The moon of Concordia was a graveyard of industrial ambition, its surface scarred by deep mining shafts and the skeletal remains of abandoned foundries. Inside one of these subterranean labyrinths, the air was thick with the smell of ozone and the rhythmic clanking of a conveyor belt that had seen better centuries.
Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man who prided himself on his dignity and tactical composure, found himself in a position that was becoming alarmingly habitual: pinned against a vibrating machinery rail by a magnetic snare, his lightsaber sitting several meters away on a crate.
"I must say, Obi-Wan, the horizontal look really suits you," a voice echoed from the shadows above.
A figure dropped from the rafters, landing with the silent grace of a predatory cat. Revan Shan stood there, his black Beskar-filament cloak rippling. But it was his face—or lack thereof—that drew a sharp intake of breath from the gathered Death Watch warriors. The black, silver, and red T-visor of the Original Mask of Revan stared back at them, its ancient sensors glowing with a faint, malevolent light.
"That mask..." Bo-Katan Kryze stepped forward, her hand trembling slightly on the hilt of her blaster. "It belongs to the Butcher. The one who broke the clans. Who are you to wear the face of our greatest shame?"
Revan tilted his head, the metallic vocoder in the mask giving his voice a hollow, haunting resonance. "Oh, this? It's a family heirloom, really. Very breathable, though the peripheral vision is a bit rubbish. As for who I am... I'm just a man who's very disappointed in your interior decorating choices. Honestly, Bo-Katan, red and black is my thing. You're clashing."
"Kill him!" Pre Vizsla roared, his voice cracking with a mixture of terror and rage.
The Surgical Strike: 596th Style
Revan didn't reach for his sabers. Instead, he tapped his gauntlet. "Cortana, tell the boys to bring the noise. But gently. We're being 'kind' today."
High above the mining facility, a single LAAT/I, painted in the matte-black of the 596th 'Maverick's Roughnecks', de-cloaked. Fifty elite clones, led by Commander Check, descended via high-speed rappelling lines. They didn't open fire with lethal bolts. Utilizing the advanced tactics Revan had drilled into them, they deployed Kyber-Quantum Stun Flares and Localized EMP Grenades.
The room erupted in white light and a high-pitched electronic scream.
"Eyes shut, Obi-Wan!" Revan shouted over the din. He moved like a blur, his 23,000 midichlorian count allowing him to navigate the chaos as if time had slowed to a crawl. He used Force Stasis on a group of warriors attempting to ignite their jetpacks, leaving them frozen in mid-air like macabre statues.
The Duel: The Darksaber vs. The Maverick
Pre Vizsla didn't hesitate. He ignited the Darksaber, its black blade humming with a jagged, white-hot energy that seemed to drink the light around it. He lunged at Revan, a primal scream echoing through his helmet.
"The Jedi murdered my father!" Vizsla cried, his strikes heavy and full of unrefined Ataru fury. "Tor Vizla's legacy will be written in your blood!"
"Your father was a loud-mouthed bully who didn't know when to retire," Revan retorted, finally igniting his Balanced Purple blade. The clash of the black and purple plasma sent violet sparks dancing across the mask's visor.
Revan didn't use the raw power of Juyo. He utilized the subtle, flowing parries of Form VI Niman, repositioning his feet with mathematical precision. Every time Vizsla swung, Revan was a centimeter out of reach, his movements a taunting dance.
"You know, Obi-Wan," Revan called out as he parried a overhead strike, "I remember when I first brought you to the Temple with Jaro. You were such a polite little youngling. Never got pinned to conveyor belts. What happened? Did the fame go to your head?"
"I'm a bit busy at the moment, Revan!" Obi-Wan shouted, struggling against the magnetic lock.
"Patience! I'm busy having a 'cultural exchange' with Mr. Grumpy here."
The duel lasted thirty minutes. It was a masterclass in frustration. Revan wasn't trying to kill Vizsla; he was letting the Mandalorian exhaust himself. He used Force Psychometry on the Darksaber's hilt during a lock, feeling the centuries of conflict embedded in the weapon.
"You're tired, Pre," Revan said, his voice dropping the sass for a moment of cold clarity. "You're fighting for a ghost. Mandalore doesn't need a conqueror; it needs a plumber. And someone to fix the spice-latte machines."
The Breach and the Disarming
As the thirty-minute mark hit, the 596th strike team finally breached the main doors. Commander Check led the charge, his Beskar-reinforced armor shrugging off stray blaster fire.
"Stun settings! Clear the room!" Check barked.
Flash grenades turned the chamber into a strobe-light nightmare. Bo-Katan and the remaining Death Watch warriors were overwhelmed by the sheer efficiency of the dechipped clones. They didn't miss. Every bolt was a blue ring of incapacitation.
Revan saw his opening. As Vizsla raised the Darksaber for a final, desperate lunge, Revan used Mechu-deru through the air, sensing the mechanical solenoids in Vizsla's gauntlet. With a microscopic pulse of Force energy, he shorted out the glove's motor-servos.
Vizsla's hand seized. With a flick of his wrist, Revan used Force Pull to yank the Darksaber from Vizsla's frozen grip. In the same motion, Revan stepped forward and delivered a Force Repulse that sent the Governor flying backward into a stack of empty crates.
Revan caught the Darksaber mid-air, clicking it shut and clipping it to his belt next to his Westar 35s.
"I'll be taking this," Revan said, looking down at the groaning Vizsla. "It's a bit too heavy for you. You were overcompensating."
He turned and pointed his Sonic Screwdriver at Obi-Wan's magnetic snare. Whirrr-beep. The locks hissed open, and Obi-Wan tumbled to the floor.
"Took you long enough," Obi-Wan grumbled, rubbing his wrists.
"I had to make sure the lighting was right for my heroic entrance," Revan grinned behind the mask.
The Slicing: Shadows of the Sith
While the clones secured the prisoners, Revan walked to Vizsla's primary terminal. He plugged in his gauntlet's Kyber-quantum slicing tool, his fingers flying across the holographic interface.
"Let's see what else you're hiding, little raven," Revan murmured.
The data poured in: maps of the Death Watch fleet, logistics for the starvation of Mandalore, and the smoking gun—transmissions from Count Dooku detailing the plan to bait the Republic into an occupation. But as the "Vision" satellite algorithms filtered the data, a hidden sector caught Revan's eye.
Coordinates: Sector 4-Beta, Mandalorian Wild Space.
Descriptor: Ancient Structure. High Force Resonance.
"Well, well," Revan whispered. "A hidden Sith Temple. And here I thought I'd have to go to Moraband for a vacation. Cortana, save those coordinates. Don't tell the Council. This is a private archaeological expedition."
"Understood, Master," Cortana replied. "I've also confirmed that the evidence of the Dooku alliance has been uploaded to the Axis Network. Luthen is currently broadcasting it to every neutral system in the galaxy."
The Shadow World and the Senate
The news hit the galaxy like a supernova. The evidence of a Separatist-backed conspiracy to starve a neutral world caused a political firestorm. In the Senate, the debate shifted from "Jedi overreach" to "Separatist atrocities."
Palpatine sat in his office, his face a mask of disappointment, though his eyes remained cold. Revan Shan had once again dismantled a masterpiece of Sith manipulation with nothing but a sonic screwdriver and a sense of humor.
Back on Mandalore, the results were more tangible. HK-47, Ruff, and Check had located three massive warehouses hidden in the desert wastes. They weren't full of weapons—they were full of the food Vizsla had stolen from his own people.
"Duchess Satine," Revan said as they stood on the palace balcony, the Darksaber still hanging from his belt. "Your people are being fed. The 'gangsters' who were harassing your docks have been... let's say 'reassigned' to a labor colony. And your Minister Almec is currently explaining himself to a very grumpy HK-47."
Satine looked at the mask Revan still held in his hand. "You broke the conspiracy, Revan. But you wear the face of a monster."
"Sometimes you have to look like a monster to remind the real ones why they should stay in the dark," Revan said, popping a lemon candy into his mouth. "Try to be nice, Satine. But never fail to be kind. And it was very kind of me to leave Vizsla alive, don't you think?"
Month 11, 21 BBY: The Next Adventure
By the end of the month, the 596th was preparing to depart. Mandalore was stable, the Death Watch was in shambles, and Revan had a new toy on his belt.
"Where to now, Master?" Cortana asked as Revan sat in the pilot's seat of the Black Pearl.
"We have coordinates to a Sith Temple, a legion of clones who need a vacation, and an AI on Lehon who probably misses me," Revan said, looking at the Darksaber. "But first... I think I'll go visit Jaro and Cal. I owe the kid a lesson on how to properly use a sonic screwdriver."
He pulled the Revan mask back on, the red glow of the visor reflecting in the cockpit glass.
"Tell Admiral Kaine to set a course for the Mandalorian Wild Space. It's time to see what the Sith left behind."