The King And The Gods

General Run-on Rules

1. You might be a Dark Jedi. You might even have your lightsaber. But you are not a god (or goddess). Even Elders are not gods, but they can certainly do a whole lot more than any Equite or Journeyman. In short, godmoding is strictly prohibited and can result in your post being deleted or even death (see rule#2).

2. You are mortal. Death is a viable option for your character. Yeah, you’ve got the Force, but that didn’t really help Qui-Gonn, Darth Maul, Obi-wan, Palpatine, Order 66 casualties, or any other Force user who met an early end, now did it? You put yourself in a hole and you might just end up staying there.

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4. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Yes, the Golden Rule applies here as well. Respect other characters and don’t write them doing something stupid or terribly out of character. Consult the wiki, their character history, or better yet, the member themselves.

5. Following rule #4, never kill another member character without their permission. In the event of serious injury, let the other member character either tell you what to do, or let them write it themselves.

6. What happens in this run-on is permanent for your character. Whether you lose an arm, adopt a herd of banthas, or anything in between, you’re stuck with it and must deal with it.

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Rules for this Specific Run-on

1. Please be sure to continually check the RO discussion thread for any and all information regarding the "Theocracy" storyline. The thread is also where you can ask any questions or concerns you have about the story, your posts, or others' posts.

2. Whatever rank and/or leadership position you are in when you start the RO, you end in. Don't randomly change your rank during the story if you get a promotion, as it upsets continuity.

3. The members of the Church of Infinite Perception are not Force-sensitive, but they are powerful and work well in guerilla warfare. The Vong are Force-resistant and therefore a big challenge. Do not think you can just rush in without getting skewered. The stakes here are high.

4. Stick to continuity. Example: There are four Vong in the story - no more, no less. There are four Corvettes and four Headhunter squadrons owned by the Church - no more, no less.

5. Posts should be of decent length and work towards moving the overall story forward. Only posts that are roughly ¾ of a page (around 500 words) in MS Word (or equivalent program) will be counted towards judging. You must make at least 3 posts of sufficient length to be considered for placement. Anything else will only get you participation credit.

6. You may call the next post. Once this is done, you only have three (3) hours to get your post up. After that, your call can be ignored by others. Do not stack called posts; only one at a time.

7. There should be at least two people between your own posts, though three or more is highly preferred.

No shade of red could describe the pulse of veins, the rush of crimson fury, pounding behind the Consul's eyes. She stood with shaking shoulders and a heaving chest, forcing oxygen into her lungs and resisting another urge to scream. The holographic silhouettes of the Preceptor and Lady Nilani stared cheerfully back, with the two Vong brandishing whatever was left of their precious amphistaffs. Their armor appeared eaten with age or battle, but their imposing figures did not waver, even in the hazy screen projected by the console.

"Ronovi," Stanson hissed. "Say something."

"I have to say, I like how your response is more anger than surprise, Tavisaen," Nilani said, smiling. "Goes to show you were at least somewhat expecting this to happen."

"Why are you here and what do you intend to do?!" roared Ronovi, raising a clenched fist.

Nilani laughed. "Oh, it's fairly simple. The Church has deployed its many disciples across Yridia IV, and don't think they aren't capable of fighting. We were able to evade and deal with quite a few of your militant minions. Now that we've secured our control over this planet, it's time to take another one. Let's say...Yridia IX is a good next target for our fleets, isn't it?"

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, but we've only just begun," the Preceptor rasped. "This is something we've planned for a long time. Nothing Vonduun crab armor and smuggled ships can't help with."

"Of course, if you wish to challenge our uprising, you're free to deploy whatever scraps of military you have left," Nilani continued. "We like a good fight. Perhaps I'll make you happy and see you myself."

This was too much for Ronovi. Blindly, she swung out at the hologram, letting out a guttural snarl as the laughter of the Preceptor and Nilani pierced her ears. She heard the hissing of the Vong, amused by her antics, as she leveled a finger at the projection.

"So help me and Khyron, Nilani," Ronovi growled, "I will kill you just like we skewered your lover boy Adamu. Just like we incinerated your friend Shadow. And I will mount your damned head on my wall."

"Good, good. Now we're getting some melodrama," Nilani said. "I'll be there soon, Tavisaen. Just don't spend all your energy seething. You'll need it for later."

With those words, the hologram blipped out of existence, the blue glow within the room dissipating like a dark mist. Sato and Stanson watched Ronovi in silence as all the rage within her somehow seemed to settle. Whether it was deep breathing or thinking logically for once that did the trick, she relaxed, turning with frozen eyes as she stared at her cohorts.

"I suppose dealing with one more ridiculous Yridian invasion will have to be arranged," she said. "If the Church is sending its fleets to Yridia IX, we have to act fast. The Magnus Kaerner can still pack a punch. We'll need it."

"Risky business sending in our flagship alone without support," Sato said.

"I'll let Bloodfyre tell me that before I believe it," Ronovi snapped. "Sato, you are to summon each and every general and colonel who is not already on duty. If we successfully stop the fleets from entering Yridia IX's atmosphere, then we'll be able to set our focus on Yridia IV alone."

"So you plan to deploy every soldier we have to Yridia IV?"

"Not all of them," Ronovi replied. "That's why Stanson will contact Dralin and Scion, speaking under my orders. They have good, capable men. Should the ships enter Yridia IX, we'll have the Reckoners already prepared on the ground. Stanson, see if the black ops forces of Spectre can be deployed as well. I want Black Phoenix and Zurhidon to be sent to Yridia IV immediately. No questions about it."

Stanson regally bowed and Sato curtly nodded before both disappeared from the console room, leaving Ronovi to dwell in her own thoughts. The idea of Yridia IV riddled with the scars of battle angered her and made her feel like a pot boiling with hot oil ready to be tipped onto enemy soldiers. Yet at the same time, as it always did, it filled her with adrenaline. She would have to maintain order on Yridia II, but at least she would be ready for any attack aimed in her direction.

This was, she hoped, the inner conflict to end all inner conflicts. Because if the clan prevailed, then the Kratocracy would be deemed unstoppable in the years to come.

Medbay - Tarentum Flagship, 2 hours ago

"Apollo?" summoned a voice.
"Apollo.. wake up."
"Apollo, wake up. We're needed on the bridge." it asked again.
"Apollo!" the voice screamed.

The man awoke with start, nearly falling off of the stiff green cot he was laying in. One of many strewn about the MK's medbay. The owner of the voice, Scion Altera, grabbed the man and steadied him. Apollo breathed deep and finally looked at his old friend.

"Scion.... My word, I'm.. not dead." Apollo asked, quite surprised.
"Not yet. But you probably should have been." Scion added. "You almost went down with your ship."

My ship? Damn, the Cocytus. Gone.. Apollo swung his feet to the side as Scion offered his hand, taking it with his bandaged left he stood. The blood rushing to his scared head. He closed his eyes for just a moment before nodding.

"Thanks."
"No problem." Scion replied. "Come on, BF wants us on the bridge. He needs a debrief."

"Debrief? We got blown to hell and back, the end." Apollo snarled, his right hand balling into a fist. He then blinked and looked franticly to his friend.

"How many of my..?"

"A third, my friend. A third. Less than that for my ship." Scion lowered his head. Only one third of the Cocytus's crew made it off the ship. Unfortunately, not as many were as lucky on the Corsair.

"I'm sorry my friend." Apollo added, this time squeezing Scion's shoulder. He knew all too well the responsibilities of a ship Captain to get all of his crew off safe and sound. They both failed at that task this day. Apollo's voice lowered as he locked eyes with his friend.

"We'll kill every last one of the son of a bitches. Every damn one of them." Scion nodded, his own anger and hate swelling from somewhere deep within him. Somewhere that he reserved for only the most hated of his enemies.

"Thank you. Come on though, Bloodfyre needs us. He wants to have our reports before we arrive back home and report to the Consul." Scion said as the two men walked towards the exit.

"How long till we arrive?" Apollo asked as he passed one of his crewmembers missing both arms. He clentched his jaw tight.

"Two hours? Give or take." said the Quaestor as the two stepped onto the turbolift.

"Scion. Did everyone from our House survive?" Apollo held his breath, hoping that his fear did not come true.

"I don't know... I just don't know." Scion said slowly as the lift accended quickly.

The lift doors opened briskly, engulfing the two in the recycled air of a starship bridge. Standing near the crew pits was Bloodfyre, newly appointed Fleet Admiral of Tarentum's Navy. Both Scion and Apollo approached the Admiral and stood at attention.

"Commanders Scion and Apollo reporting as ordered, Admiral." Apollo said as the two looked straight ahead. Bloodfyre looked at them, sizing them up.

"At ease." he said, before adding, "I'm sorry about your crews. I know you both were close to your shipmates. I wish we had time to mourn our dead, but we don't. Figuring out our next move is first, followed closely by sweet, sweet revenge."

The two men nodded and stood beside him, gazing out of the viewports that ran from one side of the bridge to the other.

"Do we know who hit us?" Scion said, cleaning some blood out from under a fingernail or two. Apollo looked at his left hand, not even remotely knowing what lay beneath the white bandages that covered most of it.

"No, no we don't. We have some leads, but nothing concrete." said Bloodfyre as he mused over a data pad handed to him from a subordinate. He looked at Scion and Apollo and nodded to his ready room to the rear of the bridge. The two fell in step as the three marched to the office.

Once inside, Bloodfyre stood looking out a small viewport at the molten view of hyperspace. "Proconsul Ji will join us shortly; she's trying to gather up some firm figures for us. We need to know who lived and who died."

"Any word if any Tarenti were killed?" Scion asked. Bloodfyre shook his head.

"I honestly do not believe any died, though for the life of me I don't know why. We could have lost everyone here." said the Admiral as Proconsul Ji walked in.

"We almost did. I knew there was a reason we kept you around Bloodfyre." Ji signed as she took a standing position at the side of the desk. "Good work."

Ji turned to the two Commanders sitting down and began signing again. "We'll have a full debrief once we arrive back and see Ronovi, but since you guys are here, might as well go over what we know. Get comfortable, we're going to be here a while. "

One hour, fifty-five minutes later

All four Tarenti emerged from Fleet Admiral Bloodfyre's office as the massive Imperial Star Destroyer emerged from hyperspace.

Bloodfyre turned to the men beside him.

"Time to regroup, and rearm gentlemen. I think Clan Tarentum is going to war."

The room was quiet, harsh, colorless lights illuminating every corner of the rectangular, windowless room, deep in the Pyramid, chosen for the briefing of both of Reinthaler's special operations groups; Black Phoenix and Zurhidon. A figure stood at the head of large table, and several others seated around it, all were dressed as the imposing figure; cloaked and armored in deep black and carrying an assortment of weapons and equipment.

“As you may, or may not have heard, the clan is in a bad way right now, we've lost contact with Yridia IV, likely due to enemy occupation, also an attack is expected in Yridia IX” Said Altheseus Levathan.

the room darkened and an image of Lady Nilani flanked by two Yhuzan Vong appeared in the blue glow of a Holo-image in the middle of the room.

“This is the head our enemy, I'm sure you recognize them, for those of you who don't, you will learn or you will die.” their commander stated grimly, as the hologram shifted to an image of Yridia IV.

“To get to our enemy, we must first amputate it's limbs, this” gesturing to the image, “is our target, we will land, make see if we can make contact with any remainder of the YSC on the surface, and proceed with the cutting.”

“Sir, what about our commander? Master Bloodfyre?” Severon stood as he asked the question.

“Bloodfyre is the fleet admiral... whats left of it” Levathan stated grimly, “our orders come from the Consul, until stated otherwise you are acting commander of Black Phoenix.” as Severon re took his seat.

The holo-image now shifted to an image on the outskirts of a labor camp, “the drop ships will put us down a few kilometers from this location, after which we gather information; specifically, locations of important targets; enemy high ranking officers, heavily defended positions, supply depots and location of YSC prosoners, and then anything that is of interest. Gather the information in that priority, and apply any means as is necessary to extract that information.”

turning his back to the room he then stated quietly, “I DO mean ANY means necessary, there are no innocents on Yridia IV, all beings not of Clan Tarentum or it's military is a valid target, including: non-combatants, men, women, children and even invalids. Make them wish they never even thought of rebelling.”

Straightening and speaking clearly so all members of Reinthaler's Special Operations Teams heard. “As of now, you all owe me; at least enough blood, spilled on Yridia IV's soil, to give the Magnus Kaerner a new coat of paint... more will always be welcome.” he finished with a smile.

Severon stood again on that note, and felt all the eyes in the room shift their attention on him. "I have some things to say as acting leader of Black Phoenix," he stated quietly, smoothing back his hair. "Most of you knew me as Sith Commander, and all of you should recognize me as the second Aedile of Reinthaler. But that is not relevent. The point of this matter is that Lev is relaying orders from the clan summit to us. Now, we've just come out of a rough edge, and things have been rocky, what with the recent assassin infiltrations. This mission from the summit is more than just another mission, it is a struggle for the clan and the clan's beliefs. All that we are, all that we do, rests in how this mission prevails."

As Severon returned to his seat, the room was filled with grunts of acknowledgement. Saitou, sitting on Severon's left, turned to him. "I see your ability to give speeches hasn't decreased as of late. Good work."

Levathan rose again. "Thank you Sev, for those moving words. Now let's get to the transports and get moving!"

***

The teams soon reached the landing platforms, where the transports waited. Severon yelled out to the teams over the com as they ran to the ships. "Black Phoenix go to transport one! Zurhidon to transport two!"

Sev heard Levathan's booming voice as well, "Come on men, keep it moving!"

Severon boarded transport one and clicked himself into his seat. Once all the members were seated, he yelled to the pilot, "Take us up!"

"Copy," the pilot acknowledged.

A rumble issued through the ship as it lifted and the boarding ramp hissed shut. Severon opened a channel to the Pyramid. "This is Flight Leader Vercingetorix, transports one and two are away!"

"Roger that Vercingetorix. Good luck out there!" the ground team responded.

The flight itself was relatively short and uneventful. The pilots knew their jobs well and in a few hours the ships hovered over Yridia IV. The pilot came over Severon's com, "Leader Vercingetorix, we'll be on the surface in 5 minutes."

"Copy that." Severon switched channels. "All right team, once we're planetside rendevous with Zurhidon approximately ten clicks from the dropzone. From there we'll make our way to the location Lev indicated."

Acknowledgements sounded.

Yridia II

"Good news, Ronovi," Sato said as he approached the Consul, who had resettled into her office, receiving update after update from workers. The last such update involved Zurhidon and Black Phoenix's departure from Yridia III, and their journey to Yridia IV in an attempt to re-connect with military personnel and wage a new strike on the government building.

"I can't imagine it being any better than everything else I've heard," Ronovi said, raising an eyebrow as Sato gave his report while completely ignoring her barb.

"I've just received a transmission from Marquis Anshar Tarentae, who has been able to contact one of the colonels commanding the remaining Yridian Surface forces on Yridia IV. It seems that while casualties were multiple, they weren't crippling. YSC forces have been forced to retreat from the settlements, toward Messina so they can take time to regroup and restrategize. Most of their armory vehicles remain intact...but they can't afford to lose much else."

"Yeah, that doesn't make me too optimistic, General," Ronovi said curtly. "What about the rest of the Surface Command forces still on Yridia II? Is there any way to get them out there?"

"Ronovi..."

"What's the point of reinforcements if they can't get anywhere, might I ask?" barked the Consul. "We have one flagship and a stinking yacht. Our spare TIE hunters are useless because there's no hangar in Yridia IV to accommodate their landing. All the houses have now are one shuttle a piece, and both are being used to get Black Phoenix and Zurhidon to Yridia IV. And you know the worst part of it? I just received word from Bloodfyre that the ten transports on record on the Magnus Kaerner were either destroyed or damaged during the assault in the Minos Cluster while they were picking up survivors. They're useless. Meaning we have nothing, absolutely nothing, to get the rest of our army to Yridia IV."

Sato paled; he had not heard about the transports until now, and he would have relied on them to get troops around the system. In an emergency like this, without escort shuttles or assault shuttles, his plan to deploy at least three hundred more troops to Yridia IV at a time was no longer relevant. This was not good news, but the High General kept quiet as Ronovi settled from her angry tirade before she spoke again.

"So what've you got for me, Sato? Please. I'm curious."

Sato felt his lip curl as he began to pace the office floor, his hands wound together like a woven basket as he spoke. "There are few alternatives for that, Ronovi, and believe me when I tell you I'm as frustrated by the situation as you are. But there are ways we can scrape up an effort to get forces to the ground...even if it means we can't take our speeders with us."

"All right. What's Plan A, then?"

"We use the yacht to get 8 men - myself included - onto Yridia IV so we can make contact with the remaining YSC forces there. If we can hijack one of the corvettes, we can get up to 600 men into the hull, not including crew."

"Rather bold plan, if I may say so myself," Ronovi mused, leaning forward in her chair. "And what's Plan B?"

Sato sighed, his shoulders slacking under his heavy robes. "We alert the Dark Council of the situation and see if we can encourage aid from the Antei fleet."

His remark was met with silence from the Prince of Yridia, who clearly wasn't too pleased with the idea of crying to the Council for help. For years, Tarentum had attempted to avoid the influences of their Brotherhood superiors, and now at their time of need the Antei fleets would rush in like superheroes to save the day. It was not a preferred outcome - yet in this case, it could be the saving grace of the new Kratocracy.

Ronovi drummed her fingers against her desk. Her palms were growing clammy with perspiration.

"Fit as many men as you can into that yacht - it's high time we actually used that thing," she told Sato. "We'll try your little hijacking plan. As long as you can actually reach Yridia IV to command your army..."

"You'll hear from me in less than two hours," Sato cut her off, smirking as he briskly left the room, leaving Ronovi to simmer before she made the transmission to Antei.

Elric was sitting, hunched over in his holding cell, feeling the sense of commotion in the Consul’s office. He had also been sensing the emotions of rage, skepticism and revenge that had been seeping from there. It seemed to be leaking from the airtight lock into the rest of the Castle, hovering like a low fog into the hearts and souls of every living thing inside.

“Apparently my timing was very good.” He smirked to himself. His arrival back into the Yridia system was about as bad as expected: biometrics testing, strip search, confiscation of his lightsaber and long knife, and of course the energy cuffs and trip to the cold, dark and damp holding cell he now sat in. As he shifted uneasily in his cuffs, Elric then began to think “Well at least the Zabrak guard only smacked me once with his rifle…”

The cell then burst with light as a figure walked into the cell and hoisted the Knight to his feet. Elric’s eyes struggled to focus to the bright fluorescent light. Sato Tarentae was standing before him, glaring at him intently.

“Welcome home, Kyes” Sato snapped, gruff and impatient.

“I just couldn’t resist coming back, what can I say” Elric smarted.

Sato swiftly punched Elric in his gut. “You have a smuggler’s attitude, did you know that? I think that’s why not many liked you in the first place.” Elric could only cough in reply, so Sato continued. “Normally, we would just send you off to some hellhole prison, but your one lucky guy today. I need every halfway decent soldier I can get my hands on. You and 6 other individuals are joining me to fight for the Clan. If you don’t die in this mission, we might just forgive your four year long AWOL.”

“Three, actually” Elric managed to gasp.

“Little matter” began the Battlemaster “We are going to Yridia IV. We have a major fight on our hands and best of all; we might even have some Vong to kill.” Sato continued after a brief pause, allowing the information to sink in to the Knight’s head, still trying to catch his breath. “Now I know your not one to work well with others. But your options are you can come with me and maybe earn your place back in the Clan. Or you can sit here and rot.”

Elric didn’t even need the options, “Give me my weapons and I’ll kill whoever you need me to.”

“Excellent” Sato said as he unlocked the cuffs “you are going to follow MY orders; even if it kills you. Do you get that?”

Elric rubbed his wrists “Affirmative.”

Sato handed him his lightsaber and curved fighting knife. Elric quickly clipped them on his body and followed Sato out the door and into the grand hallways of the undersea castle. The corridors of Tarentum were still the same as when he left them: the same kind of flooring and the same dark ocean. Elric couldn’t wait and began to take in his surroundings, as Sato was leaving him behind, moving silently, ghost-like towards the lift. Elric just managed to squeeze in as the door shut and the lift began to rise.

“Battlemaster, you said something about trouble on Yridia IV?” Elric inquired.

Sato replied; keeping his eyes fixed on the lift door. “Yes. Lady Nilani is directing armed forces on the surface, attacking our people. She is leading some Church of Infinite Perception. Has four Vong with her, and some old cook too from what I saw in the hologram.”

When he left the Clan years ago, the Keepers were still valuable allies to the Clan, but apparently things had undergone radical changes. Sato began to read the Knight’s mind. He then told Elric of the Keeper’s rebellion against the Clan and the extermination of their kind. Or, more correctly, near extermination. The assassination attempts, he then told of his plan to take 8 persons in a yacht and hijack a corvette.

“So Kyes, you understand who and what we are up against?” Sato asked. Sato didn’t really care, in fact, he wouldn’t mind if the Knight died. It was less paperwork than sending him to prison. Despite Elric’s resistance to authorities other than his own, he was a natural fighter, and Sato needed them. Sato searched the Knights mind, but Elric had expected this and hid his reasons deep in his mind; away from the initial probing at least.

Elric began to think deeply about the job ahead. Even with his arrogance, he knew his chances against the Mistress were slim to none. They were even worse if he disobeyed Sato. Elric knew he would have to go along with the orders, but better to have Sato do the heavy lifting, and maybe they would both come out alive. But the Knight was proverbially gnawing at the bit to have his crimson blade flash in the air and cut through poor souls. He smiled at the thought.

As the lift slowed, Elric asked the Battlemaster “So Sato, who else is coming along?”

"I am, for one," replied a voice next to Elric. The Knight jumped slightly as a man literally seemed to melt out of the shadows, letting go of the Force projection that hid him. His auburn hair was slicked back, and he wore what appeared to be a dark uniform and a black cape, a lightsaber hanging from his belt.

"Dralin, nice to see you've already joined us," smirked Sato. "Are the others ready?"

Nodding, the Quaestor replied, "They're waiting in the hangar, High General. I've got Frosty down there with two men from Intel and two from his infantry."

As the doors to the turbolift opened, the three dark Jedi took in the sad view; the yacht was the only ship in the hangar, with the four humans and one Dashade the only people accompanying it. Shaking his head at the lack of transportation, Dralin took the lead, gesturing to his men to get the final preparations for departure underway.

"We should have tried to bring more men," growled Frosty. "Four men is hardly enough to help take on a whole planet, even with some of our people already there."

"That's what we're going to do, Colonel," Sato replied. "I have a plan that will get our troops to Yridia IV, and into the fight."

---

"Steal a Corellian Corvette?" The astonished response slipped past Dralin's usual stoic mask, the audacity of the idea stunning him. "With just the eight of us?"

The flight to Yridia IV would be short, so Sato wasn't going to beat around the bush when laying out his plan.

"We'll have the other YSC forces on the surface to help us, especially by diverting the Church's attention while we do our work," Sato replied. "In situations like these, we need bold plans if we plan to destroy our enemies."

"How will we convince the whole crew to just pilot us out of there?" Elric asked. "Eight people aren't enough to pilot one of those, even if we were trained how."

"We won't have to pilot it ourselves," Sato confirmed. "Eight people may not be enough to fly it, but they are enough to scare the crew into getting it out of there for us. We make an example out of a few crew members, and they'll be jumping to obey us."

"They are religious fanatics," Frosty interjected. "Are you sure killing them would work?"

Sato grinned. "Who said anything about killing them? When threat of death won't do, you promise unending pain."

Dralin turned back to the viewports, watching as the blue-green orb of the planet loomed closer. "That would probably do the trick..."

Zinn Kalda was sweating profusely. His jumpsuit had once been gray, but now it was streaked with dirt, grease and various of the unknowable filth that could only be found in the deepest bowels of a Star Destroyer. His hand crept habitually to the scar on his forehead. It felt swollen to his touch. He was surprised that nobody had asked him about it yet, but then he had seen some of these Jedi with far worse. Their leader's cybernetic eye had sent shivers down his spine, even though her gaze had passed right over him.

His hand trembled, and he could hear the rattling of the tools in his toolbox over the dull roar of the ship's massive engines. Every fiber of his being told him to turn and run, but here he was at the door. His mind turned to the hideous... creatures he had seen. If he could not complete his task, they would surely tear him limb from limb. He may be able to escape these Jedi, but the Church would find him. Nilani always found people she was looking for. A bead of sweat rolled into Zinn's eye, and he flinched before wiping the stinging liquid from his face. Could no one else in this corridor hear his heart beating? It seemed so loud.

Kalda sucked in his breath as the door next to him opened. Two men exited the office, walking quickly. Both were injured; one had a thick white bandage wrapped securely around much of his left arm. Deep red stains were just beginning to show through the new gauze.

"Why so nervous?" asked the older of the two, seeing the sweat dripping down Zinn's forehead. "First time meeting Beef?" The old man patted the trembling technician on the shoulder.

"He's not so bad once you get past the smell." The younger man said, and the two continued on their way.

Zinn peeked in the open door, spotting two more people inside. He gritted his teeth and stepped inside before the door closed and blocked him from his destination.

A large man with long black hair sat at the desk at the back of the office, conversing in hushed tones with a woman in a mask. Sith Bloodfyre and Ji K'awill, thought Zinn. Nilani told me about them. He shuffled along the wall slowly, praying that neither of them would speak to him. The man turned to look at him briefly, but turned back to continue his conversation. Zinn's heart was in his throat. When he reached the correct panel, he could barely hold the autodriver steady to detach it from the wall. It slipped seven times before the panel finally came loose.

CRASH

He fumbled the panel with his left hand as it detached from the wall, falling to the floor. Where the corridor outside had seemed loud with the sound of engines and people talking, this office was as silent as a crypt. His hands were shaking uncontrollably now, and when he looked up he met with two hard sets of eyes. He quickly lowered his gaze and shoved his hands into the conduit where they wouldn't be able to see them. The man and woman turned back to their conversation.

It hurt less than he had imagined. Nilani had meant "bug" almost literally. He could feel its tiny metal claws tearing the flesh from his hand in order to burrow its way deep into his muscle tissue. His left hand touched the scar on his forehead for a moment, before he remembered where he was and brought it back down to his side a little too quickly. His knuckle banged hard against the edge of the open panel. It still amazed him somewhat that it didn't hurt. He saw red liquid dripping into his toolbox, but it was almost like it wasn't even his.

When he felt the bug's motion nearing his elbow, he retrieved the pair of gloves from his toolbox with his left hand. Keeping both hands inside the conduit, he put them on. Finally... slowly... he picked up the panel from the floor. The fingers on his right hand felt stiff and clumsy, and he nearly dropped the panel a second time before getting it back in place. Using the autodriver with his left hand, he secured it back on the wall, picked up his toolbox and made his way to the door. He could feel the movement in his upper arm now. His right arm felt weaker than normal, but it didn't hurt. He paid it no mind as he entered the crowded corridor and began his journey back down into the bowels of the ship.

Yridia IV

While the Preceptor had remained comfortably within the governor's office, Lady Nilani could not simply stand around in a small space. She had taken quite a fancy to the planet, its temperate climate and its brisk air, and was accustomed to long walks. She was now quite a ways away from the governmental base, as she stepped into what remained of the camps as various members of the Church patrolling the area bowed to her.

Nilani admired the scrap metal that the Church had made of various Yridian Surface Command vehicles, the corpses of greener soldiers still smoldering from their first strike. Many of the Infinite Perception disciples were hissing into their commlinks as they maintained shaky grips on their sidearms, avoiding the glances of the two Yuuzhan Vong who had remained behind while the other two had followed the Preceptor into the governmental building. The Vong exchanged guttural Vong words to each other before concentrating on their posts.

"M'lady, Corvettes Dogma and Doctrine have departed and are making their way to Yridia IX with their appropriate Z-95 squadrons. If we're lucky, they should make a smooth entry into Eden City," a younger disciple with a rifle under his arm reported to Nilani.

But he had not gained her attention. Nilani had her eyes on a lone Headhunter, one personally left behind just for her, a quick way to maneuver into Yridian space. She was not staying on Yridia IV. The Preceptor was the general of this particular mission, while cronies like Zinn continued their undercover work that had been going since the very beginning of this whole situation. Now Nilani had her own objective to attend to, and therefore she grow more than annoyed when she saw a red-eyed Kritt sitting beside the Headhunter, cradling a disruptor rifle as his trousers grew brown from the dirt. Apparently he had done his fair share of walking around the planet as well, after being stranded by Nilani and the Preceptor.

"Well," he growled, "look who's here to check on me. Here to fulfill your promise, little lady?"

One look from Nilani was enough to return the ex-governor into his former sniveling self, before she chuckled humorlessly.

"I figured you would've given up on your little political journey by now, Kritt," she said. "Can't you see this is much bigger than you?"

"Where are you going?" Kritt stuttered.

"To Yridia II," Nilani replied. "And you are not invited."

Kritt's eyes bulged. "Wh-why not? I-I think I deserve a chance to pr-prove myself!"

Nilani laughed. "Oh, r-really?" she mocked Kritt's speech, before shuffling past him. "Out of my way, Kritt. I have business to attend to. In the meantime, you can stop playing in the dirt and go patrol with the rest of the fanatics."

She approached the Z-95 with relish, fingers running across its graying hull as she moved to hoist herself up in order to get into the fighter. The click of Kritt's blaster from behind her stopped her in her tracks. She did not have to look at him to know he was aiming at her, that his hands were shaking from outright fear as he groped for the trigger. She did not have to turn around to see the pupils dilate within his blood-shot sockets, or to see his lips move as he searched for intimidating words that he never ended up reciting.

Instead, all Nilani had to do was jump. She flipped into the air with all the skill and grace of a gymnast, as the red bolt zipped under her arm without even touching her still pearl white cloak. Her feet barely touched the dirt as she landed, her eyes blazing as she turned on the doomed Kritt. The governor barely had time to open his mouth and scream when he saw the flash of metal from Nilani's waist, not until the blade was buried halfway into his chest.

The ex-governor stood frozen, his attempted cry of pain reduced to a whimper as Nilani worked the tip of her sword through his spine and out his back. She relished in the separation of his vertebrate, the splitting of his skin tissue as it opened up like a glorious portal to a new world. As the blood began to flow in copious amounts, staining the governor's shirt a deep crimson, Nilani let the words slip from her mouth like thin wisps of smoke.

"I believe your work is done with us, Morrisey Kritt. Good day."

She did not stop to clean the blood from her blade when she removed it from the red corpse, disappearing into the cockpit of the Headhunter as she set the coordinates for Yridia II.

***

Giovanni Palermo emerged from the transport warily, rifle strapped to his back and an armory saber on his belt. In his brief time as one of the Zurhidon, this was the first time he had seen the team depart from Yridia III. Granted, he had done a fair amount of traveling himself, working as a "defense attorney" in Eden City. Now, however, the lawyer had to slip into hunter mode, the silhouettes of his fellow Dark Jedi and non-Force personnel stepping into the wild grasses of the planet.

Both Black Phoenix and Zurhidon had landed close to Messina, and Giovanni could see the silhouette of the mountains up ahead. If the base of the mountain where Anshar's estate rested was where the YSC had withdrawn to, then it was a good call that they had moved to an area where enemy attack would be scattered among rougher terrain - and along a river, no less. He caught a glimpse of Syrna Valkiss as the Protector moved with Altheseus Levathan, the latter speaking sharply into his commlink.

"Zurhidon to Phoenix. We've just landed five kilometers away from the alleged YSC retreat base. What's your status?"

Giovanni only caught bits of the response from Severon Vercingetorix. "Seven kilometers away...back-up...good luck" was all he was able to hear, before he saw a silhouette up ahead. He halted, beckoning to Syrna and Dox Romanae as the two Zurhidon approached him.

"You know who that is up ahead?" he whispered, before a hot rush of energy zipped past him and took down an unexpecting non-Force sensitive behind him.

Giovanni somersaulted into a high hedge of grass. When he raised his head again, he could see three silhouettes darting into the dark foliage. In a burst of energy, the Jedi Hunter followed, activating his crude saber as Levathan appeared at his flank and he began to hear the sound of running water.

"Get them before they get to the river!" Levathan ordered as blaster fire zipped past him, members of Zurhidon aiming for the robed figures disappearing into the brush.

Impressed by such speed employed from what he considered to just be religious hermits, Giovanni still grinned at the fact that the Dark Jedi would still be able to outrun them. He moved toward Syrna and Dox, the latter shooting off sharp bolts as his large Dashade bulk trampled the ground before him. Eventually, one disciple went down, then another, before Syrna caught up with the third attacker with her rifle cocked.

"Eat fire, you system-hijacking bastard!" she shouted, firing just as a strand of the Force rushed out from behind her and pulled the escaping disciple back. The energy bolt subsequently burrowed deep into his back, triggering his scream as he pitched forward flat on his face.

Giovanni turned to see that Black Phoenix had very easily caught up with the Zurhidon. The Force knew no bounds, he presumed, as a hooded Saitou Tarentae stepped forward as the obvious aid to Syrna's successful shot. He stooped down to inspect the wounded disciple, while other members of Black Phoenix moved to check on the other two corpses.

"I think we've caught ourselves some scouts," Saitou said coolly to Severon, who had stepped beside him. "Probably seeking out where the rest of our army went."

"Well, good thing we stopped them before they got too close," Severon said. "So what do you think? Prisoner?"

"Not likely. We don't want extra baggage when we've still got another kilometer or so to go to get to the base." Saitou said all this with a smile, his saber lighting up in his hand as the rest of the Tarenti listened intently to the Church member's final scream.

Darkness was being forced off the surface of Yridia IV, with the bright star Yridae finally peeping above the horizon and casting its first rays onto the blue and green world and onto the corvette Creed. The dirty and blaster scorched ship was soon going to have more scars to add.

“I don’t believe this” whispered Elric “why don’t we just go in there and lop off some heads?” he said, pointing to the small contingent of guards surrounding the vessel. He handed the binoculars down to Dralin. The pair stared at the ship in the clearing. They had estimated it was 150 meters to the ship from their perch in the boughs of a tree. Then it was another 200 to the planetary communications station.

“I don’t care how good you think you are Elric,” Dralin snapped back “they have incredible morale. And while discipline is obviously lacking, all it takes is one bolt to drop you.”

Elric sighed and began to sense out all the fanatics around the starship, trying to get a count. He snapped from his concentration as he heard Sato’s voice clear in his head. He knew that he was all the way across the field, but Elric had never gotten over how weird it was to have someone in his head. And from the increased look of concentration on the red headed Priest’s face, it looked like Sato was in his head too.

“Our soldiers will start the ambush. As soon as they open fire, we have to move in and secure the vessel. Elric and Dralin, you two have the most ground to cover, so move fast. Hopefully, we will get inside the ship before the crew knows what’s going on.”

Elric breathed in deeply in anticipation. His natural hand shook from the adrenaline now pulsing in his veins. A trio of red blaster blots shot out from the tree line towards the impromptu defenses around the ship. By the time the first bolt struck, all four Jedi were already on the ground, speeding towards their target.

Wind was whipping Elric’s face as he drew the Force into his leg muscles, speeding him faster and faster to cover the ground between him and his first victim. Elric grinned maniacally with the distinctive pop-and-hiss of his saber. Swatting away two blaster bolts, he jumped into the air, dodging a third shot. Elric cleared the barricade and looked down at the surprised guards. He laughed to himself as landed on his first kill of the day, saber blade jammed in his face. Dralin had come up behind Elric, slicing off a dozen arms, legs and heads in a flurry of strikes, always moving forward.

The fight was brutally quick, and the scent of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air. The Dark Jedi quickly scanned the carnage to make sure no one was living. Satisfied with their destruction, Frosty and Dralin boarded; Sato and Elric were just about to enter the corvette when Sato stopped and held a hand in front of the Knight.

“You are staying here.”

“What did you say?” replied Elric in disbelief

“You are staying here with the soldiers. Take that comm tower and call us up when you secure the building.”

“Are you serious?” Elric couldn’t believe this twist of fate. “I’m a member of this just like Dralin or Frosty.”

Sato quickly put his saber hilt against the Knights stomach. “I told you to follow my orders. And now my orders are for you to take that comm station and call us in. That will be all Knight.

“But…”

Sato glared Elric in the eye as he slipped the saber back into his belt.

“That will be all.”

Sato disappeared inside as Elric slammed his metal fist into the side of the corvette. He turned to see the four soldiers awaiting directions. He walked past them, towards the station, aloof to any sort of responsibility he had for their lives.

The man's muscles tightened, his mouth itself seemingly afraid to tell the man what he didn't want to hear. He watched his brother's eyebrow rise slightly, the black of his eyes unchanging as ever.

Shikyo swallowed the notion and spoke plainly. His eyes watched the Lord for any sign of a change in expression, any bellwether of impending doom. He knew better, but somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he still sometimes felt like a child stuck in a Krayt's den when he was around him.

He finished his report and stood there, motionless as he waited for a response. Muz barely moved, standing in front of the Iron Throne. Generations of pregnant moments passed, each giving birth to another before he moved, casting a disparaging gaze at the hunk of blackened iron.

Swiveling his head back to the Herald, he let one word fall from his mouth.

"Three."

Shikyo wondered if it was disbelief or a question, so he just repeated it. Only three working lightsabers had been built by aspiring knights over the past two cycles. Gone were the days of plenty, the wealth of new recruits brought to Lyspair from the Core. The stream of recruits dried up when Coruscant fell. The damage that the Vong did to the Brotherhood was not limited to what happened in the space above Antei.

The chirping of electronics sounded behind Shikyo's back, the hologram projectors scuttling to life and walking towards them. Muz acknowledged them, a nod of his head and a flick of his mind activating the transmission. The coils warmed up, the blue glow of the Tarentum logo spilling out above the device.

Shikyo stepped aside, leaning against the wall next to the heavy wooden doors, waiting. The logo faded, and the one eyed consul bowed her head slightly, never lowering her eyes. She knew he hated that.

"Lord Ashen." The voice was scrambled slightly over the light-years between them. Muz nodded, waiting for her to get on with it. "I am loathe to contact you in these circumstances, given my Clan's... reputation. But I am afraid that there is little other option."

"If only that were the first time I have heard that today, Consul." Muz crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What does Tarentum need?"

Ronovi paused for a moment, choosing her words. "We require support. We are low on materiel, and we can not even transport our forces to the front."

Muz took a mental inventory of the fleet, calculating hyperspace tangents quickly. It was eight hours to Yridia from the shroud. "There was a small delivery of transports that arrived this morning, and was headed for Arconan space. We can allocate several of those to Tarentum."

Ronovi bit her lip to keep a comment within her mouth for a moment. "I'm afraid the situation is a bit more dire than that."

Muz uncrossed his arms. "How dire?"

"What can you spare?"

Muz smiled.

---------

Klaxons sounded aboard the Nightfall as the Fleet formed up outside the shroud, warning the crew that the jump to hyperspace was eminent. The course was already plotted, details down to ridiculous minutiae planned out with contingency plans numbering well past what she could recall. Both task force 61 and 62 were to make the eight hour jump to Yridia, and move in slowly, awaiting further comm from their contact there. This was almost overkill, and that made her nervous as to what two fleets of the Dark Council would possibly be needed for.

"Admiral Beeliz, communication from a Commodore Blackwind on the secure channel." The communications officer stood, awaiting a response.

Ganrea swore. Blackwind. That meant the Fallen Spear. The Dark Lord would be flying with them after all. This one barely ever set foot on the Nightfall, preferring to stay on his own tiny little ship. It was a slap in her face, a slap in the face of every kid that polished the floors on the Flagship. It was good enough for Sarin, and it should have been good enough for him. She snarled inwardly, trying to wash the emotion away, letting it fade before he saw it on her face.

"I'll take it in my office." She turned toward the hallway. "Prepare to jump on my order."

Severon held a quick conference with Zurhidon and Black Phoenix after Saitou dispatched the enemy scout. He pulled a holopad out from within his cloak and activated it. "Alright," he said briskly. "We are right on schedule having reached the river at the time we were supposed to. To reiterate the rest of the plan, in case some of you forgot, we head up the river and then enter Messina to hook up with the army. We'll update objectives there. Understood?" The acknowledgements came quickly. "Very well then, let's head out! Levathan, you and Zurhidon take lead. Black Phoenix on support. Move out!"

Levathan immediately took the reins again and bawled orders to Zurhidon, which moved out quickly. Giovanni smirked at Syrna and commented, "Sometimes I wonder who's in charge here, Severon or Levathan."

Syrna just faced ahead as she replied, "I don't care who is, I trust both."

***

The teams had quick marched for some 200 meters by the time they stopped. The terrain had become increasingly mountainous and rugged. Severon and Levathan broke from the group and had a quick meeting. "According to the plans, the path to the Army should be just up ahead on the right. It'll be revealed by a rock that looks similar to a statue of Magnus Kaerner." Severon commented.

"Right," Levathan agreed. "And from there we meet with one of the colonels in charge for briefing."

"Yep. Alright, let's get them moving again."

The two rejoined their respective teams and once again the party moved out.

***

After finding the hidden path, it took the teams only fifteen minutes to reach their destination. Levathan fell back to join Severon as they came up on one of Messina's settlements. "We made it."

"Aye. We better find one of the colonels. We're falling behind schedule."

"Oh come on Sev, we're making it fine."

"So you say. Still, the earlier we are, the better we'll be, or so my experience has always taught me."

Leaving the teams to check out their supplies, Severon and Levathan approached a couple of YSC noncoms who were on watch duty. "Excuse me," Severon said to one, a sergeant. "We're looking for the people in charge. We were told there were two colonels in charge here."

"Aye sir. Follow me. Our colonel is making plans in the big house over yonder." The sergeant growled.

As the sergeant led them through the ranks, Severon shook his head in wonder. "There are so few here..."

The sergeant turned to Severon looking grim. "Our numbers have taken a severe blow, but the colonel will tell you more."

"What the hell happened?" Levathan asked.

"I can't explain it well, but it was pretty bad," the sergeant replied. "As I said, the colonel will know more."

"Then lead on good man and we'll stay quiet," Severon said quietly. "I don't want to keep the colonel waiting."

***

The sergeant led the two Dark Jedi into the parlor of the house. "If you'll wait here sirs, I'll send for the colonel."

"Very well." Levathan replied.

The sergeant disappeared farther into the house. Severon's eyes widened at the appearance of the colonel and his face broke into a smile. "Octavian Moorhand, it's been quite a while!" he exclaimed.

The old colonel's face broke into a wide smile. "Severon Vercingetorix, never thought I'd see you again. You look well."

"You as well, old friend but we cannot chat. This is Jedi Hunter Levathan, the commander of Zurhidon." The two shook hands. "I presume you have some information for us, Colonel Moorhand?" Severon asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Colonel Strathem was here earlier and he had spoken with Baron Kahn. Apparantly, the Preceptor and the Yuuzhan Vong are in this large government building here." Octavian produced a holomap from his pocket, and a three deminsional image of the area appeared and revolved between the men. Little red points marked the location of enemy troops. "The place is surrounded with soldiers along with these labor camps. Our task, as I'm sure you have been informed, is to take control of this entire area.

'What worries me commanders, is the number of our forces to theirs. I don't have many men and we have been ravaged heavily. I have currently 150 with me and Colonel Strathem has 130. Along with your battleteams, that leaves us at a huge disadvantage.'

'I have come up with a plan to counteract this disability, but it still may cost us heavily." Moorhand flicked some switches on the pad and green points appeared, marking the Tarentum forces. "We need to attack the building from the rear and seize it and the camps. A rear attack will keep us away from the main force until we have control of most of the camps and the building. We can defend them better then attacking the bulk of the church forces dead on." Another flick of switches and the plan played out on the map.

"I open the plan up to your changes sirs," Moorhand ended, powering off the map.

The two Dark Jedi sat quiet, then Levathan spoke softly. "I think the only plan we have is the one the colonel thought up."

"I agree." Severon muttered. "Very well colonel, we will proceed with your plan. We will attack at dusk, to allow for a more stealthy approach. The only thing I suggest is letting our battleteams start the attack, so that we don't commit all of our forces too early."

"Agreed." Moorhand said softly.

The Dark Jedi left quickly to carry the orders to their teams, and Octavian turned to his subordinates. "You all know the plan, let's get the troops mobilized."

"Sir yes sir!"

“Sir, we have a problem” an arm raised to the left of Aiden's gaze.
“What is it, Officer?” The Commander moved closer to the Officer's console.
“We have two targets, inbound. Looks like they're heading to Yridia IX. The signal is weak, but I can just make it out.”

While meditating. Bloodfyre sensed the conversation on the bridge. He opened his eyes, leapt from the floor and hastily made his way to the bridge.

The blast doors opened as The Dark Jedi Master whooshed through.

“Bloodfyre, sir, we've -”
“I know, we need to intercept those targets.” Bloodfyre ordered.
“But what if they're one of ours?”
“They won't be.”
“Yes sir.” Replied Aiden. Falaut moved back to his seat, not before issuing his order.
“Officer Lehman, let's go.”
“Aye sir.”

Archean entered the bridge and stood beside Bloodfyre.

“Felt that too, eh?” Bloodfyre nodded
“Any idea on what we're dealing with?”
“Not sure, but they felt...large.”
“Alright, I'll make the call.” Archean turned to a console. He typed in a few codes as a little microphone popped out of it.

“All pilots make your way to the hanger, I repeat, all pilots make your way to the hanger. That is all.”


*******

“Alright, listen up! We've got two targets that are en route to Yridia IX. As soon as we arrive I will deploy one squadron at a time. We will make sure that they do not make it to their intended destination. This is the priority. Hit them hard, hit them fast. Understood? Once you're ready, report to your Squadron leaders. Dismissed!

The waves of people moved their own ways as they began to get ready for the upcoming battle. The mechanics were fine tuning the fighters, the last adjustments were being made.

“Elols, Xayun. You know what to do.” They both nodded as they hastily went to their fighters.

The Erinos' comlink beeped.
“Archean, everything ready?” Bloodfyre asked.
“Yes sir, just waiting for your signal.”
“Excellent. Stand by.”


*******

Archean was back up on the bridge as he was looking over his fighter contingent. He pressed down on a button that linked him with Xayun.

“Your squadron ready?”
“Yup, just give us the go ahead.
“Good, stand by”

Another press of a button and he was in link with Elols.

“Elols are we ready?”
“Almost sir, just waiting on one more pilot then we'll be good to go.”
“Alright, wait for my signal.”

The links turned off as Archean turned to Bloodfyre.

“We're ready, Sith.” Bloodfyre nodded as he turned back to his console.
“Excellent. We've got two Corvettes, in close proximity to each other. Looks like the Kaerner is going to get some game time.” Archean smirked at the thought of this machine inflicting massive amounts of damage to the enemy.

“How long til we intercept?” Bloodfyre barked
“T minus 5 minutes, sir.”
“Good.” Bloodfyre moved towards Archean. “Let's begin”

Archean's smile grew bigger, he loved the lead up to a battle, the anxiousness, it fed him. Even more, he loved being in battle. The atmosphere, fighting side by side, he found it exhilirating.

“Alright! Interceptor Squadron A! Elols, move out!”
“Yes sir!” Elols crackling voice was heard over the comlink.

The first squadron deployed, a few moments later, they were in perfect formation.

“Interceptor Squadron B! Move out!”
“Aye sir!

The next squadron exited the hanger.

“Master Bloodfyre, the Kaerner is now in range.” Officer Lehman announced.
“Assume combat positions. Ion Cannons ready. On my mark, start firing.”
“Yes sir.” The Officers scrambled around, keying into computer consoles
“3, 2, 1, Fire!” Bloodfyre barked. “Lets try and disable those Corvettes so our fighters can get in nice and close.”
“Turbo lasers ready! And, fire!”

"Can I have a sit rep, i need to know how we're doing out there! Archean moved off his seat. He headed towards the massive window, watching the battle go on.

Yridia II, Koa Island, Western peninsula of Thinos Bay, Arcona Estate

“Shab, why didn’t you tell me about this place earlier, let me guess, you wanted to keep it all to your own?”

“Cut the osik, vod’ika, you know we didn’t have the time for a proper holiday before.”

Celahir shrugged as he continued watching the boy in the water. Teroch was playing in the ocean.

“Buir! Buir! Look, I caught a fish!”

“Good job son, shall we have with dinner later tonight?”

Sashar was a proud father. It was rather confusing at times, to see this rock of a man turn into such a great parent. By no means was the Mando a softy, but he seemed to have somewhat of an unexpected niceness to him at times.

“Celahir? Celahir? Are you there?”

Celahir still had to get used to his new cybernetics. He seemed to forget he had them at times. With a click of his jaw he enabled the comlink implemented there.

“Driftan, I thought I told you not to contact me, I’m trying to have a holiday here.”

“I know sir, I’m sorry..” Driftan didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

“Drop the 'sir', damnit, you know I hate it. Now tell me, what’s wrong? This better be good.”

“We received a request for backup from Tarentum, it seemed rather important.”

“All right, all right, thanks Driftan, I’ll contact Ronovi.”

Cel closed the connection before Driftan even had the chance to respond. Here he was, on his first holiday in years, and his shabla Quaestor couldn’t even follow a simple order. This all but amused the newly appointed Consul.

“Ori’vod, excuse me for a minute. Apparently Tarentum got into some kind of trouble again.”

“What’s wrong, vod’ika?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go and contact Ronovi now, but I’d say get yourself and Teroch ready. It seems our holiday is going to be cut short.”

Celahir had his way with changing moods quickly. As he walked inside he switched his comlink’s frequency to the Tarenti’s channel.

“Ronovi? I hear you requested for assistance?”

"Celahir, I’m glad you were able to contact me on such short notice. Let’s get onto business, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” Cel proclaimed rather sarcastically.

"Cool the sarcasm, Cel. Listen, in case you didn't notice on your vacation, we're kind of under attack at the moment. Some fanatic cult's going around snatching up planets, and the Antei fleets kind of aren't going to be here for a while."

"I see," Cel said, grinning. "So you need a couple of superheroes to save the day."

"Sure, whatever you want to call it. Look, if you have any men with you, I want you to bring them to Castle Tarentum immediately. Our High General, Sato Tarentae, has just hijacked a Corvette for us to use for our troops, since we sort of lost the majority of our navy and transports. I want you to go with him to Yridia IV."

Celahir sighed at the thought, once again, of his vacation being cut short.

“All right, then, I’ll see what I can assemble on short notice, I’ve got two guards with me, and my Quaestor and Aedile should still be around as well. We’ll be there as soon as possible. Oh, just one more thing…How many cultists are we talking about?”

“Hundreds...” Ronovi paused before continuing. “If not thousands.”

“That’s quite the group you’ve got against you. You’ll have to explain me what you’ve done to piss that many off some time."

“Not funny, Cel. Not funny.”

“Loosen up, we’ll give this story a happy ending. As I said, we’ll be with you as soon as we can.”

“I’ll be awaiting your arrival, thanks.”

As he ended the conversation, Cel once again switched frequencies, this time to that of the Galeres Quaestor.

“Cethgus, do you copy?”

“Yes, Celahir, I do, how can be of assistance?”

“I need you, Wuntila, Talos and your guards to meet up with me at the hangar on Thinos bay. I assume you’re still in the embassy?"

"Yep, we are," Ceth replied gruffly.

"Good. Who do you have with you?”

“ I’ve got Rychan, Dalk, and Sang with me. That being said, why exactly do you need me?”

“I’ll brief you once we’re on our way to Castle Tarentum, just get your arses to The Obsidian Envoy already.” Cel once again closed the link without ending the conversation.

As Celahir was dressing for battle, Sashar and his son walked into the room with their usual air of confidence, the armour of the two glistening in the synthetic light of the empty armoury.

“Voden and Kano are waiting outside, both fully prepared,” the Arconae announced.

“Thanks, seems we’re going to save some Tarenti on our little holiday. Nice to see you’ve got Teroch a proper outfit as well.”

“How could I not?” Sashar grinned.

“All right bro, we’d better get going.” Celahir said as he left the room, remotely connecting to the Starwind Yacht setting its destination to Tarentum Castle. Oh, how he loved his new cybernetic interface.

Yridia II, Sea of Darkness, Koa, Arconan Villa.

Sanguinius stared at the Zabrak, a look of curiosity upon his bright face. He had been stopped in mid-conversation by the chirping of the Quaestor’s com-link. The conversation wasn’t too important, but it was the first time in a while that he had been able to converse with his former Master without the incessant distractions of the Exarch’s office interrupting them, Of course, that had all changed with the communication from Celahir.

They had been occupying several rooms within the villa on Yridia. Taking a moment out of a busy schedule, the pair had been catching up on things and had discovered a balcony that seemed typical of Yridian architecture. They had been leaning against the edge, surveying the view. It was the Anaxsi’s first time in the system, it had been an experience, yet it seems that the wicked didn’t get rest. “He wants us all to meet up at the hanger bay?” Sang asked, almost rhetorically.

Cethgus grunted in reply. “That’s what he said kiddo.”

That remark raised an eyebrow from the Templar, “Am I the only one expecting trouble? Also, knock off the kiddo remarks old man. One, I’m an Equite now and two, I’m in my twenties you senile old fart,” the two Dark Jedi erupted into guffaws of laughter.

“Ahh it does me good to laugh,” the Iridonian smiled. “Anyway, enough for now. We’ve got work to do. Go collar Rychan and Dalk from inside. Ry’s probably beaten Dalk to a pulp by now if we’re lucky.” Cethgus jested.

“Right-o boss,” the Anaxsi mock-saluted and turned to slip back inside the building. Behind him he could already hear the Quaestor making contact with Talos and Wuntila. He didn’t know what to make of the pair, but it seems that his former Master and Aedile had made the right decision in hiring the ex-Plagueian. It was good of them to stick together in his opinion. Ever since his self-imposed exile from the Ascendant Clan, many of the Templar’s old friends had slowly made their way across the universe to Dajorra. Well, it had benefited Arcona, that was for sure. Plus it hadn't hurt his prospects within the Clan's hierachy. The ex-Quaestor had left his post 6 months ago and he’d relished the free time he’d gained in such a move. Alas his old friend had requested his presence within Sukhur’s Legion and had effectively recruited him into the Battleteam. He had owed her a few favours, so he had decided to just go with it. Now it was strange to be in a place without Inarya and the others. They’d been on a few missions and with his experience, the Krath Priestess had asked him to become her Senior, teaching her about the difficulties of the Force and the Brotherhood.

A strange move indeed, the Templar mused to himself. Smelled of nepotism to him, but he had often benefited from that in the past. Well, that’s what others thought he smiled to himself. Sensing Rychan’s presence in the Force as a strong imprint, the Journeyman Dalk was a different matter. The Protector was still learning to master his abilities and it seemed that Rychan had taken it upon himself to tutor the newcomer, the old Master-student program didn’t exist in Arcona, not since Project Reboot that the old Proconsul, Braecen, had brought in. So it wasn’t an official pairing per se, but it sufficed.

Tracking them swiftly down in the Force, he located the pair in a small meditation cell, the older Equite educating Dalk on the myriad mysteries of the Dark Side, or whatever shade the newcomer wanted to learn. While Sanguinius had occasionally tapped into his inner most emotions, the anger, the jealousy, the fear, the hatred. That nugget of feelings that most people tried to keep hidden, he didn’t associate himself as a Sith. He thought of himself more of in the middle ground. A grey Jedi they were called, that was why he’d chosen to follow the path of Ferran. It wasn’t about controlling and possessing. It was about mastery of one’s self. The path of the Obelisk taught that, but not many of its disciples learned it. Sang on the other hand was pragmatic and eager to learn, and his former Master had taught him well. Though in the middle of a fight, the Anaxsi had sometimes given into what he considered personal weakness by losing control, he always sought to overcome his limitations. Only then could he ever become the ideal that he so highly championed.

Standing in the doorway, the Epis’ back turned to the Anaxsi, Sang eavesdropped on the two Arconans, the Templar decided that perhaps he’d better interrupt sooner than later. “As Master Iciban was saying Dalk, it’s better not to go charging off into combat like a crazed lunatic.” the Galerean quipped.

The Krath Equite retorted with a humorous tone, “Or like an Obelisk.”

The two Equites burst out laughing, “Ahh you’ve got to love stereotyping.” Sang chuckled.

Dalk simply looked between the two. “You’ve got a job for us to do?” the Protector asked.

“Looks like it, seems our vaunted Consul wants us all to report to the Obsidian Envoy. What for, I have no idea. I’m just the messenger in this.” the Legionnaire replied.

Rychan made brief eye contact with Sanguinius, his eyes asking the silent question of what just exactly what going on. All the Entar could do in reply was shrug and shake his head slightly.

“Alright, you heard the man Dalk, let’s get down there. You going to join us?” The Epis enquired of Sanguinius.

“Yeah, we’re all coming along. Spiky has already commed Talos and Wuntila. I think they were off strengthening the bonds of their acquaintance. You know how it gets with the junior summit members. Any excuse to blow off steam and run around in ladies underwear.”

The Protector looked at Sanguinius incredulously, “Surely not?!”

“Of course not, usually it’s ladies underwear and giant inflatable sheep.” The two Equites chuckled at that ribald jibe. “Come on Dalk, I don’t know what they do in their spare time.”

Darklighter seemed to understand, or in part at least. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to, in the immortal words of our ex-Consul Sashar, move your shebs.” The Obelisk backed out of the doorway and hurried back towards his old friend and master. At times like these, it was good to have information, however that was a luxury the Consul had not deigned to give them. Good thing that the old man had taught him to always be prepared for the worst. The lightsaber that Cethgus had gifted the Entar with when he had been promoted to Equite hung down from his belt and his ever present and faithful pair of Westar 34 blasters that he had adopted after his brother Entar’s influence and teachings. Timeros had taught Sanguinius a fair amount, and had given the youngster the view of a Krath, something that helped to temper the Obelisk in moments of stress. Certain techniques of calming oneself had been offered by the Epis and had been eagerly grasped by the Anaxsi back when he was a Knight.

He might not be ready to take on an army, but knowing Celahir’s mando heritage and his family, this was probably a bloody job. While he wasn’t adverse to a little extra credits, he was adverse to being shot at while the Erinos’ took all the bloody credit, pun not intended. It was typical of them, the Entar thought to himself. He looked in at the Mandalorian culture as an outsider, an aruetii. Because of that, despite the close friendship he had enjoyed with Celahir before the Prelate had ascended to the seat of Consul, he had never fully been comfortable around them.

His time in the Shadow Clan had taught the Templar a fair amount of Huttese and Mando’a, enough that he could have at least a semi decent conversation, but every time he tried to use that knowledge around certain members of the Clan, he was mocked and insulted. It was stupid to be hurt by such things, that he knew, but it still irked him. Sanguinius’ strides took him swiftly back towards where he had left his former Master, but reaching the location, he found it deserted.

Probably gone off to the Envoy already, Oh well.

The Templar kicked at flower pot on the balcony, smashing it with the tip of his booted foot and grabbed the cloak he had left on the edge of the balcony and slowly made his way to the small shuttle bay where several speeders were waiting to rush the swiftly assembling Arconans across Thinos Bay to where the Consul awaited them.

Yridia II - Taras

Archos Prokaryen had been a mechanic for twenty years, and his nimbleness had never left him. His fingers were long and bony enough to fit into the narrowest of crevasses, fiddling with wires and bolts with more dexterity than any other ship worker he knew. He had served the Galactic Empire before as hired labor, and TIE Avengers were all he knew for some time. Now, as he let his son watch from a distance, he worked feverishly on a YV-1300 freighter, the engine still warm in his sweaty hands.

"See, Deane?" he grunted, letting the metal workings roll in his palm. "You gotta pay attention to every gizmo and gadget in a ship. Sometimes the little things are what screw a pilot over, so it's best to keep it all up to date and functioning."

Deane gave a toothless grin in reply. The nine-year-old boy enjoyed watching his native Corellian father work, though the various art exhibits on Taras intrigued him more. If Eden City was a metropolitan enterprise, then Taras was the cultural paradise. Music, painting, poetry, politics - all contributed to the daily proceedings and the nightlife of the quaint capital of Yridia II. The politics, however, seemed like bickering to Deane for some time in his even earlier years, watching the politicians speak in hushed tones as they left the not-so-modest governmental building in the city center.

Archos pried a long piece of metal from the ship's mish-mash of steel and wires and emerged from the bottom of the hull black-faced and damp. But he rose out of that dark area proudly, beaming, as he examined the battered scrap of ship to see if it had contributed to the freighter's engine problems. He was interrupted in his investigation by the loud screeching of a vessel above his head, and Deane gasped and stared with bulging eyes as a starfighter fluttered smoothly onto the slick metal flooring of the spaceport bay.

It wasn't a TIE make, Archos discovered, furrowing his brow. In fact, the fighter looked almost irrelevant compared to the rest of the ships. It took him a while to identify it as a Z-95, but those things weren't the best starfighters to have. New and improved fighters had made the Headhunter practically obsolete, as it was not nearly as fast or durable as new production lines. However, this Headhunter seemed to be the most upgraded variant of the whole line-up, making it somewhat resilient, though it certainly didn't match the persona of the pilot stepping out of it.

Archos stared at the white-haired woman whose feet dipped gracefully onto the bay floor, not noticing the officers who secured the dock approaching her. The next moment, he saw red, while Deane screamed in terror as the lady stood over the decapitated bodies of the security officials. The mechanic tried to look away all too late, shrinking away from the piercing gaze of Yridia II's newest visitor.

The woman moved like a ghost, seemingly slowly and determinedly, but Archos believed she could not have moved quicker as the crimson tip of her sword grazed his throat. He choked on his own saliva as she spoke to him, her voice never lifting from a hushed, frosty whisper.

"Hello, good citizen," she said almost mockingly. "Care to help me with something?"

Deane whimpered as he clung to his father's leg, his eyes wet and averted to the floor. The woman cast a look down on the boy before smirking.

"I think you'd be interested in this little mission. You work with underwater vessels, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," Archos sputtered.

"Good, good," the woman hissed. "Take me to one of them. I have to reach a castle deep below the water, you see. You know, your Prince's castle."

"What do you want with the Prince?" demanded Archos, then immediately regretted his outburst.

The lady's blade moved in a blur, and Archos howled as his severed thumb landed with a soft, squishy thud onto the dock. Deane screamed again, then went white and quiet as the blade flashed toward his nose.

"Shut up, or I'll cut off your thumbs as well."

More and more, in the throes of pain as he clutched his bleeding hand, Archos wondered if he was in the middle of a terrible nightmare. One minute ago, he had been repairing a ship - now, he was threatened with the prospect of having his fingers sliced to the bone. And he knew he could not afford to replace them with clunky cybernetics. Even more, however, could he not afford the death of his only son. He fought the water backing up in his eyes like a dam and nodded viciously.

"All right. I'll get you a ship converted for water travel. Just please, don't hurt my boy."

"Good, then we have a deal, then," the woman said. "Take me to the nearest dock. I want to be at the castle in less than an hour."

Archos swallowed sharply, not wanting to look into the eyes of the woman brandishing the razor blade in front of his face. He had forgotten about engines for the time being, not wishing to listen to Lady Nilani's chuckle as she gave the trembling man a less than gentle shove and let him lead the way with a bloody hand and a shivering child.

“Margez, come in! Captain Margez, respond now! We are under fire above Yridia IX and demand you get here ASAP!”

The speaker squawked for its captain, but he wouldn’t be answering. He lay in burnt pieces of flesh about the bridge, along with a few extra hands and feet of non-compliant crewmen.

Sato pointed his scarlet blade at a young officer, probably the second in command “Now, I would suggest you help us get this ship off the planet. Unless you want to end up like some of your colleagues over there…”

Dralin shoved his open palm towards a technician. The sickening crack-pop of a spine seemed to linger in the air for a second. Dropping to the floor like a puppet who had his strings cut, the young man screamed in agony.

“My legs! I can’t feel my legs!”

Taking his cue, Frosty threw a nasty grin on his face as his lightsaber blade slid through a Rodian crewman’s shoulder, sending up a thin cloud of smoke that smelt horrific. The screams pierced ear drums and the Dashade began to push it totally through the Rodian, an old man stood up from his seat.

“Fine. We’ll start the engines and get you anywhere you want to go.”

“Good” began Sato “we are finally getting somewhere.”

The technician shouted at the grizzled haired old man “No dad! Don’t give into these freaks! Remember what the Preceptor told us!”

The old man continued on his walk, passing Dralin and Frosty’s mutilation playground, until he stood over the clumps of flesh that remained of the captain.

“I have no intention of watching more boys die today. They don’t care about us, son. It was the same with Vader. Give them what they want and they don’t kill us all.”

“But…”

The old man’s voice crew louder and stricter “I said no more. My boy, give me your ignition key.”

The officer slowly reached in his pocket and drew out a small cardkey. Sato watched as it passed from son to father. The old man reached into the shirt pocket of the dead captain and pulled out and identical card. He slowly placed them into two slots in the command console and turned them. Immediately the engines began to hum and a few lights came on.

Sato looked at the young officer who stood before him

“Now. We want you to do just another small favor for us.”

***********************************************************************

Elric dug his knife out of a Trandoshan’s eye socket while the three Tarenti soldiers tended to their wounded comrade.

“Well?” the Knight asked, annoyed that a soldier was slowing him down.

“He took a blaster shot straight to the chest. His breastplate took most of the hit, but he has some serious burns under this armor.”

Elric shook his head. At least he was in the command tower and could call in to Sato with a mission complete. He pulled out his comm-link.

“Sato, we have taken the comm tower. Resistance was light, only two armed guards. One of the Intel guys was wounded and we are awaiting orders.”

He hated that phrase. Hated even the thought leaving his lips. Why wait when you could act, he thought. Elric grinned slightly when he realized that was why he had to leave in the first place. A nice bounty of a 2500 credits on a person’s head would make anyone leave. He hated being ordered around and hated politics worse, but did them begrudgingly. His life depended on it now.

Suddenly, he heard the distinct sound of engines. What the hell was Sato doing?

“Sato, are you there?” Elric shouted into the device

“Yes. Just got off with Bloodfyre. Our flagship is engaging two of the corvettes right now above Yridia IX and hopefully none of those fanatics will make planetfall. My guess is that the last ‘vette is with the leader down here planetside.”

“So what now?”

“Get our boys in the yacht and head towards the old governor’s office. The coordinates will be in the yacht when you get there. Land around a good kilometer or two away from it. You will have to go on foot from there. Do some surveillance for the battleteams; they are going to need the most recent intel available.”

“What are you guys gonna do?” Elric asked

“Learn your place Knight. Do not question me or any superiors” Sato sneered “Also, do not engage anyone. And try not to die; you are becoming more useful by the minute.”

Elric flipped off the communicator. He wasn’t going to wait for the General to throw in another comment about obedience.

Turning to face the soldiers under him, Elric barked out

“Alright. Time to get the hell outta here.”

***********************************************************************

The Preceptor was a usually calm man, but what he was receiving was a little unnerving. His advanced detection teams hadn’t come back from their patrols in the forest. But worse still was the distress call from his occupied communications tower. These infidel Jedi were quickly becoming more than a passing nuisance. Luckily for him, one of his loyal followers had his communicator still on when the Jedi had entered and killed him. In that one Churchman's death, he may have saved his entire plan of liberation and conversion.

“So a Jedi is coming here.” He knew the possibilities were endless. Should he allow him to near the governor’s mansion and kill him personally? Or allow his Yuuzhan Vong gods to despose of this brash young fool? Or maybe an even better option…

The Preceptor calmed himself, planning on what to do with the approaching Jedi. He also repeated the notions that the Vong were gods, unbound by the sorcery of Jedi or these darker versions of them. Indeed, they certainly could not fall to such horrible, decadent, and materialistic monsters like these corrupt Jedi. He rose from his chair and went into the next room the Vong had set up for their own purposes.

One of his gods was just getting into the intricate rack they called the “Embrace of Pain”. The Preceptor never really cared for it; the pain was a little too extreme for him. But that’s why his gods were so perfect; pain was a way of life for them. They never shirked from danger or felt fear. They were examples towards how everyone should exist in the galaxy. The larger alien was re-donning his crab armor, and looked at the Preceptor.

“Gro-burik dro’ra” the tall Vong grunted in annoyance.

“We might have some Jedi on the planet.”

“Jee-dai?” the Vong inquired

“Yes” the Preceptor continued “and one is coming here. I was thinking maybe we could use him or maybe… persuade him to our point of view. Only if your lordship approves though.” the old man bowed lightly, allowing his disheveled beard to reach his waist.

The Vong snarled but seemed to give approval. He grabbed his amphistaff and left the room, followed quickly by the Preceptor.

Sanguinius sauntered through the small hanger bay which held several personal speeders for Arconan use. Standing by the largest one, was the Zabrak. His cloak slightly rippling in the wind that blew off the bay. Cethgus' eyes met the Templar's briefly, but in that brief moment, many unspoken words were passed. The two shared a bond, they had fought alongside each other for 2 years now, first as master and student, then as Quaestor and Aedile. But the tables had turned on the Anaxsi. Now it was master and student once again.

They trusted each other to keep an eye out for the other's safety, not to mention that their fighting styles complimented each other. Whereas Cethgus used the strong, but defensive Djem-So, the young Obelisk preferred to use the more civillised form of Makashi. It helped him to control his mind, focusing it inwards. To master the form was to master oneself. Of course, that's all that mattered to Sanguinius.

Sanguinius couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt and anguish at the fact that he would never be able to train an apprentice. Arcona's master-student program had been abolished during Sashar's rule. The Anaxsi held out little hope that that particular edict would be revoked. Then maybe one day, Sanguinius would become a master.

All of these thoughts seemed to have passed by in an instant, so the Galerean was surprised to be jostled by the arrival of the two Aediles, Wuntila and Talos. Sang was shaken out of his reveries and apologised to the pair, while muttering a couple of choice insults under his breath. He didn't know what irked him so much about the two men. Sure, they had proven themselves to be worthy additions to Arcona's summit. But it felt wrong that he was no longer one of them. He resented them probably, no, not probably. Definately. The Templar quickly decided.

Not their fault, but rather the fault of himself. His own failings and doubts intruding on his better judgement. Perhaps it was better if he steered clear of the two Aediles. Better for all of them.

Walking after them, dragging his feet sullenly, he saw the two Dark Jedi he had talked to earlier waiting near to the Quaestor. Sanguinius nodded to Rychan and winked at Dalk, trying to forget his problems, but failing.

"Right then lads," a rough voice spoke out, "This is do or die time. The boss wants us to rendevous with him, so get your arses in the the speeders and lets go." Cethgus bellowed needlessly. "Wuntila and Talos, You're with Rychan and Dalk in the bigger speeder, Sang and I will take the one on the left." They all nodded to show they understood. "Well come on then, we ain't got all day!"

The assembled Arconans swiftly clambered aboard, stowing what personal effects they had within the speeders and making sure they had all relavant equipment. Wuntila sat at the controls of the larger speeder, Talos beside him. The other two behind. While Sanguinius and Cethgus jumped into the speeder the Quaestor had chosen.

"You're driving kiddo," Cethgus chuckled.

"For the last flipping time, don't call me that." Sanguinius punched the Iridonian lightly on the arm in retaliation.

The engines roared to life and the two speeders hurtled out of the hanger towards Celahir and his companions.

Octavian hovered alongside his men as the battalions marched toward the government buildings. Colonel Strathem marched some way ahead, dishing out orders as if they were going out of style. Occasionally, Octavian could make out a Dark Jedi in the distance, possibly ordered to make sure the army was safe behind them. The uncanny way that these Dark Jedi vanished into the darkness unnerved Octavian, then again he did expect it as they were beings of darkness anyway.

Suddenly, a Dark Jedi appeared in front of Octavian, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Sir, Lord Vercingetorix bids you to stop your forces here. The building and camps are just beyond this grove, and we don't want you coming too early."

Octavian looked farther ahead, and realized the man was right. He could just make out the building in the distance, close enough to see, but far enough that the army was out of radar range, or so he hoped. He slowly nodded his head. "Of course, you may inform Lord Vercingetorix that we acknowledge his request and will comply."

A shiver ran up the old soldier's spine as the man vanished instantly. He now believed even more than he had in the Empire that Dark Jedi were unnatural.

***

Severon waited till the messenger returned and told him what he wanted to know before proceeding. For the operation to be a success, or at least start successfully, Phoenix and Zurhidon would have to work as they were always intended to work; Phoenix supporting Zurhidon while Zurhidon barrelled through.

Levathan appeared on Severon's right and the two held a quick conference. Severon pulled out a datapad and held it between them. "Alright, so we're here." A green line appeared on the screen to mark their position. "We want to get here, then have Octavian and his forces move in to occupy."

"That sounds right to me," Levathan agreed.

"Then lets get moving. We have a lot to do."

***

Levathan returned to Zurhidon formed them up around him. "Alright people, we have a tough job ahead of us. We are going to get to that building and clear a path for the army. Now don't feel scared, the bastards from Black Phoenix are supposed to have our backs, but in case they fail, or are just too weak to handle the situation, we stick to our training!" After hearing acknowledgements, Levathan spun on his heel and motioned the team forward into the darkness.

The government building was crawling with church members when the teams reached the perimeter. Severon couldn't believe just how many stood between them and the building. Octavian's layout had been undercalculated. Still, the plan they had was as good as any, and if enacted properly, would be quite effective. Severon opened a private com to his team, "Alright, this is it. Wait for Zurhidon to make the first move. Follow and support. Everyone rendevous inside the building." Acknowledgements sounded and Severon heard the rasp of new clips being loaded in rifles. The teams main weapon for the op was their rifle, as lightsabers would give away their position.

Severon's muscles tensed as he waited for Zurhidon to moved. He could hear one of the team members fidget every now and then. He knew Levathan was just waiting for the right moment, but he wondered what was taking so long. He checked his clip for the fifth time of the hour and saw it green, just as expected. When the move came, he at least would be ready.

After another ten minutes, Zurhidon moved.

For all the trouble that Tarentum had seen in his days with the clan and house, Anshar never once thought that Yridia IV would have become a battleground. Nor would he have ever thought that his own estate, not terribly far from the government complex, but far enough, would have become a staging ground for an attempted retaking of planetary control. Then again, life had its way of changing.

Still, Anshar was rather disappointed. He had worked rather hard to develop good relations with the natives. He let them prosper, taking only from them what Tarentum needed and nothing more. He had not taxed them for his own gain, and he ensured that he had shared in much of their sacrifice. Of course, Anshar’s own sacrifice and that of the natives was vastly different. Whereas they sacrificed their labor and money, Anshar had given his all to Tarentum and the Brotherhood, even to the point where he had essentially died. Though he had spent a great deal of time practicing and honing his skills, he still was not the same Master that he was before.

His spirit and body were still only loosely connected, and too much effort at one time could drain him. Large displays of power were a possibility, and he was still quite capable of dispatching almost any opponent beneath his level. Even as he sought through the Force to strengthen his spiritual bonds once more, Anshar was not reliant upon that to be ready for the next challenge. Since his retirement as Consul, Anshar and his trusted ally Dranik had trained frequently, developing a two person combat system. Together, the two proved to be quite formidable and the development and training of such a technique had helped Anshar in the process of strengthening his spiritual bond. But, a long road lay ahead, and one that possessed quite a detour.

“They’re on the move,” said Dranik, shaking Anshar from his thoughts. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” replied Anshar. “However, when this is all over, I’m thinking about leaving Messina behind.” Dranik only shrugged. “Well then, let’s go.” With that, the two Tarentae made their way to join their comrades in the struggle to come.

Wuntila was surprised, the announcement of Tarentum’s requirements struck him as odd; The Tarenti could usually hold their own against most adversaries. Fuelled by anxiety and anticipation, the Galerean Aedile ran down the cramped corridors with heavy footsteps, his counterpart, Talos D’Tana following a few steps behind and to the left. The imposing frame of the Templar loomed dauntingly over Talos; the toned, athletic physique of the Qel-Droman dwarfed by the throbbing density of muscle that clung to Wuntila’s body like soft durasteel. The two Aediles emerged from the hallway into the small speeder workshop. In the far left corner stood Cethgus and Sanguinius next to a Tantative IV Landspeeders and a Flash Speeder, both emblazoned with the Tarenti Clan Symbol. The run transcended into a brisk walk as Cethgus looked over Sang’s shoulder and noticed the two Aediles; behind the Quaestor of Galeres and his subordinate, Wuntila noticed Rychan and Dalk, the two Journeymen, approaching the meeting point. Wuntila wasn’t a very welcoming person. Brushing shoulders with Sanguinius, he pushed himself into the conversation with Talos closely following his lead and doing the same. Rychan and Dalk also appeared as Cethgus ordered everyone to their designated vehicles.

“… We aint got all day!” Cethgus concluded, his voice emanating a sure confidence. Wuntila turned to Sang, his eyes already burning with a cobalt fire. Their gaze met as Wuntila asserted his displeasure at Sang’s underhanded comment with a cold, emotionless stare.

“Alright men,” Wuntila asserted, “Hop into the skiff, we’re on our way to Koa Island. The Western Peninsula of Thinos Bay to be exact. Dalk, you’re on pilot duty. Hop into the chair. I’ll get in contact with Celahir.” Dalk simply nodded and, channelling the force through his heavily muscled thighs, he flipped effortlessly into the cockpit of the Taranti speeder immediately tapping coordinates into the control console. The overpowering authority of the Templar shook the very nerves of the Qel-Droman Aedile as he followed Wuntila onto the small transport barge and sat beside him. By the will of Dalk Darklighter, the repulsorlifts of the Tantative IV Landspeeder lifted the speeder from its stands in a brilliant stream of azure; rays of pure energy spraying up plumes of dust and grime from the floor of the hangar, the plumes following them as they sped off to catch Cethgus and Sanguinius in the speeder ahead. The Galerean Aedile lifted a comlink to his mouth, the electronic device dwarfed in the palm of his expansive hand.

“Celahir, we’re en route. Coordinates have been set for the Obsidian Envoy. E.T.A seven minutes.” Wuntila announced into the communication device, his voice muffled as the wind flooded into the microphone. The Arconan waited for a response from the Consul of Clan Arcona and surveyed his surroundings. The serene beauty of the lavish Arconan Estate, the warm golden sand and the serene, undisturbed waters that lapped the shore in a rhythmic pulse all radiated tranquillity. The Aedile could not help but think this was the calm before the storm, although the situation dripped in irony: a battle would cast a shadow over Yridia IV, while the fleet above Yridia IX had to contend with the corvettes that enveloped the airspace of the planet. Here the sun shone vibrantly and the stillness of the planet was unthreatened... as of yet.

Celahir clicked his jaw to engage the electronic comlink built into his skull. His voice oozed with displeasure as he answered yet another one of the seemingly endless streams of transmissions he was receiving.

“Wun, message received and noted. We’ll be at the hangar bay to meet you. Get here ASAP.” Celahir declared as he began to walk towards the opening of the hangar gate where the Obsidian Envoy waited. Moments later the Flash Speeder piloted by Sanguinius, closely tailed by the Tantative IV Speeder, shot into the Hangar bay and landed in a smooth but hurried procedure. Cethgus disembarked first and hastily jogged towards the two revered members of Arcona, two members of the legendary Erinos family, the heavyset Quaestor seemingly gliding over the perfectly polished floor. Wuntila and Talos ran swiftly behind him, followed by Dalk, Rychan and Sanguinius. Kano Verda and Voden Arjin flanked Celahir and Sashar, whilst Teroch stood in front of the Arconae staring on in confusion from the abrupt end to their excursion to the beach.

“Get onto the Envoy quickly; we need to be at Castle Tarentum within twenty minutes. Ronovi will brief us there.” Celahir announced as the two groups met, his voice composed but hurried. Before the Consul had finished his small briefing, he spun graciously on his heel and began hastily walking onto the ship; his imposing physique framed by the long flowing robe that followed his every move in an elegant flutter.

The Obsidian Envoy was an interesting Starwind-Class Pleasure Yacht. The inherent shape of this luxury vessel was abnormal. It was an oval flanked by two longer, thinner appendages that resembled the outriggers on a sea-bearing vessel; however, unlike most of the similar models, it was painted in a matt black veneer, adorned with white symbols of Arcona, the Erinos family and the Arconae. It was the bastion of Arconan politics, which was more than revealed when the Arconans ventured inside. Within the yacht, the veil of hues from the expensive equipment and modern machinery was blinding. It was evident that the latest, and most expensive, technology had been fitted for optimal effect. The eclectic mix of Dark Jedi, united under the Arconan flag clambered into the central chamber, which had been converted into a meeting room. Celahir averted the room and headed straight for the bridge, Sashar following closely behind.

“Set coordinates for Castle Tarentum, pilot.” Celahir ordered to the man in the cockpit. The long auburn hair of the pilot flowed like silk strands adorning the back of the chair in which he sat. The heavily muscled individual sat with a strong poise and an air of confidence; it was clear that this was a pilot who was revered by his peers. The imposing man wrenched his head to the left and then to the right and an audible crack resonated through the cockpit. Turning to meet the gaze of the Consul, the pilot was immediately recognisable by the scar that ran from his upper left forehead and diagonally down to his right jaw.

“Zandro,” Celahir said softly, “try and make it quick.” With a wink, he turned and walked back down the bridge and to the meeting room.

“Elek al'verde.” Zandro retorted with a wry smile as the Consul began to walk away.

“Tion gar copaani mirshmure'cye, ner'vod?” Celahir answered, somewhat seriously. Zandro simply let out a guttural chuckle before setting his attention on preparing the ship for launch. The brothers radiated love and affection yet, as was the Mandolorian way, it was through the medium of insults.

The ship jolted and jerked as Zandro’s piloting skills were exhibited; within minutes they had spun up into the lower atmosphere and they were now on the descent down to Tarentum castle. The yacht dropped out of orbit and headed for the rugged ocean that cleverly disguised the location of the immensity that was Castle Tarentum. The Obsidian Envoy plunged into the deep azure in a cloud of spray and foam, behind it left a wake of bubbles and scolded water.

As the vessel entered the hangar bay of Castle Tarentum, Ronovi stood waiting with a false smile. Her discomfort shone through the vacant expression as she reached out to shake the hand of Celahir.

“How nice of you to join us.” Ronovi said with a penetrating wink as the Arconans stood before her in a wall of throbbing muscle.

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” Celahir announced sarcastically, “Shall we begin the briefing?”

"Faster, half-wit," Nilani hissed.

Archos stumbled toward the dock on Taras' bay. The water reflected the light of the arriving afternoon almost mockingly, blinding him as he already winced in pain. He had resorted to wrapping up the stump of his thumb in his own shirt, and while the bleeding had slowed considerably, a brutal red patch stained the old fabric. He watched Deane scurry to his side, seizing the only good hand he had left.

"There," Archos said, pointing at the plethora of docked vessels. "Any one of those ships can take you to Castle Tarentum. But you need to have authorization to enter."

"Thank you, my good man," Nilani said. "I'll take care of that little issue myself."

Waiting for the final blow, Archos was surprised to simply see the woman step to the edge of the dock, choosing a ship and opening it without any difficulty. The mechanic couldn't tell just what kind of being she was - if she was supernatural, or one of those Force users, or simply not human. However, he kept his mouth shut, just as Nilani returned her gaze back to the man and boy.

"Consider yourself lucky, mechanic. I don't usually leave my servants alive."

In the next moment, the vessel had disappeared into the waves, and Archos averted his red eyes to Deane, who had quietly begun to cry. The man reached out with both hands and took the boy in his arms, cradling him gently and forgetting the pain from his severed digit, as the Taras sun struck his shoulders and taunted him from above.

***

"The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get you to meet up with the rest of our forces," Ronovi said, looking at the many older and newer members of Arcona who had decided to help. Sashar, a man who had once worked with her as an ally Consul, helping her found the Estle-Eden axis between the two clans; Celahir, his trustworthy Proconsul, and a friend; Cethgus, a Dark Jedi who had been to many places in his Brotherhood career; Sanguinius, another Arconan considered a friend and a jokester by the Tarentae. Many of the Arconans, however, Ronovi was not familiar with, though she had seen them before and witnessed their progress even from a distance.

Knowing that a march to her office was unnecessary and time-consuming, Ronovi reached into her coat and retrieved a bulky datapad. She pressed a few buttons as the entire scope of Yridia IV appeared before everyone's eyes, its various geographic locations and architecture conveyed in vague blue outlines for all to see.

"So here's the deal. This center government building has been seized by the Church of Infinite Perception. To the west is Messina, where our remaining YSC forces retreated to. I have just received a transmission from Colonel Moorhand, saying that they have begun movement to the east. To the south of the governmental building are the labor camps we set up - those too have been seized. Those are your targets, in that solitary circle. I want you to attack from the opposite direction as our battle teams and the remaining YSC forces, so that we can create a pincer-like formation around the vicinity. Once we take the core out, any Church members who have attempted to spread across the planet can be easily scattered and killed."

"Sorry to butt in, Consul," Cethgus said, "but I have a question: Why go through all these measures to take back one planet? Why not just bomb the crap out of it so the Church can't get anywhere else? Destroy everything on sight, and there goes your coup."

Ronovi smiled - she had gotten this spiel before, and she was prepared to respond. "Trust me, Cethgus, if it were any other system than my own dominion, I would use orbital bombardment to blast the planet to kingdom come. But unlike some people believe, I'm not Oberst. There just so happen to be servants of Khyron on Yridia IV, and a decent chunk of our armed forces. And while sacrifices can be made, I'd rather not reduce the primary source of agriculture and food production in our system to an arid wasteland."

Cethgus nodded, a sort of "Fair enough" gesture, though Ronovi could still sense a shred of doubt from him. She didn't blame him - yes, she was not quite acting like a military general, but that was because she had to act like a Prince - a Prince attempting to protect her fiefdom. Anything demonstrating less than that had more consequences than a lot of people, let alone Tarenti, ever imagined.

"Now," Ronovi said, looking at Sashar and Celahir, "I'd like you to lead your men to the YSC garrison on Yridia II, approximately six kilometers southeast of Phoenix Crest. There, you should be able to meet up with High General Sato, as well as his men and troops. You will board the Corvette with about five to six hundred soldiers, heading to Yridia IV. Now, go, before I get all grateful for your assistance."

Celahir grinned as the Consul of Tarentum finished her spiel, turning back to his yacht with the rest of the Arconans. In a few minutes, he'd be keying in the coordinates to the garrison and taking off, knowing full well that he would continually remind Ronovi of this valiant favor for years to come.

The warm humid air started to make Elric's skin sticky. The terrain surrounding the central government complex was harsh and unforgiving except for the roads. But he needed concealment and roads didn't offer that. So he was forced into the rugged hills and forests, making progress slow. The native birds cawed overhead, circling above the treetops.

Elric stopped for a break in the bottom of a gully, aching for water and rest. He sat down on a rock and wiped the sweat from his eyes. But as he was about to begin his trek, he heard something. Elric quickly ducked behind a tree. A hover skiff, maybe some hundred meters away, slowly halted on the roadside. He peeked around the tree to see a trio of armed guards, much better armed than the Church fanatics he had engaged before. These guys had better blaster rifles, and crab armor breastplates. But the worst was the tall Yuuzhan Vong that stepped of the skiff last. He was definitely a seasoned warrior. His body was covered with the black carapace armor distinctive of the accursed species. He also had some kind of bug-like creature attached to his back, the head peering over its master's shoulders, not to mention his giant claw that replaced his left arm. The three guards fanned out towards his position.

"Damn it." Elric said to himself as he watched the party slowly approached on his position, checking every tree and every boulder. He could kill one, maybe two before the Vong had time to react. He tried to devise a way to get out of the situation alive.

"Hey," one of the fanatics shouted to the others "what is that?"

Elric's eyes widened as the three quickly closed in. He had to hide, and if he was caught, then it didn't matter any more; he would go down swinging.

The Knight swiftly lifted his body up the branches and into the canopy of the tree and waited.

The first guard came around the tree with his barrel pointing towards the ground. The others surrounded the tree, looking at the base. Elric tried hard to contain his nervous, quick breaths. He looked over his shoulder to see the Vong was intently watching the tree branches. He knew his prey was in the trees.

"Oh come on, why can't get a break today?"

The three humans slowly moved away from the tree, and the Krath let out a small sigh of relief. But then a series of small thumps echoed off the gully's rock walls, then came the buzzing. Elric knew what that sound was and swiftly turned to dodge the four razor bugs that came zipping through the tree branches, missing Elric by centimeters. The Vong shouted in his horrible voice.

"Jee-dai!"

Elric had no choice. Diving out of the tree, he landed on one of the hunters, stabbing through his neck with the saber. Elric pulled his saber out of his first victim and turned to face his second, blocking a blaster bolt. As he readied to strike again, he felt a searing hot pain in his back and lost consciousness.

The Vong rushed forward to look at the Jedi he had captured. He hadn't expected a young, boyish face to confront him. The two surviving soldiers left their quarry on the damp earth and tried to aid their comrade but to no avail. They moved the dead body back to the skiff and came back to pick up the stunned Jedi. The Vong picked up the lightsaber, admiring a weapon, while blasphemous, that was beautiful in its own right. He loved fighting Jedi. They were the antitheses of the children on Yuuzhan, meant to fight endlessly with each other. The alien reached down with his grafted animal claw and picked up the Jedi with one hand. He headed back to the skiff as the two subordinates watched and were in awe of the power this creature had in just one massive and misshapen claw.

***********************************************************************************************************

Sato had been keeping an eye on Elric from the corvette bridge, so to speak. He sensed the Knight had been captured. That was part of the plan. But the most important part was tracking him. The High General wanted to know which way in the religious fanatics were using. This would be of importance during the ensuing battle.

"Good job," Sato thought to himself "you just managed to not only to find the enemies entrances and exits from the main complex; but those fools will probably keep that fool Elric with their leader, if not in a nearby room. They just gave away the entire setup." He laughed at his genius. Not just that, if the situation proved to be dire, he could obliterate the area with cannon, killing the Preceptor.

***********************************************************************************************************

Elric awoke in pain. Maybe that is what stirred his near comatose brain. Whatever the reason, the Krath was now in serious pain. It was like someone was pulling his flesh and stabbing it at the same time. He then realized what has going on; he was in the dreaded Embrace of Pain. He had heard of it, of course, through his recent travels in the galaxy, but had never been in one, much less see it. Tears started to trickle down his face, blinding his natural eye. The shocks going through his system alternating between dull, drawn out and sharp and stabbing pains. Elric heard a door open but he couldn't see anyone. Then the rack-like device began to spin slowly, turning the Krath right side up and facing the door. The entire room was pitch black, except for the sunlight streaming in from the open door. And of course the amber light coming from the living creatures in the Embrace itself.

Elric didn't even notice the old man in front of him until he spoke with a voice as harsh as sandpaper,

"Welcome to the Church of Infinite Perception, Jedi."

"You are the Preceptor, I assume?" Elric said, gritting his teeth in pain and anger.

The old man cackled with delight, "No my dear boy, but it brings good tidings to know that blasphemers such as you know and fear of him."

"Fear? That's not what I would call it. More like an intense desire to kill."

The elder didn't do well with mockery and disrespect. He tapped a nodule on the Embrace with his gnarled fingers and then the true hurt began. Electrical pulses, more powerful than the previous, were shooting through the young man's body, making him scream in agony.

The old man was quite satisfied with himself, chuckling at the hopelessness of the Jedi. He watched as the Jedi struggled against the serpentine restraints on his arms and legs and was shocked even worse. The foolish Jedi finally realized this and lay back in the rack, biting his lip in pain. Tapping the nodule again, the elder lowered the notch on the pain level.

"You see Jedi? You are no match even for our god's technology. You really should give up now and join us..."

"Burn in hell, old man."

ISD II Maguns Kaerner Hanger

Being the next squadron to launch as the Interceptor Squadron C, Balia Donos was anxious to go and get some revenge for his old ship he swore to protect. Trying to calm his mind for the impending battle Balia checked over his control systems for his TIE Avenger. With a final check over and happy that everything is set and ready to go Donos tuned in his squadron.

“Flight Leaders do your final checks and roger up to me that everything is ready to go.”

“Yes Sir.”

“This flight Leader two everything is good to go.”

“This flight Leader three everything is good to go.”

“This flight Leader four everything is good to go.”

“Roger that.”

“Ensign Donos to Commander Archean Interceptor Squadron C is ready to launch and bring victory to Clan Tarentum.”

“Roger that Interceptor Squadron C Launch.”

Pushing the throttle forward Balia Donos and his squadron launched out of the hanger of the ISD II Magnus Kaerner and started to go into formation for the pending battle. Feeling the hum of the engines Balia let the force took over all of his senses to guide him. Looking out of the port view of his TIE Avenger Balia could see Outer space spread out in front of him. There also in front of him besides the other two squadrons that already launched were the two corvettes of the church.Watching the ships fire at each other Balia and his squadron started start their attack.

The two teams were not so lucky in the second stage. All Severon heard was a yell and then shots rang out. Zurhidon, with Levathan shouting out orders, gathered in a tight formation. The church members fought hard, but Zurhidon's precise firing, with help from Black Phoenix's expert force users, eventually overran the enemy. At least, until reinforcements arrived.

Levathan, sensing that things were starting to turn ill, opened a com channel to Severon. "Sev, we need your men up here with us, we can't hold them off."

"Understood." Severon replied, and sent Black Phoenix into motion. Severon leapt into action immediately, opening up on the enemy with his rifle. The rest of Black Phoenix did the same, Saitou took a church member through the head, and Raimi ripped another one open with his lightsaber.

***

Octavian could see the blaster fire ahead, alone with the multicolored blades of the team's lightsabers. His palms were covered in sweat and he wondered if he would soon be receiving orders from one of the Dark Jedi. Glancing around at his men, he noticed distinct differences. The lower, more junior men gripped their rifles with white knuckles. The more battle ready veterans simply looked forward, some with clenched fists.

Colonel Strathem, shouldering his way through the mass of soldiers, stopped before Octavian. "Moorhand, I have news that may surprise you."

"Oh?" Octavian responded, his eyebrows arching.

"Baron Kahn is on approach, our rear guard saw him pass by. He appears to be headed this way."

"Really? Interesting." Octavian rubbed his chin as he mused. "How long ago did he pass?"

"Only ten minutes," Strathem responded.

"Very well, watch the men up here. I'll meet up with the Baron and receive any orders he may have for me. I'm certain that's the reason he came."

"Understood." Strathem moved off toward the head of the column. Octavian moved to the back, still pondering exactly why Baron Kahn would be following them all the way to battle.

***

Severon knew the tables had turned. Everywhere he looked there were church members, elders in crab armor and juniors in basic combat. Every time one fell, five more took their place. The teams were being stretched thin, and Severon's blaster clip was pretty much drained.

Suddenly, an elder appeared in front of Severon, brandishing a vibroblade. Severon couldn't fire, his blaster ammo had run out. Throwing the weapon aside, the Sith whipped his lightsaber from his belt and attacked the man. Severon fought hard, but the elder equalled him. The man's skill with a blade astounded Severon, as he found his weapon blocked at every strike.

Severon struggled against the man, but not only did he have the elder to deal with, but he also had to repel incoming blaster fire. The combination proved too much for the Warrior, and his lightsaber slipped allowing the elder to slice into his leg. The vibroblade swept through Severon's light armor, and sliced deep into his thigh. Grunting, Severon staggered, losing ground. The elder began to close in, a smile appearing on his face. But as he began to stab down, Levathan appeared out of nowhere, ramming his shoulder into the man's ribs. The elder grunted, and Levathan plunged his lightsaber into the assailants head, piercing it from ear to ear. He then pulled the blade, causing it to explode through the man's face. The corpse crumpled to the ground. Levathan reflected blaster bolts as Severon popped a strength stimulant into his system to combat the pain. "Thanks Lev," he muttered. "I owe you one."

"I just didn't want you to die here against a far inferior opponent," Levathan responded with a grin.

Elric's vision slowly returned, like swimming toward an opening in one of the many underwater tunnels on Yridia II. Very few made it through the Embrace of Pain with their sanity intact, much less their skin, and the thousands of poisonous barbs and toxic nettles made his skin swell and blister, burning him inside and out. With the constant nausea and burning pain, passing out was almost a blessing. Elric's display of defiance had cost him his will to resist the Yuuzhan Vong torture device as so few beings have been capable of doing.

Sato... Better get here soon, Elric thought to himself as his tenuous grasp on consciousness slipped through his fingers like water.

---

Helping to direct troops on-board the stolen Corellian ship, Colonel Dralin Fortea couldn't help but hate his job. While he was obligated to help Sato in moving what soldiers they could take from the garrison on Yridia II, he vastly preferred the freedom of operation that Intel provided. Gritting his teeth, the habitually quiet assassin drew upon the Force to make his voice heard over the commotion.

"If I don't see every one of you boarding that ship," Dralin's voice boomed, "I will personally see to it that your families understand that their own flesh and blood can't follow simple directions!"

While being threatened by a dark Jedi was often a good motivator, the Intel contingent situated behind Dralin, owning up to its shadowy reputation, served to punctuate the threat neatly, like a blood-splatter exclaimation point at the end of a razor command.

As the soldiers filed onto the corvette, Dralin spotted a small group of armed and armored people approaching, headed by a taller man in gray armor and another in black and gold, as well as what appeared to be a child in orange armor.

Approaching the group, Dralin assumed an appropriate military stance, nodding to the team before extending his hand.

"Consul Celahir Erinos. Allow me to introduce myself. Dralin Fortea, Quaestor of Reinthaler and head of YSC Intel."

The Consul looked Dralin up and down, from his offered hand to his furrowed brow, before exchanging glances with Sashar Arconae and the other Arconans. Dralin gritted his teeth at the sound of light snickering from the small team.

Celahir led the group past Dralin, who fell in step with them as they walked toward the stolen Corvette.

"No need to be so uptight, kyr'kal," the Consul replied with a chuckle. "We know who you are, Ronovi filled us in when she admitted that you Tarenti needed some vecuyan."

"Oh yes, I'm sure you fancy yourselves as a bunch of ori'ramikade for helping out," replied Dralin, gritting his teeth. The Arconans only laughed harder.

Dralin watched as the Arconans climbed aboard the ship, rolling his eyes as the Consul shook hands with Sato, who was directing things inside.

Of course they're giving me a hard time and not Sato.

One of the Arconans stepped back out, a Heragan military man by the look of him.

"Sorry about that back there, Colonel," he said, nodding to Dralin as he stood next to him, watching the last of the soldiers file into the ship. "My name is Talos d'Tana. Believe it or not, some of us respect someone who takes military matters seriously."

Nodding back, Dralin clasped his hands behind his back. "Thank you, Talos. I don't particularly find any of this to be a laughing matter, and I appreciate that someone who understands the gravity of the situation."

The two military men followed the last of the soldiers into the Corvette as the last preparations for takeoff crowded the landing pad with engineers and controllers.

Ronovi had waited for the Arconans' vessel to disappear before silently trudging back toward the turbolift that would bring her back to her office. It had taken quite a bit of willpower for her not to jump on the yacht with Celahir, Sashar, and the others, brandishing her lightsaber and ready to beat those maniacal Church-goers into submission. But she couldn't. As Consul, she had to maintain the Castle, the core that was still untouched by enemy hostility.

Stanson was most likely waiting for her up at her office, whether with more updates or with perhaps more overly eloquent advice. Ronovi knew she would have to appease the crowds of Yridia II somehow, while bolts continued to fly on Yridia IV and possibly Yridia IX. She knew what to do - she would send Rend down to Taras, where he would deliver a speech and a call to arms for those who still hadn't felt the breath of the Preceptor on the nape of their necks.

Her footsteps echoing in the nearly empty hangar bay, Ronovi paused when she heard the buzz of an engine emerging from the waters below. As the hatch of the bay opened to reveal a funnel of blue near black, the Epicanthix turned and faced the shuttle that almost very calmly lifted itself from the sea. The motor sputtered out and the smell of smoke and fuel mixed with salt choked the air, and the door of the vessel opened with a growl rather than a trademark hiss. Out stepped a figure all in white, cloak wound about her shoulders, silver hair disheveled about her blazing eyes.

Ronovi immediately knew who it was. She let her hands fall at her sides, where the hilt fit for a war sword and the blade of sacramental achievement lay hidden for the moment. Lady Nilani stepped onto the hangar floor smoothly, dipping herself in a mocking bow.

"Tavisaen," she whispered, her voice low and rattling like a snake coiled with its scales glistening. "We meet again. I apologize if I'm an unwelcome guest."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be," Ronovi muttered, letting the hilt of her saber unhook from her belt. She let the carved handle spin deftly up her arm and into her open hand, gripping it with the emitter facing the left.

Nilani laughed.

"Of course. Straight to the fighting with you, my dear," she said. "You've never been ladylike, Tavisaen, and you certainly don't know when to quit."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," Nilani said, stepping toward Ronovi as she removed her razor-like sword from her side, "that I could have killed you a year ago, back on Yridia IV. Before your ape Khyven decided to cross paths with me. Pity that didn't go so well for him, but now I can finish the job, uninterrupted."

Ronovi grinned. "Funny how you can say that to me so coolly when you and I both know our powers have changed."

Nilani blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I mean," Ronovi said, copying Nilani's words and overly silky tone, "that things are different now. I've grown much, much stronger than last time we met, Nilani. You, on the other hand, have had to cope with one arm, while I still have both. Face it, woman - we both know who has the disadvantage here. And it ain't me."

"I think I've had enough of this silly chitchat," Nilani said, and as she moved Ronovi let the bronze blade of her saber blaze forward in a rush of noble color and heat. "Are you going to bow down and yield to me, or are you not?"

"Here's your answer!" snarled Ronovi, as the Prelate charged toward Nilani and their blades rose in sweeping arcs to light the bay with fury.

With the embarcation of his forces moving ahead of schedule, Sato contemplated his next move. Through his mental attunement to Elric, the Sith was privy to the suffering being endured by the Knight. He also knew from experience that the young man was approaching the limit that even a seasoned Darksider could not long endure without breaking.

"He may be a fool, but even fools have their uses," the General quipped as his eyes opened, breaking the connection momentairly.

"Sir? I" Dralin queried, but was cut off from the dismissive gesture that General threw in his direction.

"Once all forces are aboard, and the Arconans have served their purpose scramble a communique to the Throneworld. Priority Obsidian. Inform YSC INTEL that I have decided to make a main thrust toward the capital after consolidating forces at this rallying point," the General pointed to a grid coordinate fifty kilometres beyond the western edge of the capital.


"Once you have completed that, arrange all transports to utilize an easterly approach, through this corridor. The General again pointed to an innoccous spot on the map. All material and men are to evac utilizing low speed drop, below sensor heights. Leave a third of the light infantry with the transports. All armour, heavy infantry and the remaining light forces are to await instructions, on battle alert."

"But sir, if we leave the transports so lightly defended, they'd be easy pickings."

The INTEL officer was rewarded with a rare crooked smile.

"Exactly Colonel, the enemy is naturally cautious and will expect a trap. However by leaving a sizable detachment with the transports, everything will appear to be on the level. I imagine they will heavily reconnoiter the situation before making their movement to contact. I also suspect that they are monitoring our long range comms with the Throneworld. With the majority of their forces will in the open they will be flanked from the eastern approach by our heavier units and defeated in detail."

Once Dralin moved to carry out his instructions, Sato turned to Frosty and motioned to his colleague.

"I am putting you in overall command of the flanking attack. Grind them into the dust."

"Me? Where will you be positioned?"

"Once we're on Yridia IV, I will recover one of our pawns. If I don't return in forty eight hours, assume that I am KIA." With that the Dathomiri General pulled a civillian's cowl over his head and departed from the conference chamber, disappearing into the corridor of the Corvette.

Onboard the CRV ' Creed'
Yridian Surface Command Garrison
Yridia II

“You’ll forgive me if I say that you look rather pathetic compared to the rest of your commando brethren?” asked Colonel Dralin Fortea as he sat down on a flo-form couch and began to disassemble one of the pistols he had been carrying.

Color rushed to Talos’ cheeks but he nodded. “Naturally sir, it’s because I’m not a Mandalorian. I prefer to travel lighter and be more inconspicuous than a walking armory”

Dralin chuckled as he took a cloth to the slide of the pistol and wiped it off.

“Speaking of which, sir, I was wondering if I could borrow some gear from the armory onboard. Something tells me that wearing just my service uniform is called underkill” the Aedile continued, gesturing to the black tunic and trouser combination he was wearing.

Dralin was quick to reply:

“Of course. I’m pretty sure Ronovi would take away my command if I refused any of our allies proper protection, especially House Summit members” the Krath joked and he slid the pistol back into its holster and led the way out of the lounge that they had been in and wove his way to the back of the Corvette.

~~

“My Lord” said Talos as he genuflected to the Consul, Celahir Erinos, who was cleaning his black and gold armor in the back of the main hold of the Corvette.

Celahir merely nodded and looked his Aedile over; Talos had apparently found his way to the armory:

He was now wearing dark gray flight fatigues over which he had fitted a lighter gray chestplate as well as elbow guards and knee/shin guards. A utility belt held the Lieutenant’s comlink, his lightsaber, a blaster pistol, and a set of ten throwing knives. Similar to how a Stormtrooper carried grenades, a thermal canister was clipped to the small of Talos’ back, holding two thermal detonators. A larger knife was also tucked into a sheath that was attached to the d’Tana’s right boot, something he had copied from Dralin.

“Well, we’re ready for war aren’t we?” the youngest Erinos said and he smiled appreciatively. Talos was no Mandalorian commando, nor even an Obelisk, but for a Sith, he knew how to kit himself out.

“Yes, my Lord. I’ve been speaking with Colonel Dralin Fortea and he –“

“Who?” interrupted Celahir, bending over and reattaching his now sparkling thigh armor to the magnetic flight suit he was wearing.

“Colonel Dralin Fortea, sir. The man who greeted us at the boarding ramp…”

Celahir’s blank expression and empty eyes showed that he still had no idea who Talos was talking about.

“He was the one who called us ori’ramikade…held out his hand, you laughed at him?” Talos provided and then the Kiffar knew who his subordinate was talking about.

“Ah yes, and what did the Colonel have to say?” asked the Prelate and even though his voice was laced with sarcasm, Talos could tell that his Consul was expecting a serious answer.

“He wanted me to tell you that the boarding procedure was 95% complete and we should be lifting off in roughly ten minutes”

Celahir nodded and thanked Talos for the update, before taking a cloth and viciously attacking his buy’ce. But when the Force told him that the Qel-Droman Aedile hadn’t moved on, the slicer looked up.

“Is there something else, Talos?”

Talos was silent for a long moment, as if he was trying to piece together an acceptable sentence (which was exactly what he was trying to do), before he decided to embrace a bit of Mandalorian culture and just said what he was thinking.

“My lord, with your permission, I would like to run with Yridian Intelligence on this mission.” the First Lieutenant stated frankly.

Celahir stopped wiping his helmet and set it down on a packing crate next to him, before slowly rising from the footlocker that had been his perch. The Obelisk Prelate took a couple steps towards the Dark Jedi Knight and his green eyes bored into Talos’ own gray.

“And why is that, Talos?” he questioned, placing his armored hands on his armored hips and continuing to stare the Qel-Droman Aedile down.

To his credit, Talos only took a small step backwards and still had the voice to reply. As he did so however, he let his hand drop to his side, where he could easily reach for one of his new knives. This was not missed but merely ignored by the Mandalorian slicer.

“Honestly lord, I think my talents and skills lie in that direction and I would be of greater aid to the overall mission there. I am not a tank like you and Sashar and Voden”

The Arconan Consul chewed on Talos’ words before replying:

“Very well. If this Colonel Fortea will have you, then you have my leave”

Lieutenant d’Tana thanked his liege and turned to leave, but the Erinos stopped him with a question.

“But first, tell me, and be honest,…has defection crossed your mind?”

Dark Jedi Knight Talos d’Tana, House Qel-Droma's Aedile, slowly turned back to face the Kiffar.

“No, sir. It has not” Talos said with such conviction that Celahir knew he was telling the truth. Waving his hand in dismissal, Celahir returned to his seat and reclaimed his helmet.

Onboard the CRV ' Creed'
Yridian Surface Command Garrison
Yridia II

The vibration rattling through the decks of the shuttle gave the Templar all the information he needed. Seems like the bloody pilots were ready to depart this place. "About time" he muttered to himself. Seated beside him were Dalk, Cethgus and Rychan. The two experienced Equites were calm, prepared and ready for anything. The excitement of the Protector could be felt even by a blunt. A blunt being Sang's nickname for a non-Force user.

"Looks like Talos is looking for orders already." Cethgus nodded towards the Qel Droman Aedile. All four of them turned their heads to gaze at Talos.

"Probably asking for permission to wipe his own arse." Sang laughed. You could tell the different cultures within the Clan. Half wore Mandalorian style armour, while the other half wore their basic robes. Cethgus' group were the latter.

"I dunno," Rychan muttered. "From what I can gather, he's asking to work closely with the Tarenti." a concerned look flashed momentarily on his features. The Pontifex had good hearing alright.

"So let him, we may be allies, but what's to stop them from turning on us when they want to eh?" Sang replied. "I mean we've got almost the entire Clan summit here. Only person we're missing is that old sourpuss Housan."

"You don't think that Sithspawn would try something?" Cethgus chuckled. "He's too smart to try."

A glare met the Exarch's smile. "If you say so old man," the Anaxsi conceded. "Doesn't mean I don't trust them." The jokester spat on the metal floor.

The two Arconans continued to bicker and insult each other. Rychan looked at Dalk, shrugged and then leaned back into his seat, closing his eyes. The veteran knew that he should grab any chance he could at sleep. Who knew when they would next be able to get some. Dalk didn't take the Pontifex's cue. He continued to listen to the Galereans.

"Tavisaen put you down mighty quickly back there boss," Sanguinius mocked.

"Someone had to ask the hard questions," the Iridonian replied.

"Shame they left you the stupid questions then eh?"

A raised eyebrow and a frown were all that answered the Anaxsi. While Sang had some leeway with his former master, he often overstepped it. A contrite apology was uttered, placating the Exarch. The Entar looked away, towards where Celahir and Sashar were sat. He muttered under his breath as he saw the two Erinos'.

"All that armour....think they're compensating for something?" he pointed towards the two.

"The only thing we're compensating for is you." An amused voice answered Sanguinius.

The Anaxsi balked as he realised Celahir had heard him. "Only wondering bossman." Sang explained. "You know how it is, we don't got nothing to do. No armour to polish you know?"

"You ain't earned it areutise." Sashar muttered.

Sanguinius rolled his eyes in despair. "Bloody mandos, always gotta be with the areutise

"You gotta feel for them, they've got to put up with your stupid antics." Cethgus guffawed.

"Yeah, yeah," the Entar muttered, "Shove it up your shebs."

Severon, Levathan, and the remaining members of their respected battleteams were officially screwed. They had made it to the building, but the church members were everywhere inside and outside. Even with their comrades falling, the fanatics continued to swarm in, their Elders bawling orders.

Most of the teams were now using their lightsabers, their blaster packs having been used up. The multicolored blades flashed as they deflected bolt after bolt. Some of the more experienced members threw their opponents around with the Force, causing mayhem in the enemy. Yet the teams had pretty much dwindled down to just the Dark Jedi members, all of the non-Force users having been overrun by church members.

Severon's emerald blade flashed alongside Levathan's blue. The two leaders were at the forefront of their teams, and leading by example. Bodies of the enemy stacked up at their feet, and still they pressed the fighting. Unfortunately, they were on complete defense, not getting the chance to switch to offense.

Severon fumbled in his cloak for his comlink. It was time to call in the backup.

***

Octavian stood at attention as Baron Anshar Kahn Tarentae approached. Dranik, slightly behind the Baron, noted Octavian's rigid appearance and smirked. Anshar, looking deadly serious, stopped before the Colonel. "At ease Moorhand," he said softly.

"My lord Baron, might I inquire the reason for your presence here?" Octavian asked, his voice thick with military accent.

"I offer my services to the Clan I have served faithfully," Anshar responded. "And it appears that you can take all the help you can get."

At that moment, Octavian's comlink beeped. Bowing to the Baron, Octavian stepped to the side. "Moorhand," he reported.

"Octavian, this is Severon. Get your men to the building, we've hit the fan and need some support."

"Underst..." Octavian started, only to have the comlink taken from him by the baron.

"Severon, this is Anshar. The army will be on their way in moments, and I have taken immediate command of the troops. If you need anything, report directly to me."

"Anshar? Alright then."

"Also, the Corvette Creed is inbound. Expect additional reinforcements."

"Yes my lord."

Severon's voice cut out and Anshar turned to Octavian. "Colonel, assemble the troops. We have men in need of assistance."

"Yes sir," Octavian stammered and hurried to execute the command. Five minutes later, the YSC forces took off, ready for battle.

Apollo and Scion watched as the admiral began to bark out orders to the ship's Captain. Who, in turn, began to bark orders at the rest of the crew. Unless something drastic happened very quickly the course of this battle is a foregone conclusion. Even then, Apollo was looking for some sort of payback. Checking out a nearby terminal seemed to bear some fruit.

"Hey Scion, come here." Apollo said motioning to his friend who quickly joined him.

"What is it?" Scion asked, curioius.

"Remember that evac shuttle that was vaped picking up EVA pilots during the last fight we were in?" said the slightly younger of the two.

"Yeah, poor bastards. The three crew and, I think something like two or three pilots right?" said Scion, now even more curious.

"Right. Well that reminded me something I heard in the ship's galley a few hours ago. The pilots were from a figher squadron onboard. No idea why they were flying it though and not the shuttle's regular pilots. But do you know what that means? Apollo said with a grin. After a few seconds Scion grinned.

"There's two fighters without pilots down in the hanger bay." Scion could feel some adrenaline in his system again. Finally some payback.

Apollo nodded, but before they could approach Bloodfyre with the request he was already flashing them a slight smile and a nod. With a crisp salute the two old friends ran for the turbolift. Twenty seconds later they were down in the pilot's ready room grabbing flight suits for the both of them. They emerged soon afterward, flight suits on and helmets tucked under their arm. They moved to where a deck crewman was barking orders.

"Chief!" Scion yelled. The old salt turned around and gave a quick salute. Though how the old timer knew Scion and him were officers was beyond Apollo. Good instincts probably.

"Yes sirs?" yelled the Chief over the noise of the bay.

"We need two fighters Chief. Make 'em good ones.!" Apollo ordered.

"Aye! Two bastards in the TIE Defender squad got their asses shot out from under them a few hours ago in that rusty shuttle. Take 'em! Alpha 9 and 10. At your 7 o'clock!" the Chief replied pointing slight behind the two of them. They nodded thier thanks and ran off towards their fighters.

Scion and Apollo where strapped in with the help of the deck crew and quickly going through the engine checklist just like they had many years ago flying off a much larger ship.

"Alpha 9, reading 5 by 5. All green!" Apollo called into the radio.

"Alpha 10, check complete." Scion said, cursing Apollo's more recent time in a fighter for the quicker checklist time.

"This is.." Apollo paused for a moment then smiled, " This is Koph flight, Commanders Scion and Apollo requesting permission to launch." Apollo called into the correct frequency.

"Koph Flight, your cleared to launch and engage. Happy Hunting gentlemen." Responded the female flight officer.

"Roger. Koph Flight launching!" Scion pushed his engines up as Apollo followed and both TIE Defenders screamed out into the fight.

"Okay, score is zero zero. May the oldest pilot win." Scion said as he grinned into his helmet. Apollo chuckled as both of them broke hard right right onto the tail of a trio of enemy fighters.

"Let's dance." said Apollo as he squeezed the trigger.

"Bring that obstinate fool in!" bellowed the elder. He was tired of the Jedi. By sheer force of will and the precision torture of the Vong, that young man had managed to stay alive. Unconscious perhaps but quite alive.

The two guards brought in the limp human and eased him to the floor.

"Our gods are simply amazing." the elder remarked, looking that the back heaving with long, heavy breaths. "They can push anyone to the very brink of death and keep them there. Why, its been just over two and a half hours!"

Setting their rifles to stun, the two guards watched Elric twitch as he regained full muscle control and consciousness. First came the clenched fists and then the feeble attempts to stand up. The old man chuckled at the helplessness of the Jedi, despite their notorious sorcery. Elric finally managed to get to his knees and utter a single sentence.

"I swear... I am going to kill you."

With his pathetic shaking body, Elric didn't look like someone who could carry out that threat, and the elder laughed hysterically.

"I doubt that my boy," he cackled "You see, I have complete control over you. You might notice the nice piece of jewelry you have around your neck."

Elric touched the organic band around his neck lightly and immediately screamed in pain.

"Now this little guy has very good sensory organs; particularly touch. You just touched him and he shot his toxins into your blood stream. Now try to imagine what will happen if you try to rip him off."

Elric gasped in agony. He was at the complete mercy of this cocky old man. The Jedi turned his bloodshot eyes up to the laughing elder and lunged at him. The old man was tackled to the ground but Elric was now again in agony, nearly unable to control his muscle spasms and nerves being set on fire.

The old man slowly stood up and brushed his robes off.

"You fool. I am telepathically linked to the slug around your neck. Try to kill me and you are the one who will be wishing for death."

Elric the pain was nearly unbearable. It was maddening and mind-numbing. He could barely hear the elder's words in the maelstrom of his own thoughts of hate, anger and revenge. Elric rolled over onto his back, his lungs taking short, shallow breaths. The few minutes that the Krath took to regain his senses seemed to pass like hours. His mind was overflowing with anger and hate. The Dark Side rushed into every fiber of his being and settled; bringing him an unholy composure.

"Now young Jedi. I might have use of you. You have survived what has driven others to insanity or suicide. Serve me as my bodyguard, be a part of a new age. Join the Church, and I will show mercy on you."

The elder looked down at him, waiting for his response. He motioned to the two armed guards. If the Jedi said no, he would have to die. No more time could be spent on him.

"...Y...Yes..." the Knight finally gasped.

The elder smiled at his achievement. If one fell, then the rest were dominoes, and would fall in due time.

"Splendid my young pupil."

The two guards rushed forward and picked up the Jedi, bringing him up to the elder's eye level.

"Give him back his weapons. He will serve me now, and we will use him to full effect against the invading blashphemers." The old man nodded to the guards, who dragged Elric away. The elder activated the hologram in the room, eager to tell The Preceptor of their success in converting the first Jedi.

Elric turned his head to look one last look at the old man standing in front of the hologram projector. The Knight prayed that his idea would work. All he needed now was time. Elric lightly laughed to himself. All he could really do now was pray. Pray that another Tarenti Jedi didnt kill him outright. Pray that Sato understood what was going on. Pray that a small window of opportunity presented itself.

Yridia IV

The Corvette descended about two kilometers away from the war zone, into the wild brush of a dry area. As the doors hissed open, those who stepped out were vigilant. Each YSC soldier moved quickly and quietly, not so much in a march as in a scurry, as Dralin directed his INTEL men to group near the back of the ship's exterior. Talos followed.

"Remember my orders," Sato told Frosty as they both stepped out of the Corvette, after hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers piled out. "You're in charge. The Arconans are also yours to command. Deploy the transports as I told you to, then take your soldiers toward the government building and initiate the pincer strike with the other forces already here."

Frosty grunted an affirmation before speaking. "So where are you going?"

"One of the settlements may yet be untouched by the hands of the Church,," Sato said. "I'm going to retrieve some information. Don't follow me."

Celahir watched with an amused grin as Sato disappeared into the brush, casting a glance at Sashar. "Funny how the Tarenti just invite trouble like this. I mean, if everyone has the High General's mentality here..."

"Bantov," Sashar interrupted, "our allies have persevered time and time again. I think we can trust their instincts at least a little bit."

Celahir nodded, albeit skeptically, and turned to see Wuntila, Cethgus, Rychan, Dalk, Voden, Kano, and Sang approach their Arconan superiors. Teroch tagged along behind them, though Sashar gave him a look.

"Ad," he said fondly. "Stay with these men. They'll take good care of you."

"But buir, I want to fight."

"And you will, but do not leave these men," Sashar said, and Teroch nodded before the former Consul of Arcona looked to the current one.

"I expect you to watch over my ad'ika. Should anything happen to him, fellow clanmate or not...you will pay."

Celahir smirked. Spoken like a true father. He craned his head to see the soldiers already on the move, shuffling into groups and allowing the Corvette's transports to glide slowly over the terrain like slow bodies of stealth.

***

Yridia II
Nilani's blade whisked over Ronovi's head like a hot iron, burning white that was nearly enough to singe the hair on the Consul's head. Ronovi brought her saber from her shoulder in a brutal Djem So swing, but again came the lock of blades, resistant alloy against the fiery plasma.

"You certainly have grown stronger, I'll give you that," Nilani wheezed as she pushed against Ronovi's weight. "Not so tired out like you were last time."

"I'm only just warming up," Ronovi growled, as she shook off pressure ever so slightly and watched Nilani lurch forward.

In an acrobatic rush of Force energy, Ronovi leapt across Nilani's exposed back, swiping at her with her saber. However, she once again overlooked the Ghost Lady's agility, as Nilani rolled to safety and jumped right back up, balancing on her toes like a professional dancer. Instantly the two swooped upon each other again, birds of prey headed for the kill.

Ronovi felt the sweat begin to coagulate on her brow. This was a stalemate at best. She didn't like the idea of fleeing, but the turbolift was locked in her peripheral vision, inviting her to escape. And Nilani seemed to sense that, without needing the help of the Force.

"Don't try to run away, Tavisaen," she whispered. "Because I will follow. And I will haunt you until you breathe your last breath."

"Don't count on it," snarled Ronovi, and in a rush of energy she slammed her fist into Nilani's mouth, watching the blood cascade and stain the pearly white around her.

***

Stanson Rend paced the Consul's office and frowned. Ronovi had not returned after her trip with the Arconans, and it bothered him. The Ethnarc was not a Force-sensitive, but he was intuitive, and he knew when something was wrong.

He adjusted his sleeves, feeling the metal against his skin. He always held his hold-out blaster, no matter what. It comforted him, reminding him of his shooting days as a young man. He still remembered the smoking skull of the man who had killed the father of Gelu Templum on Corellia. He loved the smell of disintegrated bone. An animalistic side of him that had never left.

Now the more gentlemanly Rend was going to act like an aggressor again. He started for the turbolift, his designer shoes clicking down the corridor. He would find Ronovi - and he would assist in whatever mess she had possibly gotten herself into now.

Yridia IV
Surface Command Rally Point

Amidst the chaos of unloading over five-hundred soldiers, Talos slipped through the crowds of YSC men and women and joined his own unit, or the one he had asked to be assigned to for the duration of the mission…Yridian Intelligence. Formally known as the Intelligence Division of the Yridian Surface Command, ten operatives had been handpicked by INTEL’s commander, Colonel Dralin Fortea, to participate in what he called “Operation Lending Hand”.

Originally supposed to only be eleven men (including Dralin), the addition of the Arconan Dark Jedi Knight made it twelve. At first, his request to run with INTEL and not the Shadow Clan’s ori’ramikade had been met with suspicion but when Fortea had seen that the young Heragan was serious, he had allowed Talos to join up…providing he changed his kit again.

The Aedile was now dressed in black military fatigues with a wear-and-tear resistant muscle shirt covering his torso. An E-11 ADV (advanced) blaster rifle was slung across his back and riding on his right thigh was a SSK-7 Heavy Blaster Pistol. Field rations and medical supplies were stored in a utility belt that was wrapped around Talos’ waist, from which his lightsaber also hung.

Though the men of the INTEL division were used to seeing their superiors carry the Sith weapon, it was not lost on them that this young man’s weapon bore a different symbol than that of the Yridian Kratocracy.

“Welcome to INTEL, Talos” said Dralin, coming over to the Arconan after briefing his second-in-command (2IC), a Major named Hans Kilran.

The Colonel reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a black patrol cap, similar to what the rest of INTEL was wearing, save for the Colonel who was wearing a black beret.

Taking the cap, the d’Tana shook it out and saw that the silver bar of a First Lieutenant (1LT) had been magclamped to the front.

“Well, temporarily at least” added the Reinthaler Quaestor as the Arconan fit the cap on his head.

“…thank you, sir. I don’t know…”

“Save it, Lieutenant. You run with us, you dress like us”

Talos nodded and at Dralin’s signal, joined the rest of the task force for a briefing.

“Ok men, per the High General’s orders, a communiqué has been sent to the Prince and Ethnarc on the Throneworld…Priority Obsidian. Also, High General Sato’s original mandate for us is no longer possible, so I’m deviating.” This announcement was met with smirks from the INTEL men.

“So here’s the new plan. 2 klicks from here is the Governmental Administration Building, henceforth known as the Nest. Reports from a…’reliable source’…put the Preceptor of the Church of Infinite Perception there. It’s also where SOGs Black Phoenix and Zurhidon have engaged the enemy”

Though Dralin didn’t say as much, it was clear to everyone that the ‘reliable source’ was the Force.
“So we’re taking down their CO?” asked an INTEL soldier, one of the snipers, who lovingly patted his Xerol Nightstinger.
The Colonel shook his head ‘no’ and the sniper’s face fell.

“When the combat elements go live in their reinforcement of Phoenix and Zurhidon, we’re going to use the fighting as cover and find a back way into the Nest. Once we find our entrance, we mark it, map it, and send it back to General Sato. Clear?”

“Yes sir, Colonel sir!” barked the soldiers and Talos picked up a hint of sarcasm in their voices. Confirmation that they were pulling their boss’s leg came a moment later when Dralin gave them the bird.

“Wait, Colonel!” said one of the men as the team began to move out, away from the main YSC force. Dralin stopped and looked back at the speaker.

“Who’s the new guy?” the speaker asked.

Cocking his head thoughtfully, Colonel Fortea looked at Talos.

“That, Sergeant Rami, is First Lieutenant Talos d’Tana, joining us for this op as…our Arconan liaison.”

“So he’s related to those Mandos over there?” asked another operative, this one bearing the insignia of a Corporal.

“I am, yes” said the Qel-Droman Aedile, cutting off whatever response Dralin was going to give.

“Cool…I like their armor” said the Corporal.

“So do I” the Sith replied, smiling.

After shaking hands with the rest of the INTEL men present, the task force took off at a jog with Major Hans Kilran at the front. Over the bone mic that Talos had been issued, the Heragan heard Dralin report over the collective channel of the YSC:

“YSC INTEL is oscar mike”.

//***\\

Elric looked drastically different than he had a couple of hours prior; he had bathed and tended to his wounds, which were now in various states of healing due to the Church’s ministrations as well as the Force.

His clothes had been swapped out for simple Church garments, earth brown robes, and his weapons had been returned to him…meaning that his lightsaber now hung proudly from the rope belt tied around his waist.

As to where he was, the Dark Jedi Knight was standing in the Communications Center of the Governmental Administration Building, directly behind the Church elder he had so recently sworn to serve.

“Gakain.”

“Sir?” said Elric, coming closer to the Church elder.

“Gakain. My name is Gakain” repeated the old man, turning to look at his new bodyguard.

“I felt that you should know…now that we are brothers” Gakain explained before the Krath could say anything.

Elric nodded and saw a Church soldier standing quietly in front of Gakain with a holo-grid in his hand. With a polite nod, the “traitorous” Tarenti withdrew. As the two conversed quietly, Elric was sorely tempted to probe the area with the Force; however, he resisted and wandered to the bay window which overlooked the raging battle between the Preceptor’s forces and the fast-diminishing group of Yridian army soldiers.

Between the blaster bolts flying to and fro, Elric spied the occasional flash of a lightsaber. The Knight ran a hand over the hilt of his own blade and felt reassured almost immediately.

“Child…” croaked Gakain after twenty minutes had passed, in what felt like just a minute to Elric. The Tarenti defector snapped out of his reverie and turned to see the old man standing behind him, a withered hand extended.

“Yes, Gakain?”

“We’ve been called before the…Preceptor. Come” the Church elder grasped the younger man’s wrist and led him away. As Elric was pulled down the halls of the GAB, his stomach began to nurse a growing dread….

//***\\

Major Hans Kilran led the Intelligence force through the dry forest of Yridia IV with Dralin, Talos, and the rest of the INTEL spread out like wings behind him. The Fondorian was in high spirits; he was young, only 34, recently a father, and in the prime of his career. There was talk of him being promoted to Lieutenant Colonel in the very near future – Hans was sure that if he played his part in “Lending Hand” well, he could snag his silver oakleaves by the end of the year.

Deftly navigating around dead trees, discolored fallen trunks, and rocks, relying on his training and “temperate” colored camouflage cloak to keep him concealed, the Major was so preoccupied with his own happy thoughts that he was completely oblivious to his impending doom.

“Just a klick more, Colonel!” said Kilran, turning his head back to look at his auburn-haired superior.

No-one really saw Major Hans Kilran, Yridian Intelligence, die...per se.

One moment, Hans' head was turned back towards the rest of the INTEL team. The next, there was only a bloody stump where his head had been just seconds before.

“GET DOWN!” ordered Dralin and he dove to the forest floor.

But that did little good as high-pitched screams tore from the throats of four more INTEL soldiers as limbs were mysteriously cleaved off and the operatives lay there bleeding out.

“What the kark!?!” yelled one of the surviving soldiers. Talos d’Tana looked up and saw that the speaker was Sergeant Rami.

Frantically looking around, Talos tried to think of a plan. He couldn’t just lay here while an invisible enemy ripped apart his unit. Sure, INTEL wasn’t his permanent unit but they were who he was with now, and they held his life in their hands just as much as he held what remained of the force’s lives in his hands. And his Clan was Tarentum’s staunchest ally after all.

“Colonel Fortea! Permission to move?” asked the Arconan.

Dralin raised his head, stared at d’Tana, and then gave him a look before shouting back.

“It’s your funeral, Lieutenant!”

Taking a deep breath, the Aedile of Qel-Droma locked onto a sturdy (but leafless) tree limb straight above him. Gathering the Force inwards, Talos jumped straight up and landed precariously on the branch.

Regaining his balance, the Knight looked down at the bloody mess below and, again channeling the Force, focused his gaze: coming into focus was a web of super thin…and razor sharp… trip wires. Some were tied to tree trunks and suspended over the ground (which explained Major Kilran’s death), while even more crisscrossed the ground. The six Yridians below…and he himself…had been extremely lucky to have dove to the ground in one of the few safe spots.

“Colonel, the ground is wired with razor trips!” reported the Arconan 1LT.

“Oh great! Just great!” retorted Dralin Fortea, purpling the air with curses.

He knew that he could use the Force to leap to safety, but the ugly truth that only a Krath Priest and Dark Jedi Knight couldn’t hope to survive reconnoitering the enemy’s main base of operations, while an all out war was being fought around them, stuck in his head. He had to save his men…for more reasons than just because he was their commander. They had uses.

“Talos, stay where you are…I’m coming up” barked Dralin, receiving an affirmative from his new Arconan ally.

Turning to Sergeant Rami, the Colonel continued:

“Rami, get your grapple line ready. The rest of you, likewise…this is going to hurt” though that last part was said so that only Dralin himself could hear.

Within a minute, the survivors of the INTEL Task Force were ready to go.

//***\\

From the opposite side of Yridia IV’s forest, rank upon rank of heavily armed YSC soldiers peered out from the trees, taking care of any last minute preparations for war, such as tightening the straps on their body armor or configuring the sites on their weapons.

Directly ahead of them was the Government Administration Building and all around the campus was the evidence of Zurhidon and Black Phoenix’s attack. Bodies, weapons, limbs, and small fires raged all across the landscape and from farther off, the sounds of the ongoing attack could be heard.

Colonel Frosty Romanae, one of the Tarentae, stood at the fore of the Surface Command’s reinforcements with his advisors, well Sato’s advisors, around him. Turning to the brightly armored outsider, the Arconan Consul, Frosty said:

“Take your commandos around to the east, and attack as we discussed. Spare no-one”

Celahir Erinos snorted and pulled on his golden buy’ce and began to walk away. But then he stopped and turned to look at the Dashade Colonel.

“We never do, Tarenate…we never do”

Celahir resumed walking and throughout the YSC ranks, his Arconan ori’ramikade split off and followed him.
For not the first time in their Clans history, Arcona and Tarentum went to war…together.

Rain poured down from the sky as the combatants raged outside the government building. Lightsabers flashed, and blaster fire rang out from the cliffs. Bodies twisted and armies clashed as the opposing forces fought for ultimate domination of the area.

Severon, together with Levathan and the few remaining members of Black Phoenix and Reinthaler, were caught in a small space between the building and the overwhelming army of church members. Their defense had been strong, but casualties were threatening to overcome those that could still fight. Severon and Levathan continued to rally the survivors, urging them on, yet they all knew that the battle would be over unless support arrived.

As the final non-force member fell, Severon and Levathan looked at each other after cutting down the same opponent. As Severon looked into his friends face, he saw lines of pain around the man's eyes. They could all feel the deaths of their comrades, tugging at their hearts and minds. Yet, they had to go on, finished the fight. Severon grunted as one of the church members swords pierced his calf, and he whirled around, severing the man's neck. Two more church members had fallen before the man's head hit the ground, yet the tide never slowed. Soon, the battleteams would be lost, swallowed by the overwhelming tide of flesh and armor.

Suddenly, as the teams were on their last surge, the YSC forces slammed into the church members flanks, crushing them in a surprising sneak attack. Before the church members rallied to the new threat, some of the YSC forces had broken through to the little ring of Dark Jedi trapped in the center. At the column's head strode Colonel Octavian Moorhand, carrying a pistol in one hand and a vibrosword in the other. He nodded briefly to Levathan and Severon saying, "Backup has arrived."

A smile lit upon Severon's face, and he and the Dark Jedi surged forward, widening the gap between the halves of the church army. The YSC forces were out manned, but were determined not to be outfought; their raging blaster fire was a relentless stream of super-hot plasma, burning though anything in front of it.

Octavian fought like a man possessed, his sword hacking while firing away with his pistol. He turned to rally his men when he staggered. Severon looked towards his friend to see two blaster blots slam into his unprotected side, causing the elder colonel to stagger and finally collapse to his knees. Severon screamed in rage and tore off for his friend, heedless of all of his enemies. He cut down any church member in his way till he stood by Octavian.

The Colonel had fallen to the ground, two gaping, smoking holes bored into his side. Grunting from the pain and blinking though the sweat and tears, he struggled to rise, only to be unsuccessful. Severon dropped to his knees beside his friend, cradling the man's head in his arms. "Octavian, are you alright," he asked frantically.

Octavian looked in the direction of Severon's voice, his eyes unfocused at the moment. Then he gasped with pain and said, "They got me mate, they got me real good."

"No," Severon said. "No, you'll be fine, I'll heal you."

"Sev," Octavian muttered back. "We both know that's not possible."

"I have..."

"No Sev, even with all of your power, this wound has bested me."

"Don't say that," Severon commanded. "I'm ordering you not to think that way."

Octavian chuckled, then coughed blood. "Your ordering me not to die?"

"I'm ordering you to live."

Octavian burst into laughter, tears running from his eyes. "It's not that easy my friend. If it were, I wouldn't be here now."

"Octavian,"

"Sev, listen to me. I'm finished, I won't make it to a med center, and your powers just aren't strong enough," Octavian trailed off as a spasm of pain ran though him. "Sev, sometimes you must give up. We're human, we're mortal. Death is only natural, and it should be welcomed, not shunned."

"I can't believe that."

"Yes you can. Death, is a gateway. A gateway to a greater galaxy, one with no suffering, or war. With peace, galactic peace. I'm going there now."

"No," Severon whispered. "No, I'm going to save you."

Octavian's voice was now just a faint murmur. "Sev, please, don't. Let me go. I've lived long enough."

"Octavian, you're my friend, my brother. You can't die."

"If you truly mean that, then let me go. I'm ready." Octavian coughed again, and his eyes began to glaze over.

"Octavian," Severon said worriedly, his voice rising. "Octavian!"

Octavian's eyes closed, for the last time. Severon's eyes burned, and he buried his face in the warm leather of his gauntlet. The tears flowed down his face, and his breath caught in his throat. He raised his eyes and yelled out with fury and pain, a primal, desperate yell.

Levathan looked on as he fought, and bowed his head. He didn't know the exact measure of the loss that he friend felt, but from the scene and from the wave of emotion in the force, he could determine that it was great, far greater than any so far.

A church member chose to end Severon's suffering by plunging his blade into the man's unprotected back. Rage rushed into Severon's mind, and instead of falling, he leapt up and struck the man with his hilt as hard as he could, smashing in the man's skull. Blood drenched the metal as he ripped it free with a sickening squelch. He began to move forward, looked puzzled, the collapsed heavily.

Levathan bellowed, and charged for his downed friend. "Get a stretcher!" he bellowed. He examined Severon's wound and found that it was not serious, the blade missed all vital organs. Yet the bleeding would claim him if he was not moved.

Several YSC soldiers appeared and carried the injured commander off the field, while also collecting Octavian's body. The battle progressed, yet slowly, as the two leaders were sorely missed.

Yridia IV

Elric knew as soon as he stepped into the main office of the building that his facade was kept under wraps. The Church was powerful indeed, but there was one thing it was not, and that was Force-sensitive. He already knew of their Force hating ways, and how anyone with Force potential would have been either exiled or killed. Still, however, he wondered if anyone had slipped through the cracks...

A wheezing Gakain bowed deeply to the long-bearded man before him, and Elric knew he was expected to follow suit. The Preceptor stood alone now, his Vong guards having been summoned to the battle below. His hand remained firmly wound about the handle of a blaster, his face cold and stony, his eyes sizzling like the contents of a bubbling cauldron. As Elric straightened from his bow, he could hear the Preceptor laugh.

"Adorable. The traitor is honored to be in my presence."

Gakain responded with a wispy chuckle, before the Preceptor stepped toward the Knight. Elric felt his heart rattle his ribcage with an unprecedented nervousness.

"I want to tell you something, Jedi," the Preceptor said, smiling brutally. "I don't normally make exceptions like this, but you'll do especially well for us in this fight. Stick to our code and you won't get hurt."

Elric swallowed sharply. He couldn't help retorting. "Is that a promise you're willing to keep?"

More laughter. The slick sound of a blaster barrel whistled in the air of the office, as Elric felt its harsh metal surface against his chin. The Preceptor smiled - they both knew that one shot would disintegrate Elric's jaw and leave his brain leaking out his ears in an ashen river. The Knight knew now to hold his tongue.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear," the Preceptor hissed. "I may not look powerful. I may not have your blasphemous Force running through my veins. But I do damn well with a gun and a blade. I've killed hundreds of civilians, and dozens of seemingly powerful Jedi. The Force does nothing against logic and strategy. And that is why you better count your blessings that you're one of us now."

In a slow, definite movement, the Preceptor withdrew the blaster from Elric's face before turning to Gakain.

"I want an update on our defenses. It seems that all these Jedi want to do is send in more forces. Get our gods on the frontlines and show those fools the true power of the galaxy."

Gakain bowed nobly before beckoning toward Elric. It seemed that the Elder had become the Knight's unofficial mentor, as he followed the old man through the building. Elric could sense the growing numbers outside, Tarenti and allies of Tarentum alike. He just wished they'd make the final blow sooner rather than later.

***

Yridia II

Ronovi viciously spat a mouthful of blood in the direction of Nilani as she charged again, the clots flying from her lips and disintegrating in the light of her saber. Both women were badly beaten down, moving slower as their blades' dance became more sluggish in nature. While the cuts and gashes on Ronovi had multiplied, crimson staining her garments; Nilani's robes looked more like reddened soot against her, as she gritted her teeth from the cauterized wounds in her lone arm and legs. Ronovi had improved - she could not deny that any longer.

"Fair enough," Nilani coughed, eyeing the Consul as she parried another blow. "You're certainly a worthier opponent than I remember. But one question remains...can you last any longer?"

"Go to Hell," Ronovi snarled, her bloody teeth bared.

"Always the witty one, aren't you?" Nilani raised her blade, glistening red. "Come, then. Let's end this."

In a flurry of movement, Nilani darted about Ronovi's flank, her blade snapping out like the jaws of a beast. Ronovi attempted to block, successful only occasionally, as the cuts appeared about her legs. Ronovi swung her saber out viciously, catching against Nilani's sword as the energy squealed against the alloy. They remained locked in this position for what seemed to be ages, arms fighting for the upper strength, for the surrender.

Then Ronovi fell.

Nilani had lifted her blade up ever so slightly, then made a harsh, merciless stab toward Ronovi's shoulder. The blade plunged into the fabric and flesh beautifully, blood spurting from the wound like a roughly built fountain. Ronovi's scream was made into a guttural yell as the Consul attempted to swallow the sound, writhing on the ground as Nilani stood over her.

"Like I said, Consul..." she taunted, her voice harsh and menacing as she growled out the words. "...can you last?"

Ronovi managed to raise her head slightly, her breath emerging in low, thin whines as she struggled to stand. Her saber lay deactivated in her fist, her other hand struggling for her sapphire blade. But the pain in her shoulder immobilized her left arm, and as Nilani lifted the blade again, she shut her eyes tightly.

"Pity," Nilani hissed. "Couldn't even defeat me when I only had one arm."

The blade descended. So much for a new era for Tarentum. So much for...

Then a rush, a whistle, a scream as a sudden burst of heat sped toward the two. In the next moment, Nilani fell beside Ronovi in an anguished cry of pain, the side of her head emitting smoke. In a panicked rush of movement, Ronovi struggled to her feet, clutching her saber, as her head turned to face the culprit of the shot. She saw a debonair man in a fine black suit, beads of sweat rolling down his face and into his beard.

"Stanson!" the Consul cried.

Stanson smiled thinly, the hold-out blaster still extended. The blaster bolt had done its work, and as Ronovi turned to look at Nilani, she saw missing hair, burnt white skin. She heard whimpering, unexpected. Yet delightful. Absolutely delightful.

Reactivating her lightsaber, Ronovi brought the blade down with the strength and weight of an axe. The bronze crescent swooped down upon Nilani's body, as the flesh separated from the flesh, the bone from the bone. In the next moment, the Ghost Lady's legs lay severed from her torso, the screams crescendoing in the near-empty hangar bay. Stanson only watched this, blaster still cocked, smile still hovering on his perspiring face.

The bloodied, bruised Consul smirked disdainfully. She kicked aside the assassin's blade, grabbed the lady by the scruff of the neck like a mangy dog. Doing so caused pain to shoot up and down her left arm, but that didn't matter now. No severed nerves or broken flesh could stop her as she looked teasingly at Nilani, then at the hilt of her lightsaber.

"You know," Ronovi said, "I could use this to deliver the final blow. But I think for a sneaky bitch like you, something else is needed."

"Fool!" Nilani screamed, attempting to laugh. "It doesn't matter if you kill the messenger - the message has already been sent! Your system will be destroyed! The Church will do what I've sent them for, and all the chaos I've desired will consume you!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. You think I don't deal with that on a daily basis?" snarled the Epicanthix. "Tarentum will always face conflict. You're nothing but a notch on our calendar. Another petty vendetta we went against. Trust me, m'lady...we've faced worse. Much, much worse."

Her right hand descended to her belt, lifting the sapphire from its noble sheath.

"Of course, with that vendetta comes the appropriate war trophy..."

In that moment, all Nilani could do was laugh. Laugh in the agony, laugh in the defeat, laugh in whatever repercussions she had caused. It didn't matter to Ronovi, not even when her mouth remained open in a fiendish chuckle when the Consul lifted the severed head from the neck and the work of a ceremonial blade allowed blood to cascade in torrents onto the steel floor.

Elric followed the elder to the basement hangar. Awaiting them was a squad of specialist Churchmen, armored and armed to the teeth with vibroblades, blasters, thermal detonators and portable defense cannons. Leading this squad was a young Yuuzhan Vong warrior. Elric assumed this monster was young from it's small number of bio-enchancements and war tattoos on its face. The knight held his anger against the abominable race, merely nodding as he approached.

Gakain stepped onto a skiff with the squad and beckoned Elric to join. Elric turned back to see the young Vong leading out a reek, nearly two meters in height. With amazing agility, the Vong mounted the creature and jerked its reins, forcing out a guttural grunt and off it sped to meet the enemy.

"My my" Gakain noted "Our gods are quite the eager ones."

Elric stood in disbelief as the skiff started its engines. For the first time since this mission began, he honestly contemplated the chances of his own demise. Surely there was no way he could survive. As soon as he killed a member of the Clan, he would surely be killed himself. But if he did not participate, he would be executed. Elric cursed himself for not thinking his plan out, for just trying to stay alive. The skiff's engines started humming as it slowly crept forward, gaining speed as it soared to the battlefield.

**********************************************************************************************************

The rain was constant, though it had slowed over the past hour. The YSC forces, in a perfect attack from the rear, had surprised the entire Church army and were routing it soundly. With a thin column reaching the Jedi core, the two wings of the army were cut off. Cries of pain and slaughter echoed across the compound as the fresh new wave of Jedi and Tarenti infantry and armor entered combat. The eastern wing of the Church army was now in full retreat, blaster fire chasing them down and killing stragglers. The western wing of the army managed to solidify around the headquarters and were beginning to put up resistance, but were under heavy fire and now outmanned by nearly a four to one margin.

With Severon wounded, Levathan led a frontal attack against the hasty positions occupied by the Church. Hurdling over a blown tank, he charged head first into the enemy. He then led the infantry over the charred remains of the tank, and followed the engine of death his men had become. And in this moment, with the Church infantry routing and armored units abandoning their vehicles, that victory seemed within sight. But the Gods of the Church would not be silenced so easily. A loud, horrific snarl signaled the charge of the four Vong. Levathan turned in horror as a child of Yuuzhan, mounted on a reek, was bearing down on the thin lines of YSC soldiers.

Amphistaff acting like a lance, this warrior rode through the lines and gored seven soldiers in their panicked attempts to defend themselves. Levathan leaped onto the head of the beast, holding on to the horns for dear life as it bucked and reared its head. The young Vong was shocked at the daring of the Dark Jedi, but stabbed at him with the amphistaff. The Tarentum Jedi leaned to the right, dodging the monomolecular blade by only a centimeter. Levathan grabbed the weapon and fell off, dragging the mounted warrior with him. The two bounced and rolled off the ground, with Tarenti medics running to aid the injured Jedi. Another Vong appeared from behind a barricade, swinging his massive bio-enhanced claw at Levathan.

***********************************************************************************************************

The skiff slowed down as it entered the open courtyards and plaza's of the government complex. Elric tried to think quickly, hearing the blaster bolts and screams of the dying. He had to find a way to neutralize this Gakain elder, if he didnt, the Knight was sure to die. His eyes glanced side to side at the elite troops around him. And then he found it. A thermal detonator hung loosely at a soldiers belt. This would have to work. Elric turned his eyes forward to the battle, but his mind slowly used the Force to grab hold of the button on the grenade. He had to time this right.

Coming around the corner of the headquarters, the full view of the carnage came into view. Elric could not make out the individuals who were fighting, but the bright beams of sabers told of the fierce fight the Jedi of Tarentum found themselves. Elric jumped off the skiff, drew his saber and ran into the fray. He could hear Gakain shout to him, but Elric had enough of the old man. His mind let the button go. The short series of blips gave only a short warning to those on the skiff, followed by a series of expletives. Elric felt the heat as he was lifted in the air from the explosion. Tumbling head over heels, he landed hard on his back, facing the charred ashes of the skiff. The sounds of battle were still in the background as Elric started to lift himself off the ground. His entire back was aching and throbbing, and he wheezed as he rose. Struggling to find his footing, the Knight collapsed again onto the pavement, watching the world spin around him.

Severon slowly awakened from his deep slumber, flexing his muscles and blinking the sleep from his eyes. He look around him, noting that he was lying in one of Tarentum's medical facilities. His mind was still blurry from the sleep, and he couldn't remember why he was there. He tried to rise off of the bed, but found that he was strapped down, restrained. Puzzled, the Sith struggled with his bonds, hoping to break free.

A nurse, seeing that the Sith had awakened, came into the room. Severon merely stared at her as if she were something that was unreal. She marked some things on her clipboard, the turned to the Sith with something of a sneer. "You might not want to struggle," she said. "Those bonds will come off once we're sure you're stable."

Suddenly, all that had happened hit Severon in a wave. He could hear the dying shrieks of both his own men and the church members. He could see the light glinting off their armor, he could see Octavian falling again. A roar issued from his throat and he jerked at the braces, straining them. He continued to bellow, in rage, anguish, and fear. The nurse dropped her clipboard and ran from the room as the braces snapped, and Severon tore free from his bed.

Severon then sank to his knees, breathing heavily. "Why?" he whispered. "Why did they die? What did I do wrong?" He rose and slammed his fist into the wall, denting it. "What did I do wrong," he bellowed. "Why did they die, they weren't supposed to die! Tarentum is invincible!"

Tears ran down his cheeks as he slammed his fists into the wall. He collapsed again, sobbing. "This is all a lie," he muttered. "It's not true, they're not dead. They're alive, none of this happened." He tried to convince himself that this was true, but his mind continued to tell him otherwise.

"I can't go on," he breathed. "I can't go on like this, so much death, so much suffering. It must stop. It must...." his mind trailed. He stared blankly at the wall ahead of him as if seeing something for the first time. "Syrna," he whispered. "Syrna is still there, Syrna is one of them." He began to howl again.

The door came open and four soldiers entered the room, rifles trained on the Sith Warrior. Severon merely stared at them, uncomprehending. All four released stun bolts into the man, sending him crashing into the wall. "Syrna," he muttered again, as his eyes closed. The four soldiers, with the help of some staff, lifted the man back into his bed and restrained him.

Levathan braced himself, waiting for the blow. But the claw was stopped as quickly as it had begun its sweep. A guttural roar of pain ripped its way from the Vong's throat, just as its flesh was ripped from its bone. A white blade had worked its way beneath the battered crab armor, finding the vulnerable spot of the torso and shredding it like pig meat. As the body crumpled, the Tarenti raised his head to see the face of an ally staring down upon him.

"Consul Erinos!"

Celahir nodded curtly, just as he swooped down upon the Vong that Levathan had tackled to the ground. In the next instant, another lightsaber sliced deeply into the creature, this one of a light blue sheen. The Consul of Arcona, along with Sashar, dissected the Vong, its cauterized flesh splattering across their Mandalorian armor.

Levathan stared wide-eyed at the carnage, before he heard a deep chuckle from the two Arconans as they looked down upon him.

"Su cuy'gar, cyar'ika," Sashar teased, wondering if Levathan would understand the Mandalorian taunt. "You look a bit shaken. Want a medivac?"

"I could use one," the Tarenti rasped.

As the medics finally made their way toward Levathan, he could see the other Arconan warriors approaching on the battlefield. Cethgus, Wuntila, Sanguinius, Rychan, Dalk, Voden, Kano - all of them stormed onto the field with the strength and will of shock troopers. Disciples of the Church fell swiftly before them, just as more troops of the YSC approached. It seemed, at long last, that the tide had turned for the dark clans on Yridia IV.

***

"We go for the building!" Dralin barked over the chaos, Talos hot on his heels. The INTEL forces had made their way quickly and quietly around the perimeter of the field, having to take down a few men but not too many. Frosty would be busy with the army - INTEL would be breaking in.

"And what exactly are we attempting to do again?" Talos gasped as he tried to catch his breath. He was fast, but the Krath Priest was faster.

"Attacking from the inside," Dralin replied. "According to reports, the Preceptor has to be in there. Most likely with a prisoner or two. And if we kill the Preceptor, we kill the - "

He was interrupted by a nearby blast, debris erupting from the ground. Several INTEL were thrown off their feet, scattered among the dirt and dead grass around the building's courtyard. As Talos struggled to rise and coughed for air, he noticed the bodies of two robed Disciples of the Church nearby. One of them, however, appeared to be still alive.

"Dralin!" he barked. "We've got a live one!"

In a rush of movement, Dralin leapt over several corpses of soldiers and disciples and skipped across the destroyed rubble of the field. As he stepped over the body of presumably a Church elder, he saw a younger man in a brown robe still struggling to stand. Before the man could speak, he was lifted into the air by the Force, his throat constricted.

"Fortea!" he squeaked. "Fortea, it's me! Kyes!"

Dralin furrowed his brow and let Elric drop to the earth, the latter still wheezing for sweet oxygen. As INTEL members crowded around him, he snorted loudly.

"Damn it, Kyes, why must you always be such a nuisance?" he snapped. "Talos, get him an evac. He'll need it."

"No, no," Elric gasped. "I'm fine. Just some bruises."

"Too bad. I'm getting you out of here."

"You don't undrstand," Elric protested. "I can help you."

"By betraying the clan for the Church? That's going to be a few more years in jail for you."

Raising his head, Elric glared at Dralin through a cloud of blood and perspiration. "Don't think I wanted to join the Church, Fortea. I was captured. But now I can help. I have someone's support."

"Whose support?"

"The Preceptor's," Elric said. "I can take you to him. But we'll have to think of a facade..."

***

"Ronovi."

She stood frozen, soaked in blood. Nilani's once silver hair was turning brown in the Epicanthix's fist. Plasma still dripped from the severed neck.

"It's over," Ronovi growled. "This part is over."

"I know," Stanson muttered. "But your post."

Ronovi raised her head slowly. Her face was stained with blood and sweat and tears. She turned to look at Stanson with a blank expression, just before unceremoniously kicking the pieces of Nilani's headless corpse aside.

"Get in contact with both Sato and Bloodfyre," she murmured. "I want status updates on both the navy and the army. See if Yridia IV needs more back-up, and see that the Magnus Kaerner is still intact."

With that, she sauntered wearily toward the turbolift, taking Nilani's head with her. Stanson wondered, albeit with a frown, whether or not the Consul would raise that head to the sky in sheer defiance before going back to her duties.

***

In space, the battle raged on. One Corvette had been disabled, as had several Z-95s. But the bloody skirmish was yet to be won.

As if from nowhere, Balia Donos moved with his squadron toward the next target. The remaining fighter squadrons attacked as if with relish, from some zealous glee as they took down ships. The Tarenti gritted his teeth as he steered his ship, zipping around the last Corvette's perimeter.

"Interceptor 2 to Interceptor Leader. I'm going in."

"Don't be stupid, Donos!" Elols snarled in his intercom. "That thing could blast you to smithereens!"

But the Knight was not listening. Instead, he viciously locked on to the ship, circling it as various other ally fighters accompanied him. Instantly the cannons fired, as beams ripped their way through space and sent Donos's fighter reeling.

"Interceptor 2! Stay focused!"

"Tarentum Invicta!" Donos screamed, just as he zipped straight into the flaring light of the ship.

Anshar knew he was pushing it, but he no longer cared. It had been some time since he had fought like this, and he had to admit that he relished it. For all his scholarly activities, Anshar had not mastered Jar'Kai Niman for show. Wielding both of his lightsabers, Anshar cleaved through enemies, obstacles, and deflected blaster bolts smoothly and easily. Every move was deliberate and part of a clear path Anshar made towards one of the remaining Vong. The Vong warrior, though separated from his remaining companion, had managed to find himself in a part of the battle where no Jedi had been readily available. As a result, the Vong had done quite a fair bit of damage to the Yridian troops. Many Church troops had rallied to the Vong’s position, as a sort of macabre re-enactment of what the Church had originally done to the Tarenti.

If there were any doubts that Anshar would reach the Vong in time, they were quickly allayed when the Vong caught a glimpse of Anshar approaching. Seized perhaps by his own socio-religious zealousness, the Vong immediately turned towards Anshar and rushed him, slicing away with his amphistaff. As the Vong got closer, he swung the amphistaff out and let it shoot out its deadly venom. Anshar deftly dropped to the ground and rolled forward, the venom flying overhead. Coming out of his roll, Anshar barely had time to block the incoming blow. Knowing full well the potential of Vong weaponry, Anshar sought to pull his primary lightsaber away, but it was too late. The amphistaff softened and coiled around the blade of the lightsaber. Only Anshar’s second lightsaber blocked the mouth of the living weapon. Releasing his grip, Anshar leapt backwards with only his purple bladed lightsaber in his hand. The Vong dropped the blue bladed weapon to the ground, charging again. His battle yell was muffled by some sort of face mask made of the same crab armor that covered the rest of his body. Anshar could feel his spirit beginning to separate as he called more and more upon the Force simply to keep his body and spirit together. It was a self-destructive cycle that had to end.

Suddenly the ground erupted between the two combatants, sending dirt and rock flying. Anshar felt some pierce his skin in unimportant areas. The dust had not even cleared as the Vong leapt through it, but Anshar had already moved. However, instead of moving back or to the side, Anshar somewhat ungainly rolled forward over the uneven terrain. It but the slightest of glimpses, Anshar saw his opportunity. Even as the Vong reached out with his sharp talons and grasped Anshar’s shoulder, and tearing through much of the armor, Anshar launched his last attack.

It was no lightsaber that dealt the blow, nor blaster or even a fist. No, Anshar’s personal crystalline dagger, always on him but rarely used, was thrust upward into the Vong’s jaw where armor had been torn away by the explosion. The dagger pierced clean and straight, the blade easily going into the Vong’s brain. Anshar swiftly withdrew the blade and shoved the creature back, unleashing a stream of Force lightning, cracking and destroying much of the armor. A swift strike with his lightsaber cleaved the Vong’s head off. Anshar only made it two paces away before he himself had collapsed. He had done too much, pushed himself to hard, and it was over. His body remained on the battlefield, but his spirit began to drift away.

* * *

“This can’t be right,” thought Anshar to himself, his voice echoing in his head. “This isn’t how it looked the first two times I left my body.” The air around him was thick and hazy, and Anshar was sure that it would be like walking through soup could he actually sense anything. Around him, shadowy figures drifted.

“They don’t listen to you,” said a dejected but familiar voice. Anshar turned to his right.

“Talitha,” he said hesitantly. She stood before him as clear as if they were both in the physical world, but her child-like innocence was gone. Her eyes were constantly shifting and she seemed to be out of it.

“None of them know where my King is,” she said with a pleading tone. “I must find my King.” Anshar opened his mouth, but Talitha cut him off. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t exist. I do not believe it. I believe in my King. Will you help me search for him?”

“I’d rather not,” replied Anshar.

“Oh, that’s right. You gave up Necromancy, as did your brethren,” said Talitha. “Perhaps that was wise. Look where it got me.” She dropped to the ground, or what might be the ground, and began to weep. “All my life I spent running from my enemies, looking for my King. Even in death I cannot find him. My life has been meaningless. Can you imagine it? Thousands of years wasted! Nothing to show for it!”

“I can’t really say,” said Anshar.

“Wait, I have an idea,” said Talitha. “I don’t want to spend eternity here alone. You don’t belong here, at least not yet.” How she knew this, Anshar did not know, nor did he care to ask. “I bet that if we combine our powers, we can restore your spirit to your body.”

“And just how will that work?” asked Anshar.

“Simple. I will bind my soul to yours and repair everything. I have nothing else to exist for, so why not do something useful in my life,” said Talitha, her eyes glowing. There was still a hint of delusion, but also a hint of honesty to it.

“You do realize that there is no more necromancy,” said Anshar. “And if this works, I will not be delving into this spiritual stuff again. My only goal for this past year has been to fix my problem.”

“Oh, I know,” said Talitha, almost giggling now. “I’ll fix it, and I will be able to rest in peace. Yes, this will forever kill me. My body is already dead, and my spirit will be gone now. But, I’ll have done something meaningful, and perhaps in a true, complete death, I may yet find my King.”

“What have I got to lose?” muttered Anshar.

* * *

Anshar slowly came to, finding Dranik and a medic standing over him. “Are you invincible?” asked Dranik sarcastically.

“Nice to you see you, too,” replied Anshar, slowly sitting up with Dranik’s help. “What’s going on?”

“Basically, we’re mopping up the Church soldiers. The last Vong was taken down not too long ago,” replied Dranik. “All that remains here on the surface is word from Dralin. Last I heard, he and a couple others were headed after the Preceptor.” Anshar only nodded. Standing up, he felt whole again, and well anchored. There was still work to be done, though, and Anshar could only wonder how difficult of an opponent this Preceptor would be.

“By the way,” said Dranik as the pair made their way towards the front, and to help secure any sites in need of it. “How the hell did you ever pull this one off?”

“Let’s not speak of that right now,” said Anshar. Dranik said nothing in reply. As glad as he was to have his body and spirit fully bonded again, Anshar knew that many in Tarentum would not appreciate how it was done, if they ever learned of it. There was a reason Tarentum had forsaken necromancy, and Anshar was quite obliged to follow suit.

Sanguinius grinned as he bisected a Disciple at the torso, his bloodlust was up and the Anaxsi was enjoying every moment of the fight. His fellow Clan members were beside him, cutting into the troublemakers that had plagued their Tarenti allies. The Templar followed through his strike with a thrust into the chest of another Disciple as his old Master jumped through the air to collide with a group of the dissenters that seemed to be on the edge of wavering. The Zabrak made short work of them with economical movements. The two Entars made eye contact for a split-second, their eyes conveying the unconcious message that the time they had spent training together within Plagueis and Arcona had bred into them. They knew what each other would do before they did it.

Elsewhere in the fight, surrounded by YSC troops, the Consul stood, directing the fight. Keeping the Disciples of the Church on the back foot. The Shadow Clan were ruthless in dispatching their opponents. Refusing to give quarter and expecting none in return.

Sashar was an unstoppable force, the Primarch was like an avatar of war, striking down anyone in his way, as his son watched on. Learning the horror of war in first person.

Sanguinius turned from the fight to catch his breath and saw Wuntila and Kano run past him, to catch a group of fleeing Disciples in the rear, cutting them to ribbons. The Entar smiled as he saw Rychan and Dalk working as a team, the Pontifex teaching the Protector in the crucible of battle. The Oblivion Brigade trooper was a quick learner and the Obelisk's friend Marick would be pleased with that. The Battleteam leader wasn't with them in person. But he knew that his fellow Templar would learn of everything that happened, the sneaky di'kut that he was.

Cethgus grinned as his saber sliced through flesh, the smell of it burning under his blade only made him want to cut through flesh more. Gripping the hilt it was like a friend to him as he sliced through the disciples. His eyes focusing on the targets as he grinned manically. Moving swiftly he pushed his way through a line forcing them to scatter in front of him. The Zabrak didn’t give them any time to get out of reach, swinging his saber blade he sliced them apart like a knife through butter.

“Looks like they are trying to get a retreat back” the Zabrak’s voice echoed into the ears of the oher Entar who nodded into return.

Feeling the force being pushed back Arcona’s helping hand was not going unnoticed on the ground. Taking ground by destroying the fools that dared oppose them, retreat was not an option for the disciples anymore. They were being forced to stand and die at the tide ha was the Arconan’s that came to assist and help get rid of this problem. Cethgus constantly slashed his way through them he glanced over to find the same was happening with everyone.

“They really didn’t stand a chance against us, and to thing I was hoping for a better fight” he looked at Sang as he spoke knowing his old student would hear those words best.

Sang gave him a small grin as he watched his friend cutting through men as they scrambled away from him. Sang was moving quickly his saber a blur as he continued the assault trying to continue to make them run in fear from the group of trained killers marching through their lines without a problem.

Governmental Administration Building

Talos estimated that he had known Krath Priest Dralin Fortea for about a grand total of 24 hours, give or take, including the time on the captured Creed, the Church corvette. And the Arconan commando liked the Reinthaler Quaestor well enough; he knew how to lead, how to plan, fight, and inspire his men. But Talos was still disturbed by the presence of Dralin's voice in his head, via Force Telepathy. The d'Tana was very protective of his thoughts and after 6* years in the Brotherhood, he had let only two people speak directly into his mind; Celahir Erinos and Sashar Arconae, the current and former Consul of Arcona respectively.

<> Dralin said reassuringly.

But Talos wasn't particularly comforted by this as he and INTEL Sergeant Rami were herded roughly into the large office that the Preceptor of the Church of Infinite Perception had taken over. The leader of Tarentum's aggressors looked up from a data grid that he was perusing and flashed a toothy smile at the three arrivals.

"Welcome, welcome!" he said, rising from the synth-wood desk and raising his arms in greeting.

"Lord Preceptor" intoned Kyes, bowing from the waist. To Talos' satisfaction, he noticed that Elric's bow was rigid and seemed to be forced. Glancing out of his peripheal vision, the First Lieutenant saw that Rami had also seen this and had a smirk on his face.

"Greetings again, Elric. Care to introduce our guests?" asked the old man.

Elric was about to open his mouth but Sergeant Rami cut him off:

"Guests? I don't think guests is the appropiate term, old man!"

"Show some respect!" snarled the Tarenti "traitor" and he cuffed the INTEL soldier on the back of the head...hard. Through the Force, Talos could sense Dralin tightening his grip on the stock of his sniper rifle.

Sensing trouble brewing, Talos carefully reached out in the Force and touched the mind of Celahir Erinos. A second later, the Obelisk Prelate responded.

"<>

"<>"

"<>"

"<>"

"<>" said Celahir and then he closed his mind once more.

The Arconan rejoined the going-ons just as Rami tried to hit Elric back, only to be stopped by the vibro-cuffs that bound his hands.

"Enough!" said the Preceptor, his voice silky and quiet, which Talos knew could be just as dangerous as a voice that was loud and inflected with rage. Both Rami and Elric stopped immediately.

"Now, introduce your...prisoners" ordered the Church's leader. He paused and fixed Rami with a mocking glare.

"Does that word suit you, boy? Personally, I think it sounds repulsive and should not be used in the context that we find ourselves in -- a simple meet-and-greet" he continued. Rami snorted, which earned him another blow by Elric, and that in turn caused the Preceptor to give his turncoat disciple a withering look.

"Lord, these are two combatants of Clan Tarentum; I found them trying to find a back way into this building" Elric explained when the Preceptor gestured for him to begin.

"Continue" croaked Vong worshiper.

"They were with additional men that the elite disciples, those that you sent with me, dispatched. There was also another Dark Jedi, but one of your -- our gods slew him" the Krath traitor quickly backtracked and fixed his mistake in addressing the Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

The Preceptor nodded in appreciation and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher on the desk. He was quiet for many minutes, apparently digesting the information. After he drained his glass, he resumed speaking:

"And when was this, disciple?"

"No more than fifteen minutes ago, Lord. I brought these two right here upon their most dishonorable surrender" Kyes said. Rami struggled against his bonds, no doubt wanting to hit Elric for his slight on their honor and Talos was also offended but with the aide of the Force, kept it better concealed.

"I see. And do you know anything about them. I mean, on a personal level?" inquired the Preceptor.

Kyes nodded and he gestured at Talos:

"This one is Talos d'Tana. A Dark Jedi at the rank of Knight, he actually isn't one of Tarentum's number but part of a commando team from...off-planet"

This time, d'Tana couldn't keep his emotions buried and with the force of a hammer blow, spoke into Elric's mind.

"<" To his credit, Elric made no outward sign of having Talos yell into his mind.

"And this one, Lord, is Sergeant Julian Rami. He's a 5-year member of the attacking army, assigned to the Intelligence Division. Rank of Sergeant, proficient with blaster rifles from what I observed"

The Preceptor nodded slowly and drummed his fingers on the desk.

"So he's not a Dark Jedi?" he asked.

"No, sir. I was thinking he would be good stock for a recruit" Elric intoned.

The Preceptor smirked and gave a bitter laugh.

"Interesting you should think that, Elric. To bad I don't agree" the Preceptor said menacingly. Faster than any of the three could blink, the Preceptor's hand dove into his robe and a flash of silver streaked across the room.

Nothing seemed to happen at first, but then Julian Rami fell to his knees and then to the floor...a throwing knife was embedded into his forehead.

Talos d'Tana felt a surge of anger rush through his veins as saw Rami's lifeless body slowly coat the office floor with blood. Then, that anger was compounded with Dralin's mental scream of "NO! and Talos turned on his heel and slugged Elric in the face, sending him to the ground along with the dead Julian.

Talos' pulled on the Force and from Elric's brown robes came the hilt of of Talos' lightsaber, which flashed to life in a brilliant streak of bronze.

"Nu uh uh uh" taunted the Preceptor and Talos slowly turned to see the Church's leader pointing two Disruptor pistols at him.

"As you probably know, your precious beam sword can't stop blasts from Disruptors."

Talos sighed and wondered who exactly this man was that he could appear so old but still turn the tables on a Dark Jedi that was at least 50 years younger than him. With another sigh, Talos deactivated his lightsaber with a sluff.

But then the bay windows to the Preceptor's office shattered and in the windowsill stood a group of well-armed warriors, with two Mandalorians at the front.

"He is old" gwaffed Sanguinius Tscurya Entar, snorting in derision.

"But no less killable" replied Cethgus Entar.

Silence fell over the room for a minute as Talos looked to the Preceptor, who looked to the commandos, who in turn stared at Julian Rami's corpse and Elric's groaning body, then back to their brother-in-arms.

After that, all hell broke loose.