*Dagon Marek – POV*
The battle ended far faster than anyone on the bridge had expected.
When the last explosions faded and the final tactical updates arrived from the fleet, the official duration of the engagement was recorded at **twenty-five minutes**.
Twenty-five minutes.
That was all it had taken to annihilate one of the largest Separatist blockade fleets operating in the sector.
From the viewport of the *Terminus*, the aftermath looked like a shattered graveyard drifting through space.
Hundreds of broken hulls orbited Boz Pity.
Fragments of Munificent frigates rotated slowly through the void, their once-sleek hulls ripped open by turbolaser fire. Recusant destroyers floated in pieces, their thin skeletal structures twisted into mangled metal skeletons. Entire rings from Lucrehulk battleships drifted apart like cracked halos around the planet.
Some wrecks still burned.
Others vented long trails of frozen atmosphere that sparkled in the distant starlight.
Occasionally another explosion rippled across the battlefield as damaged reactors finally gave way.
Fuel reserves.
Or ammunition magazines.
The tactical officers had finished their reports quickly.
The results were… almost absurd.
The **entire CIS fleet was destroyed**.
Not crippled.
Not scattered.
Destroyed.
In exchange, the Republic fleet had taken only **minor damage**.
Five Acclamator assault ships reported hull damage from glancing hits during the breakthrough maneuver. Repair crews were already sealing scorched armor plates and replacing damaged turbolaser mounts.
Fighter losses were even smaller.
Less than **one percent**.
Barely enough to register on the standard engagement scale.
Battle meditation had helped.
So had surprise.
The Separatist tactical droids had never recovered from the initial shock of the attack.
The fleet had been dead the moment the spectral cannon opened the corridor through their formation.
But the battle wasn't finished yet.
The planet below still resisted.
Sensor projections shifted across the tactical display.
The **surface shield generators** were still active.
Boz Pity's factories and industrial sectors remained protected beneath a planetary defense grid.
Which meant orbital bombardment would be… inefficient.
For now.
I studied the battlefield outside the viewport.
Then I gave the order.
"All salvage and tug vessels deploy."
The command spread across the fleet.
Small tractor tugs began moving through the debris field immediately.
"Push the wreckage toward the planet."
Several officers looked up from their stations.
One of them hesitated before speaking.
"General… toward the planet?"
"Yes."
There was no hesitation in my voice.
The tugs began towing the shattered remains of CIS warships downward toward Boz Pity's atmosphere.
Broken hulls.
Fragments of engines.
Entire sections of Lucrehulk rings.
The tactic was brutally simple.
The wreckage would burn through the upper atmosphere like meteor storms.
It wouldn't penetrate the planetary shield.
But it would fall across it.
Hundreds of flaming pieces of warship slamming against the invisible barrier surrounding the surface.
From orbit, it was nothing more than debris disposal.
From the ground…
It would look like the sky itself was falling.
A terror tactic.
I had several reasons for using it.
First—
It kept the debris field clear of my ships.
Large wreckage drifting through orbit had a nasty habit of colliding with vessels weeks later.
Second—
The falling debris would highlight the exact locations of the shield generators.
Energy barriers reacted visibly when struck by heavy objects.
And right now, hundreds of pieces of burning warships were about to map those barriers perfectly.
Through the viewport, the first wreckage entered the atmosphere.
The massive hull section of a Munificent frigate ignited instantly.
Flames spread across the twisted metal as it plunged downward.
More debris followed.
Then more.
Within minutes, Boz Pity's sky was filled with falling fire.
From orbit the view was strangely beautiful.
Dozens of glowing trails streaked through the atmosphere.
Some fragments exploded as they encountered the planetary shield.
Others shattered into molten rain.
Across the tactical display, bright flashes appeared wherever the shield grid absorbed the impact.
Ten locations.
Exactly where the generators were placed.
I nodded slowly.
"Excellent."
The enemy had unintentionally revealed their own defenses.
Ethan stood beside the tactical console quietly processing the data.
"Shield generator locations confirmed."
"Good."
But before the bombardment began, I had something else to do.
"Ethan."
"Yes."
"Prepare my fighter."
He tilted his head slightly.
"You intend to participate personally?"
"Yes."
There was a pause.
Then he nodded once.
"I will ready **Black Squadron**."
The name had come naturally.
Most of the starfighters assigned to my personal squadron carried black markings across their hulls—war banners painted after the victory at Jablim.
Some sections of the ships themselves were painted black.
Symbols of my command.
And the squadron was built for heavy assault.
**Twenty-five TIE Silencer / Avenger heavy starfighters.**
And **ten Scurrg heavy bombers.**
Each craft had been modified using designs I had recovered from Malachor.
Ancient **Sith Empire interceptor technology** blended with modern Republic engineering.
The result was… impressive.
Faster engines.
Improved shields.
Heavy weapon systems.
Only one ship remained truly unique.
Mine.
My personal **TIE Silencer**.
Its reactor had been modified with a miniature **kyber crystal ion engine core**.
The same technology that powered the *Terminus*.
The same unstable energy that made the spectral cannon possible.
The fighter was… temperamental.
But it was also faster and more powerful than anything else in the fleet.
The hangar bay of the *Terminus* buzzed with activity when I arrived.
Ground crews rushed around the black-marked starfighters preparing them for launch.
The bombers were already armed.
Missile racks loaded.
Targeting systems calibrated.
I climbed the boarding ladder into my cockpit.
"Black Squadron," I said over the comm channel.
"Launch."
The hangar doors opened.
Thirty-five starfighters shot into space like a swarm of predatory insects.
The fleet remained in orbit behind us.
This mission belonged only to us.
Boz Pity grew larger as we descended toward the planet.
Ash clouds rolled across the surface.
The largest city appeared ahead.
A dense forest of enormous skyscrapers rising through the smoke.
The planet's primary industrial capital.
My target.
But not for the reasons anyone might expect.
"Black Squadron," I said calmly.
"Maintain formation."
My fighter angled toward the skyline.
"Target the upper towers only."
A pilot spoke over the comm.
"General… confirm?"
"Do not attack civilians."
There was a pause.
Then acknowledgment.
"Understood."
This wasn't a massacre.
It was physics.
I locked onto the first skyscraper.
Three missiles.
One at the top.
One at the center.
One at the base.
"Fire."
The missiles streaked forward.
Explosions ripped through the tower in perfect sequence.
The structure shuddered.
Then gravity took over.
The skyscraper collapsed sideways in slow motion.
Like a falling tree.
The enormous building crashed into the empty district beside it, sending clouds of dust and debris across the streets.
Other pilots followed the pattern.
Missiles struck towers throughout the city.
Not enough to destroy the population.
But enough to bring the tallest structures down.
Each collapse sent shockwaves through the skyline.
The psychological effect would be devastating.
And the shield generator location was exactly where I expected.
Near the city's central power plant.
Common sense.
Most planets placed their primary energy grids near population centers.
Shorter transmission distances.
Better infrastructure.
Unfortunately for them…
It also made the generator easier to find.
A final volley of missiles struck the structure.
The shield emitter tower exploded.
Across the tactical display in my cockpit, the planetary barrier flickered and collapsed.
Mission complete.
"Return to orbit," I ordered.
Black Squadron climbed back toward space.
The fleet awaited us.
When my fighter landed aboard the *Terminus*, the bridge crew was already preparing the final stage.
Orbital bombardment.
But not against the cities.
Against the **ten factory complexes** scattered across the planet.
I stood beside the tactical display studying the map.
"Five Acclamators per target."
Six factories would be destroyed by **thirty assault ships** operating in concentrated **dagger formations**.
Their combined turbolaser fire and proton torpedoes would overwhelm the defensive systems in seconds.
The remaining factories received heavier treatment.
Three sites assigned **two dreadnought battleships each**.
Overkill.
But efficient.
I looked toward Ragnos.
"Commander."
He stood ready beside the command console.
"Yes, General."
"Fire when ready."
The order echoed through the fleet.
Moments later—
Green streaks of turbolaser fire erupted from orbit.
Dozens of beams pierced the atmosphere simultaneously.
The first factory vanished in a sphere of molten fire.
Then another.
And another.
Industrial complexes collapsed beneath overwhelming orbital bombardment.
Metal structures melted.
Fuel depots ignited.
Assembly lines filled with unfinished battle droids vaporized instantly.
From orbit the destruction looked almost surgical.
Ten targets.
Ten expanding firestorms.
As I watched the factories burn, something stirred within me.
A familiar sensation.
The **dark side**.
It flowed through the Force like heat rising from the battlefield.
Powerful.
Hungry.
I felt it respond to the destruction below.
To the victory.
To the fear spreading across the planet.
My fingers curled slightly.
Blue sparks flickered across my hand.
**Force lightning.**
Stronger than before.
Brighter.
Alive.
It crackled between my fingertips like captured energy.
And I couldn't help the quiet thought that passed through my mind.
It felt…
Good.