Kala Tre, admiral of one of the largest war-fleets currently assembled in the galaxy, had won.
Had won. Won. Won.
It kept echoing in her mind, watching the last of the Imperial ships surrender. The die-hard loyalists realising it was over, some foolish few trying to escape to the planet. Had they been fighting over its skies that might have worked, but Dromund Kaas was long minutes of travel away.
She'd ordered all those attempting to flee destroyed, and aside from the few leaving before the battle was over, none succeeded. None that didn't perform uncalculated jumps, lost for however many months it would take them to find their way back. Assuming they weren't destroyed, that was.
Her fleet was damaged, her people were wounded, but the day was hers. Her plan, her execution, her victory. The Empire had spit on her, killed her career, killed her friend, and now the Empire lay broken.
If Morgan commanded it, Dromund Kaas would burn. Washed clean under the bombardment of a hundred destroyers, free of all life. Korriban would follow, the few stragglers they would find there unable to challenge their naval superiority. That, too, could burn. And with those two planets gone, the Empire would not be merely broken, it would be shattered.
But that was not to be, and she agreed with the reasons. Not everyone in the Empire was evil, not everyone in the Empire was there by choice, and she saw potential. Potential in their rigid discipline, their militant mindset and devotion. Had seen that since she joined the Imperial Navy
Properly harnessed, cleansed of sith infighting and xenophobic ideals, it could rise stronger than ever.
"Lord Caro, returning from the Annihilator." One of her people called. Estaban, a solid officer with a cool head. Now he had a positively fanatical edge to his tone, and Kala shook her head. "Assembling an escort now."
She did get it. Morgan's legend, his reputation, had been supernatural for a while now. He was just a man, Kala knew that, but the others? Those that didn't speak with him, some that didn't even see him? All they'd hear is that he boarded a dreadnought, alone and under the personal command of a Dark Council member, and took it.
People would see it as proof of their belief, and it was useful. When tempered by discipline, Kala admitted, because loyalists could be just as stupid as anyone else. She and Quinn had been dealing with those in-house, though, sparing them from his personal attention.
Sparing them. Yes, that's exactly the right word.
Kala felt a small shudder creep over her spine despite her enormously good mood. He had never been angry with her, had always dealt with his people evenly and calmly, and she would never give a reason for that to change. Never give him a reason to turn so very cold he was more Other than human.
But that was enough self-congratulation. Kala looked around the room. "The battle is won, but the war isn't over. I want a list of ships requiring emergency repairs, the wounded moved to dedicated fleshcrafter hospitals and the dead collected. We will not leave our people to drift in the cold of space."
Her officers snapped to it, her orders relayed fleet wide, and Kala nodded to herself. Busied her mind with this and that, waiting until her Lord would return. And he would come to the bridge, of that she was sure.
Ten minutes it took, which meant he'd stopped to change into fresh clothes. Something she appreciated even if it was unnecessary, and the whole bridge snapped to attention as he strolled past the blast-proof doors.
Kala settled for a nod, feeling a smile stretch over her face. "The day is yours, my Lord."
"The day is ours." Morgan corrected lightly, eyes somewhat distant. If she didn't know better she'd think he was buttering up her people with flattery. "It belongs to every man and woman who fought here today, from you to me to the lowest crewman."
She felt the slight tingle of a privacy field settle over them, that effect added for the benefit of non-Force users. "Of course, my Lord. Would you like to take your title of Emperor now, or shall we wait?"
"Very funny, admiral."
"I'm only thirty percent joking." She shrugged, weathering his mild glare. "Like it or not, we have a lot of Imperials in our ranks. A number that will only grow once we take Dromund Kaas properly. It will be expected."
Lord Caro sighed. "I'll deal with it later. Decimus is dead, I cheated by getting a refresh before the fight while he didn't, and what people were still on the dreadnought afterwards surrendered. There's a sith Lord there, but she's harmless. For now."
Kala was about to answer before his head snapped to the side, seeming to stare through a wall and out into space. He relaxed after a moment, waving his hand.
"Inara was dying. She's fine now, the rescue teams found her. What ship was she on?"
"The Plateau, a frigate." Kala said after a moment, having pulled up her datapad. "It was damaged near the end of the fighting, and a secondary failure point blew fifteen minutes ago. Another ship was on site quickly, but apparently your apprentice spent fourteen minutes in space with a broken suit."
"I'll talk to her. Her level of skill should be able to keep her alive for double that, but I'd imagine it to be a horrible experience nonetheless. Anything else before I go to sleep? I'm both tired yet not, and honestly I don't want to push it."
"Just the preliminary casualty list."
Lord Caro's eyes lost what little mirth they'd had. "Yes, that. Give me the highlights."
"The losses, then." Kala began, clearing her throat. "They come in three categories. Ships, personnel both military and naval, then je'daii outside the regular chain of command. The Lords of War and Hexid's people, essentially."
Kala flicked at her datapad until the relevant information appeared, the report only minutes old. "Two hundred and forty seven ships have been lost. Of them roughly one hundred and eleven were destroyers, with the remainder being frigates, cruisers and similar. These vessels are considered not worth repairing, the damage either complete or critical. In short, half the fleet."
"Half." Morgan repeated, wincing. "In your professional opinion, is that good or bad?"
She snorted humorously. "My opinion? A battle like this hasn't happened in hundreds of years. It is unique not only because both sides field largely similar ships, but because both have similar doctrines and training. Last stand battles, which this was, are rarer still. No, there isn't a way to tell if this was good or not. We won, and we paid the price of victory."
"I see. Continue, please."
"Military and naval personnel. Not all ships lost their complete crew and military detachment once destroyed, nor do all fatalities come from destroyed ships. Some vessels evacuated, managed to retreat behind allies before destruction occurred or sustained fatalities despite suffering only light damage to the ship itself. An estimated sixty four percent survived, which is above average. The frequent evacuation training, as well as the budget for an increased number of escape pods, helped. We'll be collecting corpses from space for days and days, but it's not as bad as it could have been. Some will lose their will to fight, but non-combat posts need veterans to fill them regardless."
Kala cleared her throat. "And last, the je'daii and sith. The Lords of War suffered only two fatalities, though six more were wounded to the point of needing weeks of recuperation. Eight of the Lords brought by Hexid have died, and as you're already aware none of our Darth-class Force users have perished. In this we came out on top, overwhelmingly so."
Lord Caro hummed. "I'll attend to my Lords, see if we can't stimulate a faster recovery. The sith Hexid brought are more aggressive and don't work together as closely as mine, which is likely what led to their higher fatality rate. As an aside, I want ships sent to the Enosis stations. Ten destroyers plus their usual support vessels, I'm thinking, but that's your purview."
"I've already selected some to leave the moment our situation is stable." Kala said, nodding. "Ten is fine, but they won't be there on time. Not even close. Vette is working on it, apparently."
"I'm aware, on both accounts. But it was a calculated move to leave our home so undefended, and it backfired. Now that we aren't desperate for every last ship it's no longer worth it."
"Understood."
Her Lord turned back to the console, displaying their scattered and broken fleet. Almost eighty surrendering Imperial ships had to be boarded—some of whom were fighting back regardless of the fact they had already lost—and there was, in short, a mountain of work to do.
"Sleep will have to wait. Let's get to it, admiral."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Should we say something?" One of the officers asked, speaking quietly enough they probably thought he couldn't hear. Morgan ignored the woman, his full attention on the anatomically correct heart-shaped pendant. He'd found it after the battle, and inspiration had hit him. "I mean, he still has a few minutes, but everyone's here."
Layer the affection of longing, infuse with the ideal of nostalgia, overlay all that with an attention grabbing lure. The concepts and willpower required were pushing him to the very limit of his ability, but he would not let this pass.
The pendant hovered as Morgan let go of the metal, the outer shell of the trinket growing fuzzy. Melting, only for a moment, and losing some of its fine detail. That was alright. Morgan snatched it out of the air, beating Soft Voice by a split-second.
"Be that way." His friend huffed, turning back to the room. Everyone who was anyone in the Enosis was there, and it was the final meeting before their assault on Dromund Kaas. "Not like it's special or anything. Enosis shops sell them by the thousands."
Four days they had been blockading the planet. Four days of collecting their fleet and tending to the wounded. Repairing what ships they could, the more severely damaged ones being sent to allied shipyards to be repaired. It left them with one hundred and ninety two warships, though another fifty non-combat troop carriers added to that.
Those ferried the soldiers, thirteen thousand men per ship. Fifty brigades, standing at double strength. Fifty colonels separated into three divisions, each led by one of three generals.
All three were here. Quinn was in overall command, his mind the only reason they were attempting a planetary assault in the first place. Octavian Vitum, the general recruited from the True Empire, aided in it. The man brought valuable experience and had displayed no signs of disloyalty. No great signs of loyalty, either, but that was alright.
The third, and most junior, of the generals was none other than Elarius. The leader of the Reborn faction, a faction that had swelled almost alarmingly in number in the last few months. Now they had almost half the military, though less than a tenth of the fleet.
His admirals were here, too, but they played a less critical role. Air support and logistics, though destroyers were currently massing just out of range of the Empire's planetary long-ranged weaponry.
The remainder of the table was filled with sith, je'daii and jedi, military officers standing behind their respective commanders. Jillins and two of his Chosen were slightly apart, both because they would have special assignments and because they were outside the regular chain of command.
"Shall we begin?" Soft Voice asked, his tone not suggesting it was a question. What few quiet conversations had been going on stopped, the devaronian nodding. "Thank you. First order of business, the last-minute proposal to alter our troop deployment plans. The jungle is still the most friendly landing zone, outside their shields and the range of their weaponry, but twenty klicks north-north west does provide a mo-"
"I must object." Volryder spoke, his usual laid-back and grandfatherly air nowhere to be found. Hexid smirked at him, and the jedi's fingers twitched. "Sith changing their path, embracing the Force as it should be, I can tolerate. Celebrate. Yet now we ally with Darths and Lords who have no intention of limiting their impulses, and I must object."
Soft Voice sighed, Morgan raising an eyebrow. It was Morgan's purview to deal with it, unfortunately, so he supposed his friend was justified in not dealing with it himself.
"Need and circumstance, mostly." Morgan said, seeming to surprise both the jedi and sith. "What? Hexid and I are playing a game we both believe we're winning, and it's no secret that they are here because we need them. If you have concerns or allegations starting from the time they have joined us, I will hear them. But as I have been lenient with jedi, I shall be lenient with sith. There are many Knights who stick to the Light, for example, and create disorder and friction by shunning parts of the Force."
Volryder's fingers tightened into a fist. "And you have allowed me to correct and punish any overstepping of bounds, for which I am grateful. Yet it is precisely that where my concerns lie. I can correct the jedi. These two have no such constraints."
"Are you implying I am unable to, as you say, correct their behavior? Behavior that, I shall remind you, has been within the boundaries I set?"
The room, which had already been quiet, grew silent as the grave. Jillins had a mask carved from granite, his two officers not quite so able to hide their emotions. Kala raised an eyebrow at the jedi, Quinn actually having a small smile on his lips.
Lana was keeping her eye on Synar, Soft Voice was openly looking at Hexid and the two Lords of War standing at the door tensed. Elarius, who before now had been silently tapping the table, stopped.
Volryder visibly composed himself. "No, I was not. My apologies. I am simply expressing concerns about their restraint at such a critical phase of the mission."
"I know more about restraint than you ever will, jedi." Hexid said, her voice seeming to dance with mirth. "And as my dearest friend said, we are playing a game. A game I am winning by his own admission. Why sabotage myself by rising to such meager bait?"
Synar didn't seem interested in joining the conversation, thank god, so Morgan tapped the desk twice. "This conversation will be continued at a later time. Until then, I will be very displeased if I find the two of you engaging after this meeting. It will not be hard to avoid each other, not with your duties in the upcoming battle. Am I understood?"
Hexid bowed, half mocking and half with fake respect, while Volryder nodded once. Soft Voice took over the meeting again, and Morgan suppressed a sigh. He'd have to talk to the jedi, find out who Hexid had killed or maimed or seduced in the far past to rile him up so much. They could not afford infighting between those two, not now.
"Good. To continue, the alteration to our landing zone has been approved. Next, an issue with our supply line. One that has already been solved, but it feels prudent to warn everyone that a slight delay may be experienced."
Ah, that. Morgan listened with half an ear as his friend recapped it, Vette already having complained about it in private. A number of smugglers had banded together under the guise of a noble reason, seeking to drive up their profit margins. Vette, having been put in a hard place, agreed to a forty percent increase in hazard-pay.
Then, after she found alternatives, had the original conspirators hanged. From actual rope, which was apparently becoming a thing within her criminal empire. The rest had fallen back in line, the message clear to everyone with even half a brain.
Do not fuck with me.
Morgan approved heartily. Soft Voice, thankfully, moved on quickly. "Thanks to our intelligence department, and specifically our own Astara, we have confirmed that while the city of Dromund Kaas is well-defended, the jungle is not. They rely on the beasts already there to guard it, and we will use this to our advantage. A large wave of disposable monsters will enter the city, aiming to sow chaos and distraction. To avoid needless civilian loss of life, the beasts will be focussed on the outer perimeter defenses. Forward operation squads will target anti-air installations as well as shield generator facilities, and as long-"
Morgan let the meeting take him, watching the simulated battle move on the table. The map was as accurate and picture-like as they could get, and Morgan understood why Marr hadn't risked everything to keep them from the surface.
The inner city was a fortress. Morgan's eyes roved over it, determination that was briefly shaken by the sheer number of fatalities firming again.
No fortress was unbeatable.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
This was not, as they had done before, a jump from orbit. Dromund Kaas had many defenses, many ways to keep ships from simply landing on their towering buildings, but not here. Not so far from the city, where the curve of the planet protected them.
Transports landed by the hundreds, destroyers flattening dozens of miles of terrain from orbit. The whole jungle was in an uproar, but that was expected.
Morgan stood on an elevated platform, hastily assembled pens spreading below. Pens that could in no way contain the beasts that they were being filled with, but most were calm. Their aggression muted.
Je'daii were guiding the beasts here, taking all those rampaging monstrosities and calming them. Leading them, though their control was shallow. Some broke free, and soldiers took those down before they could break the fragile balance.
The web. That was the plan. The web that he had used on Belsavis, the last planet with an animal population suitable for this strategy. That was before he understood intent, before he truly understood the Force and himself, and before he had started his artifact practice.
Which was pushing his control higher, giving diminishing returns for combat. But for this? With hundreds of the beasts, thousands more to come? He needed every ounce of improvement he could get.
This would never work if the plan was to control each individually, of course. His limit was higher, but there were millions of soldiers in the city. Even a few thousand beasts, a number he was not sure he could reach, would make little difference.
Which is why he was changing them. Having the strongest, most dominant beasts step forward, changing their biology to make them hive inclined. The idea had come from ants, of all things, and he was a little worried he was creating something he couldn't control.
But the whole point was for them to control themselves, and for Morgan to steer them with the leaders. The alphas, as horrid as that word was. Many would die, most, even, and the ecological landscape of the planet would be forever changed when some of these new predators inevitably returned to the jungle, but it was a risk he needed to take.
Creating the correct combination of pheromones was the main challenge, since this method was meant to avoid him having to alter every single beast. But he was not the only fleshcrafter, not anymore, and making them obey the commands was easier than giving them. Je'daii could do the grunt-work, so to speak, and they actually had the numbers for it these days.
All around him a small army was assembling, only forty thousand of the three-quarter million they had. It was the smallest of the armies they were landing, and had the hardest battle ahead of them, but that was fine. The beasts would soften up the defenders, since Morgan doubted their defences were quite ready for a horde this size.
He ignored the commotion, for the most part. Walkers and companies of men, manually off-loaded fighters and hundreds of Chosen. All Reborn, all under the command of general Elarius. An army that would fight harder than most, the man assured, for their Lord was fighting alongside them.
Fanatical nonsense that hurt his sensible mind, but Morgan would make use of it just this once.
Another group was added to the pens, another strain added to his mind. He relaxed, nudging his chosen beast closer. A Terentatek, similar to Rancors if a quarter the size. They fed off Force users, his datapad insisted, but this one seemed wholly incapable.
It was also a perfect candidate for his, still unproven, plan. For all his confidence, he hadn't actually done it yet. Hadn't created a beast capable of steering all manner of creatures, from Yozusks to Sleens.
Morgan breathed, infused intent into his fleshcrafting, and the Terentatek unravelled. For a brief instant he could see every strand of muscle, every plate of bone and every drop of blood. Every organ, every brain cell. Thoughts flew through the beast, and one burned with purpose more so than any other.
Wind Dancer.
That was her name. Born from an early memory, watching a storm turn half the jungle to kindle. The worst one of her lifetime, and the longing it created. To dance as the wind did.
He ever so gently laid out the bare bones of his plan to her, not because of logic or need but because it felt right, and Wind Dancer huffed. Great lungs inhaling and exhaling air, her frame four times his size. Morgan nodded.
She didn't care one way or the other. Her mind was old, even wise, but simple. Fighting to eat, fighting to defend territory, fighting while leading others. Wind Dancer didn't care.
So Morgan moulded pheromone glands and linked them to her desire, building in a number of scents and explaining what they meant. She was no tactician, of course, but he could act through her and direct those she enthralled. Even so, her having a basic understanding could only help.
It was almost simple, in the end. Something he could have done before his imprisonment, if he'd had the idea. But several conditions needed to be met, and Dromund Kaas was the first place where that had happened.
A group of fleshcrafters was moving through the pens below, Morgan keeping all the highly dangerous beasts docile as they worked. Nothing too complicated, really. Just flooding their brains with sleep, rest and relaxation chemicals, making them about as docile as they could get.
The work for his fleshcrafters was easier than his, though it took them longer, and after spending some time double checking his own work it was ready for a field test. One leader controlling eighty four beasts, multiplying the maximum number of potential beasts under his control by the same number.
The je'daii all left the pen, Morgan easing off his control as Wind Dancer lumbered back inside. She wasn't the biggest, not technically, but she was by far the strongest. The other animals knew this, too, and no immediate fighting broke out.
Morgan nudged his connection to the Terentatek, telling her to calm them. Her desire for silence activated the glands, and some seconds later the group settled. Not completely, not as well as he could manage himself, but calmed.
He let out a breath, nodding to the captain silently keeping notes behind him. "It worked."
That, admittedly, was somewhat of an assumption, but if one of the commands worked, he saw no reason why the others wouldn't. Each was simple, really. Attack humans, retreat, follow and calm. The leaders had no way to tell who was Imperial and who was Enosis, so the beasts would be attacking their own targets, but it was good.
Very good. War-winning good, potentially. Quite useless once they reached the city proper, but the outer defences? Oh yes, very good indeed.
So why did he feel bad? This wasn't the time for it, he'd used beasts in this manner before, and these weren't defenceless housecats. Apex predators crowded the pens, controlled by the most dangerous among their number.
It was melancholy, he realised. The sadness that this was a turning point. The Enosis could, before now, have left. Have taken their victory, breaking the Empire the slow way, conquering shipyards and colonies and small wayward fleets. It would be safer, certainly. Perhaps even require less loss of life.
But they couldn't. The Revanites were still doing their foolish ritual, something he was going to have to deal with after the Empire was finished, and the Republic wouldn't let them be. Not with how many Imperials were among Enosis ranks.
To say nothing of Marr and the army that was down on the planet. They had few ships, yes, but more would come. Hired captains and loyalist vessels, coming to ferry the hundred sith Lords and their millions of troops to war. The Dark Council would be filled, the war would drag on, his people would be in danger regardless.
No, this was the correct path. Yet he was sad, because it was also an end to something. He wasn't stupid, didn't need the Force to tell him what would happen if they won. There would be billions of Imperial citizens, a juggernaut of a bureaucracy suddenly looking towards him for orders.
It was how it had been created, after all. The Empire serves the sith, and the sith serve the Dark Council. And if the Dark Council sat empty, the Empire served the Emperor. And if Tenebrae didn't appear, which Morgan suspected he wouldn't, well. There was only one real choice.
Him.
No more snarking at his people to be normal, no more waving away gratitude-born loyalty. He would inherit a cult so large it stopped being one at all, and he wouldn't sit back. Wouldn't pretend there weren't things to fix. So he would fix them, freeing the remaining slaves first and foremost, and people would hate him for it.
The wealthy and powerful, the purists and xenophobes. They could do nothing to challenge him directly, and the former slaves would love him for it. Not all of them, not all with the same intensity, but they would.
So he would recruit the most fervent of them into the army, lest they seek another way to vent their rage, and there would be no denying the titles. The undue praise, the heaping of responsibility and power.
And it all started here, with Wind Dancer's uncaring view of battle.
Well, not exactly, but it's where he fully realised it was over. His old life, those last tiny shreds he'd been clinging to. The new one wasn't all bad, though the contrast between his highs and lows were starker than they'd ever been, yet it felt right to be a little sad.
To mourn a life, even if he was still living it. Morgan shook his head, directing Wind Dancer and her horde away to make room for another. This was not the time for it, he knew that, so he could be melodramatic while he worked.
Work, as it turned out, was exactly the distraction he needed for his mood to settle. They were in semi-rush to launch the attack before nightfall, though they only needed to take the outer defenses before then, and all together it took well over two hours.
The process smoothed as the temporary staging area finished construction, Morgan able to move from one pen to the next as the groups of beasts were escorted, and the strain grew. It was nothing compared to what it would be if he controlled them all, yet each leader that he added to the web was more individually heavy.
Heavy with their moods, opinions and desires. Heavy with their personality, in short, though some like Wind Dancer were quite mellow. There were almost two dozen species here, too, though he only knew a few of them beforehand.
All were predators, all were large and dangerous, all had adapted to this harsh jungle world. And now they were all going to fight under his banner, leading, on average, almost exactly ninety one of their brethren. The limit of how far he was going to push critical failure, though the pheromones could control more.
His direct limit approached at one thousand, one hundred and thirteen - a number higher than he'd feared. Yet the strain seemed easy to carry, much easier than he remembered from Belsavis, so he took it in stride.
Morgan divided them up into six separate hordes, and each stood at over fifteen thousand strong. That would stress the city's outer defenses to their limit, even if the beasts' limited intelligence would see them fall to traps and chokepoints more easily.
General Elarius moved up next to him, positively crowded by his own security. Men and women who appeared to care nothing for the fact they were still far from the fighting, though they did step back when Elarius waved his hand.
"The area around the city, stretching approximately eight klicks in from the walls, has been mined and trapped. Advance teams are dealing with it now, and the non-useful beasts are being employed to rapidly clear our approach paths."
"Very good, general. When will the assault be ready to commence?"
"Now, sir. By the time we get there we will have a straight path to the defensive fortifications around the city. High walls, defensive towers and soldiers have been observed. There have been reports of our forward operation teams being ambushed, but general Quinn's insistence on providing je'daii to escort them has paid off, despite slowing us here."
"Then let us get moving, general. I will see you in the city."
Elarius nodded, saluting unnecessarily as he moved back to his own post. The general would coordinate their assault, but Morgan was going to be there. Devastating Imperial ranks until someone stopped him, essentially.
As long as he had a web of beasts to direct his strength would be limited, but he had little doubt that their number would fall soon enough. They were a distraction, meant to shock and distract enemy forces. Bombing the beasts from the air wasn't an option for the Empire, fortunately, so the defenders would be forced to respond.
And he would send them into the city if Marr called his bluff. Morgan would rather not, but he would. If he didn't, if he showed he cared that much about the civilian population, it would do more damage to the non-combatants than anything the Enosis might do.
But at least there weren't aircrafts to watch out for, so that was something. Still, even without a proper air force the shields covering the city would hold for months, even with a bombardment as large as Morgan could order. That would be phase one.
Take out their anti-air, take out their shield generators, dominate the skies. Until then both sides were grounded. No Enosis fighters because of the aforementioned anti-air installations, no Imperial bombers because the moment they left their shields—shields which did not extend far beyond the outer defenses—they would be turned to slag by Enosis destroyers. Not that they had many to begin with.
That was a factor in their favor, thankfully. Dromund Kaas did have surface-to-space weaponry, but not enough to actually do anything about the fleet hovering over their planet. Railguns shooting physical projectiles had those same projectiles deflected, energy weapons were absorbed, the works. If one ship's shielding got low, or their plating damaged, they were rotated out.
A stalemate that forced a ground assault, and the Empire had the advantage of the defender. So Morgan had supported the notion of attacking as soon as possible, ensuring the Empire didn't get too long to prepare.
With an entire capital's resources at their disposal, time would benefit them much more than the Enosis. Especially with the limited Enosis supply lines and possible Imperial reinforcement.
Morgan jumped off the platform, mentally nudged his army of beasts, and started making his way towards the city. The temporary base emptied, to be abandoned or disassembled as the situation required.
The immediate jungle was all but empty of beasts, which made sense since they'd taken or scared them all off, and so the journey was peaceful. As peaceful as travelling with a horde of barely controlled monsters was, of course. He'd taken to the trees to avoid being trampled, which would hurt even with his constitution.
Break through the outer defenses, disable or destroy both shield generators and anti-air installations, press towards Kaas City.
Morgan cracked his neck, his earlier feeling of melancholy gone.
Time to see what Marr had prepared for them.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Private Sera, newly assigned to the sixteenth infantry defence platoon and most certainly not capable of using the Force, nervously wiped her weapon clean. She'd somehow survived the naval battle some days ago, her ship making an emergency landing on the planet after sustaining damage to their core, but she didn't know the details.
What she did know was her relief of not having to return to space, the battle already being over by the time she and the rest of the soldiers from her ship had reported for duty, and then she was assigned to perimeter defence.
It was the bastion that kept back the wilderness, they said. Great works of durasteel and compacted stone, guard towers and electrified wires keeping the jungle's inhabitants back.
In truth, it was considered a low-stress assignment. What few beasts who did venture this close were taken care of by the automated defences, be they turrets or the wires, and while patrol duty was dangerous, it was also infrequent.
The only time it was truly dangerous work was when someone up at high-command wanted to 'tame the jungle' and 'make way for future expansion'. Then tens of thousands of soldiers would be sent into the jaws of the beasts, and the whole thing was called off a few weeks later once the death-toll proved too high.
It was dangerous then and when they were invaded, which actually hadn't happened before. Ever. Until now, that was. Lucky her.
All that came from a veteran in her squad, an old and grizzled sergeant that'd taken Sera under her wing. It was her shoulder she was almost touching, the older soldier's scarred face drawn into a frown. It was just the two of them, the rest of their backup never having shown up.
"You see soldiers moving too quickly, run. If you're lucky it's je'daii, non-lightsaber wielding Enosis troops. Dangerous, but survivable. If you're unlucky you're facing Chosen, which are about as dangerous as sith without ever needing fancy lightsticks."
Sera nodded, the quiet jungle sounding so very wrong. It was an aggressive place, one where its inhabitants cared nothing for their presence. To see it so peaceful, even in the short few days she'd been here, seemed wrong.
"And if you do see lightsabers, don't shoot them. They'll just reflect the bolt and hit you with it, or if not that simply dodge. Remember that surrender is acceptable, no matter what the captain was barking about. The Enosis treats its prisoners kindly."
"Rumor has it that the Enosis put Imperial soldiers to sleep for weeks and locked them into a storage hanger." Sera replied, swallowing. "Now they're in a Republic prison."
"And what do you think we do to our captives, hmmn? Trust me, better their prisoner than be seen as a failure and get high-risk assignments like sith-duty."
Sera nodded again, mostly because there was nothing else to do, and the sergeant's eyes flicker to her. She sighed. "Stick close to me, princess. I'll keep you safe."
"I'm not a princess." Sera snapped, irritation overcoming fear. "I'm not even a noble."
"Your family can buy mine a hundred times over, and you've got sith siblings actively serving the Empire. That all but makes you royalty compared to me, princess."
Sera felt her temporary irritated-but-good mood vanish, and her sergeant had already turned her face back to the jungle. "It's not a blessing."
"No, I suppose not. Heads up."
Instinct and training moved her body, angling her frame properly behind cover. Her weapon came to rest on the wall's crenellations, barrel aimed at the dense jungle some three hundred feet away.There was nothing. No, wait. Sera strained her senses, which actually did make her hear better and wait-no-stop-don't-
Her panic attack was cut short when a faint sense of vibration travelled up her leg. Then the rustling of leaves, the splintering of wood, then her legs started shaking. She knew the defenses would hold back just about any creature in the jungle, and with defenders this numerous even swarms stood no chance, but this felt worse.
So much worse. Sera turned to her sergeant, and the woman had a look on her face. A tired, haunted look. "Never get between sith and their struggles, princess. I don't care what he calls himself now, Lord Caro is sith. And his fight against Darth Marr is going to break Dromund Kaas in half, mark my words. Come."
Sera followed, half bemused and half terrified, as her sergeant left the battlement. More soldiers were doing so, some others shooting at those leaving, but most faced the jungle. Sera shuddered as she spotted the distant figure of a sith.
"Don't worry about that one." Her sergeant said, walking with purpose. Some others were running, and those few shooting at the deserters were shooting at soldiers that weren't them. "The sith will have more pressing things to worry about than two soldiers being reassigned."
Not five seconds later and a roar went up, a roar of thousands of beasts, and Sera sped up unconsciously. Found her sergeant doing the same, and the woman risked a look backwards. Sera copied her.
A sleen had half managed to overcome the wall, head and front legs sticking out over it. Soldiers fired and the beast fell backwards, but two more took its place. The whole wall shook, something she hadn't thought possible, and her ears had little trouble telling her how many beasts had massed.
"You." Someone barked, and Sera snapped to attention. Her sergeant had done the same, though seeming far more in control doing so. The one who had shouted was a captain, a look of righteous zeal on his face. She'd gotten to know the expression well over the past few days. "What do you think you're doing?"
Sera tried to keep the panic off her face as her sergeant answered. "Reassignment, sir, by major Hortons orders. We've been ordered to secure the sixth armory."
The captain's face soured, but he nodded. Waved them away, Sera trying not to look hurried as the officer started barking at someone else.
"There isn't a sixth armory." Sera said, once they were out of earshot. "Not along this stretch of the wall."
"I know. Major Horton is known to have soldiers fetch him all kinds of things just before battle, and the sixth armory is code for that. I heard someone brought him a hooker, once. The man's related to some general or something."
Sera didn't know what to say to that, and just followed as her sergeant led her to an out of the way warehouse. It took a while. Hiding to avoid patrols, sith and more made every step take thrice as long.
The sergeant spoke as she was opening the door to the warehouse. "We'll stay here until most of the reinforcements have passed, then move into the inner city. Someone there owes me a favor, and we can disappear into the undercity until the battle blows over."
"Isn't that treason?"
"Desertion, technically." Her sergeant corrected, moving to enter. "And yes. But I've spent half my life serving the Empire, and I'm not dying for i-"
Sera spotted it the same moment her sergeant did, the cross-legged figures on the floor. The robes and lightsabers, the armour and decorations. The presence, only now seeming obvious to her senses.
Sith Lords. At least twenty of them.
Her sergeant was ever so slowly moving backwards, but Sera was rooted to the spot, blocking the door. Something was wrong, something she tried so hard not to look at but couldn't help herself from noticing. Half of the Lords were slumped over, blood pooling from their eyes, and the rest had their mouths wide open.
Howling, she realised. Crying out without ever making a sound.
A figure appeared, only half there, and it hurt to look at it. It turned, tilting its head as it spotted her.
The Lords, utterly silent, finally remembered how to scream.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan watched his army of beasts surge through the jungle, the massive wall signalling the start of the Imperial Capital rising in the distance. It was the result of a monstrous engineering project, building fortifications that large along the entire city, but he supposed they had time to build it.
And need, for that matter. The jungle did not take kindly to those who took from her, and some of these beasts had been taken indeed. Sporting the distinct signs of experimentation, likely escaped subjects of some sith or another.
Some mutations were generations old, having faded with time, but it was there. Stronger physiques, aggressive moods, corrosive blood. The Empire would need defences stout enough to keep them back, lest they be bled to death by a thousand cuts.
But the defenses were not meant to deal with a horde this size, and Morgan forewent subtlety. His other army was some klicks west, moving to attack as defenders were pulled to deal with his beasts, and would enter the city. Carry out their assignments as Morgan made as great a ruckus as possible.
And as his beasts smashed themselves against the wall, their leaders urging them forward with pheromones, his fear of not being able to break through vanished.
Turrets killed many before they crossed the stretch of clear land. Electrified wire stopped more in their tracks, stunned though not dead. Soldiers carrying heavy munitions wiped out entire clusters that got stuck in the ditch, even if he could feel some troops run away.
Yet for every beast they killed, another took its place. The turrets proved too infrequent, electrified wire didn't work when one beast stepped over the corpse of another, the height of the wall mattered nothing to animals used to climbing trees.
Morgan nudged Wind Dancer, the beast he had chosen to lead this assault. She and ten others made up his personal horde, more than eight hundred truck-sized monstrosities thundering against the wall. He controlled more, of course, hundreds more alpha's, but he'd taken a smaller force for this stretch. The remainder were attacking other areas, though he kept it simple there. Attack, then don't stop attacking.
Wind Dancer grunted angrily, directing her troops to smash the turrets, and Morgan could feel them. The reinforcements. It was time.
"The plan is working." Morgan said, pressing the talk-button on his communicator. "Proceed."
His soldiers would attack at their own discretion, employing more sophisticated methods of breaching the wall, and Morgan stood to his full height. There were some Lords scattered around, here and there, but nothing he couldn't deal with.
All parameters cleared, time to engage. Morgan jumped from his trees to another branch, then another, and soon he was sailing over the clearing stretched out before the wall. No mines had been laid, which struck him as strange, but perhaps they didn't have enough to cover their entire city after already littering the forest.
That seemed implausible, but he had no time to think about it further. One of the turrets swivelled his way, clearly meant to take down things much larger than him, and he jerked to the side. Used the threads to do it then increased his speed, watching the beasts absolutely tear through the defenders.
Companies and companies of soldiers were arriving to reinforce the area, but he ignored them. His beasts were in good form, Wind Dancer herself had scaled the wall and now roared her challenge to the entire city, and Morgan took a moment to admire the city.
Frankly, he wasn't too impressed.
Sure, it was big, but this was only the outer city. Several stories tall, and though taller than the wall, it wasn't exactly the ecumenopolis Coruscant was. He could see the ground, for the most part, and while some stone temples lay scattered about, it looked just like any other near-future city.
Those of his beasts that could not climb were stacking the corpses of their dead brethren to scale the wall, which was both more brutal and more intelligent than what he had ordered, and those who could climb were constraining themselves to the defenses. For the most part.
Some did venture out into the city, breaking through windows and scaling to rooftops, but it seemed most everyone had evacuated away from the outer wall. Good.
Wind Dancer seemed to be a good tactician, in the sense that she promptly ordered her beasts to smash all the soldiers shooting at them, and Morgan left her to it. Moved to engage the Lords, more than happy to take out a few of them. Any he killed now couldn't gang up on his people later.
Which was when his target disappeared, the two others with them, and Morgan raised his defenses to full. To ambush mode, injecting intent into his shields and sinking down into the deep Force.
It was chaotic but not over so, Morgan loo-
A sea of power swept over his soul, more power than he had ever felt before, and Morgan braced. Clung to his identity as shields shattered and his soul was battered, the sheer scale of power grinding him to a halt.
But he was not young, not anymore, nor new to the higher disciplines of the Force. The power was vast, but not singular. Made up of many pieces, though strangely leashed together. A ritual.
Morgan separated out a strand, tracing it back to the source. They were under yet another ritual, though that was a guess based on the fact he couldn't feel them even now. A trap set specifically for him, likely by Marr. How had the man known where he would be?
But like all traps, surprise was key. And their first attack, while draining to defend against, had done no great damage to his soul.
He finally found the Lord, soul flinching in surprise at Morgan's presence. There were others around it, twenty three in total, and Morgan frowned. That was not something he could kill, not by himself and certainly not while some part of him was still connecting all the beasts.
Yet their reaction seemed strangely muted, only the singular Lord seeing his presence, and Morgan tilted his head. The ritual focused them but limited individual perception? That would mean all their attention was still on his soul, and they did appear to be preparing another attack.
Unravelling the power wouldn't actually do much, not if one will continued when another failed, but if they were distracted, well. Morgan had his presence snake around, gently wrapping around each Lord in turn. He pulled the moment they attacked, all their combined intent creating a unified presence for him to infect.
But while cooperation was good, this was not born of comradery. Or a true desire to work together. So Morgan pulled their souls down, down into the deep Force, and their grand working destabilized. Too many people trying to react in too many ways, none of them properly coordinating their knee-jerk reactions. None of them being truly used to working together.
The comforting, slightly pressurized deep Force enveloped him again, deeper still from where he had been attacked. It welcomed him, almost, tasting like the smell of the ocean and the sound of the wind.
The sith Lords, on the other hand, started screaming. Easy to forget, he reflected, after so long with Star, but most people didn't quite like it here. Or where able to survive.
It seemed sloppy of Marr to arrange this, the man knowing Morgan could drag them down if he wished, so maybe it wasn't Marr at all. Or it was, and he was simply hoping. Gambling, deeming the lives of all these Lords worth the chance they could wound him. Kill him, even.
Morgan stepped forward, just shy of half the Lords dying as he did. Their soul defences, instinctive or otherwise, being washed away under the tide of the Force. The Force as it truly was, unfiltered and undiluted.
Purity. A beautiful, mesmerising purity. Morgan nudged three Lords dancing on the edge, watching them unbalance, and turned to the rest. Those who had adapted, proving themselves either trained or skilled.
"If anyone tells me the plan, I'll get them out of here. Before the Others show up to investigate, at that, and I'll have you know those aren't exactly mine. Who knows what they'll do?"
It was true, in a way. Others were approaching. Seeking out the disturbance of so many Force users coming here at once, their death creating great ripples. Great compared to the death of regular mortals, at least.
No one spoke, though not for a lack of desire. And not to tell him what he wished to know, either. The fight had been taken out of all but two of the survivors, panic taking its place, and everyone else clearly decided they weren't going to die so Marr could play his games.
All but three. Three who burned with honor and pride, determined to die a warrior's death. Admirable, but there was nothing honourable about war.
Morgan left, returning to his body. He'd been piloting it towards their physical location, employing stealth to remain unseen to regular eyes. He was unable to do the same for those with Force senses, but that was the price of throwing around so much power. Of keeping his web with the beasts, dragging the Lords down here and ensuring his body travelled fast.
He opened his eyes to find two soldiers frozen at the door, a door he had but moments ago entered himself, and tilted his head. That was the same soldier he'd seen on the fleet, the one who's presence he'd been torn away from by Lana. Interesting.
The other woman, the one blocked from leaving and a sergeant by her insignia, finally decided to push past and drag the girl with her. Morgan shrugged, turning back to the now screaming Lords. A sign of unfamiliarity with controlling one's body, that, even when under stress, but he supposed they earned a pass.
If this was the trap, he was disappointed. And more than happy to kill so many Lords so very easily. Morgan strengthened his defenses, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His knives quietly unsheathed themselves from his armour, one after the other, and the sith Lords died as he prepared.
Morgan readied three shields, he'd finally been able to create three consistently, and brains were pierced as his knives worked. His reserves climbed to forty percent, and the three honourable warriors tried to dodge. His mental fatigue was estimated around twenty percent, also climbing, and Morgan cut down the still reeling Lords.
Took a breath, that one moment of respite all he got. Two souls moved in the deep Force, Marr and Nox, and Morgan groaned. Fled with his soul, but the trap had already been sprung.
Desperate times. Morgan let go of his web of beasts, not contesting Nox as she made a play for them, and she tried to take it over. Floundered, which brought Morgan a brief moment of amusement, and the whole web of threads disintegrated.
Then Marr was there, his body materialising, and power was draped over the Darth like cloth. It smelled like a ritual, and Morgan grunted. The Enosis had its own advantages, yes, but the sith were old. Things like power-boosting rituals, even discounting the oftentimes horrendous cost, simply wasn't something his people had access to.
Already drained from the ambush, caught without immediate backup and facing two Dark Council members. A simple plan that nonetheless had high odds of working, since all it relied on was the Enosis attacking.
But this was not his first fight. Not the first time Marr sought to ambush and trap him and the Enosis. Lana and Synar materialised next to him, Morgan feeling the ring on his finger burn hot then crack.
The minor, single use artifact had been Soft Voice's idea, stemming from their lightsabers. The ones buried in the Force, able to be summoned at will and mostly used for emergencies. A useful trick, but seldom used for the time it took to call. Whole seconds, making it all but useless mid-fight. At least at their level of skill.
The rings worked much the same. Linking four souls to it, able to send out a distress signal all would receive. The strain of allowing the receiver to find the caller's location broke the thin soul-link, and thus the ring with it, but oh so useful. They could only have one at the time because of the weakness it introduced in the soul, but still.
Nox promptly attacked, focussing on Synar, and Morgan frowned. There was fear there, more so than he was expecting, but it wasn't fear of combat. It was fear of him. He did strip her of her slave-souls, but she seemed to have replaced them just fine.
There was something else, too. Something he couldn't quite see, but Morgan didn't focus on it. Lana nodded to him, both of them turning to Marr when Synar seemed able to keep the child-Darth at bay, and Morgan exhaled.
Then Marr turned around and fled, all but dragging Nox with him, and Morgan grunted. This was not the time to chase, unfortunately. He liked sith more when they were overconfident and proud.
Lana and Synar vanished, returning back to their own battles, and Morgan opened his eyes. His body had been dealing with a small team of sith assassins, apparently yet another facet to Marr's ambush, but he barely needed to pay attention. They'd scored a few lucky hits, but the wounds sealed in moments.
The battle, on the other hand, wasn't going as well. General Elarius had his men pull back, avoiding the rampaging beasts Morgan could no longer control using je'daii, and the Empire had pushed hard. Deployed nearly four hundred thousand reserves, his military-issue datapad said, though a number of those had drawn the ire of retreating beasts.
Who were, by and large, vanishing back into the jungle. More than half of them dead, but their job was done. The perimeter wall of the Empire was broken, teams of je'daii and special forces venturing deep into the city to deal with anti-air installations.
Morgan was going to join them, jumping up to the roof of the warehouse, and found a Darth waiting for him. Morgan paused, sighing deeply. "Really? Don't you people have something better to do? And I'm submitting an official complaint about these stealth rituals you lot have access to. It's unbalanced."
"Marr insists that you are one of the most dangerous entities in this galaxy." Malgus replied, the sound warped by his respirator. The man ignored Morgan's time-buying complaint. "I think he meant you personally, but I think your ability to inspire is more dangerous still."
"You don't seem to like me much, do you? I'm sorry, did my split from the Empire and subsequent defections to my cause hinder any of your plans? Not planning on doing so yourself, I hope? Perhaps by freeing slaves, recruiting like minded soldiers, attempting to build your own Empire?"
Malgus laughed, not happily nor with contempt, and it was a strange sound. "Seers. I have spoken to one of your rank in the past, though she was of a different kind than you. Less powerful yet more flexible. She told me something a long, long time ago."
"To kill your lover because she made you weak?"
A flash of utter wrath leaked past the Darth's shields, vanishing after a moment. Malgus paused for a moment before speaking. "No. Eleena was special to me, special in a way you will not understand, but no. The seer told me that I would have to choose between rebellion and change, to work against or within. You made working against the Empire impossible, so now I oversee the Sphere of Military Offense."
"Congratulations. You're aware that I'm aware that this conversation is only letting me recuperate strength, so why are we having it?"
"Because I want to fight you at your best." Malgus said, voice turning almost eager. "I want to break your spine, shatter your flesh, then do it over and over and over again as you heal. I want to watch the hope die in your eyes, I want to see you realise that it has all been for nothing, I want you to beg me for life and plead for those you love."
"And here I was thinking we were having a pleasant conversation."
The Darth laughed again. "We are. You deserve my best, too, Darth Caro. You claimed strength usually reserved for those on the Dark Council, a feat so very few can boast of. You built something from nothing, got closer to breaking the Empire than the whole of the Republic and quite possibly changed the path of the future by resurrecting the je'daii. How much longer must I wait, vision of my past?"
"A few minutes, I'd think. An hour, if you want me at true full strength, but a few minutes will be good enough for an honest fight."
"Then a few minutes you shall have."
Morgan paused, honestly curious. "Do you mean it? I was never sure about that. Your rebellion, the freeing of the slaves, the whole spiel about changing the Empire for the better? I'll answer a question of yours honestly if you answer mine the same."
"I would have used them." Malgus said, and Morgan wasn't all that surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised. "But that does not mean I would not have bettered their lives. I would have sought equality between races to strengthen the military, but that does not mean they would not have been equal. All Force users would have been sent to Korriban, but I would have seen to it they had an honest chance with honest Overseers."
"Curious, isn't it? Even after so long, we still give that title respect. You could walk into the halls of the Academy and slaughter them wholesale, and all you would get is a slap on the wrist. A stern talking to by your fellow Dark Council members. Yet they are Overseers, not overseers. Ask your question."
"I do not have one." Malgus said, standing perfectly at ease as he waited. "And yes, I give them respect. They forged me into what I am. Taught me the value of strength through a hundred cruelties. I could kill them all, and I will not lie and say it has not tempted me in the past, but why rob others of the opportunity I was given?"
Morgan didn't really have anything to say to that, so he said nothing. Malgus took the time to sink into his rage, no doubt left over from the probably-unwise dig at his murder of his twi'lek lover, but remembering that tidbit when Morgan saw the man had struck a nerve.
But it would be foolish to let that unbalance him, so he used the break to calm himself. To prepare.
Fused intent into his perception, finding the Darth had taken a curious route to power. His soul was well-protected, extremely so, and seemed to forgo offence for defence. It left the man free to fight in reality, unworried and undistracted.
Morgan could split his attention, try to overcome the defences before Malgus ripped him apart in reality, but it didn't seem wise to do what the Darth had planned his entire fighting style around. So Morgan left the man's soul be, infusing intent into simple concepts like fleshcrafting and body-reinforcement, and divined the future.
The moment he touched Fate Malgus attacked, seeming to blur as the man shot forward. Morgan raised his lightsaber to block, the weapon flying from his belt to hand and igniting in one smooth motion. Malgus put his full strength into it, and Morgan let energy strengthen his entire body.
Muscles tore and bone cracked, the strength-giving energy pushing his physical might higher than it had ever been. Lightsaber met lightsaber, and Morgan pushed. Overwhelmed the Darth, Malgus pivoting smoothly to deflect some of the pressure.
Morgan's hand shot out and impacted the Darth's chest, finger-bones breaking even as the man was sent flying. A distinctly satisfied feeling rose from Malgus, broken ribs fusing in not-quite healing, and Morgan repaired his own injuries.
Well, shit. So much for ending it quickly.
Malgus rushed forward again, and Morgan let his knives dance. Infusing intent into telekinesis didn't actually make it all that much stronger, but it did allow him to attune it more closely to precognition. Not something he found himself needing, usually, but what better a time to test something out than mid-battle?
Well, loads of times, actually, but whatever. The lightsaber resistant, incredibly sharp steel became a whirlwind of death, and though Malgus' flesh seemed able to resist them, his armour was another story.
But the man was clearly a rather skilled fighter, easily as skilled as Marr, and Morgan was forced to give ground. The small rest had allowed his reserves to grow, his mind to take a breather, but he was far from fresh. It didn't help that the Darth had enough strength to all but ignore most of his hardened physiology.
Morgan didn't quite grunt when he lost an arm, just below the elbow, but it was close. He'd been doing so well, keeping all his limbs attached unless baiting his enemy with them. Someone was going to make fun of him for losing yet another arm, he just knew it. Still, it seemed Malgus was drawing this out. Having fun.
Not the smartest thing, especially not against someone like Morgan, but he wasn't about to offer the man advice. Morgan leaned back, impossibly agile, and kicked out. It was blocked, the only logical move he'd left the Darth, and his initial exploration of Fate found a brick wall. A barrier of will, Malgus doing nothing more than preventing others from influencing his future.
Someone who knew their strength, had negated their weaknesses and then practised everything until perfection. Morgan buried one of his knives in the man's spine, able to spare some sharp intent to infuse telekinesis and just about scratching bone because of it, and sighed internally.
There was a reason he'd asked Soft Voice to assassinate the man, though it seemed nothing had come of it. It had been a while ago, now.
Morgan was, undeniably, losing the fight. Malgus kept attacking, kept pushing, and none of Morgan's usual tricks worked. Force resistance allowed his dwindling reserves to stretch, but sooner or later that would run dry.
Morgan felt his mind calm, inhaling the Force as… As nothing. Tranquility didn't come, power didn't flood his body, a crippling flaw wasn't found in Malgus's fighting style. Morgan skittered back, rapidly giving ground as the Darth hunted him.
He had his pride, but never so much that it interfered with survival.
Think, Morgan, think. Malgus swiped low then high, actually seeming to quicken, and Morgan threw himself off the roof. The Darth followed without hesitation, ignoring the knives scratching his skin, and Morgan felt his reserves lower further still.
What did he have? Allies, yes, but none close by. The man's soul was too well guarded to have Soft Voice or Synar attack it, and everyone else had their own problems to deal with regardless. Regular je'daii, then, but those would do nothing. His Lords of War wouldn't last long, even if he was inclined to throw their lives away. Which he wasn't.
Regret. The anger when Morgan had poked at the murder of his lover, there'd been regret. It fueled him, clearly, that pain turning to rage, but it was, in the end, sorrow. Guilt, longing, memories tainted by what could be.
The man was skilled, the man was powerful, but the foundations of his greater power were laid on self-hatred. And that, in the end, was nothing but regret. Of choices made, paths not taken and actions one so desperately wished they could take back.
The rage was properly leashed, his emotional shielding impeccable, but the regret had been there. And if Morgan could feel it even through his shielding, it was strong.
Morgan threw himself back, creating some space and littering the ground with pebbles. Semi-stable explosives, created by artificing and the weaving of the Force, and they exploded. Malgus ignored it, which was justified when it would do little more than singe skin, but line of sight was briefly broken.
The Lure of Love was pulled from his neck, the anatomically correct heart-shaped pendant catching the light. It wasn't tested, it was freshly made, and Malgus ground to a halt as he saw it.
Morgan's first proper combat artifact, made from a ten credit gift-shop bauble. It played on emotions, grabbing the attention of all those who looked at it. Morgan had suspected it would work better on those with deep longing, with melancholy, but it was meant to distract large groups of those with weaker minds.
And Malgus did shake it off, tightening his mental defenses, but that was the beauty of the artifact. Unlike a technique, this wasn't something Morgan had to keep going himself. It just dangled there, seeming to catch the light more often than it should, and Morgan braced.
Malgus wasn't rendered helpless, but his strength was born of sorrow. And his strength in the Force was vast, so it stood to reason his regret was as well. And when someone builds their foundations on emotion…
Morgan pushed as the Darth stuttered, hesitating mid-way through an attack, and Morgan's lightsaber raked over flesh. Nothing deep, nothing debilitating, but a solid blow.
The Dark Council member was skilled, the Dark Council member knew what was happening, and the Dark Council member was losing. Hesitation, however brief, was brutally punished. Smooth and flawless techniques, devastating patterns of attack, interrupted as his eyes caught the pendant.
When the Darth flinched and Morgan cut off a hand, he knew it was over. So did Malgus, it seemed, because the man turned to flee. Morgan harassed him with telekinesis, slowing him down if not hurting him, and though the pendant only worked when you actually paid attention to it, Malgus had been staring at it for a while.
"Pierce."
The command rolled through the Force, Morgan's often set-aside mental attack thrusting into the Darth's shields. It wasn't Morgan's best skill, it shouldn't have managed to overcome the man's defences, but Malgus staggered.
The Lure of Love, already connected, bit deep. The Darth staggered again, silent anguish on his face, and Morgan's lightsaber split the brain in half. Then Morgan sunk into the deep Force, ensuring the man's soul didn't flee.
It didn't. Malgus wasn't doing much of anything, really, and Morgan blinked. A twi'lek was there, a thin Force-link tracing her back to the pendant, and Morgan kept still. It shouldn't be able to create shape, but it seemed he'd neglected to account for the expectation of the victim.
And this was a victim, now. Malgus was staring at the twi'lek with an expression mixed of fear and rage and love, a small ripple of power blasting from his soul. It did nothing but make the twi'lek scowl, saying something Morgan was not meant to hear.
Malgus knew, of that Morgan was sure. Knew that this wasn't his lover returned from the dead, knew that it was a trick, but the Lure of Love fed greedily on his longing. On his sadness and regret, solidifying the face that embodied that which Malgus missed most dearly.
It didn't drive the Darth to suicide, it didn't make him reflect and repent, but the Lure of Love held him in thrall. It made him speak with the fake-visage of his murdered lover, Morgan quietly slipping past unattended defenses.
Morgan built a small technique, carefully positioned it, and tore the man's soul wide open. Past barriers and defenses, past vast power and iron will, Malgus was just a soul. And souls, as he'd long learned, were fragile.
The image of Malgus' love shattered, rage burned like a supernova as Malgus rejected the illusion, but all the power in the world wouldn't save the man now. Not unless he was a healer specialising in soul-surgery, and Morgan only knew one person who was.
Himself.
Malgus threw around power, tried to strangle and kill, but Morgan retreated. Gave ground easily, and the more heavily the man drew on the Force the faster he was dying. It still took almost seven minutes of avoiding and shielding against monstrously strong attacks, but this wasn't reality. This wasn't the man's speciality, and Morgan knew how to fight here. Here where raw power mattered less than will and intent.
The Darth's anger kept him from death longer than anyone else Morgan had seen, but his soul was draining. And nothing, nothing at all, could keep the end away forever. Darth Malgus died, his soul dissipating into the Force, and Morgan opened his eyes to a world on fire.
Enosis fighter-planes streamed overhead, dozens that he could see and knowing it was many times that, bombing the remaining anti-air installations and more.
Morgan found one of his special operations teams waiting for him. Nodded to them as he turned the body of Darth Malgus to smoke, finally regrowing his lost limb. "Let's see if we can chase the Imperials all the way back to their inner Sanctum of Kaas City, shall we?"
Afterword
The Warcrowned on Royal Road (pinned comment)
The Warcrowned on Webnovel (pinned comment)
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]