The air on Umbara was a thick, electric soup of bioluminescent spores and the metallic tang of ozone. For a month, the fog had been the enemy's greatest ally, but as the tenth month of 21 BBY approached, the darkness was about to be pierced by something far brighter than a Mil-Spec flare.
Revan Shan walked through the muddy, glowing trenches of the forward command post. His black cloak, a heavy weave of Cortosis and Phrik, dragged slightly behind him, its deep hood casting his face into an impenetrable void. On his belt, the handles of his two unique lightsabers—the Magma Red and the Balanced Purple—clicked against his Beskar-alloy gauntlets.
Behind him, R2-D6 (D6) trundled along, its upgraded thrusters occasionally puffing to navigate the uneven terrain. The droid's Kyber-Quantum core was humming, holding the data that would end a career—and likely a life.
"Cortana," Revan whispered, his voice holding that peculiar, slightly manic edge of the 'Doctor' in a serious mood. "Is the perimeter secure? I'd hate for our big four-armed friend to have an audience for what comes next. It's bad for morale to see a General get a detention."
"The 596th has established a hard line, Master," Cortana's voice chirped in his ear. "Commander Check and Commander Ruff are holding the Umbaran militia at bay. General Krell is currently in the central tactical tent, screaming at a holographic map of the capital."
"Splendid. Let's go be kind, shall we? In the firmest possible way."
The Confrontation: Logic vs. Lunacy
Pong Krell was a mountain of muscle and malice. As Revan entered the command tent, the Besalisk didn't even turn. His four arms were folded behind his back, his golden eyes fixed on the flickering blue projection of the Umbaran capital.
"Master Shan," Krell boomed, his voice vibrating in the small space. "You've abandoned your post at the geothermal station. I ordered the 596th to provide cover for a frontal assault. Your disobedience is costing Republic lives."
Revan reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a small, yellow lemon candy. He popped it into his mouth, the tartness grounding him. "Actually, Pong—can I call you Pong? No, probably not—the only one costing lives here is you. And it's not out of incompetence. It's out of a very messy, very loud desire for a promotion from a man with a hooked nose and a penchant for opera."
Krell froze. He turned slowly, his massive jaw set. "What are you talking about, Maverick?"
"D6, if you please."
The astromech chirped and projected a high-resolution holovid. It was Krell, clear as day, speaking with a hooded figure. The words 'apprentice,' 'Tyranus,' and 'sabotage' cut through the air like a vibroblade.
"I've spent 120 years watching people try to play the Force like a musical instrument," Revan said, his voice dropping an octave, losing the humor. "You're playing out of tune. You've been leading these men into slaughter to audition for a role that's already been cast. You're not a visionary, Krell. You're a clerical error with lightsabers."
Krell didn't argue. He didn't deny it. He simply roared, a primal sound of fury, and four green and blue lightsabers snapped to life, the dual-bladed hilts spinning in his massive hands.
"Then you will die with the clones you love so much, Shan!"
The Duel: Two Blades against Four
The first strike was a blur of emerald light. Krell swung with the strength of a falling skyscraper. Revan didn't ignite his sabers immediately. He used Force Jump, his 23,000 midichlorian count allowing him to move with a speed that defied the heavy Umbaran gravity. He flipped over the Besalisk, landing gracefully on a tactical table.
"Try to be nice, I told myself," Revan muttered, finally drawing his hilts. Snap-hiss.
The magma-red blade and the balanced purple blade ignited, casting a violent, bruised light across the tent. Revan entered the opening stance of Form VI Niman, his body relaxed, flowing with the Force.
The duel was a masterclass in technical disparity. Krell was a beast of Form IV Ataru and raw power, his four arms allowing him to create a "wall of light" that few could penetrate. Revan, however, was a veteran of the High Republic and the Old Republic wars. He used Form II Makashi to parry Krell's brute force with minimal effort, his blades dancing in tight, efficient circles.
"You fight for a dying Order!" Krell roared, his four blades spinning in a deadly propeller motion.
"I fight because it's a Tuesday and I don't like your face!" Revan retorted.
The fight spilled out of the tent and into the mud. Clones from the 501st and 212th, who were still under Krell's command, rushed toward the sound of the clash. Revan saw them out of the corner of his eye.
"Stay back!" Revan commanded, his voice amplified by the Force. "He's a traitor! Look at the data D6 is broadcasting!"
Krell saw his opportunity. He lunged at a group of clones, intending to use them as a shield or collateral. Revan didn't hesitate. He unleashed Force Stasis, freezing the air around the troopers. In the same breath, he used Force Pull to yank Krell back toward him.
For fifteen minutes, the duel raged. It was the longest fifteen minutes in GAR history. Revan wasn't trying to find a killing blow; he was systematically dismantling Krell's stamina. He used Tutimimus to catch a stray bolt from an Umbaran sniper and redirected it into one of Krell's hilt emitters, shorting out one of the Besalisk's dual-blades.
"Fifteen minutes, Pong," Revan panted, his hood finally falling back to reveal his sweat-slicked, youthful face. "That's a new record for me. Usually, the villains are much more concise."
Krell was gasping, his massive lungs burning. He swung one last, desperate blow. Revan didn't parry. He stepped into the guard, used Mechu-deru on the internal circuitry of Krell's remaining sabers, and delivered a Force Repulse that sent the giant flying thirty meters into the side of an AT-TE.
The Besalisk fell, unconscious and broken. Revan stood over him, his purple blade humming inches from Krell's throat.
"I'm a Maverick, Krell. But even Mavericks have standards."
The Surgical Charge: Taking the Capital
With Krell neutralized and the evidence of his betrayal broadcasted to every clone on the planet, the command of the Umbaran campaign fell squarely on Revan Shan. He didn't waste a second.
"Admiral Kaine, status on the shield drop?"
"The geothermal station is ours, General. Shield is down," Kaine's voice crackled over the gauntlet.
"Commanders Check and Ruff, initiate the Vanguard Protocol. We're going in through the front door, but we're doing it with a scalpel, not a hammer."
Revan led the charge himself. He didn't ride in a gunship; he ran at the head of the 596th 'Roughnecks'. Using Force Valor, he bolstered the spirits and reflexes of the 31,000 clones under his command. They moved through the Umbaran streets like a shadow, their Beskar-alloy armor making them nearly invisible in the bioluminescent fog.
The capital's defenses were formidable, but they weren't prepared for the Kyber-Quantum informatics Revan provided. Every time an Umbaran railgun attempted to lock on, Cortana sent a spoofing signal, causing the weapon to target empty air.
High above, the Z-95 Headhunters and Y-Wing bombers provided precision cover fire. Revan's orders were absolute: No civilian casualties. They targeted power couplings, military barracks, and the Separatist droid hubs.
Revan moved through the enemy's nest like a storm of light. He used Force Storm to scramble the circuits of a battalion of B2 super battle droids and Force Barrier to protect his clones from incoming thermal detonators. By the time they reached the central government palace, the Umbaran leaders were already preparing their surrender.
Securing the Doonium and the Loot
The primary objective of the campaign was the Strategic Doonium—the rare ore essential for heavy capital ship plating. Umbara sat on one of the largest deposits in the sector.
While the Republic's official logistics team began securing the mines, Revan was busy with his own "Secret Audit."
"D6, how much did we find in the Separatist emergency vaults?"
The droid chirped a number that would have made a Senator faint.
"Seven hundred tons of refined Cortosis, Phrik, and raw Beskar weapon components," Revan noted, a grin spreading across his face. "Excellent. Send a message to Sarah Jane on Chandrila. Tell her to prepare a 'Research Intake' at the Institute. We're sending a gift."
He watched as his "Roughnecks" moved crates of Separatist tech—advanced Umbaran sensors and ion-drive components—onto the Black Pearl. To the outside world, he was securing dangerous tech. To Revan, he was stocking the shelves for the next century of adventures.
The Jedi Reaction: Shadows and Light
When the report of Krell's betrayal and Revan's subsequent victory reached the Council, the silence was deafening.
"A traitor in our midst," Mace Windu said, his voice heavy with grief and anger. "Master Shan's 'rebellious' behavior... it was based on an instinct we all missed."
"Instinct, it was not," Yoda said, leaning on his cane. He looked at Yaddle, who nodded. "Seen much, Revan has. Over 120 years, the darkness he has smelled. Trust him, we should have."
"He saved the 501st and the 212th from certain destruction," Yaddle added. "And he did it while securing the most vital resource in the sector. He may be a Maverick, but he is a Master."
In the Outer Rim, Jaro Tapal looked at the holofeed of Revan's duel with Krell. He turned to his padawan, Cal Kestis.
"Master Shan always said that the most dangerous enemy is the one wearing your own uniform, Cal. Remember that. But also remember that a Jedi's greatest strength isn't his saber—it's his ability to be kind when the world is being cruel."
Month 10, 21 BBY: The Calm before the Storm
By the start of the tenth month, Umbara was officially under Republic control. The Separatist fleet had been chased out of the Rishi Maze, and the 596th Legion was taking a much-needed breath.
Revan sat on the ramp of the Black Pearl, his boots dangling over the edge. He had a fresh spice-latte in one hand and his sonic screwdriver in the other, tinkering with a piece of recovered Umbaran tech.
"Cortana," he said softly. "The war is changing. Tyranus is getting desperate, and the Chancellor is getting louder."
"The investments are holding, Master," Cortana replied. "The Maverick Trust is now at 6.9 Trillion credits. The Clone Retirement Trust is fully funded for the current casualty projections."
"Good. Because I have a feeling the next stop on this tour isn't going to be as 'kind' as this one."
Revan looked up at the purple clouds of Umbara. He had saved his men, exposed a traitor, and filled his pockets. But the Force was whispering of a new shadow—one involving a "Death Watch" resurgence and a certain planet called Mandalore.
"Pack it up, boys," Revan shouted to Commanders Check and Ruff. "We're leaving. I've heard the tea on Mandalore is terrible, but the weather is... exciting."
As the 596th made the jump to hyperspace, the Jedi Maverick leaned back, a single lemon candy in his hand. The adventure continued.