Morgan didn't notice any change as they travelled. Not really. He was still on the Yamada, it was filled with more or less the same people, he did the same things and hyperspace felt the same as always.
Being surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of warships changed none of that.
For some it would, undoubtedly, but not him. Despite being surrounded by more souls than seemed reasonable, nothing changed in his routine.
A routine that consisted of sparring, artifact crafting and preparation meetings.
Alright, so that was new. Planning an invasion.
The orb stared back at him as he sighed, getting back to work. Two dozen healing cubes were lying to the side, increasingly sleek and stable, but that was refinement. Now he was trying something new, and it wasn't going great.
"It should work, dammit." Morgan muttered, picking up the fist-sized orb. The silver gleamed, a material he found to have soothing patterns. It was supposed to allow anyone to make limited, small scale changes to their own body. Intent directly translated to a technique, though not a complex one. "You'd make me so much money, little one. And it would see me graduate to the intermediate level of artificing."
The changes, both slow and limited in scope, were nonetheless impressive. And fast compared to traditional beauty treatments, like plastic surgery. Even here, in this galaxy far far away, there was a limit to how far people could push things.
His orb had no limits, technically speaking. Try something out, change it back, whatever. All pain free and in the privacy of your own bathroom.
And yes, he was aware of what people were going to use it for. He didn't care about their ultimate function, just that they worked.
The most annoying part? They technically did. But they allowed too much freedom during the interpretation stage, which translated to holding the orb and thinking real hard. Once done it would create a small summary on the surface, letters flowing from seemingly liquid metal, and then it could be used.
Now it was far too detailed. Every stray piece of intent was recorded, which made it all but useless. But he couldn't simply turn down the sensitivity, because some people wanted change more thoroughly than others.
Morgan set it aside, grunting, as the door to the workshop opened. Lana walked inside, wordlessly handing him a datapad. Morgan raised an eyebrow, looking at it.
"Oh." He shrugged, handing it back. "We figured something like that would happen, just not this quickly."
"Both Acharon and Zhorrid are dead. That makes all three defectors from the Dark Council gone, along with their private kingdoms. The Republic is liberating world after world, and most of the Imperials are giving up. The Empire is all but split in half, and they really only control their core systems."
"So the datapad said." Morgan agreed. "Why is this a problem?"
Lana shook her head. "Because the Republic will attack us once we've won on Dromund Kaas, maybe after Korriban. We'll be doing the bloody work, they wipe out what's left of us."
"Assuming we do win, either when Korriban surrenders after Drumund Kaas or after we've broken them on that red hell too, they won't."
"And why ever not?"
Morgan looked at her. "If we do win, I'll have grown. We all will have. Perhaps I will even have figured out my tranquil state. And not to sound arrogant, but if I can enter that at will, they won't dare. And if, by some miracle, they do dare, I'll execute their entire higher command. Then again, and again, until they get the point."
"You're becoming a ruthless bastard, you know that?"
"Blood alone moves the wheels of history."
Lana cocked her head. "I take it that's a quote."
"It is. Based on a speech from a sitcom which was based on the speech of a dictator. It's not important. The point is, things don't get better because we want them to. They get better when everyone who has a stake in the halting of progress is dead."
"Your experiments aren't going well, then." She replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "You only get that philosophical when you're brooding."
"Shut up. Did you actually want something?"
"In a manner of speaking. I wish for you to help me test a technique."
She beckoned him outside, likely to a sparring room, and Morgan abandoned his orb. Perhaps a break would do him good, anyway. He turned to the Chosen stationed outside, waving his hand towards the workshop.
"Don't let anyone go in." He said, already turning away as they saluted. "We don't want people getting maimed, you know how it is."
Lana rolled her eyes as they started walking. "Will it actually? My examination insists it will do little more than stop functioning. Building in safeguards like you're not doing mad science, honestly."
"Teacher's holocron was very clear." Morgan lectured. He knew she was just trying to distract him, even if he appreciated the effort. "Never make anything that can be misused. Or used against you, for that matter, but I'm not terribly afraid of my Vanity Orb."
"You are not calling it the Vanity Orb."
He hummed. "And here I thought I was getting better at naming things. Because, really, that's what it will be used for. There's some medical applications, of course, but nothing a moderately well-trained fleshcrafter can't do better. And more cheaply, at that."
Lana shrugged, and that was all the talking until they got to the sparring room.
He wasn't ambushed by anything, which is what he'd feared most dreadfully, and instead Lana handed him a stick. Morgan raised a lazy eyebrow. "If you expect me to fetch this, I'm afraid that's not my sort of thing."
"I care nothing for your depravity." Lana denied. "I want you to hit my arm with it."
Morgan couldn't quite stop the grin from forming. "Closer, but I'm not a sadist."
"Shut up and hit me."
His arm blurred forward before the words had fully left her mouth, Morgan infusing it with the Force. It would stop the thing from disintegrating against her flesh, which he assumed wasn't the point, but his artifact training bore unexpected benefit.
The patterns of reinforcing an object were much the same as imbuing intent, to create an artifact, so it took with more fervour than expected.
All the same, the wood impacted her arm with a deafening snap. Tearing flesh was followed by cracking bone, the blunt object cleaving almost halfway through her arm.
Lana looked at it, both her arm and the stick, as her lips drew into a straight line. Her arm mended, Morgan scratching his chin. "I mean, you asked, but I feel kind of bad about that."
"Again." Her arm was fully healed before she spoke again. "The speed was good."
Morgan shrugged, doing so, and her arm shattered to pieces. Literally torn off, blood and bone flying through the room. He sighed. "Is there a point to this? Also, don't rush integrating your reinforcement when healing. It makes for a weaker end result, if only temporarily."
She nodded tightly, Morgan regrowing it for her. Limb regeneration wasn't outside her capabilities, hadn't been for a while, but it took her time. Hours, depending on where the appendage was severed.
"Once more?" He asked, receiving a nod in reply. They both ignored the blood and meat scattered about the room, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Not with all three of them being able to heal. Morgan swung, doing the exact same thing as before, and wasn't all that surprised when the stick went straight through. "Huh."
Alright, that was surprising, just not that Lana was clearly trying something and succeeded.
Lana made him do it twice more, both going clean through, but the third hit flesh again. Then she demanded that he'd do it with his knives, then direct Force attacks, then indirect air blasts.
She adapted, because her early failures clearly weren't part of the plan, and she outright phased through four out of five attacks. Lana smiled, earlier irritation forgotten. "An attack infused with intent is harder to dodge, but I think I have it down."
"Mind if I do something rude that might also save your life?"
"I suppose it would be petulant to say no."
Morgan infused the stick again, but this time with the intent of harm. With pain and the splintering of bone, the rupture of flesh and splattering of blood. The air screamed as he hit her arm, phasing clear through.
Or, at least, the stick did. Her arm was still knocked aside, an ugly tear showing bone. The wood blurred and it was in her flesh, never having gone through at all.
"It still ignored part of the attack." He offered, Lana letting out a long sigh. "And what I just did lies in the realm of the most powerful of Darths. Dark Council and equivalent, basically. Anyone else you'd use that against falls in moments."
"As they would against you."
He frowned. "Comparison is the thief of joy."
"Practice is the mother of learning. Now stop quoting things at me and help me refine this."
And that's exactly what he spent the next few hours doing. The four out of five successes seemed to be about the best she could manage, at least for his passively infused attacks, but it seemed to work for her attacks as well.
Having her straight up ignore his shields was not as entertaining as she seemed to think it was.
He'd wiped the smirk off her face by imprinting the idea of defence into them, which he had been working on improving, and it helped, but still. It was a significant spike of power. The power of Darths.
Not that it came in all that useful, lately. The resistance was based on his body, so it didn't really do much in the deep Force. Down there reserves weren't really a thing anyway, where the Force was plentiful and limits were imposed by will, but still.
He grabbed the stick before it could smack him in the face, fingers closing around it. Lana's eyes danced with mirth, her mood much improved, so he let energy flood his arm. That, combined with his increased base physical strength, and the wood splintered.
Splintered despite her reinforcing it, which earned him another eye roll.
Morgan paused as they were cleaning up, Lana slowly dissolving her own scattered flesh. Grim work, but nothing unusual for either of them. "Promise you won't get mad."
"I will kill your mother." She intoned solemnly. He didn't think he'd ever seen her in this good of a mood before. "Also your firstborn."
"I achieved my tranquil state again. On purpose."
She snapped her head around to look. "What?"
"It was only for a few seconds." Morgan explained, raising a hand. "And I wasn't doing anything special. Just meditating like I'd been doing for weeks, and poof. Tranquility. It felt different, yet the same, yet different as what I can get on Tython. More… Me."
"I'm so glad you're capable of explaining this in detail."
"Fuck off." He shot back, shaking his head in mock disgust. "Like you can explain your dodging bullshit. Unless you're lying about that to accrue power and overthrow me. I preemptively curse your sudden and unexpected betrayal. You know, just in case I'm too busy when it's actually happening."
Lana didn't dignify that with a response, walking out and abandoning him without fanfare. It also made him the winner by default. Morgan grinned at the closing door.
Alas, the time spent here had eaten up his allotted slot for experimentation. Morgan stepped outside, waiting just long enough he wouldn't run into Lana and be all awkward, then nodded to the pair of Chosen. Those seemed to shadow him around more or less constantly, these days.
Ever since they set out for war, actually. He supposed that made sense. "Harald, Binns. Get someone to relieve your fellows guarding my workshop, would you? I won't be continuing that project today. Probably best to just get a permanent, non-Chosen guard on that, actually. And put separate credentials on the door, so some distracted captain won't accidentally remove himself from existence."
Harald snorted as Binns pulled out his datapad, neither soldier following. Another pair would arrive to take up that duty soon enough, Morgan knew. He stopped questioning their schedule and shift-changes a while ago.
And knowing their names was pure, unrefined luck. He'd been making more of an effort, yes, but there were so many Chosen now. More than he could reasonably memorize. Yet this would give the illusion that he did, in fact, know all their names.
A bit underhand, and the boost in loyalty wasn't needed in the slightest, but still. It was a rare soul that didn't appreciate being remembered.
The third pair of Chosen linked up with him as he was about to enter Kala's office, Morgan nodding to them. He also found a pair already there, and there was only one other soul that got escorted like that.
"Twelve won't be enough anymore." Major Jillins was saying, nodding briefly as Morgan entered. "I'm already straining my command with the numbers I have, and I really need permanent transports."
Kala's eyes flickered to Morgan, who was saying nothing, then back to Jillins. "And I'm in the habit of giving you whatever you need, as is Quinn. But reserving transport ships isn't quite so easy. If you'd come to me before we set off it would be a different story."
"Why didn't you?" Morgan asked. Jillins turned, stiffening. "I'm just curious, relax."
The major relaxed. Somewhat. "I forgot."
"Ah. Fair enough. Try not to do that again, which is about as strict as I'm going to get."
"Sir yes sir."
Morgan withheld a sigh, turning to his admiral. "Any wiggle room to get him what he needs?"
"If there was, I'd already have given it."
"Then you're out of luck, major. In blunt terms? Deal with it."
Jillins nodded, saluting first him then the admiral before leaving. Kala sighed the sigh he'd wanted to sigh. "He's a good leader, he is, but things like this reminds me he's never gone though the officer track. Well, he's filling in the gaps smoothly enough, so nothing to worry about now. You're early, by the way."
"Got interrupted doing what I was doing, so it felt only logical to pass that on." Kala snorted, Morgan taking a seat. "And I wanted to talk about isotope-5 before we get started."
"We already did, didn't we?"
"Jillins isn't the only one capable of forgetting things, thank you very much. We never ended up discussing supply."
"Of what kind?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. An alert popped up on her datapad, one she swiped away without looking. "In terms of reserves, we have a large amount. Large enough to outfit the entire fleet and then some. Moff Qalli has requested generators to power Taris, though that issue has been tabled for now. The main issue stems from the fact adapting existing engines takes time and resources. An approximate one-third of the fleet has been outfitted as such, which was in the report that has been delivered to you."
Morgan hummed. "That last part I was aware of, but it didn't mention the reason. I figured it was something like that, but it's dangerous to assume."
"It usually is, yes. Shall we get started?"
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan looked at Lana and Soft Voice, a hundred Chosen standing behind them. This wasn't exactly the largest hangar they had, and as such the soldiers' effectiveness was limited standing out here in the open, but that was fine. The soldiers were mostly there for image.
"If it comes to a fight, kill Hexid first." Soft Voice said in a low tone. Morgan nodded along, carefully shaping his intent as the man spoke more to Lana than to him. He was busy preparing, because every time before now the zabrak Darth had started a meeting with trying to strangle him. Metaphorically speaking. "She's fast and durable and skilled, but nothing truly special. A Darth in full, but she never progressed past infusing intent into her attacks. Lana and I can take her."
Morgan slowly finished his preparation, a small portion of his will keeping the technique intact. "Which leaves me with Synar and more than a dozen sith Lords."
"Lords that are unlikely to join the fight, based on the intelligence we've gathered. The group is more of a loose alliance than possessing any true loyalty to one another."
Hexid's ship entered and sat itself down, the vessel small but well armed. The hissing of machinery quieted down as the vessel settled, Lana rolling her shoulder. "Show time."
Hexid, Morgan found, was about as dramatic as any of them. Her presence swelled as the ship's cargo doors opened, allowing her whole party to disembark at once. It made for an impressive show, two Darths followed by a host of Lords.
Their numbers had grown, though not by much, and Morgan didn't pay them any attention. Her aura was kept constraint until she locked eyes with him, swelling quickly. Quickly enough that he realised she'd been making her own preparations, the hangar falling out of focus as her presence became all consuming.
Morgan deployed his own presence, strengthened by a variation of something Teacher had once taught him. "You are weak when it comes to raw power." The man had said. "This technique will make others hesitate about the rumors. It will allow you to inflate your presence far past the point your natural reserves should allow."
Normally, especially when around his own people, he kept it constrained. Diffused with his seal, which had the benefit of granting him increased stealth.
The technique bloomed, and Morgan put his will behind it. His presence roared, swelling well past the point he had anticipated. But it wasn't power in the regular sense, so adapting wasn't hard. Making it look like that had been the plan was slightly harder, but manageable.
Hexid slowed, Darth Synar tensing. The zabrak's power was pushed back almost entirely, stabilising once Hexid reinforced it with proper intent, and Morgan did the same. But she had lost the momentum, and her friend didn't seem willing to get involved.
The zabrak pulled back, which caused Morgan to overshoot and envelop the entire ship. He shaped it around the hangar, not quite pressing down. That bit was inspired by Star, who always managed to look like he was watching when he really wasn't.
Too bad the Other hadn't really been willing to do much, lately. Said that Morgan wasn't so young anymore, and that he should learn to stand on his own two feet. Morgan had been somewhat insulted, to be honest, but what can you do?
When the eldritch horror beyond mortal comprehension says you're a big boy now, there isn't much else to discuss. Not like the Other didn't want to hang out in the deep Force.
Morgan let the aura dissipate, and Hexid didn't initiate another round. A flash of emotion came and went, too quick for Morgan to interpret, and he nodded to the woman.
Interestingly, he was ignored. She didn't strike him as a sore loser, yet it was Soft Voice that was suddenly at the forefront of her attention. Morgan left the devaronian with only Lana as backup, walking towards the other Darth.
"Darth Synar." He greeted, casting a look at the Lords. "And with so many friends. It is nice to see you again, even if I feel terribly wounded that you abandoned me on Belsavis."
Her lip twitched, as if she had almost attempted to smile. "I am glad I did. Galaxy ending plots, world destroying devices, ancient horrors deemed too dangerous even by the rakata. That is no place for a sane mind."
"Sanity is overrated." Morgan shrugged. "Could you tell your no doubt lovely friends to stop looking at me like that? I would almost think they want to kill me. Or try to, at least."
Synar raised an eyebrow. "You have killed Lords in the past, I know, but fourteen would be too much even for you. Nonetheless, we are allies. No betrayal will come from our side."
"Sound logic." He agreed, the Lords relaxing. It felt pre-prepared, a fake favor, but he didn't really care. "I am ever one to invite needless waste. But then I'm sure Marr thought the same. We had a lovely talk shortly before he had pressing business back on Korriban. Pressing enough to leave his army behind, at that."
The Darth inclined her head, point taken, and seemed to actually sniff the air. It would have looked ridiculous if he hadn't felt the Force quiver. "You have had a breakthrough."
"You have excellent senses." Morgan complimented. "But I'm afraid that is simply a quirk of my latest artifact deconstruction."
She didn't seem to believe that. Oh well. It was a lie anyway, since he didn't deconstruct artifacts at all.
Soft Voice seemed to have Hexid under control, a wary Lana keeping close, and the sith Lords behaved themselves. Several took a closer look at the Chosen, who stared back without obvious fear, but nothing more.
The plan, as arranged when they invited the duo of Darths to join the fleet instead of meeting up on Dromund Kaas, was simple. Keep them busy. Supervised sparring between their Lords and the Enosis Lords of War, perhaps some sparring between him, Lana, Soft Voice and their visitors, then ensure they couldn't do too much damage.
Impress on them that this wasn't the Imperial military, and they couldn't kill or maim as they pleased, then hope the Enosis wouldn't have to put its foot down. Hexid and Synar were sorely needed for the siege.
Instead, before they even got out of the hangar, a messenger ran up to Soft Voice. Spoke as the devaronian listened, Hexid gravitating back towards Morgan as Lana raised an eyebrow.
A minute later Soft Voice moved over, a wide smile on his face. "Change of plans. A situation has come to our attention, one that will likely resolve itself rather quickly if we don't get involved. The major Imperial mining hub centered around Ciutric has broken into open rebellion. Millions of former slaves are attempting to seize control of the station, having already liberated the communications control center. They request Enosis aid."
"Resolve could mean failure, I guess. I assume it's on our way?"
Soft Voice nodded, Morgan humming. The devaronian looked at his datapad. "Assuming we only take isotope enhanced ships, which will be more than enough to deal with the limited number of defenders, we detour there as the main fleet moves towards Dromund Kaas. We should be able to join together before we reach the planet."
And they couldn't exactly leave Hexid and Synar here alone, he didn't say.
"You're thinking what I'm thinking?" Morgan said, making his friend smile. "Good. I, Hexid, Synar and Soft Voice will take a small fleet and assist the rebels. Assuming that's agreeable, of course."
It wasn't a question, and Hexid didn't even pretend. She bowed, managing to make the gesture seem mocking. "Of course, my Lord."
"Good." He saw Synar staring at nothing, ignored that, then looked at Soft Voice. "Eight ships and the Yamada will do?"
"As long as four are destroyers. The mining hub has limited defences, but we need the manpower to subdue any Imperial elements quickly."
Morgan nodded once. "That's the plan, then. I want to be on the way by evening."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"You know, I'm almost surprised we didn't end up killing each other." Morgan mused, looking over at Soft Voice. The devaronian looked away from captain Ikkus, raising an eyebrow at the semi-serious tone. "Me, you, Hexid and Synar, I mean."
"I know what you meant. And yes, they've been surprisingly well-behaved. Are they still sparring?"
"Yup. Been at it for almost four hours now. Seems they're taking the war seriously, too. Very suspicious."
Soft Voice shrugged. "It is what it is. Come take a look at this, we just got the latest update report. It'll probably be the last, seeing as we're only an hour away."
"Well, they're not doing terribly." Morgan admitted, looking it over. "Three out of twelve armories is enough for, what? A few thousand armed rebels? Eight turret installations taken, which is good, but six can't hit another part of the station. Nineteen haulers taken, none of them armed, and the guards are holed up and fortified."
His friend shrugged. "It was organised, clearly, but not that well. Either a lack of planning, ability to communicate or skill. In any case, we'll be hitting the central command module first. Take out the overseer, not that kind, and kill the guards. Take over the controls, release everyone, make sure some spiteful survivor doesn't make the reactors overload, hand over control to the rebelling slaves. Nothing we haven't done before."
"Nothing you haven't done before." Morgan countered. "For all that I'm seen as a great liberator of slaves, I've never actually participated in one of these things."
The captain shook his head, tone firm. "We fight in your name. Every broken shackle is your victory as much as ours."
"Thank you, Ikkus. That's very kind." Morgan replied, tone somewhat dry. "It does not, however, translate to me having experience. Also, please refrain from making statements like that. It makes me uncomfortable."
The man laughed as if Morgan had made a joke, Soft Voice clearing his throat. "General Elarius has overall command. You'll keep Hexid in line? It would be bad for our reputation if she went on a rampage."
"I'll do my best. And by that I mean I'll shove my lightsaber through her skull if she attempts to kill an innocent person."
A decidedly smug feeling rose from the captain, Soft Voice shook his head, and Morgan turned. Made his way over to the sparring rooms, very much not fleeing, and collected the Darths. Escorted them to the staging hangar.
The Chosen were already there, waiting, and Hexid lasted a whole twenty minutes before growing bored. Soft Voice joined them, taking up her attention, and it was Synar that started a proper conversation.
"I am not one that cares for what blood my blade sheds." She started. "Yet I feel compelled to ask why we risk ourselves for slaves."
Well, it wasn't a good conversation, but it was civil. Morgan shrugged. "I assume you care nothing for the moral arguments?"
"None."
"Then let me put it in practical terms. How long has it been since you graduated from Korriban?" He received no immediate reply, shrugging. "A long time, I take it. Do you remember the feeling? The helpless anger, sent to your certain death on the whims of the Overseers, that sinking feeling in your gut when you realise you're never going to survive. The fear, the rage, the hopelessness."
He felt a sliver of uncomfortable annoyance, Synar tilting her head. "It made us strong. We were forged in it, and now we don't have to care about such petty concerns."
"I'm not making a moral argument, remember? Now, say you don't have the Force. Korriban is just a series of endless tasks, each where you risk your life. You might get a little more skilled, a little more clever, but no breakthroughs. No sudden increases of might, steady progress without limit. Just danger and fear, success only buying you another night of terrified sleep."
Synar said nothing. Morgan shrugged. "So you've been doing that for a while. Months, at least, if not years, and you come to believe that's all life is. All your life will ever be. And then an army descends from the sky. Soldiers and droids, bombs and fire. They kill the people you've spent countless hours wishing were dead, give you food and medicine and warmth. And they tell you that if anyone, anyone at all, tries to make you go back, they will kill them. All of them. You see people that understand your pain, have lived your life of horror, and they swear that if the gods demand your life is ash, the gods will burn. What would you do?"
The Darth inclined her head. "I would wish to join them."
"Precisely. Not everyone, of course, but some. Most, sometimes. I would do this even if every single one of them turned their backs on me when their shackles finally fell free, but they don't. I promised them hope, and the Empire shattered when I kept that promise. So morals aside, Darth Synar, I broke the Empire with those deemed so pitiful their lives had no value."
"You have not broken them yet."
Morgan smiled at her, and Darth Synar didn't manage to hide a tiny flinch of hesitation. "No. Not yet."
With that conversation thoroughly killed, Morgan went back to waiting. Their group would assault the Processing Station, which both housed the main slave quarters and dealt with the influx of ore, and it was the site of the most intense fighting so far. Within would be the controls for not only the rest of the station, but for the satellite hubs as well. It would, in theory, allow them to put an end to any resistance. It depended on how extensive their control really was, and when the guards would feel threatened enough to risk venting the entire station.
Though placing all four of them together in one shuttle, even if it was large and well-armed, seemed foolish. But their scouts hadn't reported any defensive ships larger than frigates, their numbers probably having taken a hit when Marr pulled many of them back to Dromund Kaas, and the sooner this ended, the more lives would be saved.
It was a solid plan, his Reborn general had organised a simultaneous assault on all active battle fronts, and this was mostly for him and Soft Voice to see how Hexid and Synar behaved in battle.
A trial run, so to speak.
That plan lasted until they came out of hyperspace, Morgan infusing his detection with intent. It swept over the system, empty space taking but a fraction of power, and returned only one Force sensitive signature. Only one trained and powerful, Morgan finding a few dozen with untapped potential among the general population.
It also felt as if he'd run his mind against a brick wall.
Synar opened her mouth to warn them, closing it when she found everyone already aware, and a strange look passed over her face. Morgan didn't pay it any attention. "Change of plans. Again. Soft Voice, Synar, you continue the original objective. Hexid and I are going to take a look at what the hell that is."
"Who. And it feels like a Dark Council member, if not stronger." Soft Voice grunted. "You and Hexid can probably take them, and if not you can definitely get away."
Probably. Morgan hadn't had to run away in a while, and he found the thought oddly displeasing. Not enough to hesitate, but still. Something to meditate on. Pride in oneself was good, but never to the degree of foolishness.
Soft Voice waved over the major in charge, informing them about the change in plans, and Morgan nodded as one of his Chosen captains joined him. They would be deployed as shock troops, a role at which they excelled, but four or five squads always found themselves at his side.
Hexid smiled at the man, shifting her posture for a reason Morgan couldn't quite determine, and the twi'lek shifted in turn. "Are you trying to prostitute yourself to me, ma'am? I will have to insist you do not attempt to seduce me or anyone in my company."
Holy fuck. Morgan stepped in front of the captain, Hexid's smile sliding off her face. He held up a hand as he waved the man back to his preparations, not quite able to keep the humor contained.
"Alright, so, that was out of line." Morgan said, stepping slightly sideways as Hexid angled to keep looking at the twi'lek Chosen. "And he'll be reprimanded for that. Don't try to seduce my Chosen, please. In blunt terms, I'd choose them over you should the matter be forced."
"I employed no technique. You would have felt it if I had."
"Yet they are my Chosen, and their words hold meaning. You will find trying to play my ego won't be quite that easy."
The Darth hummed, turning away, but he could tell her perception was still on the man. Morgan made a note to keep those two away from each other, especially when he wasn't there.
But after that piece of drama, they finally got moving. He didn't get a great view of the station, being first in a hangar and then in a large windowless transport, but everything was as the scouts had reported. No defensive fleet beyond a few frigates, both the slaves and guards in a stalemate.
The first few times he had done boarding operations, it had been terrifying. Then he'd been nervous, then boring. Now it felt like nothing at all. With fleshcrafting he could probably survive in space for a long while—even if his suit got damaged—but there was very little chance he would need the skill.
This was no perilous journey, risking it all to take a ship from within. The shuttles were being escorted by their own frigates, destroyers moving to encircle and force a quick Imperial surrender. Hell, it might even be over by the time their shuttle landed. He certainly wouldn't be confident facing a dreadnought.
But the Enosis's reputation of slave liberation was a double edged sword, and people knew they cared. Calling the bluff of 'surrender or be obliterated' was growing increasingly easy, and thus the hostile boarding. It was good practice for their greener troops, regardless.
But really, this wasn't a battle. It was barely a skirmish. The moment they had shown up the outcome was predetermined, the high-level Force user being the only unknown. Frigates were already spreading out to liberate the system, taking out smaller outposts or assisting those being contested.
So Morgan let his army do its thing and focussed on his own objective. Hexid was strangely silent, which he didn't like at all, but it did make the wait less stressful. Before long he was setting foot on the station, a harried group of guards having assembled to contest their landing.
The guards ran the moment Morgan stepped out of his shuttle.
Morgan let them, but Hexid—having seemingly cured herself of good behavior—shot lightning after them, cackling in a decidedly not-cute way as bodies dropped. Morgan shook his head, happy enough she was limiting herself to enemy combatants.
"That way." He said, pointing. His target was moving, but not quickly. "Fast and hard. Hexid, stay close. I want us both to conserve strength until we know what we're dealing with."
The Darth sighed but joined him, but she needn't have been dramatic. Everyone they met ran the moment they saw sith, the few brave among them being culled by the Chosen. Moving at a slow run was abysmally slow considering both his and Hexid's speed capabilities, but for a company of soldiers?
They were practically flying through the hallways.
And the closer they came, the more Hexid's behavior seemed suspicious. She had an endgame, a plan or trap, and he honestly couldn't figure out what it was. To entertain herself, probably, but at what expense remained a mystery.
But she seemed to be behaving for now, so he put her in the to-be-dealt-with-later box. Probably sometime during the attack on Dromund Kaas, knowing his luck. Morgan focused as they rounded another corner, and the group jerked to a halt.
His perception insisted his target was another few minutes away.
His infused perception, at that, and it was concerning that the pureblood managed to beat it. An armored pureblood, straightening from his bent posture. The man had been talking with a dying woman, who herself was dressed in an ill-fitting guards uniform.
And as the pureblood turned to them properly, his location stabilising as the man dropped whatever technique he'd been holding, Morgan finally recognized him. Sighed heavily, his indignation at potentially having to flee vanishing.
"The Emperor's Wrath." Morgan said, waving his hand vaguely to the side. "Another one, at that, though I'm pretty sure you quit? Either way it is an honor to meet you, Scourge."
Scourge inclined his head in greeting. "The Seer of the Enosis. You know of me. Of my past and future."
"I do." Morgan admitted. "But a short summary would be appreciated. Timelines get so confusing, you know?"
The pureblood shrugged languorously. "I have served the Emperor for three hundred years after my ill-fated attempt to overthrow him, waiting until the person of my vision came. I broke from the sith, from the Empire, and joined him in his quest. We journeyed together for a time, and now I am alone. We failed."
"Ah." Morgan replied, briefly uncertain. "Well, if you need a place to stay, the Enosis is known to hous-"
"I will not join you."
Morgan exhaled. "Fair enough. Let me be blunt, then. Revan is currently on Yavin-4, being baited by the Emperor. He could use your help, you two being former allies and all that. Might not be happy to see you, though. If not that, I've heard Satele Shan is a reasonable individual, so you could join the jedi. Or, if you've lost your drive when your centuries long quest was deemed to be a lie, travel. I could probably give you your senses back, if you'd care for me to try."
"I have sought healers in the past. None have managed."
"Then I'm not sure why I am here, honestly."
Scourge tilted his head. "You imply it was my doing that brought you to me? I am tired of the galaxy, Seer. Tired of the future and futile quests. The Emperor will drain you as he has drained untold millions, will win as he has for untold centuries, and I will not get involved again."
"And that's a reason not to try? The possibility of failure?"
Power surged as the pureblood narrowed his eyes, endless oceans of might building. Morgan didn't reply in kind, watching it build with a detached gaze. Scourge spoke after a moment. "That is as close as you will get to calling me a coward."
"What's wrong with being afraid?" Morgan waved his hand as the man tensed. "Look, I get it. And yes, I'm being somewhat of a dick here, but honestly? I was expecting more than a tired old man. My own fault, I suppose. But this station will be free, and I will fight you if you stand with slavers."
A long second passed, a long second where Morgan was sure the Wrath would attack, and then the man deflated. "You needle and poke, Seer, for reasons I do not care to speculate on. I will not join you, and neither will I join the jedi. I think I will find my own answers among the stars, far away from his galaxy."
"Alright." Morgan replied, seeming to surprise the man. "What? I'm not going to force you to do anything. One question, if you'd please. What's with the woman?"
Scourge looked down, the woman at his feet gurgling something unintelligible. "She is from Imperial Intelligence, embedded on this station to investigate the possibility of a Star Map guiding one deep into Unknown Space. She is not cooperating."
"I could give it a try, if that's alright?"
The Wrath stood aside, Morgan approaching the woman. Healed her wounds, since her death wasn't quite wanted yet. Then he dived into her soul and found her Thread, that little worm-thing seeking to connect with others. To meld with others.
He poked it, told it he wished to connect, and it started pushing. Influencing her mind, even if he had nothing to connect it with. Morgan grunted and returned to reality, finding Scourge looking at him intently.
"What?"
"And the Seer will know things they should not, and they will collect power from the graveyard of time."
"Uuuh." Morgan said, finding himself briefly stumped. He exchanged a look with the strangely well-behaved Hexid, finding the zebrak wasn't taking her eyes off the pureblood. And she wasn't looking with hunger, either, but fear. Fear and defiance. Morgan cleared his throat. "Alright. She really likes me now, so what should I ask?"
"Where is the Star Map you have been seeking?"
The spook said nothing. Morgan grunted. "Answer any question asked of you fully, truthfully and to the point."
"We destroyed it when the station was attacked." She ground out, struggling. It eased even as she did, eyes growing wide as she looked at him. Morgan suppressed his discomfort. "We found out it was a fake, to be sold at auction."
Scourge exhaled deeply, his short-lived fervor gone. "Of course. She is useless to me, then."
"But not to me, not quite yet." Morgan said quickly, stepping in front of the woman. The Wrath paused, shrugging once as he turned away entirely. Morgan beckoned his Chosen, pointing to the woman. "Interrogate her."
Morgan chased after Scourge, who'd already disappeared around a corner. The pureblood slowed as Morgan did, looking at him with a tired expression. "Yes?"
"Look, I like you. What I remember as you, anyway. I could give it a try. Fixing your curse, I mean."
"You wish for me to consent to the touch of a Darth Slayer? A man known to wipe out species wholesale, capable of high-capacity mind control and more?"
"Yes. Or you could live the rest of your life feeling nothing, lost in the memory of taste and color and love."
The Wrath huffed out a laugh. "It is not my flesh that is cursed, Fleshcrafter Lord. It is my soul. My emotions and the capacity to feel. You often seek to fix what is wrong with others, do you not? Like a broken child desperate for approval. It has given you many allies, yes, but how much farther will it take you? When will you discover those treasured friends will leave you behind, unable to match your progress? You will be alone, in the end. And you are terrified of it."
"Tenebrae will die." Morgan countered, suppressing a flash of true irritation. It was something to meditate on. Another something. "And when he does, your curse will be lifted. I wonder how much you will regret spurring every offer of companionship, Scourge."
Morgan received no reply, and that was that. Scourge turned and moved away, form blurring briefly until he was gone. Morgan grunted, moving back toward his own men.
He had work to do.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"You know, I always imagined Force battles to be something grand." General Gonn said, handing the recovering Vesta a bottle of water. "Lightsabers and epic duels, thrown rocks only dodged by impossible agility. And yet the more I hang out with you people the more I find it to be 'staring really hard at each other until one collapses.'"
Vesta shrugged. "That is because you bypassed the middle rank. What you describe is jedi Knights battling sith Lords, which is not something most of us deign to lower ourselves to."
"Us?"
"Those souls capable of bending reality to their will. Influencing Fate, tracing history like a book and the future like the wind. Our fights are invisible, and that is often what we prefer."
Gonn scratched his chin. "I'm just a soldier, so forgive my ignorance, but how many of these 'souls' would there be, exactly?"
"There are as many as the universe can sustain."
"Right." Gonn said. "Forget I asked. Just to confirm for my report, Zhorrid is dead?"
"Yes."
"Then the last of the Empire splinter factions have been dealt with. Morgan is, according to the SIS, on his way to Dromund Kaas, and honestly this is going smoother than I expected."
"A claimant to the Unending Universe is keeping the Empire busy." Vesta said, shaking her head. "Without him they would be focussed and capable of resisting us more thoroughly."
"You're talking about Morgan, I'm guessing? It's a little hard to tell sometimes."
"I am."
"You seem to like him."
"I do. He understands."
Gonn hummed. "The Jedi High Council probably won't like that."
"So?" Vesta seemed honestly confused, as if she had no idea what they had to do with this. "That was not a rhetorical question, general."
He shrugged. "Aren't they your superiors?"
"I am the Barsen'thor."
"Alright?"
Vesta appeared more confused than ever. "I am the Barsen'thor. The Jedi High Council will approve whatever I ask them to."
"Not to be argumentative, but are you sure? In my experience superiors like being exactly that. Superior. I'm sure you're getting a lot of leeway, but I doubt they will let you stray from the Light."
"That distinction matters less than you think once you have passed a certain threshold."
"I'm going to change the topic of conversation now." Gonn replied dryly. "With our objective complete, what is next? You never did end up answering that question."
"I did not answer because my goal was in flux. But now it is clear. We will invade Imperial space and confirm the events currently unfolding on Yavin-4. From there we will decide if an attack is the best course of action."
"A lot of ships defected to the Revanites. We'll be outnumbered four to one, if not more." Gonn hesitated a moment. "We also have direct orders not to enter their territory. We do this, our careers are over."
Well, just his career, really. Vesta had a point about her being essentially untouchable. Must be nice to have that much personal power.
The jedi smiled at him, and Gonn swallowed. Something ancient was lurking in her eyes, something old and powerful and impossibly insightful. "It is good you have already decided to swear yourself to me, then. My reputation will protect us both."
"You have to stop skipping conversations like that." Gonn complained, looking away. "It's rude, and one of these days you might be wrong. As devastating as it has been when combined with my tactical training, your augury will sour people's opinion of you."
"The people whose opinion I value can be counted on one hand, general. Now, you will receive urgent contact from one of your intelligence assets, and you will ask me to leave the room to avoid spooking him. I will speak to you in forty three minutes."
"Showoff." Gonn muttered, watching her walk off. She was moving decidedly smugly, he decided, and he just looked as his officer brought over the urgent message. "Just give it here."
Gonn walked off to his personal quarters and accepted the call, the face of one of his informants appearing. Older, former Imperial Intelligence before going private. Reliable, though having the habit of sticking his nose where it didn't belong.
So typical high-level spook behavior, in other words.
"Jonas." Gonn greeted. "You have something for me?"
"I always aim to please, general. Only the best for my favorite Republic contact."
"I doubt I'm your favorite anything, Jonas. What do you have?"
Jonas smiled, leaning back in his seat. A drink was in hand, and the old man looked very much like he was on vacation. "Well, you've been wanting some details on the Enosis, right? Damn hard group to infiltrate, let me tell you, but one of mine managed. Or just about. Their whole fleet is off to Dromund Kaas, and I doubt they're looking to apply political pressure."
"Something which you know I already know. Do you have something the SIS hasn't briefed me on?"
"Oh yes, my general friend. I do indeed. But we must first discuss the price."
Gonn grunted. "You'll have your money, Jo-"
"I don't want money." The spook interrupted, leaning forward slightly. "I've got enough of it, as horrific as that is to admit. I want something only you can give me."
"And what would that be, pray tell?"
"I want your girlfriend to verify someone's future for me. Specifically my own."
"That won't be cheap, spook, and you will speak of her with respect." Gonn replied, his tone dropping. "Enough stalling. What do you have?"
"I can get Vesta a face to face meeting with the Fleshcrafting Lord. Something of unique interest to her, I believe."
Gonn was an old hand at this. At war and intelligence, dealing with brilliance only bound by hubris. So he didn't twitch. He didn't laugh or grin or indicate in any way how useless that favor was. The spook seemed to read it anyway, and the veneer of friendship melted away.
"I suppose." Gonn said, watching the gears turn in the spooks' eyes. "I suppose you're not used to being redundant, are you? My advice? My honest, I-actually-want-to-help-you, advice? Don't get involved with people like this. People who can read the future as easily as they read your mind."
Jonas grunted, irritation sparking behind his eyes. "It seems I am not, no. And I will take that under advisement, general."
The connection cut, Gonn letting the grin spread over his face. It was rare, sometimes incredibly so, but seeing men like that faceplant was glorious to behold.
He turned as the door opened, Vesta walking inside despite it being locked. "It hasn't been forty three minutes yet."
"The future is in constant flux, and matters have arisen that must be addressed."
"That's an interesting way of saying you were wrong."
Vesta glared at him, clear enough to see even if she was technically blind, and Gonn felt an old fondness surge. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt protective of anyone, but this girl half his age managed it. He'd never had children, and he didn't think she would stand for that kind of relationship, but she was young.
Not obvious, usually, but it was there. Gonn supposed he could try his hand at being the wizened, older, friend.
If Vesta knew what he was thinking, which she probably did, she never showed it. "While you were discussing things with your informant, I was meditating on our objective."
"Only good things, I hope?"
"No. Not only good things." She replied, shaking her head. "There was only one good thing, in fact. The rest was bad. Very bad. We are not going to Yavin-4. There is a darkness there that has nothing to do with the Dark, and I feel traces of the future that are not meant for us."
"You told me the future isn't set in stone. If we go there, is it not meant for us by definition?"
"You misunderstand. There is nothing for us to gain. If we try, we will be killed. They have already beaten back one Republic scout-fleet, and I felt this would be the same. Postering, aggression, but ultimately keeping to their defensive stance. I now realise it will not be so."
"Why not?"
"I'm not sure." Vesta admitted. "I am blind there, but I had thought to have constructed a suitable model to predict the outcome regardless. I was wrong."
"Model?"
"A way to predict that which cannot be divined. Taking things close to them, such as people or ships, and using their future to determine that of others. It is not perfect, but it is workable."
Gonn shrugged. "You said there was good news?"
"Hmn?" She shook her head, eyes focussing. "Yes. The Elder that has been shadowing us is no longer doing so. I have also discovered a fondness for eggs."
"What?"
Vesta shrugged. "That second part was a lie. I thought it would make the revelation go over smoother."
"It did not." Gonn took a calming breath. "You told me Elders, whatever those really are, don't involve themselves in the business of mortals."
"They don't. Which is part of the reason we are not going to Yavin-4. Things are happening there that have been a long time in the making, and we are not central to it. I would usually be able to influence Fate to insert myself into the narrative, which would stop others from erasing my future, but I am unable."
He grunted. "You're not making any sense, Vesta."
"Apologies." She said, a drop of blood leaking from under the cloth covering her eyes. "I must meditate on a proper Nexus. Please send a medic to my room to ensure my vitals remain stable."
"Why?" Gonn asked, alarmed. "Vesta, what's going on?"
She smiled in a clear attempt to be reassuring. It didn't work. "Only a consequence of delving too deeply. It has happened before, and I will be alright. I will collapse now, but do not worry. I will take this opportunity to rearrange my soul to ensure it will not happen again."
Gonn's arm shot out to stabilise her, using his other hand to slam on the panic button. Soldiers rushed inside, Gonn barked at them to get the medic, and he guided her to the floor as she went boneless.
"What the fuck, Vesta."
Afterword
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