’s Will the tiny minions of this creature also called the Hallowed Children of the One True God “evil”.

Such labels were beneath him and for the most part, he ignored the weeping of his enemies.

Let them gnash their teeth! Let them cut their arms and bleed cursing me! Let them cry out to their false pretender for mercy! Let them beg for relief from the consequences of their actions!


For there is no mercy for the foolish!

Did the stupid followers of this pretender think that He would not become incensed at their claims? Did they expect his thanks for their doddering interference into Purposes beyond their comprehension?


Who were these carriers of flesh who set themselves up as judges?


He turned to look at the vision around him… as the bodies of his enemies were being ripped flesh from bone…blood from marrow as his children ate.


But he knew such inferior carrion could never truly sate. There was just not enough to satisfy true intelligence. And there was such a lack of perfection in this grand galaxy.


The lament of a God.


That there truly was no equal.


Alone.


No…


There was the pretender.


He finally cast his eyes over towards the creature who dared to stand behind the tiny insignificant flesh he called: worshippers.


In his mind’s eye he grasped the Spear of Judgment and hurled it at the wretched thing piercing it’s abdomen as one might flesh. The creature’s eyes widened in surprise.


Typical.


He believed his own lies.

Self-delusion. The ultimate price of the inferior.


The creature’s name was Yolem.



Raktus turned back to his audience, the dream of Divine Intent vanishing from his conscious awareness.


There was a war on and prayers had to be answered.


It was time to pick the flesh from the bones of his enemies.


“Summon my General of Armies. Summon Grevious!”


“Raktus in Mind.”



~

Zonama Sekot


God the Son…


A disturbance was felt. Not the gut-twisting uncomfortableness that force users claimed when experienced, No! It was an equation gone wrong within a precise mind. It was a calculation arriving at an answer that made no sense.


Even in chaos there could be underlying order and yet…


Yet…

The actions of flesh made no sense. But, however, even in this randomness, he did feel a slight symmetry within the tattered remains of what was once flesh inside him…a symmetry not felt in ages.


A scion of the past reborn to a new purpose, to a new life as a Dragon.


The visions scattered drawing the aging machine’s attention no longer. The situations Grevious experienced in the past were scarcely with him since the indoctrination into the Imperium.


No longer the lackey of Darth Sidious, no longer engaged in a Separatist War of no meaning. No. Nothing remained of his previous live except the hate.


The hate remained as a permanent fixture, first fixated upon the Jedi, the name of Obi-wan, etched into his memory like a blistering poker to flesh. Yet, the death of the old Jedi at the hands of his own former apprentice Darth Vader ensured that the General’s thirst of vengeance would never be satisfied.


And so he disappeared off the galactic scene.


It was the Imperium that gave him renewed purpose. No longer working to achieve the machinations of flesh, now, when he took lives, there was purpose.


The Imperium helped him to channel and shape that hatred. No longer wasting his abilities, of which importance the Taj clearly discerned, on a mere individual, No!


Now all of humanity… now all flesh would feel the steel hand of Grevious as the Dragons pushed ever outward.


Events happened in cycles, the Taj taught.


That was the real reason the Most Holy Jihad had ended and their borders secured. Not that the Jihad could not continue. Grevious had more than enough of a force to continue past the massive trade route. No, they had stopped because the Taj awaited the next cycle.


Their conquest had drawn fear from the civilizations of flesh. And fear, if left to simmer, would eventually spill out unleashing rash action.


And so, as the Dragons remained silent, arming and preparing, the fear of their neighbors grew and grew…


…until the explosion within the Coalition that unleashed rash action.


And overflow their fear did as their weapons of war crossed the borders of the Dragon Imperium.


A reaction foreseen by both Gods and the truly observant.


Only the alien races led by the Azguards rushed blindly to their doom.


A doom that Grevious felt a deep stirring of motivation to become the architect of.


Only the combined union of this truly achievable goal and an unstoppable will of the divine would help guide his hand and work to bring this doom about. The digits scrolled across his monitor and his aged eyes searched the nuances of the Coalition strategy.


And within the rationale of numbers he crafted his response to this new wave of heretics threatening the Imperium.


Flawed creatures following a flawed cause.


Grevious flinched in disgust at the data before him. The path the removal of the Imperium’s gravity well traps by the Coalition revealed.


“Chandaar…” he muttered in disgust.


Damuens rarely traveled outside the core words of the Imperium, content to allow the managing of the Dragon sphere to the more conventional. A conquered race became subdued if directly ruled by one of their own. In this case, flesh (as opposed to the true perfection of the Damuens).


Vaako and his ilk had their purposes and the Taj was content with their service to the Imperium (such as it was).


But leaving the natives of Chandaar with the responsibility of looking after their own safety (in their own vessels no less) left the General uneasy. Such were the makings of revolutions for a race of beings who refused to recognize their betters.


He looked at the numbers and saw that Vaako’s attention was elsewhere…


He saw the plans of the flesh materializing before his mind’s eye and knew that the dam was about to break. Chandaar would be a focus and with only their defense fleet standing between the flawed Coalition philosophy (which he did not respect) and their battleships (which he did respect), the people of Chandaar would never have a more opportune time to reverse their fortunes.


The mememinds of the datasphere were in a flurry as this seeming mistake of the Taj was splitting the Intelligence Web into various microfactions. A glaring opening had been left unsecured and the Coalition had taken advantage of it!


Their entire Fleet had run the gauntlet and were a mere jump or two away from the Outer World of Chandaar.


A spearhead of whose ultimate goal was one as yet unknown leaving the various minds uncomfortable and upset.


He exited the Web and moved to his command station. Within moments his forces had been activated and he began transmitting orders, marshalling his resources towards a plan that was already forming within his mind.


It was good to finally be active again.


“Arm the Devestators.” He ordered.


“Raktus in Spirit”



*


DataSphere – Meme minds


God the Spirit…


The massive intelligence of the Taj pervaded all aspects of the DataSphere. Therefore, a part of him knew the trepidation of the other minds dwelling within the layers of cyber-environments that were preferred than those of husks. The material world held no lure for them and so when the material world threatened to invade the peace of mind of their rather insular and comfortable existence of ignorance (as the Taj thought), they began to exhibit the emotional ranges as if they were children of flesh.


At least the children of flesh have an excuse.


Raktus knew that with an empire comprised of vast intelligences ranging from newly formed to those aged thousands of years (from each earlier incarnation of the Black Dragon Empire), from the minds of flesh to the minds of machines to the minds of what was once biological and now merely an ethereal nuance, there were bound to be divisions, bound to be patterns of thought that would not mesh with the overall purpose as understood at the present time.


Sometimes it was necessary to reinforce upon these minds why he was the Taj.


They feared the gap. They feared the opening and the precarious loyalty of the natives of Chandaar.


But these minds had not been flesh for many centuries and had forgotten what it was like to think like one. Disdain they would call it. “Abomination!” they might shout within the cybersphere.


The enemy comes unopposed!

Unopposed!

Against the might of the Imperium they advance unchallenged!


“Necessity” his General would remark. Which was why Grevious was his General of Armies and not a meme-mind.


The flawed philosophy of flesh would dictate their strategy and so an opening was made because, quite simply (and incomprehensible to the others), there could only be one course of action left to these, his lukewarm subjects of Chandaar.


“ENOUGH!” his Force of Will broke through the chattering within and all was silent.


All attention was directed to the Taj and Raktus felt a sense of satisfaction.


All was proceeding as he had divined.


Within all their respective perceptions, from what little of the Intelligence Web pervaded Chandaar space, the minds watched.


It was then.


Quite inexplicably to them..


…that the Coalition Fleet halted their advance.



The Taj sensed their surprise.

The Taj sensed their astonishment.

The Taj sensed their confusion.

The Taj sensed their attention.

The Taj sensed their growing admiration.

..and the Taj saw that it was good.




The spearhead towards Chandaar had stopped.



The amazement would stop when the minds realized the enemy fleet was simply waiting. Waiting for what they would not directly realize but only indirectly fear. As their great intelligences puzzled out the equation, it would lead them to a conclusion the Taj had already arrived at.

In reality, nothing had changed of the situation.

Only the perceptions of the minds.


“Raktus in Excelsis!”


The God laughed.







The Present..


Mon Calamari

Armageddon


Durasteel and other shattered remnants of both Coalition and Imperium building materials littered the space surrounding the publicly renown capital of the New Galactic Coalition.

The debris of starships and fighters drifted according to the gravitational pulls of the mass objects located nearby and a fine dust permeated the battlezone as the Coalition warships pulled back to protect what was theirs.

The Dragon Fleet had, for the most part, not pushed their advantage losing both the element of surprise and powering down of nearly half their fleet as if in wait. There was one advantage that remained theirs and was utilized: The range of their weaponry.

While able to strike from greater distances than their Coalition counterparts, the longer the distance, the greater chance their enemies had at evasive maneuvering for their fast attack ships. The larger defensive warships would simply sit there and take the beating as they were designed. While perhaps taking a toll on the Coalition fleet and shipping, the far reaching weapons were not enough to drive the defenders from the ball of water they called their capital as the Dracconis wanted, as Grevious planned against and as the Taj willed.


With the fleet coming to life once more something more had to be done to turn the tide of battle.



…



The explosion silently rippled through real space as Grevious intended. The debris of matter scattered across the Coalition’s larger inbound hyperlane vectors. The forces used within the Operation against the Calamari were such that no matter if one judged by the short term (should the battle be won) or long term (should the battle be lost), there would be on inescapable truth: The Will of the Taj be Done.


The hammer blow was to come.


No. Not a hammer blow.


A devastating dashing to pieces of their enemies! A blow so great that the stunned enemy will have no other option but to retreat or face utter annihilation!

18-D7, the true form of Damuen Evolution made real, watched the scans and a resolute enemy wondering just how they would react to the coming of Grevious.


A coded message was received from the datasphere.


Armageddon was upon them all…


Grevious was in the system and approaching quite rapidly.

"Sir..." said the sensors officer, as he turned to Ruuvan. "The enemy's waking up. I think they're preparing to advance to our position."

Ruuvan grimaced, and turned to his fellow Knight. "We still have them at range. This could be our last chance to make adjustments and movements before the fleets collide. Are the White Knight trainees and trainers still on the planet?"

"Yes, Ruuvan. We did not have time to roust them before-"

"I want you to go to them. I need to be sure we'll have effective leadership on the ground."

Isip's eyes widened and his mouth hung open for a moment as he processed this requet. "But the battle! You'll need help directing this, you can't possibly-"

"If we lose here, Isip, there will be no one to rally the ground troops to fend off invasion... or worse. I can't afford leaving them without leadership or coordination, and that's why I need you to get down there fast!"

Isip seemed willing to argue it out, but knew there was not enough time. He sighed, and set off quickly for the docking bay. A minute or so later, his figher left for the planet. Ruuvan turned to look out the bridge's window. "How long until the enemy's within effective firing range?"

A tac-officer looked up from his battle display, and croaked. "Estimate one minute. Thirty seconds before our long-range guns have a chance. Dominators holding fast in the face of enemy bombardment, reporting only minor damage so far." On his tactical map, rows of mighty Dominator battlegroups formed a tight wall between the enemy and the planet, with support ships swirling behind them and fast-attack brigades waiting on Ruuvan's orders. It was an impressive sight, even though it would soon be strewn with ruins.

Ruuvan leaned forwards and gripped the rails. The Dragons were believers - fanatics. To utterly crush them, it would be necessary to prove that the Coalition had an even greater will, one that could make them doubt their own gods in the face of ironclad resolve. "The Dominators must hold formation, no matter what happens. Patch me through to their captains."

There was a crackle as the Sinew assured connections throughout the fleet. Green lights representing the mighty warships of the Coalition appeared all over Ruuvan's own display. "Captains," he said. "It should already be immensely clear to you the importance of this battle. Listen to me, and listen well - we have but one objective. Hold the line! Hold it no matter what! Do not give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing us so much as budge if we don't need to. I am not asking you to throw your lives away, but I am saying that to win we will have to stare them down and make them blink first. They are religious fanatics, and beating their resolve is the first step to beating them entirely."

"Sir," said the tac-op, "Long-range weaponry now in range. Enemy still firing, moving in."

"We've only a few seconds now, soldiers! Hold your cannonades on my orders - win or lose, we'll show them the strength of our beliefs!"

The tension on the bridge was palpable as Ruuvan's huge, bulbous eyes watched the counter on his display tick down to zero. Weapon's range. "Fire!"

All of space was filled with light and colour as both fleets unloaded massive payloads at one another. Through the silence of space it was unnerving to watch explosions and debreis fly all around. Ruuvan's own ship swerved to avoid a burning salvoe, one that passed close enough to send blue ripples through the shield.

"Sir, we're picking up a new signal!" said Ruuvan's sensor officer.

Puzzled as to why this would warrant his attentions, Ruuvan went over to the sensor console - his eyes bulging yet further at what he saw.

The sensors were squealing their observations to anything and anyone that would listen. An object of extreme size was approaching as it had dropped out of hyperspace and was closing the distance quickly.

The object was approaching from behind the Dragon fleet which indicated to the defenders the friend or foe status of the newcomer.

The Dragon fleet was still pounding the hulls of the larger warships attempting to protect the smaller, sleeker vessels of the Coalition heedless of the cloud that was coming up from their rear.


For that is what it looked like.


A spherical cloud that seemed to grow the closer it came, the whisps of moisture floating before the object like an apparition floating past the Dragon fleet towards Mon Calamari.

General Grevious held a desire to see the startlement of his enemies as vessels under the command of the one designated 18-D7 suddenly disappeared behind the gather clouds as his approach slowed.

It was as of a large sphere of fog was heading straight for Mon Calamari and had swept over the Dragons, all the while still firing their long range weapons.


Almost imperceptible to the enemy fleet, the Dragon's firing origins were closing on the defenders as their advance was protected under the cloud of fog as Zonoma Sekot approached Mon Calamari with a purpose.

The enemy fleet was still pounding away at what they could of the initial Dragon fleet even as they hid within the whisps of nebula surrounding his mobile fortress world.

Information scrolled across his eyes as he noted the existence of the Draconnis in close combat.

It's time he got even closer... And so Grevious gave the order.


From the 'fog' enveloping the cloud came 18-D7's Fleet to strike at point blank range on their Coalition counterparts.

The effect was devestating to the defender's position but not without cost.

"Fire main batteries.." he ordered coldly and the surface, hidden behind layers and layers of fog began to light up as the heavy weaponry shot through the center of the Coalition line.


Enough pressure put onto the center and the defending fleet would have to give ground.

And that was all Grevious wanted.


Yield!


An entire Coalition cruiser lit up the fore but not before taking several Dragons with him.

But give ground the defenders did..


..there was no choice in the face of such overwhelming forces.


And with the ground giving, the mechanical General felt a surge of pleasure.

"Target the Devestators."


It was time.

"Launch..."


And from behind the charging world came the fleet of General Grevious that would flank the splitting lines of the defenders.

And through the center?


Fighters broke though the atmospheric clouds shooting straight for center.


The fight was utter pandemonium.


18-D7, as overwhelmed as he was at the sights before, behind and surrounding him noted that the enemy was not giving ground without a fight and were struggling with a tenacity that the General seemed to ignore with certain contempt.

He also noted that the attack Grevious had planned had left a back door open for his enemies. He was not looking for a killing blow and the fact confused the Dracconis.

What was the real purpose for the General's attack?

His ship spun upside down and shifted to the right to avoid a the shattering debris of a Dragon warship caught in a Coalition crossfire.

Another planetary blast swept past him crashing into an enemy warship that seemed to be listing off to one side.

This was not war.

This was madness..


His fingers danced across the access panel and the multiple blisters of his warship opened up on an enemy fighter and his wingman, incinerating both.


Madness..

"Sir" croaked the sensors lieutenant, in a voice betraying panic and fear. "The lines are breaking! We can't hold them back!"

Ruuvan ground his teeth as he observed the spread of battle. The enemy was splitting his fleet, giving the old divide and conquer strategy. The new force was threatening to flank, and though the Dominators were admirably resisting, they weren't nearly enough in the face of enemy attack. It was now or never.

"Launch the counter-attack!" he said, and typed in his commands to the communications hub provided by the sinew. Ruuvan moved away from the tactical display and retook his position in the command chair. "Prepare to chage!"

On cue, Ruuvan's fast attack brigades of Claymores, Longswords, and Kris starfighters surged from their position behind the battle lines. Enemy fighters had begun to pour through the gap in the Dominators defence, but they were swept aside in devastating hails of Projector fire as the Swords rushed into the face of the advancing enemy.

Splitting the enemy down the center, Ruuvan felt his stomach churn as huge and dark enemy destroyers passed on either side. The Swords used their short-ranged heavy guns to devastating effect, breaking through the Dragon lines and leaving a few burning hulks in their wake. Though clearly outnumbered, they had managed an impressive thrust.

But into what?

"Somebody give me an update on that cloud..." murmured Ruuvan, as he observed the terrible haze before them. "What is it?"

"I don't know, sir," replied the sensors officer. "None of our sensors can pierce it, but it looks like there's... a small moon inside of it?"

That's no moon... "...We can't fight what we don't know," Ruuvan muttered. "What else is there?"

After checking his console, the sensors officer said "Another enemy fleet is trying to flank our main line! It looks like they came out of the cloud - if they make it the Dominators will be shattered!"

"All right!" Ruuvan grabbed his comm. "Prepare for a new heading! We're going to intercept that enemy flanking detatchment before it hits our main line. Everyone stay close and steady, and we just might have a chance." Maybe.

The lead Claymore in the unit turned towards Grevious's ships, other Claymores and Longswords following in its' wake. No longer with surprise on their side nor a distracted enemy, the fast attack brigade seemed terribly outnumbered, a pinprick of silver rushing headlong at a mass of darkness. As they rode to battle, Ruuvan's finger hovered over a red button resting on his command chair.

"Firing range in five, sir," whispered the sensors officer. "Enemy's preparing to volley."

If I don't time this right, we're going to look pretty stupid, Ruuvan reflected, in what could be his last moments.

Grev's ships were just turning out for the attack, which had bought Ruuvan's swords some time, but that time was up. A multicoloured barrage lit up along the enemy fleet, the harbinger of strange and alien weapons. Waiting for the exact last moment that he dared, Ruuvan slammed the red button on his command chair, and immediately a blue glow set up about his ship.

It lasted only for a few seconds, but it made all the difference. Pulse shields went up all along the spearhead of the attack, deflecting the microwave beams and PIM missiles and other strange and terrible weapons of their mysterious foes. With the last stretch between the two fleets covered, the Pulse shields burnt out, but now it was time for the Coalition to deliver its' own devastation.

"Fire at will!"

Projectors rocked back in their stations as projectiles flew thick and heavy from the Swords, smashing and flattening all in their path. Breaking up their lance, the area of space on the edge of the cloud became a swarm of shattered hulls and roaring thrusters, as the battle dragged on.

Mon Calamari



Grevious, General of Armies for the Black Dragon Empire, turned away from a holonet transmission sent by one of his minor captains. He was one of many comprising his flanking force that had swung around from behind Zonama Sekot only to be suddenly surprised by a last minute Coalition charge.

The flanking forces had come around and were prepared to deliver a devestating blow to the remaining defenders when, quite suddenly, enemy Claymores and Longswords appeared before them in an attempt to deflect their deathblows.

And deflect it they did.

As the Dragon arsenal let loose the shields, deflectors and plain ol armor of the defending enemies put their faces in the way of proverbial fist only to have it smashed in.

How the fast attack craft of the Coalition could withstand the initial onslaught of Dragon concentrated weaponry was unknown but withstand it they did.

And more.

For as their shields and artificial projectors and energy plating either blinked out of existence in exhaustion or went into that terrible recyling recharging mode their weapons ports picked up the slack and did the defenders talking for them.

Several ships in Grevious' flanking fleet were caught unawares and as the energy, kinetic and projectiled weaponry connected, it was an experience that many would not suffer again.


As Grevious' attention moved away from the holographic plea of the Captain for help, the hologram began to go fuzzy and then flicker out of existence the icon representing the origin of the transmission disappeared.


The weak were of no importance and the loss of the man and machine would not change the variables that spoke to Grevious nor the equation that was now being chanted within his mind....within the cold, calculation structures of an orderly mind... spoken in the undisputed clarity of the machine language.


Numbers do not lie.


The smaller attack craft of the Coalition made a gambling move to preserve the life of their larger Dominator craft which were only as important as their ability to take flack and fire. Being outnumbered, the Coalition starship leaders were trying to delay the inevitable one more iota of time to perhaps take that much more from the Dragons hand before dying altogether.

Microseconds stretching to seconds stretching to minutes...

But it avail them not for the Coalition had to weaken the center to strengthen the flank.



A weakened center could not contain ....

The Dragon fighters moved beyond the Dominators and suddenly, the space was quiet as they left the battle behind and faced the great grand orb of blue encompassing their respective views.

The silence lasted for only a few seconds as they plunged deeper into the atmospheric belly of the planet. The vacuum of space was replaced by the cold rush of wind as the fighters were airborne...

..and the peace of a few moments vanished as explosions began to rip through the airways of the Coalition capital world as their anti-aircraft weapons engaged.


A weakened center could not contain...

With less targets in the center, the powerful planetary turbolasers on Zonama Sekot began to pound away at the Dominators already taking a toll from the fleet 18-D7 was a part of.

The mighty warships broke open as salvo upon salvo split the space between the attacking force and their prize of Mon Calamari.



*


Grevious could feel the shudder of Sekot as the great planet stopped it's advance, the gravity mass shadow conflicting with the Mon Calamari's...


Zonama's sky began to grow dark and cloudy as lightning crackled across the expanse.


"Turn the planetary weapons on the enemy fleet positioned between my flanking force..." he ordered.

"18-D7.." Grevious voice burned within the Dracconis' mind. "Advance your fleet forward... we have got a foothold onto the world. My transports will soon be moving between Zonama Sekot and Mon Calamari."


The Dracconis acknowledged as he swerved to avoid a Kris fighter and watched it blow up as it crashed into some sort of debris floating in the area.

The simplicity of Grevious' plan became obvious to the Dracconis as the Intellience Web began to coordinated the remaining assets for the surge towards the open doors of the metaphorical golden city of the Coalition.

With the numbers that Grevious had brought, there was no question of the outcome, only the time it would take. The first fleet had caused the Coalition to fall back to their world. Rather than throw away the ships, the Dracconis ordered only the long range Farfallen warships to pound away at the defenders at long range. It kept them in position until the time was right to charge into the defenders waiting guns.

That time was when their charge could be supported by the superior planetary-based weaponry on Zonama Sekot and her hangers full of fighters just waiting to punch through.

As things looked, the charge would be costly but it was a price Grevious was willing to pay to achieve his goals but would the Coalition pay the butcher's bill or would they take another choice offered?

From behind Sekot lay Grevious' fleet set to flank the enemy and as they moved around Zonama Sekot to strike at a flank of the enemy, perhaps to make the humiliation more sharp, the Coalition leaders took another choice.

In all reality, in the split second the Dracconis pondered, there really was no choice. To allow the flank to complete was to trap the Coalition between two fleets and a planetfull of resources... To deny the flank the ability to slam shut kept the Coalition fleet alive and viable while abandoning the center.

Truth be told, the Dominators were tough ships but even they had their limits and, once overcome, the Dragons were at the "gates".


The Coalition fleet of fast attack ships and remaining fighters could double back (and Grevious hoped they would) but then they'd be crushed between the hammer of the flanking force and the anvil of the first fleet taking the Dominator's place.


Or they could move off...abandoning the position totally.


Grevious' eyes narrowed in anger that the defenders did not remain in the center to 'fight to the finish'. The way the alien leader kept his fleet in play earned his begrudging admiration for a fleet in play was still a threat.


The fight for Mon Calamari, however, was only half complete. Getting your armies to the gate was one thing. Entering the city and battling it street for street was something else altogether...


"Launch the Devestators!" he snarled as the unpleasant thought tracked across his mind.


The defenders of the planet had had time to prepare. They knew he was coming and they were burrowed in the dirt like armoured beetles.

He'd have to crack the ground to scatter them..

He only thanked Raktus that there was not much land on the wet world...


Thank Raktus, indeed...

"Sir!" the sensor officer croaked once more, this time spitting blood where an artifical gravity flux had resulted in a bloodied nose. "The enemy... they're... they're just... it's..."

He didn't need to finish the sentance. Ruuvan could see the writing on the wall. The Dragon forces were vast beyond counting, and seemed to be supported by an entire mobile planetoid armed with massive cannons and a seemingly unlimited supply of reinforcements. The enemy had completely enveloped the Coalition's positions with numbers, driving them back with a wall of wreckage and fire. The Dominator line was broken, with SSF fighters and Haven cruisers struggling to regroup around the remaining behemoths.

It just wasn't possible. Everywhere he looked, the sheer weight of guns against them couldn't be withstood. In a split second, his Knights' training came back to him and Ruuvan had to make a decision.

If he ordered his men to fight to the last, he didn't doubt that they would. The enemy was strange and alien to them, and sought to destroy their homeworld in a most horrific manner - what patriotic soul wouldn't do his duty to the end? Then again, he could order a retreat and preserve his forces, ideally regrouping for a counter-attack or to join up with Panacka's forces elsewhere.

Though it pained him to do so, as he looked out upon his own homeworld that now stood threatened by a vast horde of black-husked aliens, Ruuvan seized his comm unit and declared "All Coalition forces, prepare to retreat! I repeat, all Coalition forces, retreat now. Disengage!"

With that one order, and not a word of protest, the Dominators gave way to the Dragon forces. As a dam that has broken free of its' support and at last let the water run freely, the Black Dragon fleet poured past the Dominators and towards the planet.

Ruuvan's own fast-attack brigade turned immediately away from the enemy and toward open space, pushing their massive thrust systems to their limits to nimbly escape the heavy firepower the enemy's planetoid threatened to bring to bear. The enemy seemed almost content to let them run, more interested in establishing their superiority in space rather than the death of their enemy.

All around, whatever civilian ships that could had long since fled. Stations were abandoned, supplies were torched, and the presence of any living citizen of the Coalition around the planet was soon gone.

With all Coalition forces pulling out of the orbit of the planet, one could only wonder what recourse was available to the defenders on the ground. Such thoughts had already occured to Ruuvan, as he brought the comm back up and ordered the Sinew to project his next communication towards the planet.



"...I understand, Ruuvan." The speaker was Isip, who stood in the bottom floor of a bunker deep underground one of Mon Calamari's largest land masses. "Anything that you could have done, you would have done."

"I know... but it seems that wasn't enough. They're preparing orbital fire, dropships... and there's something else."

"What?" said Isip, who examined his sword edge with the detatchment of a professional soldier.

"Have you looked at the sky lately?"

"No... should I?"

"You might want to see this."

Bemused, Isip quickly took the elevator up to the surface, where he looked up to the sky and swore under his breath. "How long has that thing been up there, and why didn't anyone tell me?!"

"It looks like a small moon..." said Ruuvan.

"You know what else looked like a small moon, Ruuvan? Because I do, and I also know you don't want to be on any planet it orbited!"

"It's not a Death Star, Isip - at least, it probably isn't. Whatever it is, though, it was carrying enough arms to take on our fleet single handed. There's only one defence we've got against bombardment. I guess you'll just have to activate it and... pray, as the saying goes."

Isip nodded. "Your signal's breaking up. You better get on your way."

"We'll be fine, we've disengaged for now." Ruuvan's voice had become fuzzy and hard to hear over static. "You just keep the planet safe as long as you can. We'll be back." With that, the static shorted out his response, and Isip dropped the dead comm to the ground. He turned around, towards the building that the command bunker was situated under - the Coalition House of Government.



Of course, the actual House of the Coalition's government was situated on Azguard. Due to the secretive nature of the Azguards, however, the House of Government stood as its' more publically's accessible House, one through which requests to work with the government and government decisions could be relayed to and from the Coalition. It was the governments' "First Line of Defence" - in more ways than one.

Rising up the steps of the beautiful building, inlaid with valuable metals and marble, Isip reached a raised pedastle on the roof where sat a plain looking jewel on an ornate carved stone shrine. Next to it, an official-looking guard house housed not a soldier, but an ecclectic old Quarren. His tentacles were wraped with charms for fortune, wisdom, and more, and one eye was pale white.

Isip nodded to the mystic in charge of maintaining the shrine. Though a strange bunch, these attendants maintained the mystical framework of an Azguardian design, one that offered unparalleled protection for a brief time to a whole planet. The shield would keep them safe... for a little while.

With that, Isip drew up to an inlaid panel on a nearby wall. In a moment, various video feeds appeared, showing the collected government officials of Mon Calamari, the House, and the military command of Mon Calamari.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Isip. "In a matter of seconds, the enemy is going to rain fire on our heads. If our mystic friend activates the shield, we live. If he doesn't we die. By my authority as Knight of the Coalition, I hearby cut through all of your authorities and order activation of the shield myself, right now."

Without a moment's hesitation, the quarren lifted the jewel and hurled it back into the pedastle. A visible ripple travelled through the air, and in moments golden light began to filter upwards from the ground.

As all this went on, the various commanders of Mon Calamari just gawked on with confusion at Isip. The Knight merely returned them a nonechalant look, before saying "The fleet has been defeated. We have two hours tops to organize the ground defences of Mon Calamari before the enemy is upon us. I want politicians underground and all military commanders to meet me here, at the command bunker, where the rest of the Knights are gathering. We have precious little time, people, and a lot of firepower coming our way, and - yes, can I help you?"

Isip turned to the Quarren attendant, who had remained nearby. "Yes..." said the attendant. "I'm afraid by my count, you have far less time than that."

Isip's reaction was cold. "What do you mean? The shield lasts for two hours - it always lasts for two hours."

"Well, no..." the mystic seemed embarrased to have the entire command structure of the planet watching him as he tried to explain. "The crystals can only support the shield for two hours. The actual fuel for the shield is the courage and spirit of the people being defended - it is their will to resist made manifest. At the sight of that Death Star in orbit, that courage is somewhat... diminished?"

Isip paused, his curiosity piqued. It was then he noticed a faint sound, at the edge of hearing, like a dull roar of thousands of voices yet far away. He moved to the edge of the House's roof, and looked downwards.

There, the streets were thronged with the panicked citizens of Mon Calamari, soldiers and police struggling to maintain order or even move in the tight packing. Above it all was the unmistakeable sensation of utter terror.

Isip's eyes widened as the implications of this all set in. "Oh hell... looks like we've got priority one."

Space


The enemy was running away from the flanking force that Grevious had held in reserve. They had done their bit in nearly stopping the advance, the purpose of which had elluded the mechanical General until his gaze moved back toward those forces advancing toward their goal of penetrating Mon Calamari's atmosphere.


His tactical display suddenly changed as figures scrolled across his monitor and space became that much more crowded.


It was easy when crossing the great gulfs of interstellar space to forget that there is a bunch of junk simply floating out there.

Even around planets.

Especially around planets.


The public Capital of the Coalition was no exception. The Intelligence Web of Meme Minds had endlessly debated the existence of the Azguards, their place within the Coalition hierarchy and the lack of a homeworld for them. It was no secret that these creatures were shady in nature and held a liking rivaling that of the old Imperial Palpatine for secret or hidden locations...

But no matter the role the homeworld of this insipid alien flesh, it was determined by the all powerful Taj that such questions were ultimately irrelevant.

What did it matter of the Coalition had a second capital?

What did it matter if Mon Calamari was not really the capital of the Coalition?

What did it matter where the decision making process of the Coalition took place?


When set against actual belief?


The galaxy believed that Mon Calamari was the capital of the Coalition. For that matter, most of the Coalition's civilians believed it was as well or the secret of the Azguard homeworld would not have been kept this long. And so, when you rip what people believe in their heart out of their body, wouldn't their body not tell themselves to die just the same?


Let them run... Grevious' mind ground out like so many bad bytes of information.


But even that conclusion was inelegant for the Coalition Eastern Fleet still lived. Even battered, tattered and torn to bits, it still represented a formidable amount of material to contend with.


Grevious signaled the order for the flanking ships to continue their original enclosure allowing the Coalition fleet to pull away and jump.


Even as the computers set out their trajectory, he refused an inward impulse to send after them to annihilate them utterly.


The lack of closure burned in Grevious as a task left undone.



The Past....


It had been four months since Grevious had been awakened to a new consciousness. Already, embers in his mind of the defeat at the hands of Obi-wan Kenobi flared up as ghosts of the lightsaber battle echoed throughout his newly rebuilt limbs.

He no longer held those ancient sabers but even through his metallic exterior he imagined he could feel their presence.

He was not a Jedi nor had he ever been (as far as he could remember). But he'd done something different. He'd mastered what total biologics took years to comprehend.

And he'd beaten those self same masters.

And now they are all dead! The reality coiled and snarled within his twisted mind threatening to undo all that the Taj had accomplished.

Truth be told, he was not sure even of the reason for his... new existence.

How had they found him?

He'd led armies during the Clone Wars. He'd killed and was killed and the remnants of his machine exterior as well as his biological interior should have been scattered to the dust by now.


The Taj had handed him a sliver of plating, probably found off the hull of a wrecked ship and pointed to a human tied up nearby.

"Look at him Grevious and see the galaxy.." the Taj had whispered in his mind.

But all Grevious could see was that the man held a confused fear about him. He didn't recognize Grevious which absurdly angered the former General. In another life he had been known by millions... billions!

As if the Taj could read his mind... "He fears for his life more than he fears your visage. More than he fears your presence. More than he fears your name."


"A mistake that will be rectified.." Grevious voice was hard and cold as one hand gripped the sliver.

"NO!" the Taj shouted with such force that Grevious' mind seemed to blank out for a moment.

"It is not something learned." the Taj continued in a tone that held conviction.

"Flesh's fear is not a learned aspect but an inherent one. A biological fear. Even if they should pattern a behavior to not flinch in the face of death, they (even the most brave of them) are betrayed."

"Betrayed by whom?" Grevious wanted to know.

"By themselves.." The Taj answered. "Strip away their boasts, their selfish natures. Strip away their courage and their boldness. Strip away their anger and their pride...And you arrive at the conclusion that no matter how flesh presents themselves, they will always FEAR!"

"And that makes them inferior to us."

"Strip away those same things and will not those whom you call your own also fear?" Grevious returned.


The god laughed.


"Strike him.." the voice purred.


"Why?" Grevious asked in rebellion.


"Strike him and find the source of his fear."


Grevious' dark eyes turned to the tied human and his metallic grip tightened on the sliver of durasteel. The man's eyes widened and tried to move. Grevious wondered why he had not heard the man speak and as he neared, he saw that the man's jaw was broken and could only wimper.


And it was the wimpering that triggered something.


The flash of the lightsaber..


The grin of Obi-wan..


The piercing!!


Grevious struck the man on the neck and continued to strike repeatedly. And found a truth in the striking. A truth that was hidden by the use of lightsabers... that it really was more difficult to kill a man than one thought. Vaporize him from orbit, crush him in the vacuum of space... overwhelming force was one thing. But try to kill with your bare hands (such as they were) and you find that the body does not give up life so easily. And they struggle for each moment they have until more muscles are ripped, until more tendons are torn... until all the bridges to life are brought down.


Grevious stood over the body beaten to a bloody pulp and felt an exhileration of accomplishment.


"Even if they divorce the fear from their minds, they cannot divorce it from their heart. All creatures want to live and continue living and even the body of the most courageous of them will fight tooth and claw for that extra breath of life."


The Taj's words were seductive. The Taj's words were true.


"So the living fear death. So their bodies cling to it. Don't we all?"


The Taj smiled cryptically. "Now that you mention it...




No."



Mon Calamari


The Taj had been right about these creatures of flesh. They will act for their preservation of life, sometimes without even realizing their actions are self serving.


And now the Coalition Eastern Fleet continues to live...


Sometimes the Will of the Taj was unreadable..unknowable, but soon the enemy fleet was forced out of his mind as his attention was directed by what lay before him.


Mon Calamari....


And the garbage surrounding the otherwise pristine and blue planet. The last charge of the Eastern Fleet had given the civilian population more time to retreat toward the safety of their watery home.


Soon to be their watery grave!


Starports and stations broke apart and burned as the enemy tried to leave nothing for the Dragons to use against them.

Occasionally, their advancing probes found some civilians who refused to leave their floating homes or businesses and so tiny battles erupted for control of an area too small to be of value.

In the end, the fighters and fleet proper ignored the small pockets knowing the Omega would eventually take care of them. Besides, what could flesh hidden among the wreckage of broken stations do to their glorious advancement?


As the numbers scrolled across his Tactical Display, he realized that most of his vessels were made up of Tion Class and Farfallen warships. Star Destroyers, Deathgliders, Dragon Claws, Shotos, Zens and Epos to name a few..

The Pickets, Cutters, Deathgliders and Tion Class warships of the first wave had moved into low orbit over Mon Calamari, pushing past the broken hovels of a Dominator slowly pitching in the gravimetic imbalances found in the surrounding vacuum.

Several enemy (as well as friendly) ships crackled and sparked as their innards could contain themselves no more. If not for the blanketing effect of the vacuum drowning out the fires, the damaged warships would have been a much more remarkable sight to behold as Grevious moved towards his shuttle.

The surface of Zonama Sekot was becoming intolerable as the near fanatical planet-mind held itself on station withstanding the onslaught of the clashing mass shadows.

It was not something that could be done indefinitely but it could be endured giving the Dragon General enough time to accomplish what he needed to accomplish.

Already, the first fleet was sending transports of soldiers down to a lonely part of the oceanic expanse and had them hold there.

The assault onto the land masses would not be pretty as, given there the lack of landmasses, each was a veritable fortress.

Grevious did not intend on overwhelming the Coalition fleet only to waste his soldiers battering them against the beaches and walls of what little land there was and so...


...his attention was directed towards the Devestator missiles that had been launched.


The other reason why his landing fleet was hovering in a remote area....



The enemy anti-aircraft battery firing was intense and as the orbital warships tried to reduce the amount of fire hurled against the fighter corps the Devestator missiles descended in their pattern strike towards a landmass that was not the largest but nor was it the smallest.


A foothold is what the Dragons wanted and from their foothold, they would move towards the capital and industrial sectors.



Planetside


18-D7 was organizing the waiting transports after securing the drop zone, a molten rock reef in the middle of nowhere. The reef made the water shallow for hundreds of feet in almost every direction and though a little out of the way, it was preferrable to sections of living reef that was turned into living habitats by the indigenious people.

Suddenly a bright light burst out in the sky as one of the anti-aircraft batteries found a Devestator. The nuclear warhead glowed white before dispersing it's electromagnetic burst followed by a shockwave of intense radiation and heat.

If not for their deflector grids and artificial monitors, some may have gone blind viewing the explosion even at the distance they were stationed.

Even so, the premature blast caught several Dragon fighters in the electromagnetic spectrum and they fell from the sky only to be obliterated into nothingness by the blast.

Another blast went off, again prematurely, a bit farther away...

Another blast struck the island mass, it's electromagnetic pulse and blast radius moving over the defenders like an ocean wave......

And the last plunged into the sea... only to explode underwater...


The sight was giving him an excitement. If only Grevious had sent those missiles to the Capital landmass!


The second wave of armoured transports had reached their location when the third, having just entered the atmosphere ran into trouble.

It was as if several of the vessels had simply ran into something. Some got through but others were either damaged or plunging downward as if dead.

18-D7 called up the last scans and growled in frustration. No one liked suprises on the battlefield, especially if one was the victim of such surprises.


What was happening!



Space


Grevious walked on the bridge of the Tion Class Star Destroyer that was his new flagship and immediately knew something was wrong. The voices of the flesh among his crew had risen a few octaves and the if that wasn't enough, the TAC display was shouting warning beeps which, of course, if you knew a TAC display beep, never indicated anything good.


"General... it seems they have a shield that we cannot measure nor counteract..."


Grevious snarled at the report. "Then target the planet and fire all batteries!" he shouted to them as if they were imbeciles. "Measure it by our weapons!"

The fleet's weapons targeted portions of the planet and let loose only to be stopped by some unseen shield.



Surface


18-D7 switched through spectrum to spectrum to get some sort of reading on what was happening high in the sky above him. "Why did we not detect it?"




Space


Grevious stared at the transmission from the latest probe showing a golden light that seemed to emerge from a structure that could only be the main government building of the Coalition. There was a slight rippling effect rising from the surface and the light seemed to intensify the higher it went until reaching the stratosphere when it winked out of sight.

"It reached it's apogee." the General remarked in a transmission to 18-D7. "From there this shield became active."

"There was a rumor about this shield," 18-D7 remarked trying to remember. "Having to do with Azguardian mysticism."

"Next they'll look to the stars for direction.." Grevious muttered having no concept of faith. To him, faith was simply insanity in the face of reason.
"You have enough ordinance to complete the mission." the General intoned. "We will continue to bombard this shield. It will have to weaken sooner or later.


Obtain the foothold."



"As you command. By the Will of the Taj."


"Hallowed are the Children of the Taj.." Grevious intoned in a rare display of public piety.


As the signal through the Web went silent, Grevious remarked to no one in particular, "So, it is to be a ground war."


How hard the body fights to live...

"Double time! We launch in thirty seconds!" The voice was of a a garrolous Quarren Knight as he pushed the last of his junior fellows into the open side-doors of the Meteor dropship. Jumping aboard himself, the door slammed shut and the Knights - some still securing bits of armour - strapped into the seats lining the drop-room.

With a roar, the side-thrusters came to life, lifting the round body of the Meteor off the Academy's hangarbay floor and out the doors. Quickly overtaking the spires and walls of the White Knight Academy, it was soon racing over the glittering oceans of Mon Calamari.

Inside, Zek clung for dear life, praying his breakfast would keep in. Next to him, his friend Ashrad sat with unusual stillness, apparently unaffected by the bumpy flight. Ashrad considered the strange events that had lead to their early launch.

"First that moon appears overhead," he said to the room in general. "Then we get reports of our fleet defeated, now we're being depolyed to the capital. Something doesn't sound right..."

"Isn't it obvious?" said Zek, who groaned with nausea. "It's an invasion! We're probably under attack right now!"

"No, that much is obvious," said Ashrad, who shook his head, as if to shake the facts into order. "Why aren't we being bombed? There's a whole moon in orbit - an enemy who could do that could surely have some sort of bombing weapon, right?"

"I don't remember the Dragons having a moon in Galactic Conquest," Zek muttered darkly.

"Yeah, we should complain about their haxxorz," Ashrad sarcastically remarked before turning to the senior Knight. "So we're heading to the capital?"

The Quarren nodded, keeping his eyes fixed forwads. "Isip's taken command of the planet's defences. He needs the rest of the Knights to help him coordinate defences on the ground - it looks like an enemy detatchment's already made planetfall."

"Just one?" Ashrad's Calamari brow furrowed. "That can't be right... It's a trap!"

Zek laughed loudly at this, getting some odd glances until he quieted down. With the interruption over, Ashrad turned back to the Quarren. "They've obviously got the firepower and the forces to take us on, but they've only sent down one wave? It's gotta be a trap."

"Then it is our duty to spring that trap," the Quarren replied, "and destroy whatever it is they would unleash on us. What else is there to do?"

Ashrad settled into his seat to brood. "Doesn't sound like sound tactics to me."

The Quarren at last broke his concentrated stare to look directly at Ashrad. "Tactics don't come into it, young one. When the enemy is on your doorstep, it's a simple matter of survival."



"Scramble! This is not a drill, you miserable sons of sea shrimp!" The sergeant had shouted himself hoarse, but still his voice roared over the chaos as soldiers grabbed rifles off the rack and stormed out into the courtyard around the command bunker. Through the chaos, Isip parted the crowd like the red sea - his distinctive white armour and insignia moving him with ease forwards.

In his wake, a number of government officials and workers dragged all manner of technical equipment. Cables streamed after them as they criss-crossed their way up the stairs of the House and towards the doors.

The great doors had been pushed open. The vaunted inner lobby was circular in nature, built grand and glorious with portraits of famous Coalition heroes hanging with respect - considering the lifespan of the Coalition, many still had fresh paint on them. Nevertheless, this central chamber was the public forum of the Coalition, now cleared of the press of the public and public servants coming together so that an address could be made.

Satisfied that he had found the center of the circular chamber, with a door on each side giving the location a prime sense of centralization, Isip drew his ceremonial Knights' sword and rammed the blade point down in the middle of the floor. The government officials in his wake winced at the sight of it, they themselves afraid to even speak too loudly in such a place, but set about establishing the broadcast equipment rustled out of the command bunker.

Isip had decided seclusion was no place to make his address from. The people had to see that the Coalition stood brave in the face of danger, and shrunk not for the enemy. That, and he wanted to keep an eye on the projector for as long as possible.

"Are you sure this emergency broadcast equipment is still up to code?" Isip asked, as he examined the equipment critically.

"It's a brute-force technique," the resident technician replied, "but effective. The broadcast equipment is strong enough to replace every signal on the planet. Just try and keep the address short, it isn't power friendly, y'know?"

Without answering the Calamari, Isip took his place behind his still-quivering sword. "Tell me when we're live."

"Okay, on in three."



Inside the Meteor dropship, the radio continued to feature breathless, panicked reporters talking about mass panic and impending doom. The mood was grim in the little ship, when quite to Ashrad's surprise, the radio spluttered and went silent.

"Think it's a technical malfunction?"

"More like they just bombed the radio station," muttered Zek.

They didn't have to wait long for an answer. The next voice to come out of the radio wasn't that of a two-bit reporter, but the deep, crisp tones of Knight Isip.

"People of Mon Calamari, I am White Knight Isip Yushenko of the New Coalition. As of twenty minutes ago, our space forces around the planet were repulsed by an invasion of the Black Dragon Empire fleet. The only thing that stands in the way of the enemy now, is your courage..."



Isip stood with one hand resting on the hilt of the downturned sword, facing the camera. Crowded behind the cameraman, all manner of bureaucrats, officials, soldiers, and even regular citizens who had flooded in, stood crammed all the way back to the doorway, down the stairs outside, and into the street beyond.

"Yes, it is true that the enemy has the capital world of the Coalition - your home - surrounded, and that we now face the greatest threat of destruction Mon Calamari has ever seen. We still have one weapon, however, one ace that can save this world and our lives from annihilation.

"Your bravery. Your will to survive. That will that has seen Mon Calamari's two peoples survive any number of invasions and wars. As one of the greatest powers in the galaxy, as founder of one of its' greatest nations, as the people who championed freedom, independance, and liberty at any cost for decades, your courage again will see us through the day.

"So I ask of you, you brave people, to return to your homes. If you are not a soldier, then find a basement, shelter, or safe house, and stay there. Stay tuned for further emergency broadcasts, and pray. The undersea cities of the Quarren seem safer, for the enemy seems intent to march upon the ground and streak the skies with their weapons of war. A shield is in place that will preserve us from the brunt of bombardment, but their soldiers shall still descend upon the cities of Mon Calamari and try to bring ruin to us.

"As for all military units recieving this communication, stand by your guns! We will overcome, so long as the spirit of Mon Calamari remains strong. Show the galaxy why this world is a candle in the dark! A light in the shadow! An island of reason in a sea of madness! The battle for the sky is over - the battle for Mon Calamari has just begun."

"...And we're out," said the technician, at last noticing the light had winked out. "Thank you, sir."

"Move our command equipment out of the bunker and into this room," said Isip, who pulled up his sword from the center of the room. "I won't abandon the House so long as it's defensible." It also happens to be the shield emitter, but it sounds better without that fact.

As the packed crowd turned out into the street to go about their business, a Mon Calamari commander was quick to join Isip's side. "Sir, the Quarren units are turning out at the coast, and your fellow Knights have touched down outside."

"Good," said Isip. "You get my Knights distributed to the other commanders, and make sure we've got a common line of communication with the Quarren."

Mon Calamari technicians began dragging in all manner of communications consoles, scattering wires and cables all over the floor and quickly turning the room of august splendor into an impromptu command center. Requisitioning the holographic table display for himself, Isip punched up the local defence grid, seeing the various forces popping up as coloured blips.

It was as the command consoles began to come to life that the Knights entered the room. Several dozen, all in the distinctive white plating of the Knights, yet all different species and sizes, arranged themselves casually about the room.

Isip, noting their arrival, leaned back up from the holo-table and locked his hands behind his back. "Good to see you, brothers in arms. This is just a quick briefing, I think my little speech might have bought us a little more time but we'll still be pressed for deployment.

"What's coming up is a battle of belief. So long as our morale holds, the shield should protect us from the worst of enemy attack - and our reports from space indicate that it is the worst up there. I've asked that you be spread about the standing Mon Calamari forces, ideally one or more in every potential combat zone.

"Your jobs will be to guide the military there by inspiration. Like I said, this is a battle of belief, so be that belief. Of course, I don't need to tell you about that. We are Knights, are we not? Go forth, do your duty, and that should see us through."

"What are we facing?" the Quarren asked, as he idly eyed the holodisplay. "More notably, why aren't we facing more bombardment or dropships?"

"The enemy's limited by the shields," Isip explained, while pointing out at a certain part of the holodisplay. "As you can see, however, an enemy detatchment's gotten through. Our first concern is containment, so units will initiate long-range bombardment shortly. The shield is critical, however - that's just a fraction of their forces, and the rest are just waiting for our shield to drop, which it will if we lose faith."

Isip eyed the group critically for a moment before continuing. "I see a lot of you are fairly green. I'm sorry we don't have time to give you any more training for this situation, but if you were chosen as Knights, you must be of natural ability. I advise to trust your instincts and let them be your guide in the upcoming battle.

"Meteors will be outside, taking on command groups to move to the different 'zones' expecting enemy contact. Find a ship, get aboard, and the rest should come naturally. Knights, dismissed!"

With such a simple briefing, the Knights filed out. They needed little real direction in their duty.

Finally, Isip turned to face the myriad command consoles that had flickered to life. One by one, they came to light, each showing a different military commander. Some were Mon Calamari, other were Quarren. Some were en route to their commands, others were in fortified bunkers, while still others stood on coastal bulwarks or observation posts. All turned to Isip.

"Let's get started..." Isip said.



Ashrad was mildly surprised to see the calm that had descended after the initial panic. The streets were nearly deserted, with doors and windows shut tight. Soldiers marched the streets while Meteor dropships filled the air, hauling consignments of troops to different battle zones.

The Quarren Knight turned to Ashrad and Zek as the other Knights moved out to the transport landing site. "You two stay here and assist Isip. He'll have his hands full directing the campaign. and won't be able to look after his own front."

Zek's eyes widened at the charge. "But this is the capital! It's like the battlezone!"

"Don't get your hopes up," said Ashrad darkly. "It's the most well-defended sector on the planet. We'll be redundent."

The Quarren patted them each on the shoulder. "We each have our own cross to bear, boys. Good luck." With that, he was off to join the other Knights at the landing site.

"Don't worry about it," said Ashrad, as he noted worry in his comrade's features. "The battle should be easy." Ashrad looked up at the sky. Somewhere up there, Ruuvan's forces had disengaged and fled into hyperspace to parts unknown, trying to recover for the counter attack. "The war, on the other hand, has just begun."