This kriffin' Zakuulan frigate's a corpse, its hull ripped open like a gutted nerf. I stomp through the tear, my phrik armor clanking like shattered bones. The air's sour, dust clawing through my mask's slits, stinging my weathered hide. My vibro-scythe hums low across my back, obsidian haft melded to my shadow. Flickering emergency lights bleed weak gold, shadows writhing like prey I'd gut. This wreck, once a blade of the Eternal Empire, groans deep, a beast choking on its last breath. My boots grind scorched durasteel—shattered panels, frayed wires spitting sparks—and a kyber hum pulses in my skull, faint but hungry. Zeht's behind me, her twin vibro-axes slung, her Zabrak breath steaming in the cold. Drenna, that Twi'lek sage, grips her holo-datapad, lekku twitching like worms. Kael's Force-bound drone buzzes ahead, its blue glow knifing the dark.
"Move, Zeht," I growled, my voice raw through my dented mask, "This wreck's ours to claim, or it's kriffin' dust." My dark brown eyes, sharp as a reaper's claw, bore through the dents. Zeht's red skin and black tattoos caught the light, her yellow eyes narrowing as she nodded quick. "Got it, Sentinel." Her grip's too tight on her axes, like she's hiding a grudge. My gut twisted: dead ships like this breed traps. Revan needs this frigate for the Je'daii fleet, but I ain't trusting no one to hand it over clean.
The corridor's a Zakuulan shrine gone to rot. Gold-trimmed panels, etched with Eternal Empire crests—spiked crowns, kyber-eyed knights—hang loose, their polish dulled by centuries. My glove scraped one, cold and slick, like a corpse's skin. Drenna's datapad hummed, casting blue on her blue hide, her lekku stiff. "Step light. Runes here, older than Zakuul's fall," she muttered, voice too kriffin' calm. Kael's drone darted past a sparking conduit, its kyber core throbbing like a heart I'd crush. I stalked forward, scythe tapping durasteel, a beat to keep their blood pumping. Zeht's boots scuffed, Drenna's robes hissed, Kael's silence screamed he's watching me. This ship's a tomb, built to carve worlds under Valkorion's fist. Its curves, sleek bulkheads, kyber-woven circuits, reeked of arrogance, now ours to claim or burn.
"Stay sharp, you lot," I snarled, my voice raw through my mask. Drenna dipped her head, "Aye, Sentinel." Kael's mute, his drone steady. My paranoia chewed: Zeht's too quiet, Drenna's too slick, like a Jedi playing scholar. Kael's tech better not kriff me, or I'll gut his drone and him with it. We waded deeper, debris crunching—shattered consoles, Zakuulan crests split like skulls. Lights flickered, gold fading to gray, ozone choking my throat. Wires sparked, spitting heat that pricked my scars. Zeht's yellow eyes darted, her axes glinting as she swept shadows. "Feels off in here, Sentinel," she risked, voice low.
"Off's where I thrive, girl," I grunted, my scythe scraping a wall, a threat's low hum. "Keep up or run back to the ship." Drenna's datapad beeped, her lekku twitching like bait. Kael's drone hummed, scouting a bend, its glow catching dust motes like spice in a den. A durasteel blast door blocked us, its Zakuulan lock glowing with kyber runes, sharp as a saber's edge. Drenna knelt, Force-focusing, her datapad's light painting her face. "Old lock," she said, too steady. "It'll be tough, but I'll break it." I loomed, scythe tapping the deck, a heartbeat I'd stop. "Break it fast, Drenna, or I'll carve my own way." My voice shook her lekku, but her fingers danced, runes flickering. Her calm's a kriffin' lie. Kael's drone scanned the frame, humming, its blue light glinting off my mask's dents. Zeht guarded our rear, axes ready, but her breath's sharp, like she's waiting for an ambush.
Drenna's datapad chimed, runes fading. "Done, it's open," she breathed, the door grinding open, a low moan like a dying Hutt. I leaned closer, my shadow swallowing her. "Damn well better be," I rasped, scythe's hum spiking, eager for blood. Zeht shifted, boots scuffing. Kael's drone hovered, but his eyes darted to me, wary as a cornered rat. Fear's spice in my blood, like Mustafar's pit. The door's gap widened, dark beyond, but my gut screamed traps ahead. We slipped through, the passage tightening, lights dimmer, gold panels cracked like bones. Debris littered the floor: kyber conduits, Zakuulan holo-shards glinting with faded knights. The hum's a blade in my skull, like the Star of Ashla's pulse, Revan's vision binding me. Zeht broke the quiet, voice tight. "You're wound tight, Sentinel. What's messin' with you?"
I wheeled, mask tilting, eyes boring through her. "You're the one who's jumpy, Zeht. Hid a blade I ain't seen?" My voice's a blaster bolt, raw and sharp. She stiffened, horns glinting. "Just wanting to check in, Sentinel. This frigate's presence is heavy." "Don't break," I snarled, stepping close, scythe's haft hot in my glove. Kael's drone paused, his glance sharp. Drenna's lekku twitched, her datapad flickering as she worked faster. I won't let weakness rot here. The cold seeped through my armor, dust scratching my throat. This wreck's a grave, but I'll rip life from its husk for my next reaping.
The deck lurched, gravity coughing. Shards floated—durasteel splinters, wire scraps—swirling like spice in a Tatooine storm. I slammed a wall in my sudden weightlessness, scythe scraping, boots slipping. Zeht grabbed a pipe, axes clanking, spitting, "Kriff!" Drenna clutched her datapad, lekku rigid, robes drifting like a ghost. Kael's drone wobbled, then flared blue, a Force pulse steadying the field. Lights stuttered, shadows lunging like claws. "Get that drone workin', Kael, or we're dead to be added to this graveyard," I roared, my voice echoing through my mask. Kael grunted, "Understood, Sentinel," his fingers twitching to guide the drone's kyber heart. I'll carve through this, or them, if they kriff up. Gravity slammed back, debris crashing, my pulse hammering. Drenna steadied, datapad safe. Zeht's yellow eyes met mine, wary as a whipped bantha. Kael's drone hummed, stable, its glow knifing the dark. My scythe's weight's my anchor, a reaper's vow.
We twisted toward a side chamber, its door half-open, gold accents cracked like a Hutt's smile. Inside, a holo-display flickered, a Zakuulan knight's image—gold armor, eyes like kyber fire—glaring through time. Its hum, sharp as a vibro-blade, clawed my skull, waking my scar, Skywalker's gift from Ossus. I lurched forward, glove crushing the display's edge, durasteel creaking, my mask glinting in its light. Zeht's axes dipped, her stance tense. Drenna paused, lekku still. Kael's drone hovered, silent. My shoulder throbbed, the air thick with that same hum where dusty archives flashed in my mind—Skywalker's green saber burning, the stench of charred flesh overwhelming my senses.
Ossus's ash-gray sky hung heavy, its dry winds whistling through crumbling spires, kicking up dust that stung my eyes through my mask's slits, biting my weathered hide. I crouched low, my durasteel armor scraping the cracked stone, grinding like bones in a butcher's pit. My vibro-scythe thrummed in my grip, its edge hungry for blood, a reaper's promise itching to be kept. Ren knelt beside me, his bulk hunched, crimson lightsaber unlit but heavy at his belt, its weight a silent threat. His dented mask tilted, scanning the ruins where the Jedi outpost squatted, its durasteel gate glinting like a kriffin' trap. Cardo, Ushar, Trudgen, Kuruk, and Ap'lek fanned out across the ridge, weapons primed, their eyes slicing through the haze like predators on a scent. The Night Reaver, our stealth shuttle, lurked in a shadowed ravine below, its matte-black hull drinking the gloom, our only way off this rock if the hunt turned sour.
Kuruk, wiry and silent as a specter, peered through his rifle's scope, his frame barely stirring in the wind. "I've got three marks in the vault—Skywalker's leading, a kid's with him, and some old coot." Ren's mask swiveled to me, his rasp cutting through the wind's wail. "Quiet, Vicrul. Strike fast, bleed 'em before they can know what's hit them."
I grinned beneath my mask, the thrill of the harvest pumping through my veins like spice. "I'll carve their light out, Ren. Leave 'em empty as graves." My dark brown eyes, sharp as a reaper's claw, flicked to the outpost, drinking in its outline. My Force sense sniffed out Jedi rot, the dark side whispering More. My gut twisted—Cardo's blaster cannon whirred low, its barrel glinting red in the dying light. Ushar's vibro-hammer twitched in his grip, his stocky frame itching to smash. Trudgen's vibro-cleaver caught a gleam, his lean form coiled like a spring. Kuruk's rifle swept the ruins, steady as death. Ap'lek's vibro-spear glinted, his sly eyes hunting for gaps in the outpost's defenses. We were a pack, ravenous and sharp, but paranoia gnawed at me like a starved rat. Something felt off, like the hush before a bloodbath.
"Move," Ren hissed, his voice a blade in the dark, and we crept forward, boots muffled on the dusty stone. Ash dust burned my throat, the wind's keen cloaking our steps, but it didn't ease the knot in my chest. The ruins' shadow swallowed us, the gate's durasteel looming cold and unyielding, etched with High Republic runes that mocked our hunger. My scythe's hum was a low chant, a reaper's hymn, and the faint kyber pulse from the outpost thrummed in my skull, a heartbeat I'd crush. Trudgen's cleaver flashed as he took point, his frame gliding like a wraith. Kuruk's eyes darted, rifle tracking invisible threats. Ap'lek's spear probed the air, testing for traps. My Force sense stretched, probing for Jedi, but it came back murky, like wading through Krynnar's alleys, waiting for a blade in the back.
We reached the gate, Ren's gloved hand grazing its runes, his touch cold as a corpse. "Kuruk, crack it," he rasped, voice low and jagged. Kuruk slid forward, his wiry form melting into the gloom, fingers dancing over a panel. Sparks hissed, the gate groaning open, durasteel moaning like a gutted nerf. We slipped inside, the corridor's dust choking my mask, a dry, bitter tang that scratched my throat. Holo-crypts flickered along the walls, their glow weak, casting shadows that twisted like prey I'd gut. Kyber relics hummed in crates, a siren call that stoked my greed. Ap'lek's spear probed the dark, its tip glinting like a fang. Trudgen's cleaver hung low, ready to bite. My paranoia chewed harder—this place was too kriffin' quiet, like the marketplace on Krynnar before I drove my knife into that Vagaari's eye.
"Eyes sharp," Ren snapped, his voice a vibro-blade's edge. I muttered, "Feels like a kriffin' setup, Ren. Jedi's watchin' us. I can feel them." My scythe's weight grounded me, its hum a promise of blood, but my gut screamed we'd pay for this haul. Ushar's hammer jerked, his voice thick with bloodlust. "Let's crack this kriffin' vault wide open." Cardo's cannon shifted, his bulk filling the corridor. "Stay tight, boys."
The air was heavy, dust swirling like spice in a den, the kyber hum clawing deeper into my skull. My paranoia roared—Jedi stank like the sweat-soaked crowds of Krynnar's bazaar, where I learned to cut first or die. We pressed deeper, corridors narrowing, durasteel creaking under our boots. Shadows danced, ash tang seeping through the walls, a reminder of Ossus's decay. The relic chamber loomed ahead, its door ajar, kyber hum pulsing like a heart I'd rip out. My scythe itched, eager to harvest, but my Force sense caught a flicker: light, pure and unyielding, like the twin suns that burned my eyes when I killed that Yrashu boy.
Ren halted, mask tilting, his hand raised. "Now!" he rasped, and we stormed the chamber, a tide of black steel and death. The chamber was a hoard, crates of kyber artifacts glinting under emergency glows, their hum a chorus of power. Luke Skywalker stood at its heart, tan robes still as a statue, his green lightsaber snapping to life, its hum a low growl. Ben Solo, lanky and wild-eyed, barely fourteen, ignited his blue saber, its buzz sharp as a wasp. Lor San Tekka, grizzled and unarmed, clutched a datapad, his jaw set like he'd spit in our faces. I unleashed Force fear on Ben, sinking dread into his mind like a sickle through flesh. He staggered, eyes wide, but his raw Force, dark-edged, shoved back, a storm tinged with shadow, dark and jagged like my own at nine. Cardo's blaster cannon roared, bolts spraying the chamber; Ushar's vibro-hammer crashed toward Luke; Trudgen and Ap'lek flanked, their cleaver and spear slashing at Ben; Kuruk took a perch, sniper rifle tracking.
The kyber hum thundered in my skull, dust swirling like a Tatooine storm, sabers buzzing like a hive. Blaster smoke choked my throat, ash burned my lungs, blood's iron tang already thick in the air. I snarled, "Kid's green, Ren. I'll snuff his light out." Ben shouted, "You're thieves! Leave now!" his voice cracking with defiance. Ren barked, "Take 'em all down!" his crimson saber flaring, a blood-red wound in the gloom. Ap'lek hissed, "I'll handle the kid!" his spear darting at Ben. Ben's shadow flickered, a darkness I knew too well, but Luke's calm was a kriffin' fortress, unshakable. My paranoia spiked—too strong, too blasted strong.
Luke's green blade danced, swatting Cardo's bolts like flies, his Force hurling Cardo into a crate with a sickening crack of durasteel and bone. Ushar's hammer swung, a thunderclap, but Luke's saber twisted it from his grip, the Force slamming him into a wall, his bulk crumpling. Kuruk's sniper shots streaked, but Luke's senses dodged, a blur of light, and a Force wave stunned Kuruk, his rifle clattering. Trudgen's cleaver hacked at Ben, but Luke parried, his hilt bashing Trudgen's skull, dropping him like a sack. Ap'lek's spear feinted, a sly thrust, but Luke's speed yanked him down with a Force tug, his face grinding into durasteel. Ren's crimson saber roared, clashing with Luke's, sparks bursting like shattered stars. Luke's skill carved a gash across Ren's chest, his grunt raw with pain.
I charged, scythe arcing, Force fear surging like a tide. Luke's green blade met mine, a clash that shook my bones, sparks searing my mask. In a heartbeat, his saber sliced my scythe in half, durasteel shards screaming as they hit the floor. Pain exploded as his blade tore through my shoulder, a white-hot lance, blood hissing as it boiled on cauterized flesh. I collapsed, mask skewed, my pride gutted like a nerf on a slab. The saber's hum deafened me, pain searing as Luke's green blade sliced through my shoulder, the plasma cauterizing flesh with a hiss, leaving a charred gash that smoked faintly. My durasteel armor scorched, the stench of burned hide choking my mask. Ash dust stung my eyes, the kyber hum from the chamber's relics mocking my ruin, a chorus of my failure. I gasped, "Blast you, Jedi scum!" my voice a shredded snarl, raw with hate. Luke's gaze cut deeper than his saber, steady as a star. "You made your choice," he said, his voice unshaken, calm as death.
Lor San Tekka's voice pierced the smoke, firm but weary. "That's enough, Luke. They're beaten." My scythe's wreckage—shattered durasteel shards scattered across the floor—hurt worse than the wound. My paranoia screamed, a vow searing through the pain: never again would a saber break me. Ren, blood seeping from a cauterized gash on his chest, staggered up, his rasp a blade. "Retreat, now!" he roared, his voice cracking with pain. Smoke choked the chamber, blaster bolts and saber hums fading as we scrambled through corridors, durasteel screeching under our boots. My shoulder burned, each step a jolt of agony, the charred wound throbbing like a second heart. I stumbled, my good arm clutching my side, my mask skewed, but I kept moving, driven by hate.
Ash smoke seared my lungs, Ossus's wind shrieking outside, ruins looming like executioners, their shadows swallowing us as we hit the Night Reaver's ramp. Engines howled, the shuttle lurching skyward, the outpost shrinking to a scar among the spires. In the hold, I slumped against a bulkhead, my shoulder a blazing knot of charred flesh, the pain a reaper's brand I'd carry to my grave. The air reeked of oil and scorched metal, the memory fading as the Zakuulan frigate's holo-display hum dragged me back.
As the holo-display flickered out, its kyber hum fading like a dying pulse, my shoulder scar still burned—Luke's green saber searing my mind. I released the console, durasteel creaking under my glove, my mask's dents catching the side chamber's weak gold light. My armor's weight dragged, my scythe's hum a low growl across my back. Dust swirled in the stale air, the frigate groaning like a beast gutted by time. Zeht stood tense, her twin vibro-axes loose, yellow eyes glinting like a predator's. Drenna's holo-datapad glowed, her lekku twitching as she scanned the chamber. Kael's drone hovered, its blue beam cutting the gloom, probing for traps. We'd been too lucky so far. The air's heavy: this tomb reeking of Zakuulan arrogance, gold runes, spiked crests, kyber circuits that once crushed worlds, now rotting. Zeht grunted, "You still with us, Sentinel? Corridor's clean," her red skin taut, like she smelled a fight. My paranoia chewed—Zeht's too eager, Drenna's too calm, Kael's too quiet. I stepped forward, boots crunching debris, the kyber hum nagging my skull. Drenna's datapad chimed, her voice steady. "Control room's ahead, core's signal is faint but still strong enough to get this husk of a ship back online." Kael's drone swept a corridor, but his silence screamed he's watching me, like a Hutt's guard eyeing a mark.
We pushed through a tight passage, durasteel walls scarred, wires sparking ozone that burned my lungs. Zeht cleared a fallen panel, her axes hacking with a dull clang, debris scattering. "Don't miss anything, Zeht," I snarled, scythe's hum spiking, a threat to gut this ship's secrets. She nodded, "Never do," her voice gruff, but her eyes flicked to Drenna, like she sensed the same Jedi traitor rot I did. Drenna's lekku twitched, her datapad glowing brighter. "Core's kyber matrix is showing damaged but mostly intact—we're close now," she said, too kriffin' sure, like a Jedi spinning lies to justify their dogma. Kael's drone paused, its beam catching a turret's glint, sensors dark but waiting. My gut twisted: this frigate's defenses seemed like crouched predators waiting for their time to strike. The corridor opened to the control room, a vast chamber of decayed splendor. Gold consoles flickered, their runes pulsing faint green, kyber hum roaring like a saber's threat. Shattered viewports showed the cold stars, debris, durasteel shards, Zakuulan crests, littering the floor. Bulkheads groaned, sparks crackling from busted conduits, the air chilled and dust-heavy. My paranoia spiked—more turrets loomed in shadows, their barrels ready to spit death at any moment. Zeht swept the perimeter, axes loose, her breath sharp. Drenna headed for the central console, its kyber matrix glowing, a heart I'd crush if it betrayed us. Kael's drone scanned, its hum a low growl, dodging fallen panels.
"Watch those guns, Kael," I growled, my voice a blade, paranoia chewing my gut. Kael nodded, silent, his drone weaving, but his eyes held a Hutt's cunning. Zeht muttered, "This place's got a dark presence, Sentinel, bigger than when we found The Star of Ashla," her yellow eyes narrowing, like she felt the same ghosts I did. I grunted, "Blood's our trade, girl. Keep your wits up." Drenna knelt at the console, her datapad syncing, runes flaring brighter. "Matrix is waking up, power's building at a stable pace," she said, voice sharp with ambition. Her lekku stiffened, fingers dancing, the kyber hum spiking, a storm in my skull. A turret whirred, its sensors glowing red, spitting a blaster bolt that grazed my arm, durasteel sizzling. I snarled, scythe swinging out of instinct, slicing its barrel with a screech. "Kael, check those kriffin' turrets again—deal with them!" I roared, my voice raw, pain lancing my scar. His drone pulsed, shorting another turret, sparks raining like Nar Shaddaa's neon. Drenna's datapad chimed, the console's kyber matrix surging, runes blazing green, a light that burned my eyes like Varnak's cantinas. She rose, lekku rigid, her voice bold. "This frigate's heart can beat again, we've got full power!" I froze, her ambition cutting like Ben Solo's storm, his bold claim to break the Knights. Her voice trailing as Varnak's neon haze swallowed me.
The Black Nebula cantina stank of spice and blaster oil, its durasteel walls scarred from a hundred brawls, neon signs spitting green, red, and violet across the haze. My armor, heavy as a nerf's corpse, pressed my shoulders, my scythe's durasteel haft a cold weight at my back, its hum silent but itching for blood. My mask, unscarred then, caught the flickering glow, my dark brown eyes scanning the crowd through its slits. Jizz-wailers screeched a grating tune, sabacc cards slapped tables, credits clinked, and raucous shouts drowned my thoughts. Smugglers, hunters, and spice runners packed the den, their glares sharp as vibro-knives, a brawl brewing in the air. Kuruk perched nearby, his wiry frame hunched, blaster rifle cloaked under a tattered cape, his eyes glinting like a sniper's scope. A dark ripple hit my gut—a Force storm clawing through the chaos. "Somethin' in the dark side stirrin', Kuruk," I rasped, my voice raw, paranoia chewing my bones. "Feels like that Jedi boy on Ossus."
Kuruk's head tilted, his mask's slits narrowing. "I feel it too. Heavier in pain and guilt this time." His words were clipped, a scout's warning, his Force sense sharp and just as raw as mine, catching the same tremor. The cantina's din—glass shattering, a Twi'lek's curse, a Weequay's laugh—pressed my skull, spice clouds burning my throat. My paranoia flared, that old Ossus dust stirring in my mind, where we'd raided Skywalker's outpost, hunting relics, only to face him and that boy's fierce eyes. Luke had shattered my scythe, scarred my shoulder, and we'd fled, the Knights broken, that kid's defiance a blade I couldn't forget. I leaned against a durasteel pillar, glove scraping its pockmarks, the neon's green pulse stinging my eyes.
The crowd parted, a ripple of glares and muttered curses, as that storm walked in. Ben Solo, lanky, bruised, his dark hair matted, eyes haunted but fierce, cut through the haze, his unlit lightsaber dangling heavy at his belt. The Force roared through him, a tempest rattling my bones, darker than before. I probed it with a thread of fear, testing his edge, a sickle through flesh, but he pushed back, raw and untamed. Kuruk's rifle shifted, his signal sharp. A smuggler, a grizzled Rodian, snarled at Ben, mistaking him for a Jedi, his blaster half-drawn. Another, a Devaronian with a vibro-axe, shoved a table, credits scattering, sparking a brawl—fists cracked jaws, bottles smashed, a Zabrak's horn grazed a wall. "Ren," I rasped, my voice a blade through the din. "Check it out."
Ren's bulk loomed at the cantina's edge, his dented mask glinting, crimson saber unlit but heavy. "You took your time getting here," he said, his rasp cutting the haze, stepping forward, boots thudding on durasteel. Ben's eyes flicked to him, wary, his frame tense. The brawl surged—a Gran hurled a chair, a Trandoshan roared, blaster bolts singeing the ceiling. Ren's mask tilted, studying him. "Lucky you got here," he said. "We're planning to take off soon. Looks like you've been chewed and spat out." Ben's jaw tightened, his voice low. "That's not what—"
"I'm joking," Ren cut in, his rasp softening, almost playful. He pulled off his mask, revealing a scarred face, eyes sharp as a vibro-blade. "Relax. This mask is kind of intense." The crowd's neon pulsed wild, spice clouds thicker, the brawl's chaos—shouts, shattering glass—swirling around Ben's storm. I gripped my scythe's haft, its weight grounding me, but my gut screamed this man was trouble, his power too deep. Ben stood taller, his eyes locked on Ren. "My name is Ben," he said, voice steady despite the bruises. "I want to come with you."
Ren's unmasked face hardened, his rasp probing. "Do you now? Why?" Ben's gaze didn't waver, his words bold, cutting through the din. "The things I could tell you about. The things I've seen and done… You'd want me around." I snarled, my voice a low growl, paranoia spiking. "Talk's cheap, kid. Prove you're worth our time." My fear cloaked as scorn, his defiance flashing in my mind from a decade ago, his blue saber humming, standing with Skywalker, now his dark storm claiming a place among us. The brawl roared—a Weequay slammed a human into a table, blaster bolts grazing durasteel. Kuruk's rifle stayed low, his eyes flicking to the crowd, ready to gut any fool who drew too close.
Ren leaned closer, his scarred face unreadable, the cantina's chaos fading as he spoke. "Snoke thinks we'll be friends," he said, his rasp low, almost a taunt. "Why'd you seek us?" Ben's voice hardened, a fire in his eyes. "I want to learn. I can be useful. Strong." Ren's lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk. "You could be strong in the Shadow. Snoke says you might be special. Price is a good death." Ben's hand hovered near his lightsaber, his jaw tight. "I killed a Jedi."
The words hit like a blaster bolt, my paranoia surging, that kid's face from Ossus merging with this man's, confirming Kuruk's and my suspicions. Ren's eyes narrowed, his rasp sharp. "Luke Skywalker? Snoke doubted that. Tough as they come." Ben shook his head, his voice low, raw. "Not Skywalker. Someone else." A Knight, Ushar, his vibro-hammer slung, stepped from the shadows, his mask glinting, voice a hiss. "You're Skywalker's small pup. From the Ossus raid." The crowd's din dulled, smugglers pausing, eyes on Ben, the brawl simmering as a Rodian nursed a broken arm. Cardo and Ap'lek closed in, their armor clanking, menace thick, the Knights a pack circling prey.
Ben's eyes flashed, his voice cutting. "Not anymore. I destroyed his temple. They hunt me for it." Ren's unmasked face stayed still, his rasp a blade. "Tell me who you killed." The brawl flared again—a Trandoshan fired a blaster, grazing a wall, spice clouds swirling as a Twi'lek ducked. Kuruk's rifle twitched, his silence a warning, the cantina a powder keg ready to burst. Ben's voice cut through, low and steady, his eyes distant, fixed on some blood-soaked memory. "Hennix, a Quarren," he said, his words raw, like a blade dragged over stone. "He was with Voe and Tai. They hunted me as I retreated to Elphrona, after I burned Skywalker's temple."
The crowd's din dulled, smugglers pausing, their glares locked on Ben, the jizz-wailer band stuttering mid-note. My paranoia surged, his voice stirring that Ossus raid a decade ago, those fierce eyes of a boy standing with Skywalker, now hardened into this man's storm. Ben's Force pulsed, a saber's hum quelling the brawl's edge, the air thick with spice and blood's tang. The Knights closed tighter, Cardo's blaster cannon whirring, Ap'lek's spear glinting, Ushar's hammer a shadow at his side. Ben's gaze stayed on Ren, his voice steady, each word a weight. "Voe, she was always trying to best me. Her saber flashed, desperate to prove she was better, but she couldn't. She envied me, hated me for it. Hennix was different, sharp, always puzzling out the Force like a holocron. I cut him down in the duel, his blade too slow." He paused, his breath catching, eyes flickering with something raw. "Tai… he tried to get in my head, probing my thoughts. I crushed him under Elphrona's stones, buried him with Voe in the outpost's ruins."
His words bled pain, a darkness I'd glimpsed in that boy's defiance against us on Ossus. The cantina's neon flickered, green and red painting Ben's bruised face, the crowd hushed, a Rodian's blaster frozen mid-draw. The Knights stirred—a low hiss from Ushar, Cardo's armor clanking, their menace thick as the spice haze. Ren's eyes bored into Ben, his rasp cold. "Not a good death if you didn't mean it." He paused, spice haze curling around him, then nodded, his voice firm. "Snoke vouched for you. Spend time with us, find one."
The Knights shifted, armor clanking, a low murmur rippling—Cardo's blaster cannon whirred, Ap'lek's spear glinted. Ren's unmasked face hardened, his rasp a command. "Get him dark clothes. That Jedi trash won't do. Let's find something to burn." Ben's eyes glinted, no words, just a nod. Ren's words—"something to burn"—snapped me back to the frigate's control room, Drenna's voice fading, Zeht and Kael's shadows looming, the kyber matrix's hum dimming. My scar throbs, I turn from the console, its green runes dimming, and face Zeht, Drenna, and Kael, their shadows sharp in the flickering gold light. Dust chokes the air, the frigate groaning like a beast bled dry, its durasteel bones creaking under my boots. My phrik armor clanks, a reaper's toll, as I grip my scythe's obsidian haft, its hum low and hungry. Zeht's yellow eyes glint, her twin vibro-axes loose, red skin taut. Drenna's lekku twitch, her holo-datapad glowing blue, too calm for this tomb. Kael's drone buzzes, its beam slicing the gloom, but his silence screams betrayal.
"To the bridge," I growl, my voice raw through my dented mask. "Get this prize tow-ready for Mustafar." My dark brown eyes bore into Zeht, sharp as a reaper's claw, probing her loyalty. She grunts, "On it, my Sentinel," her axes shifting, voice gruff but too tense. I stalk forward, boots crunching debris—shattered durasteel, Zakuulan crests split like skulls, rust stinging my throat, the ship's decay a grave I'll rip life from for Revan's fleet. We push into a tight corridor, its walls scarred, wires spitting sparks that prick my scars. The air's heavy, dust swirling like spice in a Nar Shaddaa den, kyber hum nagging my skull. Zeht takes point, her boots scuffing, axes hacking a fallen panel with a dull clang, debris scattering like bones. Drenna's robes hiss, her datapad's glow painting her blue hide, lekku stiff. Kael's drone weaves ahead, its blue beam catching a turret's glint, sensors dark but waiting, a predator crouched in the gloom.
A durasteel blast door blocks our path, its kyber runes pulsing faint green, sharp as a saber's edge. Drenna kneels, her datapad syncing, fingers dancing too steady for my liking. "Lock's ancient," she says, voice calm, like a Jedi spinning lies. "I'll need some time." "Hurry it, Drenna, or I'll carve my own way through," I snarl, scythe's hum spiking, a threat to gut this ship as I see fit. The hum claws deeper, a blade in my skull. I loom over Drenna, my shadow swallowing her, the air cold and dust-heavy, the frigate groaning like a dying rancor. Drenna's datapad chimes, runes fading, the door grinding open with a low moan, like a Hutt choking on its last credit. "Got it!" she breathes in a self-gratifying sigh.
"Great, now move—resume your orders." I rasp, my voice blunt, scythe tapping the deck. Zeht shifts, boots scuffing, guarding our rear. Kael's drone hovers, its beam probing the dark corridor beyond, but his eyes dart to me, wary as a cornered rat. The corridor tightens, durasteel walls pocked with scars, wires sparking a burn in my lungs. Shadows dance, gold panels cracked like bones, Zakuulan holo-shards glinting with faded knights. Zeht clears another panel, her axes hacking, debris scattering like Krynnar's dust. Kael's drone buzzes, dodging a sparking conduit, its kyber core throbbing like a heart I'd crush. My paranoia chews—Drenna's ambition is a Jedi lie, Zeht's eyes too keen, Kael's silence a blade I'll gut if it turns. The kyber hum pulses, like the Star of Ashla's call, binding me to Revan's Gray code.
We reach the bridge, a grand chamber of decayed splendor, its gold consoles flickering, runes pulsing faint green, kyber hum roaring like a saber's threat. Shattered viewports show cold stars, debris—durasteel shards, Zakuulan crests—littering the floor. Bulkheads groan, sparks crackling from busted conduits, the air chilled and dust-heavy. My eyes lock on the central command chair, its imposing durasteel frame looming like a throne, its authority a weight that chokes the air. My scar throbs—Kylo's blade on Minemoon, cutting Ren down to claim the Knights. I freeze, glove gripping the chair's edge, the hum deafening, my paranoia screaming betrayal, Minemoon's dust pulling me under.
Minemoon's muddy caverns swallowed me whole, the stench of damp stone and blood clogging my lungs. My durasteel armor, heavy as a gutted nerf, pressed my shoulders, my vibro-scythe's haft cold at my back, its hum silent but itching for blood. My mask, unscarred in those days, caught the flicker of neon from miners' tools, my fingers slicing through my glove like a reaper's claw. The cavern sprawled, jagged rocks protruding like broken teeth, its air thick with dust and ozone from blaster fire. The Night Buzzard squatted in a muddy clearing outside, its black hull drinking the dim light, our only escape from this kriffin' rock if the hunt turned sour. Kuruk perched on a ledge, his wiry frame taut, his blaster rifle gleaming under a tattered cape, eyes sharp as a sniper's scope. Cardo's blaster cannon whirred low, his bulk casting long shadows. Ushar's vibroblade twitched, his stance eager for violence. Ap'lek's spear glinted, his cunning gaze probing for weaknesses. Ren loomed at the cavern's heart, his dented mask reflecting the chaos, crimson saber unlit but heavy, his rasp a blade demanding blood.
Mimbanese miners, ragged and mud-smeared, their tools flickering neon, cowered against a sealed vault, its durasteel door carved with a red snake, kyber pulsing like a heart I'd gut. A female shaman, her eyes fierce as a rancor's, clutched a staff, guarding the Mindsplinter inside. My paranoia chewed—that Ossus raid a decade back flashing: Skywalker's pup, Ben Solo, his blue saber defying us at fourteen, now this man, lanky and bruised, standing with Ren, his lightsaber unlit but ready. His Force roared, a tempest rattling my bones, darker than that boy's spark on Ossus, but the same raw hunger I'd seen in those fierce eyes. Ren's mask tilted, his rasp cold as durasteel. "Kill them."
Ben's jaw tightened, his voice low but sharp. "There's no need. I can get what we want another way." His words cut through, and he fixed his eyes on a miner, a wiry male with trembling hands, his Force surging, a mind probe sinking like my scythe through flesh. The miner flinched, eyes wide, mouth twisting as Ben's power tore through his thoughts. My gut twisted—too kriffin' strong, this kid, that Ossus boy grown into a storm I'd reap but couldn't tame. Ben's voice cut through, steady. "It's in a sealed chamber, three levels down, southwest. Marked with a red snake carving."
Ren's mask didn't move, but his rasp was a nod. "Good." I snarled, my voice a low growl, paranoia spiking. "He's too kriffin' strong, Ren." My scythe's haft burned my glove, my fear cloaked as scorn, his power a blade too deep for our pack. The cavern's neon flickered, blood's tang mixing with damp stone, the miners' pleas drowned by the kyber hum. Cardo's cannon shifted, Ushar's vibroblade twitched, Ap'lek's spear probed the air, their menace thick as the mud underfoot.
Ren's rasp sliced again, cold as a vibro-blade. "Kill them." Ben's eyes flashed, his voice raw. "You promised to release them." He froze, eyes twitching like something stabbed his skull, his frame tense as if wrestling an unseen force. My paranoia roared—that Ossus boy's defiance in him, but this pause was new, a crack I couldn't read. Cardo's cannon roared, a bolt blasting a miner's chest, blood spraying the cavern wall. Ushar's vibroblade swung, slicing a throat, mud splattering. Ap'lek's spear darted, piercing another, the shaman's scream cut short. I swung my scythe, its hum a reaper's chant, blade biting a miner's shoulder, blood slicking my grip as he fell. My boots sank in mire, the air choking with blaster smoke, neon tools flickering out. The kyber hum pulsed, a wound in my skull, my heart hammering like Nar Shaddaa's densest nights. My paranoia chewed—Ben's pause was a Jedi trick, his power too deep to trust.
A saber's snap-hiss split the chaos. A lanky figure, calm, his blue blade glowing, burst into the cavern, his voice sharp. "Ben!" Ren's bulk turned, his rasp a blade. "Who are they?" Ben's eyes hardened, his lightsaber igniting blue, its buzz sharp as a wasp's sting. "Voe and Tai. They're the past."
Voe, fierce and wiry, her twin green sabers flaring, dropped beside Tai, her eyes blazing. "May the Force be with you," she said to Tai, then leaped toward us, her blades a blur slicing at Ushar. My scythe arced, meeting her green saber with a screech, sparks searing my mask. "Jedi filth!" I snarled, my voice raw, boots slipping in mud. My paranoia surged—Ossus's boy stood in Ben, but this girl's light was Skywalker's, a blade we'd failed to break. Kuruk's rifle flashed, bolts streaking at Voe, his shadow a sniper's perch. Cardo's cannon roared, blasting a miner behind her, Ap'lek's spear darting at her flank. The cavern bathed in blood and mud mixing, neon fading to smoke. Tai faced Ben on a bridge above, their sabers clashing, sparks raining into the mire. Tai's voice was calm, cutting through the din. "I found you through the Force."
Ben parried, his blade a storm, his voice bitter. "I wish we weren't connected that way." Voe's green blades danced, blocking my scythe, her kick grazing my chest, mud splattering. I swung again, blade screeching, but she dodged, her saber slashing my arm, durasteel sizzling. Kuruk's bolts streaked, Voe twisting to deflect, her voice fierce. "I was trained by Luke Skywalker." She knocked Kuruk's rifle, mud splashing, her eyes blazing like Ossus's light. Ushar's vibroblade crashed, missing her, slicing stone, while Cardo's cannon roared, miners scattering. Ap'lek's spear feinted, grazing her thigh, blood mixing with mud. My scythe hummed, arcing for her neck, but her Force pushed me back, boots skidding. My paranoia screamed—this girl was too fierce, Ben's storm too deep, like Ossus's boy now tearing us apart.
Tai pressed Ben, sabers clashing, his voice steady. "You turned your back on the light." Ben's strikes grew wild, sparks bursting. "I'm not what you think." Ren charged a Mimbanese, his crimson saber slashing, blood spraying mud. Voe's green blades intercepted, blocking his strike. Ren's rasp mocked, "I fought your master, Luke Skywalker. You're not him."
Voe's kick slammed his helm, her voice sharp. "He told me that story. Said he sent you home crying." She dodged Kuruk's next shot, mud squelching, leading miners with picks and blasters against us. I slashed a miner's chest, blood soaking my boots, my scythe's hum a reaper's vow, but my eyes flicked to Ben, his saber clashed with Tai's, his pause unnerving, eyes flickering like something clawed his mind. Tai's voice softened, pleading. "It's not too late to turn around, Ben. Every path goes in two directions."
Ben's voice was raw, his saber swinging. "I don't have a choice. Not with my name. The dark and the light claimed me the moment I was born." Voe's blades swatted my scythe, her Force shoving me into mud, my mask skewed. "You're destroyers. Killers," she spat, her voice a curse. I scrambled up, scythe arcing, grazing her arm, blood dripping from the wound. Kuruk's rifle steadied, Ren barking, "Kill her, Kuruk." Ushar's vibroblade swung, cracking stone, Ap'lek's spear darting ahead. Cardo's cannon roared, blasting a miner's leg, the cavern a chaos of blood, mud, and neon.
Tai and Ben's sabers continued to clash on the bridge, sparks raining. Tai's voice was calm, cutting. "This path gets worse from here, Ben. You're acting like you don't have control, but every step you take is a choice." Ben's eyes burned, his voice a snarl. "Skywalker and Snoke… They don't see me as a person. Just a legacy. A set of expectations." Tai pressed, his saber steady. "It's not too late, Ben. Come with me. We can destroy these Knights of Ren and save this place."
I slashed at Voe, my scythe screeching, her blades deflecting, mud splattering my mask. Kuruk's bolts grazed Voe, her Force pushing him back, Ushar's vibroblade missing again. Cardo's cannon blasted in the background, miners screaming, Ap'lek's spear slicing another's throat. Tai lowered his saber, a gesture of trust, his voice firm. "Choose, Ben. Kill me or don't. Be the man I know you are."
Ren's rasp sliced, his crimson blade raised, stalking toward the bridge. "You're fighting the dark side every step of the way." Ben's eyes darkened, his voice a growl. "I am the shadow." He reached out, the Force snapping Tai's neck with a sickening crack, his body crumpling to the mud. My scythe faltered, Voe's blade grazing my chest, my gut lurching. Ben's power was too kriffin' strong—that Ossus boy's defiance now a storm breaking free. I swung at Voe, blade screeching, but her Force shoved me back again, mud choking my mask.
Ren's mask tilted, his rasp taunting. "You've never been in a fight where the other side wants you dead." Ben's hand twitched, Tai's saber flying to his grip, dual blades igniting blue and green. Lightning crackled from his hands, blue-white arcs searing the cavern, scattering miners and Knights. Voe's blades faltered, her eyes wide, as Kuruk's bolt grazed her shoulder. Ushar's vibroblade swung, but my scythe froze, my gaze locked on Ben. Ben's dual blades clashed with Ren's crimson saber in a relentless flurry, sparks bursting like blaster fire across the muddy cavern floor. Their boots churned the mire, inches apart, bodies twisting in a brutal dance, the air thick with blood and damp stone.
Ren's saber slashed, grazing Ben's shoulder, the cauterized wound hissing, smoke curling from charred flesh. Ben countered, his blue blade arcing high, green low, forcing Ren to parry, mud splattering their armor. "I've killed a lot of people," Ren taunted, his voice a blade. Ben's voice roared, raw and wild. "I don't think I'm special, which means I can do anything I want." He lunged, lightning surging, his blades a storm. "I get it now. What you wanted me to do."
His lightning erupted, a blinding cascade of blue-white arcs, cracking like a thousand blasters, searing miners into charred husks, their flesh melting, bones snapping like twigs. The surge blasted Ren, his crimson saber faltering, his boots sliding in the mud, helm sparking as lightning grazed it. Water gushed from cracked walls, the cavern trembling, neon tools flickering, the kyber hum a deafening roar. Ben lunged, mud splashing, his blue saber feinting high, Tai's green blade thrusting low, piercing Ren's chest with a hiss. The cauterized wound smoked, blood boiling on the blade, Ren's grunt choking as he staggered, his mask sinking into the mire, eyes dimming like snuffed neon.
The cavern shook, water continuing to flood from cracked walls, Voe's blades dropped, her breath ragged, blood dripping from her mouth where my knee had shattered her ribs. Ben's voice was cold, absolute, as he turned, Ren's crimson saber flying to his hand with a hum. "I'm a murderer." He stepped through the flood, water swirling, and drove the blade through Voe's chest, the cauterized wound hissing, her body jerking, blood trickling from her lips as she slumped, green sabers sinking into the water. "You'll never be a Jedi, Voe. There's no one left to train you." His voice was a throne's weight, his Force a storm churning the flood. "Why do you even want to live?" Voe's eyes dimmed, her body swallowed by the mire, water lapping at her broken form.
The cavern's chaos stilled, floodwater surging to my knees, blood and smoke thick as a Tatooine sandstorm. Cardo's cannon dropped, its barrel steaming, water splashing his helm. Ushar's vibroblade sank, his bulk frozen, mud and blood caking his armor. Ap'lek's spear fell, its tip buried in the mire, his eyes wide. Kuruk slid from his perch, rifle dipping into the flood, his silence absolute. I gripped my scythe, chest heaving, cauterized wounds burning, mud clinging like a shroud. Ben stood over Ren's corpse, his saber casting a blood-red glow, jagged shadows dancing on the cavern walls, his eyes burning like that Ossus boy's defiance grown into a relentless storm. The flood roared, neon fading to darkness, the kyber hum a reaper's dirge pulsing in my skull.
One by one, we knelt, armor grinding, the flood sucking at our knees, the cavern's dying light framing Ben's silhouette. Cardo's scythe clanked, his head bowed, water splashing. Ushar's blade hit the mire, his shoulders slumping. Ap'lek's spear sank deeper, his frame quaking. Kuruk's rifle rested on his brow, his masked gaze low, a silent vow. I lowered my scythe, its blade grazing my chest, heart hammering, my fear screaming—this power, a throne too fierce to break. His Force pulsed, a storm commanding us, his saber's red light carving our shadows into the water, a silent oath of dread and power. The Night Buzzard's engines roared outside, the flood rising to my chest, Ren's words from meeting this kid that was his own undoing—"Let's find something to burn"—echoing as the frigate's bridge snapped back into my awareness.
The frigate's pulse of life beneath its scarred durasteel bones. Gold consoles flicker green, their kyber runes glowing like embers, casting jagged shadows across the deck. Shattered viewports frame cold stars, the void a silent witness to our claim. My phrik armor clanks, heavy as the decades it's carried me. The command chair looms behind me, a throne of iron and legacy. My scar throbs—Ossus's blade, Varnak's neon, Minemoon's mud—each a mark of the blood I've spilled to stand here, Revan's Sentinel, forging his Je'daii vision. Zeht stands by the entrance, her red skin taut, black tattoos sharp in the rune-light, twin vibro-axes slung but ready. Her yellow eyes sweep the deck, steady, a rock in this tomb. Drenna kneels at the central console, her holo-datapad bathing her blue hide in light, lekku twitching as her fingers dance, coaxing the frigate's heart to beat. Kael's drone buzzes, its blue beam weaving through the matrix, syncing systems with a precision that anchors us. Dust drifts, ozone sparks, the frigate groaning like a beast roused from death.
"Drenna, lock the tractor beam," I growl, my voice raw but firm, a blade honed by Krynnar's alleys. "Another ship to add to our numbers." She nods, lekku stiff, her voice precise. "Matrix online. Ready for transit to Mustafar." Her ambition cuts through, but this is my victory. Zeht shifts, boots scuffing. "Bridge's clear, my Sentinel." Her gruff tone holds, loyal as durasteel, grounding me like the Je'daii code I now strive to uphold.
I step to the command chair, my glove grazing its cold frame, the weight of Minemoon's kneel heavy in my chest. "Warden lead on, lock is ready and we're a go," I say into the comms, voice steady. "Get this beast to Mustafar." The viewport flares, blue light spilling across the bridge as Je'daii tug ships glide into view, their sleek, spiked hulls gleaming like Zakuulan relics reborn. Tractor beams hum, shimmering threads anchoring the frigate's scarred hull, the deck trembling as durasteel groans. Drenna's datapad chimes, her voice sharp. "Core systems are synced."
"We're in position, Sentinel," crackles the Star Warden's voice, clipped and disciplined. "Beams engaging." Zeht grips her axes, eyes on the viewports, the tugs' glow reflecting in her gaze. The beams lock, a deep thrum vibrating through the bridge, the frigate shifting, stars sliding as the tractor beams pull tight. I stand firm, scythe steady, the kyber hum a song of Revan's will, this relic now ours to forge anew.
"Tractor Beam lock confirmed," the Star Warden reports through the comms. "Engaging a tandem hyperjump now. Hold onto something, my Sentinel." "Make it fast," I reply, voice short, ready for home. "Revan's waiting."