"-as such, the long criticized Treaty of Coruscant has been dissolved. The Empire, in a brazen and senseless attack, declared this by sacking the port station of Noonar. Pushing inwards as far as Ord Mantell, the Republic is sending many brave men and women to contest this invasion. Experts are declaring this an attempt to breach the sanctity of the inner worlds, their brutal occupation of the Balmorran people only furthering the belief this should not be allowed to pass. With me here is an expert on the mentality of the Imperial mind, professor Charl-"
Morgan flicked at the screen, the image freezing. Lana was silent, watching it with a frown, and captain Ikkus tapped the console. No one spoke, as if waiting for someone to be the first, and Morgan sighed.
"So much for peace. I assume the Enosis knows?"
"It was them that sent it to us." The captain confirmed. "Within hours recruitment has increased by four hundred percent, including an increase in the quality of recruits, as the smart and fearful try to get out while they can. Imperial ships have been seen in hutt space, whose complaints are shielding us for now, but Lord Zethix has given the order to prepare for relocation."
Relocation. The plan to disassemble, transport and reassemble all structures on the moon they called home. They'd known it might be necessary since the start, but he had hoped for more time. Another few months, at least. Hinitan-4 was treating them well. Not that building on planets was ever meant to be a permanent solution, but still.
It seemed not to be. Because of Baras, some other power hungry fool on the Dark Council or plain bad luck, war had come. And war, Morgan knew, would be the best time to strike. To expand aggressively and without shame, using the Imperials' distracted state to do so.
If only they were ready. Recuperated from the last battle, had all their ships prepared for combat. You'd think the Empire would hesitate to commit to war after just having lost one of their fleets, nevermind the damage John did, but never let it be said the Dark Council lets reason stand in the way of personal ambition.
Captain Ikkus cleared his throat. "Our analysts believe the Empire is hesitant to commit to open war, and that it is mostly the actions of a few that are driving it forward. Darths Baras, Ravage and Zhorrid are believed to be the main forces behind it. The latter is the only one on which we have reliable information, her failure as the Head of the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence likely meaning she is seeking to reclaim her glory."
"More importantly." Lana said, turning to face them properly. "What are we going to do about it?"
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Nothing. Well, nothing yet. We don't have the strength, the numbers or even the time to involve ourselves. Use the chaos to grow, perhaps tempt some with defection. Why? Were you afraid I was going to charge straight into the middle of it like a white knight?"
"Perhaps a little. So we focus on the Enosis?"
"Them and our current target." He felt his own face harden, Lana's soul shifting as he felt his active defences slip. "And that's my next short term goal, right there. Keep monitoring the situation and alert me when we're close to our target. I'm fixing my mind-control issues."
He left the bridge to their preparations, slipping back to his quarters. Stealth seemed to alleviate some of the issues with his soul, though not as much as raising his active defences, and he was well and truly tired of it. Accusations of mind-control aside, he had enough problems convincing people not to worship him.
His room on the Yamada was spacious. Well appointed and stocked with everything he could need, the larger vessel even allowing for a private meditation room. It also lacked every touch he and Vette had put on their own, so he found it lacking.
But for now it would serve, so he let himself in said meditation room and settled on the floor. Let his mind quiet and the dozens of questions fade, all of which would come later. After they'd dealt with the corporate slaves and linked back up with the Enosis.
Morgan exhaled, falling backwards into the Force, and gathered his presence around himself. Kept it tightly under control, then moved a little deeper still. Stopped in a rather calm feeling pocket, politely but firmly rebuffing the Other coming to check him out. It huffed, insulted but unwilling to push the issue, and left with a twirl.
A twirl that sent the Force into chaos, Morgan pressing his will on it. Let it bleed much of the energy and settle it back down, cycling it through himself to further still the currents. Grit his teeth, because that had been a dick move on the level of a child's tantrum, and tried not to let the irritation influence his work.
Dragged himself away from the relaxation as calm returned, if hesitantly, but he was on a time-limit. Inspected his soul, that nebulous thing at the center of his presence, and watched it. Spied on it, almost.
It took a little while, longer than he thought, but he found the energy had shifted. Imbued with his presence, which was normal enough, but much more so that it should. Groaned, because if it wasn't separate there wasn't anything to block nor filter.
Sealing his soul would stop the issue, sure, and promptly sever his connection to the Force. But, as he shifted his perspective back and forth, perhaps he could dilute it. Scatter it.
Only what his soul exhaled, not inhaled, but it should help. Not actually make the effect lesser, but spread it around so much it would accomplish nothing. Same power, but dispersed.
And, Morgan smiled, it might even help with stealth. He'd need to ensure the output of his seal blended with the Force, which he would need to do anyway to ensure no one got affected, but he would be his own cover. Like putting camouflage over his soul, though not nearly as straightforward.
The seal, reverberating in the Force as he named it, would have to be well made. He ignored the after-images and poured his intent into the working, layering a construct over his soul. Nothing he had actually done before, but Star had more than demonstrated that the Force yielded to desire. To willpower strong enough to impress patterns and structure.
He took inspiration from prisms, of all things, and constructed a thin film of intent. Not attached to his presence, that wouldn't hold, but anchored to his being. Set it so nothing would be obstructed on entry, but that which left would scatter. Refined it twice more, the first not being strong enough and the second making him nearly unable to use the output.
Settled on a middle ground, which did hinder his ability to shape the Force, but only to a degree. Practised a little, finding all he really had to do was gather his presence back together again when he wanted to use it. A somewhat slow process, admittedly, but growing quicker by the moment. Hell, with enough practise, he might be able to reach out and ta-
Morgan snapped out of it as Lana entered the room, her power tightly leashed. "What did you do?"
"Sealed my soul." He shrugged, standing as he shook off the abrupt wakeup. Five hours had passed, he saw, which would set their arrival in a little over half an hour. "Which isn't entirely accurate, but close enough. Mind if we test it?"
She nodded slowly, he dropped his own active defences, and her soul didn't change. Didn't react. Lana tilted her head. "Good. I asked what you did because you vanished from my senses. Not entirely, and I could find you when I tried, but it felt different than your usual technique."
"How about now?" Morgan pulled his presence back, blending it with the Force manually even after his seal scattered it, and tilted his head. "I can't really do anything with it like this, which means I'd have to rely on my admittedly very strong body, but it should help. No invisibility, either."
Lana closed her eyes, her hand raising in his direction, and seconds passed in silence. Then a few more, nearly a minute, and she opened them. "I can feel the edge of it, but that's just because I know what I'm looking for. If you moved, especially at speed, there'd be nothing."
Morgan smiled. "Excellent. I'm going to have to reapply this once a day, especially for the first few weeks, but it should stick after that. Probably. Never created an intent-based construct before."
"How did you?"
"You know how techniques vary based on expectation and desire? Normal ones, I mean. Force push, choke, lightning, whatever." He waited for her to nod, continuing. "Well, this is like that. Created a base technique that doesn't obstruct the Force cycling inwards, but scatters it going out. Makes using it harder, but that just sounds like control training to me. It's essentially a long-term construct that slowly frays at the edges until I refocus it, which should stop as it digs grooves in the Force."
"Don't expect praise for fixing an issue you caused."
He grinned at her. "So harsh, Lady Beniko. Do I detect a hint of jealousy? You can do the same, you know. As can most. Need, as ever, drives innovation. I needed it, that's all."
"Yet you came up with it." She replied, sighing. "Nevermind. Come, we should be on the bridge as we exit hyperspace. The captain is planning to give them very little time to plan. Or panic, more realistically."
Following, and exulting in the feeling of not drawing Force users like moths to the flame, Morgan nodded. Observed the preparations as they got closer to their target, thousands upon thousands of souls making ready for war. A Harrower-class dreadnought, which the Yamada very much was, could hold a little over seven thousand passengers. Another two in crew and security, though they wouldn't be fighting unless boarded.
The Chosen and Reborn stood seven thousand strong almost exactly, heavily skewed in favor of the Reborn. Jillins was always eager to recruit new people, though, and these days they stood at eight hundred and fifty nine. He knew because he'd enhanced them. Personally.
The few squads receiving Force resistance and Siantide weaponry on Belsavis had neither now, since he'd have to apply the former every few weeks and the latter weren't needed, but even then it was the type of battalion that broke the enemy.
His personal fist, the Chosen, fast and durable enough to keep up.
Soldiers he could take to hard fighting and push harder still, being recruited for mentality more than physical prowess. The latter could be improved, but it was their drive that was special. All he did was ensure they possessed bodies that could keep up.
Two squads of which guarded the bridge, Morgan nodding to them. Found hungry, eager grins answering his acknowledgement, faceless helmets and rigid discipline hiding it away.
Jillins had warned what would happen if he made them even more dangerous, but Morgan hadn't felt much of it on Belsavis. Was too busy after their joint mission to the Tomb to inspect them himself, then too busy recuperating. It would seem all they needed was time to digest, because now he very much felt it.
And didn't flinch away, though it took some effort. He had been warned, made his choice, and he wasn't going to disrespect their dedication with reluctance. They were his soldiers, the personal enforcers of a sith Lord, and he was going to treat them as such.
His apprentices were already inside, bowing politely as he entered. They would be holding positions within Reborn ranks, serve as hard-hitters during battle, and accepted being outranked by actual soldiers without complaint.
Captain Ikkus had his eyes glued to the console, dozens of officers swarming around him. Everything for communication specialists to fighter-coordinators, at least two for each station. Redundancy, a word that neatly encapsulated Kala's style of leadership.
Morgan turned to the bridge-windows, large and dominating. Built mostly for the illusion of sight, since mortal minds did not enjoy four featureless walls, and it gave a good view of hyperspace. The Force was strange here, but not something that bothered him. It got warped by the dimension, but that was only the most surface level.
Useable, in either case, and with how deep he had gone in the Force he hadn't even realised they'd entered it.
"ETA to arrival, fifteen minutes."
The time ticked by slowly, Morgan letting the captain and his crew do their job. Lana joined him, nervous in a very particular way. Not fear, not even close, but not even they would survive direct collision with a planet. Being drawn into the sun was likewise lethal, as was having the bridge blown apart by navy-sized guns.
She wasn't afraid, but she was aware. Morgan could respect that. His own nerves didn't quite come, not fresh out of meditation, so he just waited. Patient and calm, so anyone could see there was nothing to fear.
"ETA to arrival, two minutes."
The navigator showed where they would land, arriving in the system at the point their calculations determined, so immediate combat wasn't unlikely. Maybe they wouldn't fire on Imperial ships, like they hadn't done when Lana had tracked the pirates, but then maybe they would. Either way, her report had suggested the company had nothing which could win against them.
"ETA to arrival, thirty seconds."
Morgan breathed in the Force, inspecting it for danger, and found nothing. Even if he had - the Yamada was already in combat mode, shields to full and fighters ready to launch. Nothing he could say would enhance that.
The change, when it happened, was smooth. It delighted the captain, for some reason, but Morgan focused on the enemy. An enemy that, after their previous visit, had seemingly increased security.
Seven ships, ranging in size from frigates to destroyers, secured the only true entrance to their system. Armed and streamlined, clearly custom built for the company, and with their weapons primed. Yet none moved a muscle, maintaining formation as either side performed their scans.
"We're being hailed." Morgan turned to the captain, the man in turn turning to the communications officer who had spoken. "Priority signal."
Ikkus turned to him, Morgan shrugging. The man grunted. "Accept the call."
"This is the territory of the Octavian Mining Group, lawfully purchased under Imperial law." The man, who Morgan assumed was in charge of the enemy fleet, said. Literally the moment connection was established, too, as if afraid he wouldn't be able to speak otherwise. "Leave, or suffer the full consequences of your invasion."
Morgan remained silent, letting time stretch. The enemy captain became increasingly nervous, though he had a good poker face. Finally, and only after an actual bead of sweat started to form on the man's face, did Morgan speak. "Surrender. Now."
"The Empire will not stand for their corporations to be attacked." The man bit back, covering fear with aggression. "Nor are we afraid to pursue both military and civil action upon your defeat. You have nothing to gain, and everything to lose, by pressing the issue."
More silence, though this time Morgan narrowed his eyes. Opened his emotional senses wide, their corporate haven generating enough feeling he felt it even half the system away. "I have millions of reasons to press the issue, a few hundred thousand right down on that moon. Did you knowingly accept a position of power over the enslaved, actively working to keep them in chains?"
"My position is irrelevant." The slaver replied. "By Imperial law, your presence here is forb- Forbid-"
The Force condensed as Morgan called on it, increased difficulty alleviated with will. The man, who's name he would never bother to learn, gasped. Clawed at his own throat, eyes wide with panic. Someone rushed to help, Morgan splitting off a thread of intention to grasp the woman too. Both choked on nothing, fingernails drawing blood as they scratched ever more desperately.
Morgan grasped their necks, snapping them with a twist of his wrist, and kept his tone calm. Even, like he was talking about nothing more important than the weather. Nodded to his own people to start transmitting the image fleet-wide. "Surrender, or I will do to you what I did to the Imperials on Belsavis. You have thirty seconds."
A gesture and the line was closed, Lana turning to him but saying nothing. Everyone else was preparing for the very real possibility that that display had just hardened the slavers' resolution, would make them fight to the last, but Morgan wasn't worried. Those who fought for money never wanted to die for it.
Five seconds, then ten. At fifteen the first ship surrendered, powering down both shields and engines, and at twenty five all vessels had followed suit. Seven ships to add to his armada, though that was only a fringe benefit. Morgan waved to the communications officer, his call being picked up near instantly.
"Good choice. You will be boarded, disarmed and temporarily imprisoned by the Enosis. Try to resist and you will die. Try to flee and you will die. Try to regain control of your vessels and you will die. Listen to the fear in your stomach. It will keep you alive."
The connection closed again, the captain turning to him. "What will we do with the prisoners?"
"Summon more ships now that the situation has been ascertained." Morgan replied. "Then arrest them, like I said. Document their crimes and ship them off to the Republic."
Lana raised an eyebrow. "Not going to kill them? You want to."
"I do. But it would only create lions out of mice, and we have more battles to win. I doubt seven ships is all they have, and I want them all. Every freighter, hauler and transport. Everything. Letting these ones live will aid that goal. Captain Ikkus, move us towards the moon and jam their communications."
"My Lord."
Morgan centered himself as they got moving, passing the blockade without issue. Dozens of shuttles and fighters peeled off, filled with Enosis soldiers, and he put them out of his mind. They'd be fine, and he had more important issues to focus on.
Such as the fifteen planetary defence installations that just came online.
Rail and coil guns, mostly, and built to hurt. Shooting comparatively enormous chunks of metal at the enemy hadn't lost its effectiveness just because energy weapons became the norm, and it seemed their corporate structure had done them right.
New models, built only five years ago, and able to fire on them before their own turbolasers got in range. Added to that was the eight shield generators each installation boasted, which would shield their corporate-city from fire. Captain Ikkus narrowed his eyes, Morgan turning to the man and away from the scanners. "You have a plan?"
"Torpedos. Those look like ray shields, and I've very little doubt they have particle shields as well. They're jamming our deep-scans, though, which means I can't know their exact strength. We'll have to get in range of their railguns."
"Will that be a problem?"
Ikkus grinned. "For destroyers? Yes. But we are a dreadnought, not to mention faster than we should be. Even with fifteen of them powered by a large energy grid, targeting the rounds mid-flight with laser turrets is well within our capabilities. The energy transfer will alter their trajectory sufficiently even in space."
"Cripple them, but avoid collateral damage."
"Deploy fighters." The captain ordered, turning towards his people. "Set bombers to stress their particle shields. If you find a weak point in their overlapping setup, target it. If anything tries to get off the ground or escape, destroy it."
"We're being hailed from the surface." An officer called, someone Morgan didn't know. It seemed people had shifted positions for reasons he wasn't going to guess at. "They're requesting a ceasefire until negotiations end."
Morgan snorted. "Accept the call, but don't stop the assault. I'm doubtful they'll accept my terms of surrender."
"Connecting now."
The holo flickered, a surprisingly young female mirialan appearing. Her face was mostly covered by a veil, which he didn't see often, and from a glance at her soul she wasn't Force sensitive.
"Lord Caro, the Breaker of Belsavis." She said, tone faintly musical. "I am Helle Trins, director for the Octavian Mining Group. I oversee operations both here and on the various sites we operate on. I have the authority to treat with you."
He looked at her, truly looked at her, and found little but apathy towards all those who were about to die. A sociopath, which admittedly made for good corporate bosses. Good in a profitable sense, anyway. "Give your unconditional surrender, right here and now, and you will be tried in a Republic court of law. Resist, make me do this the hard way, and so help me God I will make it rain fire on you."
"I'm sure we can come to an arrangement." Helle replied smoothly, both her soul and body language calm. Truly believed herself secure, it would seem, and he almost smiled at that. "I have resources not even your fast-growing organisation can boast. Rare materials, information, credits and contracts. You are building a fleet, I can get you contracts for thousands of engineers. Specialists who can only be hired through personal connections. I am valuable, but only as long as I am alive."
Morgan didn't reply immediately, looking behind her. Not so much using the holocommunicator, that was limited only to her, but it gave him a window. Let his senses spread outwards, then further still as he internalized it was only a matter of perspective.
Five people were with her, buried in a bunker so deep not even the Yamada would be able to get to them. They felt just as confident as her, older and calm of mind. Her most trusted, as far as trust applied, and people she needed. Relied on.
He summoned the Force, feeling his reserves plummet as he snaked telekinesis through their hidden little home. Settled it around their necks gently, though leaving Helle herself alone.
Applied pressure, mental exhaustion building as he pushed past both distance and the increased complexity from his seal. "You assume I want something. That I came here for wealth or resources."
"Then why are you here, Lord Caro?"
"I am here as a voice for the voiceless." He replied, tightening the noose. People began gasping as he spoke, his tone even despite the increased strain. "A reminder that slaves can break their chains, that they can rise above them. Become monsters. I am that monster, Helle Trins, and it is high time you realise there are consequences to cruelty."
One more push and necks snapped, her composure finally breaking under a wave of fear. Breaking as bodies dropped around her, finally realising that, for perhaps the first time in her life, money couldn't solve the problem she faced.
Then, to his surprise, her composure hardened again. The connection closed, her body moving rapidly, and he let her go. Let her scramble, because killing her would see him running on fumes.
Morgan turned his attention back to the bridge, one of the consoles showing the state of battle. The railguns had opened fire shortly after he'd acted, enough time having passed for attack-patterns and aiming solutions to be calculated, and their own crafts were streaming towards the planet.
Which had anti-air capabilities, but it was clearly an afterthought. The Yamada carried a little under a hundred fighters and bombers, in a rough seventy thirty split, and even that much was overwhelming them. War-tested models that outperformed corporate designs even when outnumbered.
Then the Yamada closed the distance, the rail and coil guns still fighting to scratch her, and thirty two turbolasers opened fire as the torpedoes brought down enemy shields. Turbolasers big enough to make giants feel small, each linked together to create sustained and coordinated volleys. Meant for ship-to-ship combat, but when you got close enough?
Railgun positions started falling as they entered orbit, their most well-armored side facing down, and tore through ray shields like so much paper.
But being this close meant very, very little time to deflect return fire, and the ship started taking hits. Armour piercing rounds impacting that for which they were made, steel meeting steel, though the fact the Yamada was a dreadnought meant nothing had punctured through.
For now.
Then Lana, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward. Pulled on the Force more heavily than he'd ever felt her do, eyes half closed in concentration. Raised her hand as if pushing aside invisible threads, Morgan's eyes widening.
"Quadrants one through three are mine." She grit out, sweat already appearing. "Refocus on the remaining."
Morgan stepped forward, nodding, and stepped closer still to the officers responsible for maintaining their defence. "Focus defensive laser turrets on quadrants four to ten, ignoring one through three. Now."
The six officers scrambled to obey, allowing them both greater volumes of guns and less area to cover. Impact dropped from semi-regular to near-nothing, their larger turbolasers continuing to strip the enemy of railguns.
He stepped back, putting a hand on Lana's shoulder. Closed his own eyes, sending a burst of intent her way, and she sent one back. Fairly garbled, but positive. Let him take over some of the strain, moving more power than he used in entire fights.
And not slowing down, pulling on more and more as her reserves proved bottomless. Not something he'd seen during one of their spars, nor on Belsavis, but he supposed gross raw power had little place in sparring or high-level fights. For this, though?
His greater control merged with her raw might, Morgan taking more than his share of the strain. Let her focus on the actual application, preparing and streamlining the techniques for her. Grand, crude things, laughably easy to destabilise for even a moderately skilled Force user. But railgun ammunition wasn't that, so they nudged them.
Did what dozens and dozens of laser turrets were doing, destabilising trajectory and altering impact sites. Not always making them miss, but ensuring no single part of their armour was overwhelmed.
And all the while thirty two house-sized turbolasers turned the city's defences into nothing. Volley after volley, shot after shot, until their energy grid failed and shields began to flicker. Scanners and system-infiltration had already given them access to detailed planning schematics, both military and not, and for the first time Morgan appreciated what a dreadnought really was.
Not just a bigger, tougher ship. Not just more guns and more soldiers. It was a vessel meant to conquer worlds, to excel at everything from naval combat to orbital bombardment to planetary invasion.
And even without a support fleet it did its job, generators supplying more energy than a city could consume and plating thick enough close-ranged railgun shots didn't cripple them. Those had to break through the dreadnoughts' own particle shields, admittedly, which limited the damage they could do, but that just proved his point.
The Yamada was a flying fortress that rained fire from the sky.
"Hostile energy grid near overloading."
"Proximity alert from the hyperspace lane, ETA fifteen seconds."
The calls came practically at the same time, Morgan focussing on the latter. Without being able to draw on the power grid the railguns were effectively useless, and an unidentified fleet was the bigger problem.
He regretted that decision not a second later, one of the largest impacts yet shaking the ship. Alarm started blaring on various consoles, and Morgan didn't have to wait long until the damage was located. One of the lower barracks, quarter eighteen-four, with twenty one soldiers inside.
"Unidentified fleet is Republic." The same officer reported. "Nine combat vessels, four destroyer-class. They're hailing us."
Morgan grunted, annoyed, and turned back towards the bridge. "Locate and destroy the remaining railgun installations. Call on the big screen in twenty seconds, and do we have first responders on site?"
"First responders on site. Three survivors found, one missing. Armour sensors still report her as alive. Call on the big screen in fifteen seconds, understood."
"Fuck." Lana cursed, one of the few times he'd ever heard her do it. "The technique unbalanced and they figured out that clustering attacks makes it harder to affect them. I'm at thirty percent reserves."
He stamped down on the flare of self-directed anger as unconditional surrender came from the moon, eyes flicking over to her. "Not your fault. Being only hit once was a miracle you made possible in the first place. Sixty percent."
"Accepting call in five seconds." The communications officer reported. "Republic fleet is assuming battle positions but not advancing."
Lana hissed as she let go of the Force, shaking her hand as if burned. "I'll oversee landing operations. Go deal with the Republic."
The screen flickered to life before he could respond, Morgan pivoting to face it. The man that appeared, at least, was familiar. He took a breath and calmed himself properly, their newest arrival undeserving of scathing sarcasm. "General Gonn."
"Lord Caro." Karastace Gonn responded, the general looking every inch ready for war. Calm soul, stern face, sharp eyes. Forging closer ties with that member of the War Trust had been a good idea, Morgan decided. "Or do you prefer the Breaker of Belsavis? Dread Lord Caro, I think I've heard some call you. I find titles so very annoying, personally, but perhaps you revel in them."
Morgan rolled his eyes. "Not particularly, no. Seems the wider galaxy is doing what it does best; deciding things about events they know nothing about. Speaking of, what are you doing here? Because if the Octavian Mining Group called for support, and you plan to offer it, our working relationship is going to take a dive. Steeply."
"Quite the opposite." Gonn replied, grimly amused. "It has come to my attention that a number of outlying settlements, systems and sectors have been on the receiving end of suspiciously well-provisioned pirates. Enough so I took it upon myself to investigate, finding the rumors to be true. Found and captured one of their leaders, who was more than amenable to sell out his clients for freedom. Well, I technically promised that I wouldn't arrest him. Which I didn't."
"Piracy carries a death sentence?"
"It does when angry survivors pool their resources and hire a bounty hunter. Such a shame the man managed it on my ship, but then I'm sure my superiors will get around to reviewing the report on events eventually. But it brought me here, late as I am. How did you find the place?"
Morgan shrugged. "Didn't. Someone working for me did. Slavery will not be tolerated, but then I'm thinking you're here for a not too dissimilar purpose?"
"I am. Yet you seem to have done it for me, which means I have wasted the trip. Unless you would be willing to engage in some treasonous, productive cooperation?"
The offer made him pause, Morgan already feeling Lana descend to the planet's surface. The loss of their railguns seemed to have taken much of the fight out of them, though he was sure there would be pockets of resistance. Too many people making too much money and hiring too many mercenaries with too much greed, too few of them willing to abandon their golden goose. Like Helle.
"It's a big city." Gonn pushed, and he saw the general regret the comment immediately. Not that Morgan was one to take advantage, but it seemed returning empty handed wasn't as feasible as implied. Then the general recognized that Morgan recognized, and honestly this was why he preferred to leave negotiations to others. "Damn. Alright, here's my proposal. You take point, no sense switching when you're already hovering above their skyscrapers, and I'll land my people outside the city. We brought food, medicine and enough warm bodies to prevent a panic, which will most assuredly happen should we do nothing."
Morgan inclined his head. "Separate encampments, no overlapping zones of aid. I don't want people with grudges getting into a fight. You can have most of the middle-management, but the leadership is hanging."
"Half dies, the rest to stand trial. That's not me being soft, if you're worried, but me having to show results for my efforts." The general grinned lightly. "In return I'll pretend I didn't see you taking all their ships, military or commercial, and give you my word they'll never breathe a free breath again."
"Done. The executions will be public, nothing like seeing your oppressors face consequences to give you hope, and my people will run security. Captain Ikkus and colonel Ellarius will be coordinating efforts on my side."
Gonn smiled, letting it drop as he continued talking. "Good, good. Here I was afraid you'd be forcing me to return empty handed, which would have been embarrassing after I pressed to continue the mission. War and all that, you know? But we're doing good here, both of us, and acts of kindness are about to become exceedingly rare."
"That they will." Morgan sighed. "I'll be on the ground, breaking the toughest pockets of resistance. It's good to work with you again, general."
"And you."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Major Jillins straightened as Lord Caro arrived at one of the Yamada's shuttle bays, the vessels carrying enough ships to just about hold the full might of the Chosen. Chosen that, in recent times, had swelled in number. And not only in number, but Force users.
Not terribly many of them, in truth, yet Force users all the same. Soldiers, not sith, but tougher and stronger than even their brothers and sisters could boast. Quicker, too, and Jillins was already planning to restructure around them.
For a squad to hold at least one, able to rally around their near-invincible teammate to hold or push. To break any defence, stand strong against any attack. It would take time to recruit enough of them, but for now a dozen squads would do.
But that was for later, so he focused on the now. Not that it would be particularly hard fighting, not with both his Lord and the new droids here, but it would be good to show the might of the Chosen.
They had already done so on Belsavis, but reminding his Lord they were here was important. Remind him that he didn't have to do everything himself, especially when it came to combat. Taking care of the less pressing, tedious problem cases? He'd have to think on how to phrase it later.
"Descending now." The pilot called, voice coming over the speakers. "Do not release safety harnesses until the ship has fully landed."
His Lord snorted, which Jillins found odd, but he didn't comment on it. One of the things you had to get used to, really. The odd references, things the man found funny that no one else did. And if he cared about being the only one who got the joke, he sure didn't express it.
Jillins occupied his time with inspecting his soldiers, ensuring the new equipment for non-humans was both functional and actually worn, then conferred with his captains. They were going to the most highly guarded place on the entire moon, as per the briefing, and they'd been told a point was to be made.
The enemies of the Enosis should surrender when given the chance.
Yish growled as the craft shook, Jillins shooting the nikto a warning look. The man was skilled, skilled enough to be appointed the junior of his captains, and with a sharp mind. He also wasn't used to the rougher aspects of space yet, which would fix itself in time, but displaying unease was unacceptable. Not when a hundred souls looked to you for leadership.
The man quieted quickly, body language radiating annoyance. At himself, Jillins knew, though learning to read the species was still a work in progress. At least the modified helmet accommodated the captain's facial spikes.
One of the biggest issues with recruiting non-human recruits, really. Dozens of species with different physical, dietary and sensory needs, none of which the Imperial military was used to dealing with. General Quinn, and that promotion still made Jillins grin, was hard at work solving the problem, but the kinks were still being ironed out.
A benefit of being the personal unit of their Lord, at least, meant their supplies never got misdelivered or delayed. Silver linings.
"Landing in approximately thirty seconds. Zone clear on the scanners. Wait until the craft has fully landed before removing the safety harnesses."
Now his Lord rolled his eyes, and Jillins suppressed the desire to ask why the man wasn't wearing a helmet. Hadn't been for a while, at that. Ever since Belsavis. He knew the man was durable, of course, and he wasn't privy to most-if-any developments about his power, but insisting on being properly protected was always something he had admired.
The lack of ego, able and willing to admit when he's out of his depth or someone is more suited for a task. Enosis sith had it less, and Jillins never had served with any outside of them, but even they got confident-bordering-on-arrogant at times. Swiftly reigned in by their officers, but it happened.
So why no helmet? Nor was he wearing Beskar armour, at that, just medium-grade plating designed more for mobility than stopping power. Probably so it didn't fall off the moment his Lord got serious, Jillins supposed.
But no helmet. It nagged at him, the inconsistency, and to his semi-surprise the man turned to him. Raised an eyebrow, clearly asking if there was an issue.
That too had been happening more and more. The superior insight into people, knowing what they wanted before they spoke. Jillins very much was wearing his own helmet, so his face couldn't have given it away, and from what he understood emotional sensing got harder the more people were crammed into one place.
It didn't get much more crowded than this.
Jillins shook his head, making the man shrug, and turned back for one last overview of his men. Hundreds, by now, nearly six small companies with two more back with Lady Beniko. The rookies, for lack of a better word, and tasked with providing security for her.
He had put his most experienced captain with them, just to be sure. Sith Lords, even those on their side, played rough. A brief thought went to Horas, the specialist having been promoted to lieutenant and sent to shape up the new recruits, but he focussed. His friend would be fine.
The transport landed with a jolt and cut off his train of thought, Chosen turning towards the exit ramp, and his Lord spoke before the doors opened. "No ambush. The Objective is approximately one thousand feet to the north, at least seven hundred defenders."
"Droids go first, as discussed." Jillins ordered, stepping aside. Two dozen war-droids stood motionless near the door already, but it was good to be redundant with orders. "Company one, two and three will move to encircle. The remainder will be with our Lord. "
A chorus of agreement echoed through the space, from excited to bored to nervous, though far less of the latter two. The ramp lowered and wind surged inside as the pressure stabilised, droids moving forward in absolute sync.
Scary things, Jillins wasn't afraid to confess, and the first batch from their rakatan facility. Varying from humanoid, if standing above seven feet, to platforms more suited for artillery. One with spider-like legs and a round, thick torso, able to rotate and without arms; Another with a more agile build, nine appendages and twice that many blasters.
No two were exactly alike, though clearly following base templates, and he suppressed a shudder. Well-built droids were a nightmare to fight anyday, nevermind when they got produced by technology advanced enough to develop a soul.
The fact these things were a lesser product, for his Lord had to cripple the machine to prevent it from turning on them, made him both happy and sad in equal measures. Even then rumors still spread that it had a mind of its own, where no two droids ever looked identical. The Enosis controlled the input, the demand and output, but not the details.
But forward they moved, unknowing and uncaring about his reservations. Lord Caro followed close behind, clearly curious about the things, and the captains got their soldiers moving. Slightly unusual for a major to participate in a ground assault like this, at that, but Jillins had insisted.
It was good to be here, to see and adapt to the situation himself, instead of standing behind some console. Probably why he wasn't going to accept any promotions the general tried to give him, either. As a major he could get away with it, not so much as a colonel. Besides, the Chosen were reaching an equilibrium on recruitment versus casualties. Only so many people qualified for their ranks, after all, even if their pool of recruits kept growing.
Time would allow for more veterans, and then the Chosen could grow again.
His Lord moved, speeding up as the droids did, and Jillins let them. Let them be the first blow, which would undoubtedly hit hard, and hammer it home twenty seconds later with his men.
Twenty seconds that he spent inspecting the architecture, because even for a corporate city it was soulless.
Breathable air, meaning the moon had an atmosphere, but that was about it. Streets were wide with roads and shallow sidewalks, a cluster of grey skyscrapers quickly giving way to warehouses and landing strips. Few windows, and those he saw couldn't open, with even less greenery.
Not even the fake stuff, trees and plants both, which places like this normally used. Not great, but better than nothing. Water would have helped, the same for the occasional park, but he supposed that wouldn't be very cost-effective.
Their target was one of the skyscrapers, the biggest one, and as warehouses fell away he could see it. Approached it as his men walked along empty roads, spreading out through warehouses and alleys. No people in sight, which was good.
The headquarters was big, growing bigger as they got closer, and clearly fortified. The street leading to it had been barricaded, which slowed neither his Lord nor the droids, and the first ten floors were built out of nothing but featureless steel. Steel that made it able to withstand a frontal attack, his military mind appreciated, but actually working there would be soul-numbing.
The front door was closed, security gates having been raised, and the first line of defence was engaging Lord Caro and the war-droids. Security that were also droids, though not nearly so individualistic looking. Also cheaper, if in greater numbers.
Lord Caro didn't even have his lightsaber in hand, which told Jillins exactly how much of a threat they were, and was merely dancing around them. Dodging and weaving with speed and flexibility that made his back hurt out of sympathy, seemingly having fun.
The rakatan war-droids were taking their leader's actions in stride, adapting to his evasion and using it to their benefit. Limited self-learning was part of their programming, Jillins knew that, but seeing it was something else.
Which made Lord Caro's presence click. Having both was overkill, but both were needed. Because if the droids went rogue, for whatever reason, the sith was there to put them down. The man was, during an active siege, testing products.
The enemy droids started falling in earnest as Jillins got closer still, nearly three hundred men with him. Men who took positions around the entrance, taking cover behind everything from abandoned one-person transports to stone statues. Secured the area to guard against flanking maneuvers, blasters pointed both up at the windows and down at the doors.
The fighting died down, especially once his Chosen started picking off anything that separated itself from the melee, and the few that tried to retreat into the city got the same treatment. Only four of their own droids got destroyed, which was especially impressive while outnumbered three-to-one.
It did leave them with a closed entrance, the door thick enough even explosives would have some trouble opening it, and automated short-ranged guns folding out of the wall. The anti-personnel kind, officers barking for their men to brace.
But, after firing freely at his men for some seconds, they got demolished. Chosen carrying rocket-launchers targeted them with unnatural strength, their bodies more than durable enough to absorb the recoil. It also meant more Chosen carried the weapon than was normal, four dozen in total, and extra ammunition was carried by their squads.
That annoyance taken care of, Jillins ordered them to advance. To stack up against the building itself, sniper units peeling off to cover them. Holding long-ranged blaster rifles like they weighed nothing, scanning the upper windows for any targets. Both of the headquarters and the surrounding buildings, at that, because it would be an excellent place to ambush them.
Some Chosen opened fire as Jillins approached his Lord, which stopped soon after, and Morgan was looking at the door. Contemplating, it seemed, though Jillins didn't know about what. "Sir. The surrounding area is secured and demolition charges are being prepared."
"Don't waste them. And there aren't any hostile souls in the surrounding buildings, if you were concerned." Lord Caro replied, waving his hand vaguely. The rakatan droids moved towards the entrance, their largest models starting to strike it as nimbler ones deployed plasma cutters. "The droids have done well so far, but I don't want civilian casualties. The Chosen will go through first, the war-machines splitting up to support the squads. Override command one-two-eight, authority of the sith Lord."
The closest platform turned towards the man, voice both deeper and less expressive than Jillins was expecting, and he noted to have someone go over the finer details of the definition of clear with his Lord. He was getting better, but his military education had holes. "One-two-eight, authority of the sith Lord. Designation, Morgan. Authority, supreme. How may we serve?"
"After the door is breached and initial resistance removed, deactivate independent-initiative modules and support the squads major Jillins assigns you to. Verbal order interpretation only."
"Acknowledged. We stand ready to serve, major."
Jillins went through a split moment of indecision before assigning them, splitting them up amongst the Force using squads. Those should be able to keep the droids in check, just in case. It would also boost the raw firepower of those groups significantly, which was good for overwhelming defenders.
The droids not actively breaching the door moved towards their squads, standing beside them, and those Chosen shuffled to accommodate their newest members. Moved forward until they were closest to the entrance, ready to move inside.
"Seems they didn't spare any expense on their security." Lord Caro muttered, pointing towards the nine-armed droid wielding a plasma cutter. The man tossed the machine his lightsaber, plasma hissed through the air, and it was caught without inflicting damage. "Not on the building for their rich and powerful, at least. You, use this. Get that door open."
Watching it switch seamlessly from plasma cutter to lightsaber was somewhat disconcerting, Jillins had to admit, as was seeing it use the weapons to great success. Continued its pattern of weakening the door so its larger brethren could smash it open, speed increasing significantly.
Handed the weapon back after it was done, some ten seconds later, and moved towards its squad. Even deactivated the lightsaber before doing so, which was a level of intelligence that usually made people nervous.
Not his Lord, though. The man only watched as the door was finally overcome and droids made way for Chosen, the rakatan machines showing significantly less initiative. Which was the whole point, Jillins supposed. Made them objectively worse combatants, but it also cut down on the risk of poor decision making.
Such as hurting non-combatants or getting their squadmates killed.
The Chosen swarmed inside, dozens and dozens every few seconds, and Jillins beckoned over his own staff. Which, as a commander on the field usually employed, carried a mobile command post. Nothing grand, in this case, but a number of holo communicators -linked to his shock troops- along with a small collapsible desk for them to rest on.
It gave him an overview of the battle, which went smoothly for the first few floors. Nothing but boring, if horrifically stale, offices and break rooms. No resistance, though seeing the thorough nature of his people made him smile. His Lord mumbled something about rats in the basement and left, Jillins ordering two reserve squads to follow, and only another ten seconds later did resistance show itself.
Which was different from what he had expected. More droids, perhaps, or mercenaries. Even armed, terrified office-workers were a possibility, pressed into service and kept in line by more seasoned troops.
Instead his men faced strangely outfitted soldiers, wearing livery of the Octavian Mining Group but clearly not regular security. Those the Chosen would have torn through without pause, using enhanced speed and reflexes to negate cover and force a retreat.
Which did happen, but no one ran. The enemy only repositioned and reorganized, uncaring about the losses they were taking. Which were heavy, the Chosen they were fighting not only boasting Force users but also the war-droids. Yet their wounded weren't retrieved if it carried too great a risk, which was the most logical decision, but no one even tried. No comradery, no emotion overcoming reason, nothing.
The danger was constant, tight formations and vigilant eyes scanning endlessly for ambushes and counter-attacks, but they recruited only the best. Professionalism taken to a deadly extreme, Jillins more than satisfied with his Chosen's performance. What few enemies tried close-quarter combat got their arms snapped, superior strength making even moderate skill horrifically effective, but all in all it made him suspicious.
Then the enemy started using grenades, both regular and standard-issue-EMP, and did so without care for friendly fire. Slicers appeared somewhat common, too, well trained enough to deploy takeover-scripts mid fight. Though that went nowhere against the encryption of rakatan technology, something was nagging at him.
Jillins narrowed his eyes. "Squad eight, remove the helmet of one of the dead combatants."
The men and women of squad eight obeyed, six holding their position as the seventh worked to remove the dead man's gear. Their droid loomed over them, one of the big models, and provided further cover. After some seconds the trooper succeeded, revealing a surprisingly young face.
"Slave soldiers." Jillins cursed, details finally clicking together. "Priority message to all teams; expect suicide bombers, false-surrenders and a disregard for friendly fire. The enemy are hutt-raised mercenaries."
Acknowledgements were given as tactics shifted, easing off the pressure to ensure less risk. Jillins turned away, one of his aides already handing over a datapad. A refresher, since he hadn't actually fought any before.
Hutt-raised mercenaries, as it explained, were children born or taken into slavery. Trained by the Cartel as perfect soldiers, brainwashed and conditioned to fight until death. In a surprising show of foresight, especially with the threat of mental instability, the Cartels didn't use them as personal guards. Hired them out, demanding vast sums of money for soldiers that carried out their orders.
No matter what.
It explained the skill even at their young age, finishing training at sixteen, and the older they grew the more dangerous they became. Not that many made it to their twenties, let alone thirties, but those that did served as officers and commanders. An endless army, bolstered by waves of fresh recruits when the buyers' contract ran out and the soldiers returned to Nar Shaddaa to await their next assignment.
"Fucking hutts." Jillins grunted, handing the datapad back. "And very few cases exist of them surrendering, nevermind being rehabilitated. The Cartel is good at nothing if not slavery, I guess. Here's hoping Lady Vette has them all hanged."
A growing expression within the Chosen, but Jillins focussed back on the battle. The fight was being won, Chosen better even than the Perfect Mercenaries, and he listened as the squads following Lord Caro reported in.
The rats, as it turned out, were the surviving upper management. Now all that was missing was their director, and they could get started on setting these people free.
But not the mercenaries. They would try - capture instead of kill, and maybe Enosis healers would have some luck. He wasn't going to hold his breath.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan stepped over the edge of the roof, the skyscraper beneath his feet silent as the grave, and let gravity do its thing as he cast one last look over the city. Conquered, now, and what fires had sprung up had already been put out. Both literal and metaphorical, though shortly after finding and displaying Helle's corpse the remaining corporate leadership had gotten very cooperative.
Mercenaries surrendered, those that weren't slaves, and civilian security was following orders. Keeping people calm, as much as they could, and directing wounded to Gonn's city of tents.
A fairly permanent place, built to treat the mine-slaves that were going to be rescued, but that was their business. The Enosis would be arriving soon enough, bringing with them soldiers, ships and healers, and a secondary camp would be built. One where recruiters would be stalking the people, though they had orders not to prey on anyone vulnerable.
That would only create resentment, which in turn made for bad employees.
Speaking of the general, the man was rapidly growing bigger. His guards were pointing upward, weapons at the ready, but Gonn caught on quickly. Not like Morgan was going to land in their midst, anyway.
Inhale, exhale, attach the threads. His descent slowed until his feet gently touched the ground, switching from pseudo-flight to a smooth walk. Gonn raised an eyebrow, tone wry. "Why do you insist on frightening my people?"
"Because it looks cool, and I've always wanted to do it." Morgan replied, bowing his head in greeting. "Not many skyscrapers like this in the galaxy. Reminds me of the place I grew up, I suppose. I trust my people delivered your share of the prisoners?"
Gonn nodded, posture relaxed and soul steady. At ease, which either meant the man was delusional or actually trusted him. "That and an invitation to the public hangings. A bit on the crude side, if I'm being honest, but those people aren't worth making a fuss over. Shall we? I think it's about to start."
"You asked me here just so we could go together?"
"I was hoping for at least first base." The general replied dryly. "You know, after the fireworks set the mood. Or, alternatively, I wished to talk to the rapidly rising sith Lord with whom I have a cordial relationship. Not getting shot by enthusiastic but misinformed Imperial soldiers is a fringe side-benefit."
Morgan snorted. "Enosis soldiers, but I see your point. It's this way."
The general nodded and, after a moment's hesitation, dismissed his guards. Who liked that order very little, but obeyed after the man hissed a few words. Likely something along the lines of 'you couldn't stop him if you tried' or 'don't argue with me in public'. Morgan was polite enough not to eavesdrop.
Walked with the man as the soldiers stayed behind, briefly unsure on what to talk about. Then the general sighed and spoke, tone going for humour. "So, I suppose asking what your plans are would be pushing it?"
"A little." Morgan shrugged. "But it's not that hard to discern. I'm going to, in short, raze Korriban to the ground. The Sith Academy and the Valley of the Dark Lords, every artifact and token. I'm going to cleanse the planet, though I'll be honest and say I have no idea how to yet, and then probably do the same to Dromund Kaas. Going to be a little kinder to the civilian centers in the latter, but yeah. Burn it all."
Gonn raised an eyebrow, soul flexing in surprise. "Oh. Well, sith being their own worst enemy always has been to everyone else's benefit. I'll say something nice at your funeral. Empty casket, of course. There's not going to be enough left of you to bury."
"It's always nice to be supported by one's friends. And, as I've been telling people, it won't be a straight rush to victory. Building a war chest, recruiting soldiers, stealing ships. The new Imperial-Republic war will be very helpful in that regard, so thanks."
"Trust me, not my idea." The man grunted, eyes flickered towards an alley. Two Enosis soldiers were looting a well-dressed corpse, freezing at their presence. "Do you need a moment?"
Morgan nodded and flickered over, all but appearing before them, and looked at the well-dressed corpse. Stabbed by a knife, at least a dozen times, and the soldiers both had clean gear. "Lucky you. Looting is illegal unless ordered by a superior officer. Did you two get permission?"
The rightmost soldier slowly shook his head, resignation warring with fear as the man recognized him, while the leftmost seemed unable to speak. "No sir. No excuse."
"Good. Report for an official reprimand and leave what you took. Do that and I won't have to get involved further."
Credit-chits, a nice looking datapad and a few rings dropped to the floor, the two soldiers saluting as Morgan nodded. Left as he returned to Gonn, the general shaking his head. "No matter the army, people skirt the rules. Good to see the Enosis isn't above that. Anyway, the war. Not my idea, like I said. Also not something I can really stop, though at least we manage to put an end to that ridiculous invasion attempt. Cost us some ninety warships, battle is never without cost, but the Empire lost double that."
Morgan raised an eyebrow, idly tracking the reprimanded soldiers to ensure they did as ordered. He'd gotten a good look at their souls, so nothing particularly hard. "We as in the War Trust? Baras might not have been overreacting, then, when I didn't kill you."
"And I remain forever grateful." The general drawled. "Not that we're winning. I'm here ensuring the stability of the outer regions, never a good idea to let some sith build a powerbase out-of-sight, while my fellows are ensuring the Republic navy doesn't collapse under the weight of needless bureaucracy. None too happy about my absence, though it helped that a great many high-ranked Imperials mysteriously ended up dying. Really hampered their planned invasion, though they went through with it all the same."
"Are you implying I had something to do with that?"
Gonn shrugged, eyeing the blocked path. "Ridiculous, I know. Had to ask. Seems we're getting close."
"Yup." Morgan replied, nodding to his soldiers manning the checkpoint. They saluted, opening the way as the general inspected them lazily. Assessing everything from discipline to the quality of their equipment, no doubt. "Carry on."
"Sir!"
The road quickly went from deserted to crowded, after that, and Morgan looked up. Jumped while wrapping the general in a Force-harness, dragging him along. Landed on the rooftop of a low-rise warehouse, giving a good overview of the public executions.
Ellarius has picked an old rallying forum, previously used by the company to give speeches, and Morgan approved. Room for tens of thousands of people, packed to the brim. The Enosis was out in force, keeping some semblance of order, but it would be a few minutes more until they got close enough themselves.
Fortunately, the warehouses ran along one side of said forum, so it wasn't hard to get there. Morgan looked back at Gonn, whose soul pulsed in agitation even as his face remained relaxed. Damn but the man had a good poker face.
"I would have appreciated some warning." The man said, seemingly unruffled. "I'm not in my twenties anymore, you know? I could have snapped something important."
"I can stuff your soul back into your body, don't worry about it."
As the general contemplated if that was true, Morgan deciding he had only partly lied, they got moving again. Jumped the gaps, some spanning dozens of feet, and after the third-or-so time Gonn started enjoying himself. Flight, even as rudimentary and jump-like as it was, never failed to entertain.
It was when they came to the front, the previous corporate podium having been transformed with Enosis colours and flags, that it was Morgan's time to curse. Gonn raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "So a wookiee is giving the speech. What's the problem?"
"It's a problem because he shouldn't be." Morgan said, pulling out his holocommunicator and calling up Ellarius. The colonel picked up after a few seconds, clearly up to his ears in work. Morgan spoke before the man could, tone forcefully mild. "Why is Jirr giving the speech? I specifically requested that it be handled by a professional orator. With a script, I should stress."
Ellarius picked up a datapad, flicking through some pages before answering. "The woman fell sick, apparently, and Jirr graciously offered to step in. And it seems the captain has the training for it, which I wasn't aware of. I'll pull him out. Apologies, my Lord."
"Too late." Morgan grunted, the speech already starting. He'd give the wookiee one thing, the man boasted a good pair of lungs. "If he declares me a messiah again I'll be displeased. And if I find out he orchestrated this by any other means than pure luck, he and I are going to have a talk he won't enjoy."
The colonel offered a helpless shrug. "It'll be good for recruitment? I'll look into the matter."
"You do that." Morgan grunted again and hung up, Gonn looking at him with a mocking smile. "What?"
"You don't seem the delusional type, is all. I've done a great many of these, more than I care to recount even if most weren't at this scale, and you don't get praised as a hero. It's thankless, endless work that usually ends up with people trying to stab you. This being the only life they knew, trauma bonding, the works."
Morgan sighed deeply, seeing the wookiee was about to start. Thirty odd prisoners were behind him, hanging from rope and standing on their toes. "God, I wish."
"Welcome, one and all, to the rest of your life." Jirr roared, the speakers boosting his voice tenfold. It rolled over the crowd, seeming to infect it with something Morgan couldn't describe. Not mania, not Force related, but something. Saw how it drew in their souls, buoying them. "To Freedom, the birthright that was stolen from you. Stolen but now returned, without strings or debt. Now and always; You. Are. Free."
More infection, spreading from person to person like a plague. Murmurs and emotion, rising like a tide without end. Morgan felt that same hopelessness as on Quesh, no power he possessed able to rival the energy of tens of thousands of souls.
"Free because I will fight for it." Jirr continued, tone ebbing and rising, loud and passionate. "Fight for my right to live, for your right to live, because one of us succeeded. Just one, rising from the ranks of monsters to deliver salvation. For he is a monster, make no mistake."
The screens flickered on, large and dominating, and Morgan grimaced as his armed and armoured self tore through soldiers like a scythe through wheat. Not even the same footage as on Quesh, though better edited. "See and behold a monster, stalking in the night. Hunting and killing, burning and growing. But he is our monster, brothers and sisters. And it only took one to break the cycle. Only one to bare his teeth and declare freedom worth the price. The blood. And for the first time, my kindred, it is not us paying it. Not us suffering for their success. No. The monster came, and declared that the slaver would hang."
Bodies dropped as Gonn looked on, face slipping free of emotion. Men and women who condemned millions to suffer with boardroom meetings and profit margins, dying as the crowd screamed in rage. Helpless and buried, fire thought extinguished roaring to life.
The speech went on, going almost exactly as horribly as Morgan had imagined, and Gonn turned to him. It gave Morgan a convenient excuse to pretend he wasn't being hailed a messiah again, raising an eyebrow and doing his best to ignore the ever increasing fervor of energy.
"So." The general began, tone somewhat reluctant. "I might have, maybe, underestimated what kind of reception you would have. In my defence, sith usually aren't popular. Shouldn't be, really, though in this case I'll admit that you've earned it."
Exhaling deeply, Morgan spoke as a ripple spread through the Force. He ignored it. "And in my defence, I tried to stop this from happening."
"Intent aside, this won't look good. Not to the wider Republic, I mean. Your Enosis seems very used to taking advantage of events like this, which means your growth will skyrocket. There's simply no way I can not report this, but I say that not as a threat. My duty to the Repu-"
Morgan acted before his mind processed the visual information, reflexes honed over years of fighting guiding his movements. Blocked the lightsaber appearing from nowhere, attached to a red-skinned sith, and shifted his footing as the stranger flickered his eyes to the general. Morgan pushed Gonn away, sending the man tumbling over and off the roof, and cursed internally as it let the pureblood reorient himself.
The stranger flowed from his failed strike into a pivot, bringing his lightsaber to bear in a kill-stroke. Morgan blocked again, his own weapon coming up in the nick of time, and sent energy to flood his limbs.
Overwhelmed the assassin's strength, but the sith accepted it. Leaned back and away, not contesting the blow and using the opportunity to go for the knees.
Morgan stepped back, a split-second too slow, and flesh melted as he solidified his own defence. The pureblood did the same, a face not much older than his own staring back with hate-filled eyes. "The Emperor declares you a traitor, Lord Caro."
"He did?" Morgan asked, mostly to buy time. The wound closed quickly now that he didn't have to push molten Beskar aside. "Didn't know the bastard cared. You another fanatic, then? I've killed plenty of those."
The sith grinned a sharp smile. "I am the Emperor's Wrath. The Hand declares you a traitor, Morgan of Nowhere. Your death is preordained."
The Emperor's Wrath advanced, quicker than he could himself, and Morgan let surprise bleed away. Reached for the peace of eternity, the seal on his soul coming undone as he warded off an attempt at disembowelment.
Felt his soul billow outwards, rolling over civilians and soldiers alike, as Jirr's speech fell silent. Felt hundreds of souls react as it did, civilian and not, while having no time or attention to spare. Nor for the dozen Enosis ships appearing from hyperspace, Soft Voice's soul shining like a beacon in the dark, or the way the crowd was being evacuated as security moved towards them.
Narrowed his eyes as the Wrath inflicted yet another shallow wound, bladework so smooth he felt clumsy by comparison.
Afterword
I'm getting real fond of these cliffhangers, aren't I? If only you could join the discord and keep reading. (I'm not actually doing it on purpose, I promise.)
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]