Morgan nodded to general Elarius as he entered the forward command post, formerly one of the Empire's many, many armories. Fortunately for the Enosis, after the outer city's shield failed and fighter-planes dominated the skies by the literal thousands, the Empire had retreated to the inner city. To Kaas City.
Where the outer city was, by his own admission, normal, Kaas City was a different beast. It housed the Empire's most important, including the Dark Council and various high-level bureaucrats, with the remainder being almost exclusively military.
Military families, military orphanages training more soldiers, military power couples and military bakeries. Nearly everyone inside would be capable, willing and eager to fight them, nevermind the much, much more thorough fortifications it enjoyed.
Whereas most of the civilians had been keen to run, at least until now, what non-uniform souls they encountered from this point forward would be treated with the appropriate level of suspicion.
Billions called Dromund Kaas home, and millions of them lived in Kaas City. It was comparatively tiny compared to some places like Coruscant and Nar Shaddaa, but Morgan found it plenty big enough.
This explained the relative lack of soldiers, as well. With a population this numerous, conscripting tens of millions of bodies wasn't that hard. Yet Marr wouldn't do that, would he? No, that would be too easy.
Morgan would have liked the man to. Arm people who weren't particularly zealous, send them to fight against the Enosis, let Enosis officers convince them to fight for them instead. It would even supply them with weaponry. But no, Marr would keep to his few million troops.
Fortunately, their aerial supremacy had been readily taken advantage of. Quinn had reported more than a hundred and fifty thousand enemy soldiers killed before the bulk of them retreated back into Kaas City, twice that number having surrendered after being cut-off.
Just shy of half a million enemy combatants neutralised, only costing them forty five thousand Enosis lives. 'Only'. The colonel reporting that fact, someone who Morgan had not known, had not weathered his glare well.
Nonetheless, Kaas City was their next line of defense. There wasn't a wall, not exactly, but there were fortifications. Traps both mundane and Force-assisted, soldiers by the hundreds of thousands, sith moving across the battlefield in large groups. Sixty five remaining sith Lords in groups of two or three, creating a shallow circle around the city.
Enosis destroyers had lowered from orbit, bombarding the smaller but stronger shields of Kaas City, but nothing had gone through yet. Nonetheless, it was good for damaging morale, and the surface-to-space weapons in the inner city weren't quite able to damage them quickly enough to force a retreat, turning the affair into a stalemate.
Morgan was going to steal those shield generators. Oh yes. With them the Enosis stations would be all but untouchable.
"Sir." Elarius said, nodding. There weren't many people here, though the heavily protected armory felt cramped regardless. "The preparations are progressing well, and general Quinn has requested your assistance at site nine."
"I'm making my way over now. Are the last pockets of resistance being dealt with?"
Elarius tsked. "Yes, but though the local civilian population in the outer city does not fight, they do shelter and assist Imperial troops in other ways. Another few hours should allow us to secure our supply lines."
"An army marches on its stomach." Morgan replied, seeing the general nod approvingly. "Request je'daii if needed, I want the outer city pacified."
Morgan endured a short minute of reports and updates, then he was off again. Rising through the levels as he jumped past apartments and walkways, the buildings towering higher the closer he got to Kaas City. He couldn't see the ground anymore, and the style of the architecture became more foreign as he moved.
Nearly everything was made from metal, the trees and greenery fake or holographic, apartments high-quality but small. As he rose higher still, coming to stand on the rooftops of the buildings, the wind blew hard enough even he felt it.
Three Enosis fighter planes streamed overhead, chasing Imperial ships of the same make, and Morgan smiled. The Empire still had starfighters, but not as many as the Enosis. With the space battle over, and each Enosis destroyer carrying at least a dozen liberated planes, they had the advantage of numbers.
Training the pilots was more complicated, but all Morgan had had to do was wave his hand and order it done. Which was, while slothful, extraordinarily convenient. Either way, the skies were theirs. And with that advantage they had a chance.
Because frankly, their easy success so far wasn't snowballing into immediate victory.
The Empire had retreated to the inner city, but laid millions of traps as they did. It explained the lack of traps around the outer wall, Morgan realizing they'd expected to lose it from the start. Now all that firepower was concentrated in a much, much smaller area, making getting access to Kaas City alone a near suicidal notion.
The Enosis had it surrounded now, though, two klicks out from their shields and with scanners able to detect underground passageways. But actually gaining access? No. Reducing Kaas City to rubble would be easier, Morgan admitted, though it was a moot point now.
So he travelled over rooftops, going to speak with the man who claimed to have the solution: Quinn. The man's own base of operations was both further away from the front-line and assembled by Enosis hands. Unlike Elarius, who moved once every few hours, Quinn was staying put.
A Lord of War bowed as Morgan entered, twenty eight souls rushing around in controlled chaos. Quinn's staff, keeping an overview of the shifting battle in real time. Easy, Morgan had thought, what with modern scanners and IFF's, but that opinion hadn't accounted for enemy sabotage. Sabotage committed via both physical means, cyber attacks and use of the Force.
Astara, the head of the Enosis intelligence department and one of the original founders back on Korriban, was apparently having the time of her life.
"Ah, Morgan." Hexid all but purred, emerging from one of the side cubicles. "Please speak some sense into your pet. He insists I am not critical to the main offensive, and should instead join the third prong of attack. This is an insult to my abilities."
Morgan rolled his eyes. "Darth Hexid. And what, pray tell, do you base these opinions on? A long and successful military career, perhaps? Your long studies of the art of war? Or, as I have made abundantly clear already, is it amenable if we leave the people specifically trained and qualified for this exact situation to do their job?"
"Care you nothing for my desires? My displeasure and unattended needs?"
Quinn swallowed a laugh, Hexid turning to him in confusion, and Morgan waved his hand for the man to speak. "Nothing, sir. Only, this battle might get more complicated if a certain someone were to hear her speak like that. With the certain someone reassigning several tens of millions of mercenaries here to have her hanged, I mean."
"I do love to be fought over." Morgan agreed dryly. His eyes flickered to Hexid. "And don't look so shocked, we both know you already figured out I'm in love."
Hexid smoothly transitioned from surprise to a demurred smile. "Such a fortunate lady. And greedy, to keep you all to herself."
"Greedy is right." Quinn mumbled, not unkindly. He firmed his voice. "Shall we get to it?"
Morgan nodded. "We shall. And no, we won't have several tens of millions of mercenaries joining us. Apparently most large-scale armies for hire are rather hesitant about entering this war, and the smaller groups aren't worth the credits. Besides, she's helped enough."
Quinn shrugged. "Understood. Speaking off, the mercenaries that have assisted us during the naval battle have officially completed their contract. The fact we paid, and did so in physical credits, did boost our standing in certain circles."
Hexid pouted, which was both a surprisingly adorable expression and so fake Morgan found it insulting, but he chose not to rise to the bait. If the woman was going to keep poking, or hint that she actually knew about Vette, measures would have to be taken.
Hopefully that could wait until after they'd secured Dromund Kaas.
"I shall keep this short, then." Quinn continued. "Phase one is primarily meant to deal with the large amount of enemy sith Lords. We cannot mount a proper assault until they are dealt with, or at least culled to a more reasonable number. Employing Darth-level assets will see the enemy do the same, but there we hold the advantage. Five to their four, though we only know two of the enemy Darths."
Morgan hummed. "Marr and Nox. Initial report about the others?"
"One is rumored to be the apprentice to Nox, the other loosely aligned with the now deceased Decimus. Not one of his apprentices, though we don't know anything more than that. The core principle of the plan is to lure both Lords and regular sith from behind their shields, overcoming their greater number by defeating them in detail."
"I assume we have a method of luring them? They are reckless and power hungry, yes, but not necessarily stupid."
"We do." Quinn said. "The Lure of Love should be one of them. The limitation of line-of-sight is an issue, but it should overcome their better reasoning. Hexid assures me she can seduce a few away from the main force, which is another reason she will be in the third prong of the attack, while the remaining teams will rely on taunts, feints and faking weakness. It will not work for all, but we estimate to cut down a third of their numbers in this manner."
"And if Marr is there, ensuring their discipline?"
"Then I count on you to distract him. That is the most critical part of the plan, in truth, and the weakness of the Empire. The sith rule by fear and by force, and without them discipline becomes brittle. Officers thinking more about their own advancement than the battle, Lords suddenly able to decide for themselves, the works. Small units are strong—companies and squads—but once you pass the rank of major, politics become nearly all-consuming."
Morgan nodded. "And the rest of the plan?"
"Adaptable, depending on how the first phase goes." Quinn said, clearly unwilling to go into detail. Still working on it, then. "The best time to attack is estimated to be in four hours."
Hexid folded her arms, clearly annoyed at being ignored. "By who?"
"Understood." Morgan replied, ignoring the zabrak. "This is your battle, general. Your command. Neither I, nor anyone else, will micromanage."
The zabrak left with an actual huff, Morgan had little doubt it was but part of the persona she'd decided on, and Quinn shrugged. Morgan returned the gesture, feeling that was good enough, and got the location of the assault he was going to be a part of.
There he found, for the first time in a long while, the Chosen. All two thousand eighty four of them. He could feel them in the Force, like little stars shining just bright enough to see, and he nodded to them as he landed.
Jillins, as usual, was busy preparing. His major nodded as the remaining officers, even the captains, saluted. Morgan loved his Chosen, he did, but they were a lost cause when it came to relaxing discipline. Especially the officers. Some of the regular Chosen troopers might not be salvageable.
Volryder, to Morgan's surprise, was also there. Passive detection was all but useless with how many Force users were around, and infusing intent would let Marr know exactly where he was, so the man caught him off guard.
He preferred not to have his location nuked, though. It would hurt.
"Major." Morgan said. "Volryder. I seem to recall you being assigned to a different section of the battle."
"I'm on my way there. I wished to discuss something with the major here, that is all."
Morgan shrugged. "That explains the team of Knights, at least. One of them glared at me, for some reason. Any idea what's that about?"
One of his Chosen captains, a nikto with a modified helmet to accommodate his spikes, grunted. It was a low, displeased sound, but Morgan waved the captain down. It was one of his newer captains, Yish. Volryder sighed.
"A mysterious rumor has sprung up about my outburst at the meeting in orbit. One that I'm sure Hexid had nothing to do with. Lorash is angry but means no offense. I have known the man since he was a youngling, an accomplished fighter with a keen mind, but he has taken the issue personally."
"Insulting your superior officer, even non-verbally, is unwise." Jillins said, eyes roving over the map. The man shrugged. "And doing so while among Chosen ranks is stupidity. Your Knight is lucky none of them noticed."
Volryder nodded in agreement. "Indeed. We can not afford wounded soldiers, especially now."
"That's not what I meant."
Morgan spoke up before the jedi Master could do more than frown in confusion. "It's not important. I feel self-confident enough that some random jedi's glare won't wound me, but it seems this issue is not as tabled as I ordered. What the hell happened between you and Hexid? Yes, she's an objectively bad person and has done things I do not approve of. And yet you are usually better at controlling yourself, Volryder."
The jedi heaved another sigh. "Walk with me?"
"You have time." Jillins chimed in, not even looking up. "The plan isn't complicated, it won't take long to go over."
Morgan followed Volryder as the jedi made his way outside. The distant sound of an Enosis bomber deploying its payload rumbled in the distance, but neither of them broke stride. It was a sound you got used to surprisingly quickly.
Volryder came to a stop some ways away, still well within range of Chosen patrols. Morgan raised an eyebrow, but the jedi waved him down. "You are not going to be happy about my reasoning. I am unhappy about my reasoning. Rest assured that it shall not happen again, and that I have meditated on the issue."
"I'm getting less happy by the minute." Morgan said, folding his arms. "Your life is your own, and I will respect your decision if you tell me it's none of my business, but honestly? You're making it my business. Spit it out."
"I met her, once. She was still an apprentice back then, and I'm not surprised she doesn't remember me. But I remember her, and I remember how she laughed when jedi died. When my friends died. This was nothing but a minor border skirmish, I wasn't even an active combatant back then, but I remember it. The sound she made. The glee and sheer pleasure at ripping apart flesh, uncaring about anything but her Dark-side high."
"She lost."
"She did." Volryder said, sighing again. "We did not have permission to kill. There was peace and neither us nor the sith were supposed to be there, it was a mess. An SIS funded black-ops unit, one of their more successful attempts at recruiting jedi for espionage. Regardless, she was beaten. The only survivor out of a team of nine sith. I saw her sitting in that cell, blindfolded and shackled, and still she was so damned content. So happy to have been able to kill."
"You were planning to kill her in turn."
Volryder smiled a humourless mile. "Planning to? I held a knife to her throat. There were two dozen spooks and military backup, and not one of them attempted to stop me. We didn't need her, she held no intelligence or bargaining power, nothing. One slice, and an objective evil would be vanquished."
"Why didn't you?"
"I remembered my lessons." Volryder shrugged. "Remembered that I was supposed to strive towards good, not justified evil. I never worked with the SIS again, not in that capacity, but I suppose she became symbolic. A manifestation of evil. Not realistic, I'm aware, but we are mortal. Even the most powerful of us."
Morgan tsked. "Then you saw her, and it all came rushing back."
"Yes. I believe in what we're doing here, I know she is necessary, and I like to think I have grown wiser with age. That I understand the universe is not black and white. But it is hard, seeing that smug smile on her face as she squirms her way towards survival."
"Is that what you think is going to happen to her? That she will, what? Sit on the Dark Council? If you think nothing will change, why be here at all?" Morgan held up a hand. "That sounded more accusatory than I meant it. Let me rephrase. If you don't think the Enosis will be different, why fight for it?"
"Because I believe you will lead a better Empire than any who could reasonably hold the seat. Because you hold so much power, and yet it barely changed you. And when it did, it usually was for the better. I think that the Enosis will save so very many lives, and believe that a good man with absolute power will do more good in a decade than the Republic has done in a millennia."
"That's your gamble, then?" Morgan asked. "Hope absolute power doesn't corrupt me absolutely?"
Volryder spread his hands. "What other choice is there?"
Morgan grunted in acquiescence, signing deeply and offering a half smile. "I am overcome with emotion by your overwhelming display of support, truly. So you and Hexid won't be a problem?"
"Not from my side, no. I have come to terms with both her presence and what she represents."
"Good." Morgan nodded. "And rest assured, Hexid enjoys power now because she is needed. I will not reward service with death, but she will not return to her leisurely ways once the war is over."
Volryder bowed his head, either in apology or agreement, and they returned to the war-map. Found Jillins waiting, not that it had been long, and Morgan focused on the task at hand.
The first assault.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Lord Drowl, for the first time in a long time, felt a flicker of uncertainty. True, he had not fought in a proper battle since the end of the Great Galactic War, and he had just been an apprentice at the time, but this felt different. Wrong.
He had some skill in fleshcrafting, which allowed for an improved constitution, but the art was oftentimes too difficult to experiment with. Regardless, his chosen method of attack was toxins and poisons, which proved very effective when dealing with slave uprisings. Which he had to do often, quite often, and he enjoyed the work.
But this. This was different.
He wondered if it had made his skills rust, all that time spent stamping out rebellions. Wondered if his edge had dulled. Four other Lords were at his side, four Lords who had accepted his seniority, but the hesitation was there. The warning in the force.
His soldiers were ready, that useless colonel properly motivated and the shield was holding strong. It was the only thing saving them from the incessant bombings, which annoyed him to no end. Employing overwhelming firepower to intimidate and cow he was no stranger to, but it was him that was supposed to hold those cards.
With every run those planes made, more critical infrastructure was reduced to rubble. Armories and bridges, barracks and training facilities. Whole minefields and precious artefacts. The plan was to break the Enosis here then push back into the outer city, taking back all their lost ground.
That plan seemed less feasible by the hour. And those damned fools even had the foresight not to target civilian centers, something that would have seen the cowards of the Empire rise up against the invaders.
"Movement up ahead." One of the soldiers called. Drowl snatched the binoculars out of the trooper's hand, looking for himself as the trooper muttered under his breath. "Just the one, sir. Happy to help, sir. Happy to die, sir."
Insolence. Drowl shocked the traitorous scout to death as a lesson to the rest, their fourteen hour watch no excuse for insubordination. Yet the trooper had been right, and it was just the singular female standing there.
Lana Beniko. Drowl scowled, that hesitation rearing its head again. He was not a coward, he was not afraid or hesitant, and now this jumped-up Lord mocked him? Baited him, as if he would be so stupid to venture past the shield?
No, this location was defensive. It overlooked the key bridge granting access to the east gate, tens of thousands of soldiers dug in and prepared. Heavy weaponry had been assembled, shield domes had been raised and, should the enemy get past the greater shield, forty sith regulars stood ready to hunt.
Let the bitch come, he thought. They would tear her apart.
Lana Beniko, as it turned out, did not attack. Two figures joined her, figures Drowl could not distinguish with his senses thanks to the chaos in the Force, and his scowl deepened. The so-called Lords of War. Pathetic. Even more jumped-up than the Enosis leadership.
There was no one else, no soldiers or army that he could feel, and Drowl narrowed his eyes. He was no stranger to strategy, but the Enosis, in the end, was nothing more than a bunch of particularly well-organized slaves.
Reports came of other fronts being attacked, and Drowl prepared. Felt a surge of vindication as the trio moved forward into range of his troops. Troops that promptly opened fire, though the attackers made good use of the limited cover.
Drowl felt a whisper in the Force yet nothing attacked, and he felt a smile form. Then it fell, feeling two of his fellow Lords drop dead. Drowl let his mind open to the deeper Force, interpreting the sea of swirling chaos as a headache bloomed.
He had never been the best at it, he knew that. His strength laid elsewhere. Yet this. This was the realm of Darths, and no rumor he had heard hinted that she was at that level. Lana Beniko had defended herself against Darths, yes, though even that much was mere speculation, but to kill two Lords without touching them?
Then his instincts kicked in, and he leaned to the side. A lightsaber passed less than a foot from his neck, cloaked je'daii appeared from nowhere, and Drowl felt a shiver go down his spine.
The assassins vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and moments later he was fighting one of the Lords of War. Who, thankfully, conformed to expectations: A younger woman, impure of blood and lacking in power. She was unable to touch him, Drowl easily weaving past her attacks as she stumbled back.
Yes, this was it. Tricks and good fortune, nothing more. The Lords were nothing of the sort, and he would deal with this one easily enough. The other would be hunted down, and Drowl thought he sensed Darth Nox fighting Beniko.
This was it.
He pushed, venturing past the line of shields without worry. They would not bombard their own Lords, the soft-hearted fools, and he would not let this creature flee to lick its wounds. No, he would claim her head, and then he would deploy his poisons.
The Enosis had many healers, but that is why it was a dance. Why it was worth his time. Drowl felt a spark of old joy return, of great battles and smooth progress. He had not fought in this war, not directly, and he saw now that it had been a mistake.
The Force sang as he pushed onwards still, not seeing nor feeling any sign of an attacking army. Time to wrap this up, then.
Drowl nudged his remaining Lords, those who had hesitated at the edge of the shields, but there was nothing to fear. Yes, his soldiers could do little for fear of shooting him, but there were only three enemies. And while Beniko had killed two of his Lords, the je'daii was occupied by Darth Nox now.
Je'daii. A mockery.
The other Lords pushed, the Lord of War was pushed back, and Drowl felt a lightsaber cut through his neck. He released a cloud of highly toxic but short-lived vapors into the air, an old trick that had saved his life many times over, and everything else fell away as his opponent pulled back to skitter out of range. An opponent that suddenly moved faster than before.
Fear, anger, the realisation that he'd been tricked all dawned upon him. He'd been lured away to be killed. None of it mattered. Drowl ran. The wound on his throat did not bleed, for a lightsaber cauterizes where it cuts, and felt his last Lord die as he frantically recreated crude but vital arteries.
Run. Just run. Drowl obeyed his instincts as troops opened fire again, forcing the Lords of War back. Blind panic overcame reason, the logical path of returning to his soldiers being ignored, and so he fled deeper into the city. The outer city, the barrier clear to anyone who spent more than a few days on Dromund Kaas.
There was distance between the inner and outer city, sometimes small and sometimes grand, but there wasn't much of it. Here, it was almost nothing. A bridge's length, and then more buildings rose. Almost as affluent, almost as spacious. But not, importantly, not quite as nice.
He could have had the best of them in the inner city, if he'd cared. Now, though, he raced through them without pause, using the Force liberally as he pressed a hand to his gaping neck wound. Flesh knitted together crudely, the extent of his healing abilities lacking, and he regretted not practicing more with it.
What good was power if he died to the first blow?
He scaled one of the taller buildings with some effort, finding someone had set up a few chairs and a rain-cover. He used it now to hide from the planes, casting his eyes over the battlefield.
His blunder of being lured from the protective shields was recreated en masse. It was easy to condemn them as fools, watching Lords sally from their positions, but as he watched, Drowl understood. There was so little discipline among them, so few caring or even knowing about the bigger picture.
And there were not enough Darths to keep them in line, the four remaining ones holed up in the Imperial Citadel. In the sith Sanctum, as if those defences would hold up against determined Darths. They should be out here, holding the line.
Something glittered in his eyesight, and Drowl fought to keep still in spite of the feelings it evoked. His mental shield didn't report any intrusions, yet he was familiar enough with himself to know he could never want anything that badly. Not enough to overcome his own sense of reason.
Age, Drowl supposed, came with some benefits. It was that fool Caro, some artefact dangling from his neck. Hundreds of sith were streaming towards him, the warriors and inquisitors, the apprentices and acolytes. All running towards him like possessed madmen, uncaring for the growing mound of bodies around the man.
Drowl swallowed, seeing even sith Lords among the dead. Two more regained their sanity before they got into range, and the enemy Darth moved. One moment he was cutting down a few dozen acolytes, knives dancing around him in a wave of death, and in the next he was amongst the Lords. Lords that should have run the moment they shook off the influence.
They didn't. They hesitated, pride fighting instinct, and Drowl made no move to help them. Age had taught him everything, everything, was applied survival, but the Lords did not die. Darth Caro, and Drowl found himself unable to call him a fool even in the privacy of his own mind, pulled back.
Making the questionable decisions to train his perception on the man, Drowl flinched. The Force was draped over the Darth almost lovingly, moving in tune with the man's mind. A unity Drowl found himself intensely curious about, resolving to meditate on it later.
Then, perhaps a second after he let the sith Lords flee, Darth Caro was engaged with Darth Marr in the deep Force, and Drowl very carefully extracted himself. Looked back to the saved Lords, finding them surrounded by je'daii.
Lesser fighters, low in power and trying to make up for it in number. Yet they moved like a pack and never let the Lords single them out, and Drowl watched them die. Sith Lords, individually more powerful than any of their foes, caught alone and pulled apart.
Discarding the Enosis as just another slave-uprising, Drowl decided, had been a mistake. They had trained an army of Force users, one that now proved itself equal to the sith order. Only a part of it, but equal.
So he watched the attack, finding those of his own rank baited and killed and ambushed and more. There were teams of invisible assassins, seemingly having put all their training in stealth. Striking, retreating, striking again. Groups of four finding and singling out any Lords caught out of position, Drowl himself moving to another vantage point, and he felt fear.
Fear and excitement. He was not so proud to ignore his own flaws, not right now, and there was a spark. Sudden inspiration to combine fleshcrafting with his synthesized toxins, ideas and innovation that had never occurred to him before.
The monotony of stamping out slave uprisings had dulled his spark, Drowl realised. It had been fun, it had felt worthwhile, but it had not challenged him. It had not pushed him. But now he breathed, and the Dark filled him as determination settled deep.
Then he stepped aside, almost surprised at his own action, and a lightsaber passed inches from his head. He pushed his would-be assassin back, detonating a wave of Force, and activated his own weapon.
He found himself face to face with a trio of female je'daii, yet his senses insisted it was but one. One whole, three bodies. Drowl smiled at them, finding himself extraordinarily pleased. "Yes, good. Forge me anew so that I might overcome my limits."
The pureblood looked at her fellow je'daii, Drowl had the sudden realisation that he knew these three from somewhere, and he blocked an overhead strike out of sheer instinct. Leaned aside for a thrust delivered simultaneously, aiming to move his second attacker to block the third. Yet the third flowed around her companion, and Drowl finally recognized them.
Darth Caro's apprentices.
The lightsaber entered his neck, and this time there was no lessening the blow. He had the utterly confounding experience of watching his own body topple, the trio slicing his decapitated head in two.
And yet he could still hear, his renewed dedication to the Dark not letting him die quite so quickly. It was the pureblood that spoke, face curious. "What was that about?"
"Fuck if I know. The identity disconnect from Fish seems to be holding, though, since he didn't recognize us right away. Destroy the body, then we continue."
"Hold up, he's still alive."
Drowl tried to frown, realised he didn't actually have a face, and three souls materialised around his own. Ripped him to shreds without pause, his desperate defenses ignored. Drowl felt himself fade, his consciousness drifting in a way he'd never experienced before, and the Dark abandoned him.
Drowl grasped after it, confused at its uncaring nature after his brief moment of connection, and found the Dark exactly that. Uncaring.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"They lost two million already?" Vette sputtered, half choking on her drink. She shot Amelia a glare. "Don't do that, it's rude."
Her aide smiled serenely. "And you would know nothing about rudeness, of course. To answer the question, yes. The Cartel, and their Supreme Mogul Ebadish, pushed hard on Nar Shaddaa's west front. The trap we set performed as anticipated, and Dorka managed to encircle the majority of their forces."
"Damn. I think I'm underpaying him. How many more broke contract?"
"Four million. The war on Nar Shaddaa is over."
Vette grinned. "Very good. I'm sure the honorable Supreme Mogul won't be executed for his incompetence like the last four. Or was it five? They kind of blur together after I proved it can be done."
"Two by assassination, three by betrayal." Amelia confirmed. "Nar Shaddaa will be yours within the month."
"Boring, then. Tell me about the Exchange. How are they doing after we cracked them?"
"John has proven himself an insightful and reliable ally." Amelia said. Vette snorted, because of course he had. "They have no united front, not after we broke them on Coruscant in the Proxy War, and we are eliminating their child-organisations one by one. In fact, another two wish to join us."
"We demanded thirty percent before, yes? Now it's fifty. I want half of everything they have, then they can swear allegiance."
"It will make them more likely to work against us in the future."
Vette shrugged. "That's what I'm counting on. Can't afford to wipe them out, not without growing the Coalition of Free Crime, but once they've proven traitorous? Oh yes, it's the rope for all of them."
"Speaking of the Coalition, ma'am, there's been a development."
"I assume it's not good news?"
Amelia shook her head. Vette watched from her balcony as her Valkyries sparred, itching to join them. Soon. "No, it is not. Promah has taken control of the three families producing hutt-raised slave soldiers, loaded approximately one point eight million of them into ships, and joined the Coalition. They retook the ground we gained on Corellia, and the green jedi are involving themselves in increasing numbers."
"Shit." Vette straightened, the implications hitting her. "Double shit. When's the last time those were deployed as an army, let alone in numbers that large?"
"Not since their founding."
"And mercenaries, even if they would fight them, don't stand a chance. Sabotage, assassination, bribery, bombings. Open budget. I want that army as small as we can make it."
"Of course. The twi'lek will fight if you order it."
Vette grunted. "I know. But only forty thousand are skilled enough for that not to be a waste. Droids it is. Ramp up production on Nar Shaddaa, buy what we can from the open market. We'd need, what? Half a million war-models in addition to our own forces?"
"That will be monstrously expensive, even for you."
"So?" Vette replied. "Money exists to be spent."
"So you rule a large number of people who will see that as a sign of weakness, and we cannot afford an open rebellion while at war."
"Keep an eye on them. No more games. If they step out of line, gut them. Discreetly. Take the most troublesome and send them to Corellia where Dorka can keep an eye on them."
"I am to reassign him there, then?"
"Do it. Provide whatever he thinks he needs."
Vette let out a long breath as Amelia obeyed, passing on the orders. She missed Morgan, she really did. Watching him indulge in her dramatics, seeing his eyes go distant as he contemplated some Force matter or another, annoying him into giving her what she wanted, even if all she needed to do was ask.
But he was off at war, and it was annoying how issues kept compounding. He couldn't help her with her problems, she not with his. Not really. Would have liked to, certainly, striding to his rescue with a thousand mercenary ships, but no. Her power was not her own to wield so freely, not completely and not quite yet, so she had limits.
Bah, limits. Before long there would be no limits, and she could play shadow games from the comfort of their room. He could sit on a throne, being all broody, while she lurked in its shadow to arrange assassinations and dastardly plots.
She was briefly lost in the pleasant imagery, only snapping back to reality when Amelia handed her a datapad. Vette approved the order without looking, seeing something else had been queued: The Imperial civil war.
Only what the public knew, of course, and she knew a great deal more, but still. It gave her a look at how Morgan was portraying himself to the wider galaxy.
"He's, uuhm." Vette was briefly stumped, snapping her fingers to remember. "Ah yes. He's ordered a complete communications blackout, hasn't he? I remember now. There was some captain who urged him to record, edit and publish war-footage for the Enosis PR department. Morgan got so fed up he literally told the man to shut it."
Amelia shrugged. "There is very little news, yes. Any who attempted to investigate, which according to our intelligence was mostly Republic SIS and Imperial Intelligence, were turned away or shot. The Enosis fleet holding positions in the system, those not actively helping with the siege, are blocking all information from leaving the system, so no one really has any idea what's going on."
"So what's public knowledge?"
"Their naval victory, mostly." Amelia said, checking her datapad. "It has led to the Republic ordering the assembly of a war-fleet, but our people are interfering as best they can. Which, apparently, isn't all that hard. The new Chancellor keeps being hounded by those wishing to let the Empire deal with itself."
"Hmmn. Get an assassination team in place. If that bitch thinks she can ambush Morgan without suffering fatal consequences, she's wrong. Very wrong."
Amelia didn't blink an eye. "Of course. I'll have our moles in the SIS smuggle a team on-site. It will have consequences, but you are aware."
"Of course I am. Which is why I said 'just in case'. How's the Enosis' popularity looking? We might not have to go that far in the first place."
"On the core Republic worlds? Fairly low. They are a distant curiosity at best. Almost everywhere else? Rising. Quickly, in some places like the Outer-Rim. Mostly where there is trouble with slavery and unrest. If an Enosis ship has been in the area, people tend to like them. Their free, comprehensive healing doesn't hurt."
"No it does not. Not just a pretty face, my Morgan. Reputation is important, he knows that. What's next?"
Her aide swiped at her datapad. "A meeting with the leaders of the Wu-Ooma Trading Conglomerate. Elisy is handling it, but I feel it's important you watch the meeting. The Wu-Ooma will be informed that you are overseeing it, and it will portray the right image."
"Very good, my faithful aide. Let's get to work."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"This is suicide." Morgan rolled his eyes as Soft Voice complained, looking at the literal wall of guns aimed their way. None had fired yet, but eight sith Lords stood in their path. Some had arrived only minutes before, but Morgan was content to let this drag out. "Suicide. And getting more suicidal every moment we wait."
"Stop your complaining. We both know this is the best course of action."
"At least the Lords' ranks are being thinned out." His friend said, thankfully dropping the whiny tone. It annoyed Morgan to no end, which is exactly why the devaronian did it. "We got, what? Forty percent more than expected? Those assassin teams from Astara really worked out."
That they had. It was dangerously close to undertraining, but the head of Enosis intelligence had her proof of concept. Force users trained for stealth and very little else, taught to hit hard then vanish. It allowed them to focus, yes, and even Lords struggled to find them as a result, but two of the squads had been caught.
Despite outnumbering their enemy five to one, both had been wiped out.
Still, they'd overperformed on the whole. Sixty five sith Lords had stood to guard Kaas City, less than thirty remained. Still no sign of Marr, or any other Darth, which was suspicious as all hell, but they'd gotten the advantage.
Morgan held up the Lure of Love, enjoying the sight of flinching sith Lords probably more than he should have. None fell for it, not now that they were prepared, but some hundred apprenticed sith surged forward.
Gods, he loved this artefact. Figuring out how to deploy it without accidently influencing his own people had been harder, and led to some desperate scrambling at the start of the siege, but he'd managed. Adding hostile intent to the thing as a filter was sloppy, but it worked.
Not bad for his first major artifact.
None of the sith apprentices got past the shields, of course. The Empire, despite their slight floundering these past few hours, knew war. Soldiers stunned the compromised sith, dragging them back behind their lines.
And that was another downside. The Lure of Love didn't work so well twice. Some instinctive resistance would build up within the target, something he, in the short time he'd allotted to fixing that issue, hadn't really seen a solution for.
But the ensuing chaos allowed Enosis assassins to slip past the shield, even with the sith Lords watching for it. This was the main offensive, meant to break the resistance and allow them to assault the Sanctum. He'd been there before, back when Baras still had control over his life, and hadn't thought much of it then.
Now the thought of dozens of Darths making their home there was unsettling. The Enosis had come up with counters to potential doomsday devices, but they could only plan for unknowns, not unknown unknowns. And with most of the Darths dead, traitors or on Korriban, there were a lot of unknowns for Marr to steal.
Defences capable of holding a Darth at bay didn't really exist, not in the traditional sense, and what few could manage only did so for minutes. Normally, reputation kept order, the fact that war would commence when the owner found their vault empty.
That's exactly what would have happened, yet now those Darths, even if they were still alive, had bigger issues to deal with. And thus Marr had access to some very horrifying things.
"It's time." Soft Voice said, rolling his shoulder as he grasped his lightsaber. Being as obvious as he could be with the fact that he was about to attack, really. "Ready?"
"I was born prematurely."
The devaronian snorted even as they charged, sixty Enosis je'daii behind them. The Lords of War were elsewhere, doing the exact same thing in eight different places, but this was the main assault. As such it held not only the Chosen, but the best of the je'daii. The best fighters, though not his apprentices.
Any moment now Morgan expected Marr to leap from the shadows. To ambush him in the deep Force, project himself into reality to give his soldiers a much needed morale boost, anything.
Instead of that, Morgan felt a tremor in the Force. Nothing immediate, and after a moment of interpreting the feeling it wasn't even aimed at him, but it definitely came from the sith Sanctum.
What in the hell was Marr doing in there?
Then he and Soft Voice were past the shields, and the je'daii assassins struck. Not aiming at the sith Lords, this time, but at the officers. Majors and higher, hopefully creating as much chaos as they could before they were countered.
And sith did counter them, but Morgan found them lackluster. The Lords weren't much better, in truth. They fought, and they enjoyed fighting, but something was missing.
The Chosen rallied behind Morgan's charge, rakatan war-droids climbed over barricades to engage Imperial machinery, and things continued to feel off. Wrong.
It felt wrong as he tore off some sith Lords leg, the woman trying to stumble away before his knife found and finished her, and it felt off as Chosen surged forward. Soft Voice occupied the remaining Lord's attention, which left Morgan free to butcher several dozen lesser sith, and everything felt off.
But not enough to call a halt to the assault, and so they pushed forward. Past the initial defenses, routing just over seventy percent of the remaining soldiers when the last Lord fell, then into the city. Over high-rise bridges, pretty parks and abandoned hangars. From enclosed walkways to roads big enough for a hundred men to march side by side, the Enosis advanced as the Empire scrambled back.
The Empire still had millions of soldiers, even if that number had fallen since retreating to Kaas City itself, and they showed themselves here. Barricade after barricade, wave after wave, tens of thousands of men screaming with zeal and trying to tear them limb from limb.
The rakatan war-droids, nearly nine hundred of them, tore through them like paper. Even when the Empire deployed their own mechanical platoons, it didn't matter. Je'daii tore those to shreds, and Morgan realised they actually had the Empire beat when it came to the number of Force wielders.
"Where the fuck is Marr?" Morgan said, finally calling a halt to their advance. The grandiose sith Sanctum rose in the distance, far past the edge of the large platform they were on, and even as he said the words the planetary shield flickered. That would be Lana, dealing with the generators. "And why the fuck did that go so quickly. Captain, get me an update."
Enosis fighters started streaming overhead, an entire phase of the attack he wasn't involved in, and dropped their payloads to wash the streets clean with fire. The Chosen captain returned after a minute, Morgan still watching their air-superiority shred through defensive lines. "Sir."
"Speak, captain."
"Sir. Lady Beniko reports that the main shield generator powering Kaas City did not have a Darth defending it. Lady Hexid and Synar along with the northern attack have overwhelmed the defenders and are marching inside the city now. We appear to be the deepest into Imperial lines."
Morgan shook his head, spying a brigade of Enosis troops marching to reinforce them. It would be their sixth, three of which belonged with them from the start. The rest had been staggered to reinforce them without creating too great a target, but with their rapid advancement they just kept pouring in.
It wasn't as if his troops were better trained. Hell, most weren't. And the Imperial soldiers had zeal, something that could compensate for morale in a pinch. But that was it, wasn't it? The Imperial soldiers weren't eager to die, not really. How many even lived in the city? For how many of them was this simply the distant capital of the Empire?
They fought, but not as hard if sith were breathing down their necks. Not as desperately as they would have if Marr had been here. Some companies had just surrendered wholesale, though it wasn't many. Still, more than expected.
Movement made him snap his attention forward, and he infused intent into his detection. The sweep stripped bare several dozen approaching sith, nine Lords among them, and Morgan frowned. From what the others had reported that would be almost all the remaining sith, and he wondered why they'd risk attacking him now.
It didn't matter. He signalled Soft Voice and they moved forward, Morgan unwilling to let the Lords among his ranks. Some Chosen, those squads he had made temporarily resistant to the Force, moved with them. No Siantide weaponry amongst them since the eastern front had need of them, but they were wielding slugthrowers and more.
Then the sun peeked through the clouds, illuminating a distant bridge in brilliant gold, and everything slowed. Morgan watched it, transfixed with its beauty, until something caught his attention further up ahead. The sith Sanctum. He could feel how old that building was. How many souls clung to its foundations, the sheer power pulled from blood and bone.
Morgan shook his head. The material world peeled back as he watched Hexid battle some sith, clearly playing with her food. She stuttered, looking his way, and Morgan narrowed his eyes.
Divination materialised like a web of dreams, a billion trillion paths not taken, and Hexid panicked. Shut down the future of her plan, Morgan only catching glimpses as the entire branch darkened.
An altar stained white with chalk, great rivers of blood flowing among the stone foundations. Skulls swinging from the ceiling without rope, souls bound and twisted in their empty sockets. Hexid, holding a dagger so black it absorbed light, a smile on her face as blood trickled from her lips.
Morgan heard someone shout, dragged out of the memory, and found Soft Voice fighting the Lords as he ruminated the alternative paths of Fate. Morgan waved his hand, Force-inflicted disease biting deep into three of them. He felt Hexid use his connection to watch, but ignored it as unimportant.
The Lords, the three with determination and fire burning in their stomachs, withered. Flesh aged and bone turned brittle, their mouths open in a soundless scream as a thousand years passed in an instant. Morgan frowned, checking the flow of time.
Good, he hadn't actually influenced it. It would have carried consequences to create a localised time-acceleration field. Could he make that? Morgan frowned, looking at his hands. Yes, but he didn't actually know how. This state did not come with knowledge, yet with some experim-
Morgan cursed, just about not staggering. Soft Voice and his opponents had stopped, all seven watching him with expressions ranging from mildly annoyed to uncomprehending.
The annoyed one was his friend, no doubt wishing Morgan had done something actually useful with his moment of tranquillity. Like divine what Marr was up to, scout out hidden traps, kill someone who actually mattered or create an artifact.
Things Morgan had spent hours memorizing, hoping it would translate to his altered mental state. No such luck, it seemed.
"So, are you six done?" Morgan asked, a few long seconds having passed. "I mean, I'm more than happy to go again."
The six sith Lords, four men and two women, looked defeated. It was an almost comical expression, shoulders slumping as weapons were deactivated.
Morgan blinked. They'd… surrendered.
"Who has overall command over the Imperial forces?"
"Darth Marr." One of them said, voice, if not nervous, then on edge. "Grand Moff Ilyan Regus after him."
"Are either of those giving orders?"
Another pause, longer this time. The same Lord spoke again. "No. The Sanctum is sealed, and we have heard nothing of those inside."
"And that doesn't strike you as suspicious?"
The Lord shrugged helplessly. "What can we do about it?"
Morgan opened his mouth, closed it, then spoke again after a moment. "Right, nevermind. Order all Imperial soldiers to surrender. Now. I don't care if another sith counters the order."
The sith looked at each other again and obeyed, Soft Voice coming to join Morgan. The telltale feel of a sound-only privacy ward enveloped them. "You seem surprised."
"At their surrender? Yeah. Usually I have to beat them to the edge of death for that."
Soft Voice grunted. "Well, you do get a bit eldritch when you go tranquil."
"I do not."
"You really do." His friend said. "Not Other eldritch, but something else. Like this feeling of predetermined dread. The nagging thought that opposition is useless, that the future is set, that all that is left is to kneel. An ignorable feeling, of course, but then you waved your hand and turned three Lords into dust."
Morgan found nothing to say to that, and was distracted when Hexid came flying at them. Well, it wasn't quite flight, but launching oneself from the roof of a building to bridge a hundred feet gap seemed close enough.
He was prepared for a confrontation, what with him divining her future and finding some not so great stuff, and was instead treated to a polite bow. Synar was being dragged along with the zabrak, seeming nonplussed, but the other Darth bowed too.
That was not the usual mocking gesture, either. Morgan really appreciated that he was experienced with this kind of treatment by now. A few years ago he would have floundered. Made some expression, be that with his face or the Force.
Now he just raised an eyebrow, detached. Faking it wasn't so hard. Hexid finally spoke. "The northern front is secure. All Imperial forces have been routed and the army is pushing into the city. The battle is yours."
"So I saw." That was unusually polite, and Morgan could almost feel the fear in her. The fear and a long held belief of avoiding those who could kill her. Which, he supposed, explained her attitude. "Swing right and start demanding their surrender. We have reasons to believe their command structure is fractured."
"Your will be done, my Lord."
Hexid vanished and Synar followed, Morgan ignoring their furious whispering. He sighed as he turned to Soft Voice. "I really don't get what the hell you people see when I'm like that."
"Nevermind Hexid and her heel face turn." Soft Voice replied, waving his hand at the waiting Lords. "Her I trust to at least do her job. What about them?"
Morgan shrugged. "We take them with us. Could you imply that stepping one toe out of line will get them slaughtered?"
His friend did, Morgan's mind turning to the battle. To the thought that this was too easy. The Empire outnumbered them greatly, and even if some surrendered, more would fight. Be that for home, for loyalty or for sheer routine.
Half his people were dead, hundreds of thousands of corpses laid on this battlefield alone, and he was complaining it was too easy. Yet that was exactly how he felt.
Where were the ambushes? The shifts in strategy, the impenetrable defenses and legions of die-hard soldiers? Come to think of it, had Dromund Kaas ever been attacked?
Morgan frowned in thought, overlooking the vast city. Soldiers moved around him, Soft Voice speaking with the Lords, and he ignored it all.
Had they? Properly? Not by some strike team, infiltrated by assassins or opposed by those like Lord Grathan. But a proper army, with proper ships and their own Force users? How untested were their defenses? He'd assumed the fall of the outer wall had been a strategy, but had it really?
With Marr commanding the battle, he was sure it would have been harder. But no, the man was holed up in the Sanctum. Morgan felt that was important. Vitally important, in fact. They had to get there. Now.
"Change of plans." He said out loud, connecting to Quinn. Battlefield communications like that were usually in danger of being intercepted, but this was too urgent. The man picked up, Morgan not wasting time with platitudes. "I'm taking Lana, Soft Voice, Hexid and Synar to assault the sith Sanctum. Send an army in there with us when you can."
Quinn was silent for a moment, probably consulting something, then spoke. "Take the troops you have now. We're seeing large portions of the Imperial military surrendering, if not outright trying to run."
"And that's strange, right?"
"Normally? Not really. Siege battles like this are usually over the moment the planetary shield falls. For the Empire? Yes. It means the driving force of their motivation, the grand moff or Darth, is dead. Are they?"
"Not that we know of. The sith Sanctum is sealed off, and according to a number of surrendering Lords, no one inside is answering. Complete communications blackout."
"Go. I'll finish the battle."
The line disconnected, Morgan waved his hand at Soft Voice. He and the Lord next to him came over, the latter adjusting to their new allegiance with remarkable speed. "We're moving over to the sith sanctuary. Everyone else will meet us there."
His friend nodded, Morgan not really caring about the opinion of random sith, and he jumped forward. Anchored himself to the side of a building, using that to jump again. The city soared underneath him as he flew past all the defenses and targeted infrastructure sabotage.
Half of said defenses were unmanned, he noted, and as he was joined by Lana, Morgan found a fleeing sith Lord. One that didn't pay him any attention, moving as quickly as he could away from the center of Kaas City. From the sith Sanctum.
Hexid and Synar joined, the expected snark about being pulled back and forth nowhere to be found, and Soft Voice caught up. The Lords trailed behind them reluctantly, correctly judging that trying to run would get them killed.
Morgan landed at the steps of the sith Sanctum of Dromund Kaas, the towering building spreading before him. It was almost gothic in nature, large spirals of twisting metal rising to meet the skies. Thousands of soldiers were stationed in front, rows and rows of them fortified and dug in.
There was a colonel in front, which wasn't right at all, and the man turned slowly. Just stared for a moment at the five Darths and six Lords, then turned back towards the door.
"Your men are facing the wrong way, colonel." Morgan started, feeling somewhat insulted at being ignored. "As are their fortifications."
"Yes they are, my Lord. Or they would be, if we cared about keeping people out."
Morgan thought about that for a moment, nodding. "Someone's going to tell me what is going on, right now, or I'm going to do something unkind."
The colonel turned back, sighing deeply. The other soldiers spared them nothing but a few glances, only shifting slightly as they turned back to the large doors with muted expressions of fear. Veterans, clearly, and determined. Highly so. Probably people with families living on the planet.
"Darth Marr sealed the Sanctum shortly before the start of your assault, my Lord." The man said, tone short and to the point. "He pulled critical reinforcements, sith and heavy munitions inside, and since then all that has come out is a wave of droids. Droids that shot at us in coordinated assaults far too advanced for their models."
Morgan suppressed a chill going down his spine. "What was Marr doing, colonel?"
"Officially? That's above my station." The man shrugged. "I've lived here since I was born. My wife lives here. My children live here. I've never left but to go on campaign, and I love this city. We know you could have won already. Me and the other officers. We know you could have bombed us from orbit, damn the civilian casualties."
The man deflated a little. "It's what we would have done. Have done, in the past. But you tried to spare as much of the city as you could, and that counts for something. Has to count for something."
"What is Marr doing, colonel?" Morgan repeated, looking at the towering building. The Force still told him nothing, and for the looks Synar and Lana were sharing, they weren't having much luck either. "Tell me now."
"I was there when he gave his speech. Told us, the colonels and generals and moffs, that you could not be allowed to live. That he would not allow you to live even if he had to burn all of Dromund Kaas to see it done. I'm not supposed to know what he's doing. The generals aren't supposed to know either. But that's not how that works, is it? I know too many people, am owed too many favors."
Morgan seized the man by his shoulder. "Tell me."
"He went down to the vaults deep under the Sanctum. The vaults where Dark Council members keep some of their doomsday weapons. The kind that you can't control, can't steer or manage. The kind that you can only release."
"And Marr thought he could control them anyway." Morgan hissed, looking at the door. "The ritual. Marr underwent a power boosting ritual. Free power doesn't exist, so it must have messed with his mind. What's down there?"
The colonel shrugged. "I don't know. Rumored to be, though? Everything from imprisoned, mad sith Lords to rapidly multiplying beasts to unshackled Artificial Intelligence. The last of which was confirmed, at least."
Morgan followed the man's gaze, finding a pile of scrap dragged to the side. Droids. Likely a proper AI, able to coordinate absolutely between units. Even with the safeguards this galaxy seems to have implemented, it would wreak havoc. Find droids, alter them if needed, build a factory, turn the entire city into yet more droids, build ships, mine the asteroid belts, expand.
Yeah, no. Morgan was more than content to nip that particular issue in the bud. "So Marr is dead, then?"
"We don't know. All we know is that this is the easiest exit of the Sanctum, and we're not going to let a single thing through. The lesser entrances have been sealed as best we're able, and another eight brigades have surrounded the complex."
"Not to be self-sabotaging, but you do know I'm invading, right?" Morgan asked. He already knew the answer, but still. This wasn't how he saw this going. "I mean, literally. My army is making its way through the city as we speak. Fighting soldiers, killing soldiers, the works."
The colonel's tone hardened. "You can have the fucking throne. I don't care anymore. We thought we ruled the galaxy during the Cold War. For twenty years we built this image of strength. Now? Revanites, the Enosis, that damned war against the Republic. We're a shadow of what we're supposed to be, and from all reports you're saner than most. If you can stop whatever horror lurks inside, you can have it all."
"Is that you speaking, or the Imperial military?"
"Me." The man said, not turning away from the door. "But you'll find it to be a far-reaching sentiment. Especially over the last few minutes, when leaked documents have spread over the Command Network detailing what has been done."
Damn. The man had a spine. Then again, Morgan wouldn't be all that happy if someone released world-ending armageddon weapons on the planet where his loved ones lived either.
"Understood." Morgan replied, turning away. A small, person-sized privacy field wrapped around him, letting him speak to Quinn. One of the nice things about the Force, really. He didn't have to worry about trivial things such as Quinn technically being outside the field. "General. The Imperial military is fracturing after Marr decided to go scorched earth. I'm going inside to deal with it, and I probably won't have time to talk after that, even if the building lets me."
Quinn made a noise of agreement. "I'll see about having them surrender. Ordering the captured Lords to have the soldiers stand down worked well. I will handle it."
"Good."
Morgan shut down the connection and turned back to the colonel. "Me and mine are going in there. Chosen and Enosis troops will arrive soon, and you'll join them to aid me inside. If you, or anyone else here, starts fighting over who is in command. Don't. Just don't."
"He means that I will stop what I'm doing, kill you, then kill anyone who doesn't fall in line." Hexid added, smiling a surprisingly innocent smile. "I'm not going to die here, colonel. If you play your cards right, you won't have to either."
That was… Surprisingly helpful. Morgan put the new, strange Hexid out of his mind, nodding towards the door. "Let's go."
The group moved towards the door, the Lords staying back. Soft Voice had spoken to them while Morgan had been talking with the colonel, and any thought about them immediately betraying them were unfounded.
The surrendered Lords were too busy looking at the Sanctum in horror.
"Why do they seem to feel something while we don't?" Morgan asked, still in his privacy bubble, waving towards the approaching door. "From this place, I mean. It's just blank to me."
Lana shrugged. "That alone probably freaks them out. But I think it's an instinctual reaction to the fluctuations of the Force that we cannot feel. As our skill grows, so does our connection. The Force is more used to us, and we do not frighten as easily. It is good and bad, in a way. It allows the choice to be ours, but fear exists for a reason. That reminds me. Hexid, how many arms did you see? When you realised Morgan was too terrifying to play with and abandoned your game, I mean."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." The zabrak replied, an easy smile on her face. "I am, as ever, his loyal servant. And I saw nine."
Morgan frowned. What the hell were they talking about?
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You grow additional arms." Lana said, eyebrow raised. "Some move in ways that should be impossible, and there's a discrepancy on how many someone sees. You never noticed?"
"No?" Morgan took a breath. "It doesn't matter. Soft Voice, if you'd kindly smash that door open?"
His friend pushed gently, the enormous twenty feet tall gates catching, then rammed through it. Metal groaned as he tore through, everyone else easily striding through the hole the giant had left in his wake. Morgan felt a sense of unease ripple through the soldiers, but ignored it.
They came to a halt about two seconds later, finding a hallway filled with traps. Most had been triggered already, but some were still active. Some were obvious, like the literal mine sitting on the floor ten feet away. Regardless, he had no doubt there would be others.
"We don't have time for this. Synar, if you'd please."
The Darth moved after Hexid nodded, a brief glance at her friend carrying a conversation's worth of information, but Morgan ignored it. Ignored it because he was feeling something further up ahead, drifting their way like the wind.
Nothing powerful, and now that he was inside he could all but feel the light aura suppression on the walls. And that meant Marr wasn't hiding at all. Not more so than normal. Yet if the man had indeed released god knows what, and was fighting it, why couldn't he feel it?
Synar had ripped her way through the hallway as Morgan contemplated, sending a rolling wave of Force through it. The attack set off what traps remained, including several dozen armed with artifacts, and Morgan watched the explosions with an uncaring shrug.
Those were just the more visible ones, of course. Poisoned darts, cones of flame, several different types of Force attacks. Nothing that would have really injured anyone here except the regular soldiers, but it would have drained them. Not overly much, but enough to give an edge to the defenders.
They continued.
It was grand, the sith Sanctum. Sweeping hallways, high ceilings, enormous holograms praising the Emperor. Morgan remembered how it had crawled with guards, both regular and sith, the last time he'd been here. Now it was empty.
It was also bigger than he remembered. When he'd been answering to Baras, going to and from the Sanctum, he'd never explored it. Never strayed from the direct path to his office. But each Dark Council member had their own wing. More yet were dedicated to sith Lords, and he was sure he could spend hours walking without ever running out of new things to see.
But that wasn't why he was here, and soon he found exactly what he'd been looking for. Soldiers. Specifically, soldiers fighting against some unseen enemy.
It was in one of the larger hallways that they'd made their stand, a good choke point for what Morgan could see was a mixture of droids and sickly men. Imperial men. A major was overseeing them, hundreds of soldiers with him, and Morgan approached like he belonged.
"I know the place isn't that big, but surely the tens of thousands of soldiers you have outside could be of use here?"
The major turned, briefly surprised before relief swept through the man. "Thank the Emperor. They're gearing up for another push, and we lost forty men last time. If they break through, they'll get to the outside. It'll be a slaughter."
Soft Voice was inspecting one of the fallen droids as Morgan blinked, Lana joining him. Hexid was keeping close, Synar trailing behind where she'd gotten distracted by an off-shoot hallway.
"I feel like I keep having this conversation, but why, exactly, are you pleased to see me? I'm invading."
"I don't care. Neither will you. If those things break through, the whole of Dromund Kaas is dead. It'll have billions of bodies, enough metal and industry to make starships."
Morgan held up a hand, hardening his tone. "Tell me what's going on, major."
"Sir." The man straightened. "Approximately four hours ago Darth Marr, along with Darth Nox, Darth Exunar and Darth Illam went down to the lower vaults. The private vaults of the Dark Council members. They wished to use the weapons stored there against you, but it went wrong. Darth Nox released something that slaughtered two Darths like it was nothing, the Grand Moff died, then-"
"We don't have time. Tell me what was set loose."
"Seven weapons with the capability to destroy all life on a planet." The major said, swallowing. "All but three have been dealt with, either by Darth Marr or eachother. One is a living plague, infecting and puppeting the flesh of the dead. The other is an unleashed AI, put in storage with approximately eight hundred droids. I'm unsure what the last is, exactly, but according to Darth Nox it is some sort of gestalt sith god possessing Darth Exunar."
Lana joined them, finished poking at the bodies. "The plague can't be stopped with fleshcrafting, not that I can see. It isn't really a plague, or at least not biological."
"And the not-plague is working with the AI?" Morgan asked, the major nodding. "Great."
"The plague increases in intelligence the more bodies it infects, though they don't last long before breaking down. The last scout we managed to get inside reported that they are creating cyborgs, though she didn't see much more before she was killed."
"Jesus christ." Morgan muttered. "The fuck was Marr thinking? At least it explains why he didn't communicate with his army. Can't risk the AI piggybacking."
The major said nothing, Soft Voice returning from where he'd disappeared around the corner. "I can't see much, but the plague definitely has some sort of Force component. Where are your sith, major?"
"Those that weren't killed by the gestalt? They're down there somewhere, taken over before we could destroy their bodies. It prioritised them."
"I found Darth Marr." Synar called, pointing down the hallway she'd been looking at. "Only he and Darth Nox are still alive. Everything is muted, and I can't tell much more than that."
Morgan rolled his shoulder. "Alright. Lana, Soft Voice, Hexid, go deal with the alliance of flesh and machine. If that gets out it'll be another war. Me and Synar are going to see what in the actual fuck Marr was thinking, then maybe help him. Or watch him die, then fix the issue yourself. I'm not sure yet. Your task shouldn't take long, so come back me up when you're done."
"Good luck, my friend." Soft Voice rumbled. "I shall tell the colonel outside to let the Chosen through and update him on the situation. Your enhancements should afford them some protection, yes?"
Morgan nodded, joining Synar as the devaronian started speaking to the major. They made their way down the hallway, Morgan almost expecting Marr to be there, but only found more hallways waiting for them instead.
They put on speed, passing dozens of offices and sparring rooms, fine dining and more. When they finally came to a richly appointed office all that was there was a hidden elevator, which the previous user hadn't bothered to conceal after themselves, and Morgan shrugged.
He took it, just about large enough for four, and waited as it made its way downwards. Very far downwards, the silence almost comfortable before Synar broke it.
"Hexid tells me you're a transcendent?"
"A claimant, as far as I can tell." Morgan replied, shrugging. "She saw, it freaked her out, and I'm pretty sure she abandoned whatever game she was playing. Or this is yet another game. Fifty fifty."
"Not unless I'm part of it, and she knows to leave me out of them."
"She said something?"
"To do whatever you said, pretty much. I don't see it, personally, but I trust her instincts."
"I don't really have anything to say to that."
Synar shrugged, the elevator kept moving, and Morgan prepared himself. Felt his ally do the same, infusing her defenses and gathering intent. When the doors finally did open, Morgan was prepared for pretty much anything.
Stepping out into a large, seemingly natural cavern wasn't what he expected, but normal enough. Seeing Marr and Nox fighting with a pureblood, some ways away, he'd also expected. The Force down here was finally reporting the truth, great rivers of power flowing through each of the three. Morgan supposed the cave had some sort of Force shielding.
What he didn't expect was for the pureblood, possessed as it was by the gestalt god, to turn to him. To speak, Marr and Nox backing away to heal. Which, Morgan noted, Nox was getting quite good at.
"Help me, enemy of my enemy, and I shall reward you with knowledge on your transcendence." The thing said, and Morgan finally got a good look at it. Not with his eyes, but with his Force senses. It was a man with nine faces, looking back in the deep Force. A body made of horror, too many hands with too few legs. Twisted, wrong, and so very powerful. "I shall make you a god, Morgan of Nowhere. I shall help you make yourself a god."
Marr barked out a laugh. "It lies. Exunar fell for it, and look what became of him. The only way any of us live is if we kill this thing."
Morgan paused, briefly uncertain. The gestalt smiled, Marr frowned, Nox glared at him and Synar looked like she regretted following him down here. Morgan let out a deep sigh.
"I really wish I had something clever to say, but I don't. What in they actual fuck, Marr?"
Afterword
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