"Colonel Rhodes, I strongly recommend a tactical retreat."
Rhodey's HUD painted the towering bounty hunter in threat-red as Durge's armored bulk advanced, blaster fire ricocheting off his plating.
"Yeah, well, that's not happening." Rhodes fired his boot thrusters, shot skyward. "This thing gets loose in the city, he'll butcher everyone he finds."
He twisted mid-flight, armed every micro-missile in his shoulder pods, and unleashed hell.
The barrage struck Durge square in the chest. The Gen'Dai roared—more beast than man—as armor plates shattered and flesh-like muscle split apart. But even as the smoke cleared, the hunter kept coming. His body convulsed, regenerating, tendrils of living tissue snaking out to reconnect sundered armor.
"Of course you have a healing factor," Rhodes muttered.
He dove, superheating his boot thrusters, strafing Durge's face with plasma. The bounty hunter's armor blistered and blackened, but one massive gauntlet shot out—caught Rhodey by the ankle—and slammed him into the deck.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Each impact rattled his frame, HUD flashing crimson with structural damage. Rhodey targeted Durge's wrist joint, fired a repulsor blast point-blank. The Gen'Dai's limb burst apart in a spray of armor and fibrous tissue, giving Rhodey just enough time to tear free and gain altitude.
"All right," he hissed. "We're done playing around."
Shoulder pods opened. Forearm mounts deployed. Chest-plate compartments slid wide.
"Light him up."
The War Machine armor became a weapons platform. Missiles, repulsors, bullets, plasma—everything converged on Durge. The bounty hunter staggered under the onslaught, his torso cratered and smoking, but the monstrous silhouette refused to fall.
Durge's voice crackled through his vocoder, half snarl, half laughter. "You can't kill what doesn't die, little soldier!"
He lunged, one arm stretching unnaturally as his internal mass reconfigured, a whip of armored sinew lashing out to ensnare Rhodes.
Rhodes dodged hard, thrusters flaring. He raised his right gauntlet, cycling open a compartment—Tony's "break glass in case of apocalypse" upgrade.
"Let's see how immortal you really are."
He fired. The micro-missile buried itself in Durge's chest.
For a moment, nothing. Then Durge convulsed, his armor glowing from within as superheated plasma ignited his internal fluids. Smoke poured from his vents, his helmet, even the joints of his limbs.
Durge bellowed—a sound that ended in a violent explosion.
When the smoke cleared, chunks of the Gen'Dai's armor were everywhere, smoldering and twitching. Some pieces still pulsed like living meat before going still.
Rhodey landed, armor dripping with alien gore. "Oh, that's just fantastic," he muttered. "Not disgusting at all."
His HUD pinged damage reports as he surveyed the shattered hangar—cratered floors, melted walls, the aftermath of a walking war crime.
"Rhodey? Rhodey, come in!" Sam's voice crackled over comms.
"I'm here," Rhodey said, shaking off the worst of the debris. "Sorry for the silence. Had a little disagreement with Durge."
"Durge?" Sam sounded incredulous. "That guy's supposed to be unkillable."
"Was," Rhodey corrected. He kicked off, flying toward the exit. "He's very stopped now. How's the air battle?"
"See for yourself."
Rhodey emerged into chaos.
Starfighters screamed past in tight formations—ARC-170s chasing Vulture droids, V-19 Torrents dogfighting tri-fighters. Explosions lit the sky like strobing stars.
Sam streaked across Rhodey's path, landing on a Vulture's hull and slicing it in two with his wing-blades. The droid spiraled into the ocean below.
"Looking good, Sam," Rhodey said, locking onto another Vulture. He fired a micro-missile—direct hit. "Let's clear these skies."
Master Mace Windu met Sora Bulq's first strike with Vaapad's defensive opening—blade angled, ready to redirect.
Their lightsabers collided with a sharp crack. Purple met crimson, and for a moment, neither man moved. They stood locked, the Force swirling between them like a living thing.
"Tell me, Sora," Mace said, his voice calm despite the fury building in his chest. "When did you fall?"
Sora smiled—the expression didn't reach his yellow-tinged eyes. "Fall?" He disengaged, circled. "I opened my eyes, Mace. I saw what we could become."
"You saw the dark side," Mace countered. He turned with Sora, maintaining distance, reading his old friend's body language. "You let it consume you."
"I always walked close to it," Sora admitted. His voice carried a disturbing reverence. "After Geonosis, I sought answers. Everything I told you was true—except for one detail. Count Dooku didn't hunt me. He found me because I was searching for him."
Mace's jaw tightened. "The massacre on Geonosis—"
"Showed us the Republic's weakness!" Sora's calm shattered. "One hundred and ninety Jedi dead because the Council was too blind to see the trap. Dooku proved we must change. The Jedi must rule, Mace. We uphold the Republic's ideals—we should control them. But the Senate would never allow it."
He raised his lightsaber, pointed it at Mace's heart. "So Dooku and I will forge new followers. We'll reshape the galaxy with or without the Council's blessing."
"One flaw in your plan," Mace said quietly. "We're not dead yet."
Sora's smile returned. "An oversight we'll correct shortly."
He attacked.
The Weequay came in fast—Juyo's aggressive form channeled through dark side fury. Mace met him with Vaapad, let Sora's aggression flow through him and back at his opponent. Their blades became blurs of light and sound, carving afterimages in the smoke-filled air.
Sora pressed hard, drove Mace back three steps. Mace gave ground deliberately, felt out Sora's rhythm, his tells. There—a fractional hesitation before each overhead strike. There—he favored his right side when defending.
Mace struck. His blade came in at an unexpected angle, forced Sora to parry high. Mace followed with a spinning strike that nearly took Sora's head off. The Acolyte blocked at the last instant, stumbled back.
"It was a mistake teaching you Form VII," Mace said, resetting his stance. "I see that now."
Sora laughed—sharp and brittle. "You taught me the basics. I perfected it. Mastered what you were too afraid to embrace." His eyes burned yellow. "I am the true master of Vaapad now, Mace. You cannot defeat me. No one can."
"Your arrogance will destroy you."
"Wrong again." Sora spat the words. "Typical Jedi blindness. You're so intoxicated by past victories, you can't see the darkness rising to swallow you all."
Mace allowed himself a small smile. "How many Sith have said the same thing over the millennia? And yet here we stand. The Order survived the Purge. We endure."
Sora's rage ignited like flame to fuel. He lunged, his attack pattern shifting to pure aggression. Mace met him with Vaapad's core philosophy—channeling darkness without succumbing to it. He turned Sora's fury against him, made every strike a liability.
Their duel intensified. Sora hammered at Mace's defense, trying to overwhelm him with sheer ferocity. Mace gave ground, let Sora think he was winning, and waited for the opening he knew would come.
"The Jedi doomed the Republic from the start!" Sora roared between strikes. "You almost lost Depa Billaba to darkness. You imprisoned Prosset Dibs for daring to question your hypocrisy. You failed them, Mace. You failed everyone!"
"Depa overcame her trials," Mace said, his voice steady despite the assault. "And Prosset chose his path. As did you." He counterattacked—a fast sequence that forced Sora to retreat. "You were a respected Master, Sora. Sworn to defend the innocent. Now look at you."
Sora deactivated his lightsaber mid-strike, switched hands, and reignited it in a move designed to slip past Mace's guard. The crimson blade scored across Mace's forearm—a shallow burn that sent pain lancing up his arm.
First blood.
"Do you feel it, Mace?" Sora's smile was manic. "Through the Force? I'm stronger. Faster. The dark side gives me everything you deny yourself."
Mace centered himself, pushed the pain aside. "I don't think so."
He attacked.
This time, there was no hesitation. No testing. No mercy. Mace Windu, Master of the Jedi Order and practitioner of Vaapad, brought the full weight of his skill to bear.
His purple blade became a storm. Sora blocked desperately, his earlier confidence evaporating as he realized his mistake. Mace wasn't just defending anymore. He was ending this.
Their lightsabers locked again. Mace looked into Sora's yellow eyes and saw, for just a moment, the friend he'd lost.
"It didn't have to be this way," Mace said softly.
"Yes," Sora whispered back, "it did."
The duel continued.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~