The atmosphere of Malastare was a volatile cocktail of methane, sulfur, and the desperate greed of the Dug Council. As the 596th "Maverick's Roughnecks" moved into the fifth month of 20 BBY, the planet had become a sprawling chessboard of crystalline fuel flats and bottomless pits. Above, the Separatist blockade was being systematically dismantled by Admiral Kaine's relentless precision, but the real game was happening in the deep shadows of the surface.
Revan Shan stood on the edge of a massive sinkhole, the wind whipping his heavy black cloak. He was fully geared: the matte-black Beskar-alloy armor, the gauntlets humming with Cortana's sub-logic, and a bandolier of EMP and thermal grenades. His hood was pulled low, casting his face into an enigmatic shadow. He wasn't looking at the encroaching sea of B1 battle droids; he was looking down into the dark.
"Cortana," Revan murmured, his voice carrying the rhythmic, slightly manic lilt of a man who had seen too many centuries. "Is the perimeter secure? I'd hate to have our little conversation interrupted by a stray blaster bolt. It's terribly rude to shout over artillery."
"Master, Commander Check has established a three-click 'quiet zone' around this sector," Cortana's voice chirped from his gauntlet. "The Separatists are currently preoccupied with the 'technical difficulties' we planted last month. Their droid brain-links are experiencing a recursive logic loop that makes them think their left feet are actually thermal detonators. It's quite entertaining to watch."
"Splendid. And the Republic's big toy?"
"The Electro-Proton bomb is being prepped for transport by the 182nd. General Windu is... optimistic about its efficacy."
Revan sighed, popping a lemon candy into his mouth. "Optimism is just a lack of data. Let's go see if we can't make that bomb redundant. Try to be nice, do good, but never fail to be kind—especially to the ancient things sleeping under our boots."
The Communion: A Heart to Heart with the Ancient
Revan didn't use a cable to descend. He stepped off the ledge, utilizing Force Enhance and Force Jump to slow his descent, drifting down like a shadow. As he reached the bottom of the fuel pit, the air grew thick and heavy.
There, coiled in the darkness, was the Zillo Beast. It was a prehistoric marvel, a creature of scale and spirit that had existed long before the Republic was even a whisper. Sensing an intruder, the beast let out a low, guttural growl that vibrated through Revan's very bones.
Revan didn't draw his lightsabers. He didn't even reach for his Westars. Instead, he sat down on a jagged rock and closed his eyes. He tapped into his Midichlorian count of 23,000, projecting a wave of pure, crystalline goodwill.
"Hello, old girl," Revan whispered, using Force Psychometry to touch the air around the beast. "I know you're tired. I know the tiny things above are making a lot of noise. But I'm here to tell you that it's safe. You stay home. You stay deep. I won't let them turn you into a science project for a man who wears too much perfume and too many secrets."
The beast's golden eyes opened, glowing in the dark. It leaned forward, its massive head inches from Revan's hood. Through the Force, Revan projected images of the high-rise safe houses on Corellia, the quiet beach on Scarif, and the silent ruins of Lehon. He showed the beast peace.
The growl softened into a purr-like rumble. The Zillo Beast settled back into the shadows, its prehistoric mind acknowledging the "Maverick" as a protector, not a hunter.
"Good. Stay sleeping," Revan said, standing up. "I'll handle the small things."
The Battle of Malastare: Sabotage and Synergy
When Revan returned to the surface, the "Battle" was in full swing. But it wasn't the chaotic slaughter the Republic had expected. Last month's scouting mission had paid off in dividends.
As the sea of B1 and B2 droids marched across the fuel flats, Commander Check signaled the remote detonation.
Boom.
The EMP and thermal charges Revan had buried in strategic "weak points" of the flats didn't just explode; they triggered a chain reaction of localized ion storms. Hundreds of droids were instantly shorted out, their circuits fried before they could fire a single shot. The "localized shielding" the Separatists prided themselves on flickered and died as the sabotaged power relays Revan had tweaked last month experienced "unforeseen harmonic resonance."
"Now, boys! Let's show them how the Roughnecks do it!" Revan shouted.
He led the charge from the front, a blur of black and red. He didn't just fight; he orchestrated. He used Battle Meditation and Force Valor to link the minds of the 100 clones with him, turning them into a single, unstoppable unit.
* The Strike: Revan lunged forward, his Balanced Purple lightsaber a whirlwind of violet light. He used Lightsaber Throw, the blade spinning in a wide arc that decapitated a row of B2s before returning to his hand.
* The Defense: When a Separatist tank leveled its main cannon, Revan raised a hand. Force Barrier. The shell impacted an invisible wall of shimmering energy, exploding harmlessly.
* The Counter: He followed up with Force Grip, crushing the tank's treads, and Force Push, sending the multi-ton vehicle sliding into an oncoming droid battalion.
Above them, the air was dominated by the 596th's air superiority. Z-95 Headhunters and Y-Wing bombers rained precision fire on the Separatist artillery, guided by Revan's real-time tactical uplink.
The Intervention: The Bomb and the Bureaucracy
In the middle of the engagement, a transmission from the Republic High Command crackled through.
"General Shan," the voice of a tactical officer rang out. "The Chancellor has authorized the deployment of the Electro-Proton bomb. We are inbound to your coordinates."
"Negative, Command," Revan snapped, his voice sassy even in the heat of battle. "I've already finished the job. The Separatist line is at 10% capacity and their shields are effectively lunch-trays. Dropping a proton bomb now would be like using a supernova to light a candle. Save the toy for an emergency. I'm not having my boots ruined by radioactive dust because someone in the Senate wanted a fireworks display."
Utilizing his authority and the sheer undeniable success of his "Surgical Strike," Revan forced the delay of the bomb. He knew that dropping it would wake the Zillo Beast and start the cycle of its capture. By winning the battle with "traditional" (if you consider a 135-year-old Jedi traditional) methods, he kept the beast's existence a secret from the Republic's prying eyes.
The Side-Mission: Smith and Mothma
During a lull in the multi-month campaign, Revan retreated to the Black Pearl. He activated the Holographic Training Droid, masking it as the eccentric Dr. John Smith.
He met with Mon Mothma via a secure, encrypted link.
"John," Mon said, her expression grave. "The Chancellor has just requested 'oversight' of all private research institutes on Chandrila. He's looking for the Maverick Trust's paper trail."
"Let him look, Mon," the Doctor replied, leaning back in a holographic chair. "He'll find five thousand pages on the 'Sociological Impacts of Gungan Opera' and a very detailed study on why his emergency powers are legally equivalent to a 'galactic temper tantrum.' Sarah Jane has already moved the sensitive alloys to the bunkers. How is the Senate reacting to Malastare?"
"They're calling it a 'Miracle of Efficiency'," she said. "But Palpatine is using that efficiency to argue that more Generals should have your level of... autonomy. He's trying to standardize your methods into a new 'Internal Security Directive'."
"Standardizing a Maverick? Good luck with that. It's like trying to bottle a hurricane," Revan smirked. "Stay strong, Mon. I've found something in the Unknown Regions. A planet. A safe place. If the music stops and the seats are all gone, we have a backup plan."
The Training: Refined Mastery
Even amidst the methane of Malastare, Revan kept his routine. His three training sessions this month were focused on the transition between styles.
* Session 1 (The Sith Blades): He faced the 15 Sith Training Droids. He practiced the transition from the elegant Form II Makashi to the aggressive Form VII Juyo. He used Force Judgement to create "blind spots" in the droids' sensors, moving so fast he appeared to be in three places at once.
* Session 2 (The Ahsoka Protocol): He faced the 50 Marksman-H Remotes. This was pure Jar'Kai defense. He moved his red and purple sabers in a geometric web of light, catching every bolt and reflecting it back to the remotes' power couplings. He didn't miss a single shot.
* Session 3 (The All-Out War): He combined both. He fought the 15 droids and 50 remotes simultaneously while maintaining a Force Bubble and using Mechu-deru to jam the droids' internal communicators. It was a 20-minute dance of absolute Force-density.
Status: Month 5, 20 BBY
As the fifth month of 20 BBY arrived, the Battle of Malastare was nearing its conclusion. The Separatists were in full retreat, their foundries dismantled, and their "unbeatable" sea of droids turned into a scrap yard.
The Zillo Beast remained safely asleep in the fuel pits, its location redacted from all official 596th reports. The Electro-Proton bomb sat unused in a Republic hangar, and the Maverick Trust's secret map to the "Kyber Planet" remained locked in the Beskar safe.
"Month five," Revan mused, sitting in his Sovereign's Command Chair, the nap angle set to a perfect 180^\circ for a change. "The beast is home, the Senate is confused, and I still have enough credits to buy a small moon if I get bored. Cortana, check on the Loth-cats at the Temple. I hope Calculus hasn't started an insurrection in the archives."
"Master, the cats are fine," Cortana replied. "But Admiral Kaine reports a strange distress signal from the Lola Sayu system. It seems a Jedi Master has been captured."
Revan sat up, his eyes sharpening. "The Citadel. Now that is an adventure. Tell the boys to prep the Black Pearl. I've always wanted to see if I could break into a prison that's supposed to be inescapable."