"Apprentices, we're heading down to Tython," he announced, not slowing down as he approached the boarding ramp. The shuttle was the standard Kaas-pattern, a broad and flat triangle with wings that folded up to form a tall fin at the top. "Our objective is a Jedi Knight and his entourage. Do not fail me."
...
Various noises of assent reached his ears, but he paid it no mind as he climbed the boarding ramp and strapped himself in. His apprentices followed behind him, ever obedient. A pilot clad in an all-encompassing black flight suit was already seated in front of the controls, the very image of calm.
"We're ready to launch at your command, my lord," he announced once the boarding ramp was retracted and the shuttle was sealed, his voice slightly dimmed by the helmet's speakers.
"Launch," he ordered. "You have the target coordinates."
"Yes, my lord," he confirmed. "Will we be having an escort?"
"Not a friendly one." He could not spare any of the starfighters at his disposal. The Monster had brought too many with him aboard his fleet, a mix of light Liberator and heavier Aurek fighters that almost matched what Angral had brought to Tython.
Except that Angral had not had the time for much maintenance during his dash for Tython.
"Very good," the pilot said, and the shuttle shuddered as it shot out of the hangar bay and into the light-show of space combat. Though he could only see a little bit of it from his place behind the pilot, there were a lot of red and green lances of light filling the space around them.
Fortunately, the pilot was skilled enough to not get them blown out of the sky and killed quite so ignominiously. The occasional shot strayed rather closer than he would have liked, but none ever struck them, allowing them to breach the atmosphere without difficulty.
The flight grew a bit less steady, then, but that was to be expected. Atmospheres had a bit of turbulence to them.
What was not expected was what was unambiguously a warning chime.
"Did we pick up a tail?" one of the apprentices asked.
"Just a ground-based defender," the pilot reassured him, his head turning to the side as he checked one of the screens in his cockpit. "Looks to be a freighter, judging by the size."
"Why isn't it up in space?" a different apprentice asked.
"It's a bit large for a dogfight," the pilot answered before the warning chimes got more insistent. "Oh. I would suggest you all brace."
Brace?
Angral's world became one of pure light and heat a bare second later as something struck the shuttle and tore him out of it. The wind tore at his face, forcing his eyes shut, instantly replacing the heat with frigid air. He could feel himself spinning, but could not see a single thing.
Reaching out with the Force, he brought his tumble to a slow rotation he could counter by just moving his arms and legs, though it felt like the wind was trying to tear his limbs off. That, however, he could also counter as Angral forced his speed to dissipate. Streaks of red tumbled past him, screams of panic assaulting his ears, as his apprentices made it clear that they were far from ready for this mission.
Mere minutes later, he landed safely on the ground.
His apprentices had preceded his arrival. As predicted, none had survived, but that was fine. It just meant that justice would be his alone.
Angral had landed close to the ruin of the Jedi Temple. Or, as the Traitor had described it, the rubble. Credit where it was due, the term rubble really was more accurate. And since the credit was due to him for reducing it to such a state, Angral was very happy to do just that. Oh, this was off to a great start!
He made his way towards the gently smoking pile of rubble, opening himself to the Force as much as he could. He sensed them, his enemies. Three Jedi, shining beacons of light in the Force. Four Sith, of the proper mindset to use the Dark Side, stewing in anger and remembered slights and pettiness. And one man whose mind was burbling like an engine on idle, just wasting everyone's time and energy.
Whistling a happy tune, Angral made his way over the uneven pile of beige rubble, until his enemies took notice of him. The Traitor and Monster stopped their conversation, the other two Jedi close by, but not actively contributing. One was the Monster's padawan, the other a short Jedi with a list of confirmed Sith kills in the dozens. The other members of their treasonous coalition were currently out of sight. Eh, he could take them.
Surprisingly, it was the traitor who greeted him first.
"Darth Angral," the Traitor said, his voice thick with forced cheer. "Good of you to join us. Come to do the right thing, save your troops, and surrender?"
"On the contrary," he growled, raising both arms to shoulder level. In his right, his lightsaber floated and was promptly ignited, the vivid red cylinder casting a stark light on his surroundings. His left remained flat, pointed at the Sith Lord intent on collaborating with the Jedi. "I've seen how you all die before me. Here and now."
His mental command forced a bolt of lightning into existence in his empty palm, and he promptly sent it flying into the Traitor's chest. He did not even have enough time to bring out his lightsaber to try and block the blue-white stream of energy before it sent him flying back a dozen meters and reduced him to a convulsing pile of limbs.
"Nestor!" the short Jedi called out, and Angral could taste the worry and concern. Oh, how he would savor it while he gutted the Monster!
"Where was I?" he asked, turning his focus to the Monster. Clad in a horrid combination of Jedi robes and armor plates, he had drawn his blue lightsaber and assumed a defensive position. "Oh, yes. You."
The Monster wasted no words, and instead opened with a confident slash that would have opened Angral up from collarbone to groin had it connected. But he was not an amateur duelist. He was a Sith Lord with decades of experience in Sith power struggles.
With a flick of the wrist, the opposing blade was batted away, leaving the Monster open to a thrust to the collarbone. A quicker end than he deserved, had this blow connected.
A whirl of green plasma interposed itself, slamming into his weapon and buying the Monster a previous few seconds of life. Enough time to bring his weapon back into a defensive position, and enough time to send the whirling blade back to its owner.
Darth Angral narrowed his eyes in concentration, and the lightsaber froze in the middle of the air. Ah, a double-bladed variant. That could prove annoying to deal with.
He could feel additional minds reach out with the Force to pull the weapon back, but Angral was not in the mood for a childish tug-of-war. A bolt of lightning was all it took for the weapon to explode mid-air, robbing his opponents of a potential weapon.
"Lia, get up here!" the Monster shouted as he rushed back into melee range. He had learned from his previous mistake, unfortunately. Now, his attacks were smaller, his weapon remaining closer to his body. "And are you Sith going to sit this one out?"
"Nestor's hurt!" came the cry from further back.
"Lightning tends to do that!" the Monster grunted as he misjudged how closely he could parry, leaving a scorched line across his arm. Oh, this was going marvelously. "He'll recover."
"Unlikely," Angral spat back, focusing on the ache in his chest that adrenaline was doing its best to dampen. Strength flooded his limbs in response, and he went back on the offensive.
His red lightsaber clashed with the enemy's blue, and the sheer strength behind his blows forced the weapon into the Monster's shoulder, eliciting a barely stifled cry of pain. "Orbalisk toxins are quite virulent."
...
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