Value Loyalty Above All Else [Star Wars]

He looked on with a detached gaze as Reborn soldiers stood beside him, their major assigning three full squads as his guard. Between the argument on the ship, where the man had nearly insisted that they'd bring another Lord, and then on the transport, where he had managed to assign him to the safest vessel possible, Morgan didn't think it was worth arguing.

If only Elarius overstepped. Didn't debate with such clear, concise arguments. And only got stubborn when it came to his safety, meaning Morgan felt like a dick contemplating shutting the captain down, and he shifted his weight as he sighed.

Months and months it had taken him to train this out of Quinn and his men, more time spent doing so with Kala, and now he had to start over again. Except this one was raised with some sort of belief he was important, special, and thus to be protected.

And no hint of cultish behaviour, something which he had been looking for. It would have been the perfect excuse to rip the whole organisation apart, re-assign and scatter them, before never thinking about the matter again.

But no. A little overzealous, at times, and dedicated to their jobs, but nothing more. No secret shrines worshipping him, which would have made him supremely uncomfortable, or anger when he acted against their expectations. Just men and women watching, adjusting their behaviour when he spoke, and dead set on doing whatever he ordered. Or suggested, for that matter.

Here he thought he'd been getting better at dealing with people like that.

Though, admittedly, it had been gratifying watching Jaesa interact with them. She had the habit of inspecting whoever she met, a good practice, and hadn't returned to Reborn territory since her first time. Something about them reminded her of jedi, she had told him, which apparently made her very uncomfortable.

"Sir." Elarius stepped next to him, interrupting his train of thought. "There's been a development, sir."

"What kind of development?"

The major held out his datapad. "The kind that complicates our mission here. When it was assigned I noted some discrepancies, sent a few men to take first hand accounts. The mining operation we are supposed to raid, in accordance with the deal struck by moff Dracen, is operated by slaves."

"That outfit is owned by Republic aligned hutts. I am no fan of their idea of oversight, but not even they are sloppy enough to allow that."

"Technically, sir, they get paid." Elarius responded, moving to an image of overcrowded sleeping quarters. "And they have the ability to quit. Of course, doing so calls for a staggering list of requirements nearly impossible to complete, not to mention proof of financial security. Which they don't get, because the food they need to live costs nearly as much as they make. We suspect whatever Republic representative is present has been bribed, blackmailed or otherwise swayed."

Morgan frowned. "How many are kept there?"

"The site we are going to has an estimated fifty thousand, sir. One of twenty eight locations owned by the corporation. This seems to be a smaller installation."

"Millions." Lord Caro paused, finding absolutely no reason not to do something about it. "Millions and millions. Change of mission directive, major. Kill the overseers, liberate the slaves, steal their ships. Won't be comfortable, but empty cargo bays will have plenty of space. Does the Enosis have enough provisions to feed them for the journey?"

"It does. Beg pardon, sir, but those supplies are reserved for expansion. Training new recruits."

"I'm sure you and yours can find some volunteers among them." Morgan dismissed. "We leak proof of Republic negligence and they'll be forced to take care of the refugees, limiting the expense on our side. Do you need to request more men to see this done?"

Elarius shook his head. "We have enough soldiers, and all my officers are trained in dealing with both recruits and newly freed slaves. The supplies can be given in orbit, assuming they have enough trained pilots to steer the ships."

"A problem for later. Get this done, major."

The man nodded, stepping back and speaking into his communicator. Morgan turned to the squads surrounding him, the best and brightest, and singled out their team leaders. "You, ship duty. Ensure these people have something to flee with. Kidnap some pilots if you can, convince them ferrying these people is in their best interest. Sergeant, overseer removal. If you see anyone that's in charge, kill them. Do try not to start a riot, but get the enslaved moving. I want them out of the fight. Understood?"

"Sir!"

"Good. You, you're with me. We're going to, in essence, cause chaos. A big, visible problem for them to throw their resources against. Be loud, be an issue, and occupy their attention enough they won't even think about diverting people to euthanize the livestock."

The women saluted, one of the few non-sith around, and hesitated a moment. "Aren't we meant to be your guard, sir?"

"Those were the major's orders. I'm giving you new ones. Let him know, no need to create confusion on our side, and tell him I'm insisting."

"Understood."

"This will be a timed affair, people. Be quick, hit hard, limit the time of fighting. The more we battle, the more damage we do. More damage, more dead innocents. I will not stand for slavery, not now and not ever, and they've made it my problem. We will make them regret this."

A sith peeled off to inform the major, Morgan thoroughly shoving down the awkwardness of making a speech then having to sit in it. He stepped out as the ship landed, gunfire greeting him with the same effect they had on the ships. Very little.

More transports were setting down, allowing hundreds upon hundreds of sith and soldiers to disembark, but he saw few lightsabers among them. Difficult to get a hold off, and spoiling their secrecy rather easily, so it made sense. They still moved with grace and speed few others could boast, dodging enemy fire as they closed the distance.

The transports ferrying them over took to the air again, turning their limited weaponry on hardened positions, and he took a brief moment to look around.

Mining operations, he found, looked the same here as they did almost anywhere. Giant, function-over-form buildings covered in dust littered the area, allowing similarly enormous vehicles to offload millions of tons of ore and stone. The people scurrying about looked like ants as they abandoned equipment, fleeing for their lives, and the guards present to keep them in line quickly learned they had more important issues to deal with.

The truly dangerous work was done inside, refining ore and digging for it, while thousands more were needed to keep everyone fed and the buildings relatively clean. And, if he needed any confirmation this was a slave-using outfit, he needed only to look at the people running.

Specifically, the collars they wore.

The company no doubt had some clever sounding excuse, from health monitoring to outfit requirements, and he didn't care for any of it. The guards fled as mining droids turned to fight, probably remotely reconfigured, and his knives detached from his armour.

Pure Beskar, though two were still Phrik, and growing in number to six. Fanning out to frame his head, something which looked significantly intimidating even Vette had hesitated to make fun, and he flickered forward. The door they'd shut in his face, just about managing it before he reached them, belonged to the barracks-headquarter of the overseer. The one that oversaw the lesser overseers, at that.

The Reborn split up as officers took charge, spreading out over the terrain some ways back, and Morgan ignored them all. His fingers dug through durasteel as he peeled it back, grimly delighted to feel his gloves toughen it out instead of warping, and it opened as he pulled.

His squad of bodyguards, a name made somewhat redundant by the fact he was at the front, followed as he entered. Mining droids had been put in his path, big and strong but clearly not programmed for combat, and he didn't even have to pause as Reborn sith tore them apart. Swarming to the point it almost seemed like they were killing anything that came close, nevermind letting something touch.

But, as they forced themselves deeper inside the building, progress slowed. The barracks had been full, hundreds of soldiers fighting with the strength of the desperate, and it took a moment to click. The overseer, boss or whatever title the man in charge held, probably controlled the ships. Outside the facilities perimeter, which they had helpfully flown over, there wasn't much but corrosive gas and hazardous terrain. Gas that readings had shown would eat through most cheap masks in minutes.

This would be, historically speaking, where he would ease off the pressure. Allow them a chance to surrender, turn on their leaders or simply give them a moment to think. But these people fought to keep slaves in chains, to kick them down and keep them there.

The gaunt faces sure hadn't suggested a caring environment.

So Morgan flicked his knives forwards, keening through the air and parting armour like water. Even outnumbered however many to one, it didn't matter. He crossed his arms as barricades crumpled and slavers died, a sea of blood pooling on the floor as he reaped through them. Blasters were ignored with the same ease as heavier ordnance, it seemed riot grenades were the best they had, and he almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

He walked, an ever roving squad of sith killing everything in sight, and then walked some more. Across enormous rooms filled with equipment, long hallways with ignorable traps. Passed more hastily repurposed mining droids, security doors and mined kitchens. His knives kept cutting all the while, returning to gently sway near his head when unneeded, and it felt surreal.

A private army of guards, increasingly desperate and terrified, with all the explosives they could wish for. And all they accomplished was, every now and again, to cause him to slow. Stop, once, for about four seconds.

He didn't care about the way cameras tracked his movement, nor about the pleas and threats hurled at him. He didn't know, in the former's case, that it would matter. Didn't know who was watching, or recording.

So he kept his arms crossed and killed his way past a horde of men, no more bothered than walking though his ship. Even the sith around him, as much as they added to the intimidation factor, weren't needed. He could have done this before fusing his soul, before Beskar and six knives, so now? Now he found it almost sickeningly easy.

The boss's office, perhaps unsurprisingly, had the fiercest resistance yet. Enough to make him take three steps back, the directed explosion sending his men flying, and they bought more time still as he healed his wounded troopers. Regrew a limb and repaired a lung, both done as easily as breathing. His own difficulty with healing brought innovation, forcing him to pay closer attention, and as a result he turned back to the door not twenty seconds later.

"H-Hold." The woman, grey and old and trying so very hard to sound commanding, said. "I have gold. Influence. Name your price."

"Release every collar, safeguard, and security measure. Do that and I will not harm you."

Hesitation, he didn't expect anything else, but as one second stretched into two she pressed a button on her datapad. Her face paled, eyes growing distant. "They'll bury me for that."

Morgan shrugged. "It won't be a problem. And don't worry, I won't touch you."

His sith tore into her and the few guards she still had, what protests she managed lost beneath the sound of screaming. Some tried to put up a fight, but even without lightsabers his people were better. Blades and guns and little more, the Force honing their speed and reflexes to terrifying levels.

Well, terrifying to others. He found them pretty good, if slower than his own apprentices.

"Why didn't she run?" One of his sith asked, the man's voice slightly muffled by his helmet. "She must have a ship, right?"

Their sergeant replied, tone clipped. "Unlike her, we have anti-air capabilities. Jenkas, secure this office. Yarish, get me access to her systems. Everyone else, equipment check. That blast will have destroyed something important."

Morgan stepped out of the way as they went to work, moving closer to the window. Her office overlooked much of the facility, even if it wasn't a paradise world it was still an impressive view, and he took stock of their invasion.

Maybe too big a word, he admitted. The facility had guards, probably fielded twice as many bodies as the Enosis did, but theirs were used to cowing slaves. Stamping down the occasional poorly armed rebellion, nevermind fighting anyone even remotely using the Force. They hadn't even managed to stop them landing, which would have been their only hope.

And the Enosis knew war. The first time he'd seen it in person, sith and regulars combining the strengths of both. None were individually strong, not particularly, but in groups? In an army? Defences able to weather conventional attacks crumpled like paper, enhanced speed outmanoeuvring what few pockets of stiff resistance they encountered.

A moment later he was notified the ships were secured, large haulers meant to bring partially refined ore and gas into space, and the fight went out of them. Which, he noted, didn't exactly stop the more bloodthirsty among his men. Any dropping their weapons were left alone, true, but those too slow? Those that hesitated?

He wasn't the only one that remembered the weight of a collar.

Memories distracted him as time slipped past, watching his people secure the facility, and he wondered what he would have given for someone to break him out of Korriban. In those days and weeks before he broke, with nothing but Soft Voice keeping him alive.

"Sir?" Yarish asked, drawing him out of it. "Major Elarius requests your presence in the courtyard. There's a commotion."

Morgan nodded, telekinesis pushing against glass. It shattered outwards, raining down over empty stone, and he stepped over the edge. Gravity pulled him downwards rapidly, accelerating until the wind rushed past his helmet, and he weaved a blanket of Force under his feet when he landed.

The stone cracked but held, the pressure diffused over a larger area, and he straightened his knees. The courtyard wasn't hard to find from there, he had but to follow the noise, and as he did he found a mob. Thousands, at least, with nearly a hundred of his men just about keeping order.

At their center a platform of stone was raised, Morgan didn't need to look twice to notice it had once been used for public punishment, but now it held a towering wookiee. Behind him were screens replaying Morgan's assault on the barracks, looping over and over as guards died with his every step, and he frowned.

The wookiee noticed him, gesturing with one hand while the other held a translator to his neck. "Twenty seven years since they took me from Kashyyyk. Twenty seven years since they slaughtered my daughter and took my freedom from me. When the Republic came I thought there was hope. Freedom. Did they deliver freedom, my brother and sisters? Did they deliver hope?"

The noise was overwhelming, thousands of souls screaming denial. A wave of sound so filled with rage it was a miracle they hadn't rioted yet.

"They gave us tasks no man could complete. Money no mother could feed her child with." The wookiee roared, pointing directly at him. "I gave up. Let the Spirit of my Tree wither and die. I forgot the wrath in my soul, cowered by time. But you did not give up, did you, brother? I see not your flesh, but I know my kindred when I see them. Know when one has lived as a slave. Has felt the anger of the slave."

The crowd half parted as the wookiee waved, letting him walk forward. The man beckoned him closer, Morgan moving before he consciously decided to do so. A light jump and he stood next to the giant, no armour in the world able to make them equal in size. "I am Jirr, Savior of my Spirit. And you have earned a life debt ten thousand times over. I have not met sith, but the stories speak of evil incarnate. Corruption and bile following their every step. Is this evil, my kindred? Is this corruption?"

More noise, so many voices screaming no individual could be understood. Morgan, for the first time in a while, couldn't think of anything to say. Couldn't think past the overwhelming surge of hope and fire and growing determination. That same bone-deep realisation he'd had, back on Korriban, that you would rather fight for a hundred lifetimes than spend another second on your knees. Morgan shut off his emotional sense, reeling.

More men were arriving, most doing very little but watch, and he finally realised what he stepped into. What exactly was happening.

"No, my brothers and sisters." Jirr shouted, tone reaching a peak of fervour. "This is the work of the ancestors, those long passed sending forth their greatest. This is destiny, the birth of legend. This is the Messiah."

Slaves roared as Reborn soldiers whispered, and Morgan knew he shouldn't have ever left that office.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"So, just to recap." Vette said, seemingly needing a minute. "In the time you were supposed to raid one facility, doing little more than create some chaos, you instead decided to free half a hundred thousand slaves. Had your terrifying I'm-done-with-your-shit slaughter captured on camera, which some wookiee promptly streamed to thousands, and got declared their messiah."

Morgan groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. "Pretty much, yeah. Elarius took over shortly after, hundreds were already speaking to recruiters when I managed to get out, and I just wanted someone to tell me that wasn't normal. Because so far, no one has."

She took a breath, petting him on the knee. "Look at it this way, my sweet. Suppose you're some poor creature being worked to death, what little hope Republic arrival caused being summarily crushed. You spend day after day, year after year, working yourself to the bone. No rewards, no breaks. Just a slow, painful end. Then some man you've never heard about drops from the sky and promptly slaughters those that kept you there. The ones you've built up in your head as invincible. Unresistable. He just butchers them, seeming to spend the same amount of effort you do eating."

"Look, this isn-"

"Not done." She shushed. "This is important. Then, you meet up with others. Others that, suddenly, are just as free as you are. Freedom you have no idea what to do with. Some charismatic wookiee is screaming about kindred and life debts, telling them, in essence, the invincible killing machine was once just like you. Telling you there is no more need to be afraid, for the universe had finally, finally, done something right. Done something to help you. Now, does it sound strange that they might like this idea? Would be curious to find out more?"

He waved his hand, most certainly not sulking. "You weren't there. That. It wasn't hard. I've done things that changed the nature of my being, fought with people that could have killed me had I made the slightest mistake. This? I just disposed of them. Ordered others to do the same. Not even ten Enosians died, did you know? Statistically unlikely, but not even ten dead. Most knowing the basics of fleshcrafting probably had something to do with it."

"Easy and challenging don't have anything to do with it." Vette shrugged. "You made an impact on their lives, so now they get to make that choice you're always going on about."

"I do not always go on about that. People ask, is all."

"Yes dear. Are you done sulking about being worshipped like a god?"

Morgan scowled. "Don't even joke about that."

"Who said I was joking?"

"I did, for my own peace of mind." He blinked as his datapad flashed, turning to it. "Oh look, a distraction. Something fun? Ah, sadly not. I suppose I have a morally flexible general to meet with. See you for dinner?"

Vette shook her head. "Not tonight. Need to straighten some stuff out on my own ship, get the new Valkyries settled. Besides, distance will only make the heart grow fonder."

"Between you and me or between me and the religious fanatics?"

"Yes." She kissed his forehead, seemingly taking great pleasure in having to lean down to do so, and skipped to the door. "Have fun tempting enemy generals with defection."

"That's a business relationship at best." He protested, the door already closing. "Rude."

He stood, making his way over to the long ranged communicator room. The four people inside excused themselves the moment he entered, even if he didn't mind having to wait a few minutes, and as he opened the connection he looked at it.

How did that thing keep all of this private, anyway? He was no security specialist, let alone so for cyber-stuff, but no one seemed to worry about it. Not even John, and he had very little doubt that man was more paranoid than most Darth's. Still, if people smarter than him said it would work, he would trust them.

Until he found a reason not to, anyway.

General Gonn appeared without warning, frowning at him. "When we made our deal, Lord Caro, it was understood that we would be keeping a low profile. Not, say, kill five sith Lords and piss off two members of the Dark Council."

"Hello to you too." Morgan replied. "And I didn't say anything even remotely close to that."

"You told me you were not ready to face the Council. What changed?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I did. My biggest weakness tempered, resources combined and allies assembled. Not ready to fight a Darth, mind you, but neither am I to risk my life fighting any Lord taking an issue with me. The more expensive I am to kill, the more leeway I have."

"I suppose." The man scratched his chin, his frown deepening. "I'm close to Quesh, by the way. Any chance you'd give me my own face back?"

"Sure. You'll have to meet with me in person, the horror, but with some trial and error it won't be a problem. Got better at reading souls regardless, so I might be able to pull the memory of your old one from the echo it left behind."

Gonn paused, smiling faintly. "Sounds fantastic?"

"You sure you trust me to do that? I did have you kidnapped last time."

"I'm a good judge of character." He dismissed. "You did that out of necessity. I'm worth more as an ally than captive, now, so you'll fight to protect me."

"As long as you remain one, yes. And the cost doesn't outweigh the benefit. We, at the risk of sounding cold, are not friends."

"Of course we aren't." Gonn denied, a dry smile on his lips. "A dastardly villain such as you? Attacking innocent slave-factories, cutting in the profit margins of the hutts, forcing the Republic to look at their negligence. Why would I ever approve of what you do?"

"Aren't you supposed to make excuses for the Republic?"

The man shrugged. "Probably. I'll put in a good word, make sure they're taken care of. And maybe call a media friend of mine. Quesh will still be a shithole, but it'll apply pressure to the hutts. Well, to the committee overseeing them, anyway. I don't think the hutts themselves care much."

"That they do not. Is the day after tomorrow good for you?"

"That's fine." Gonn leaned forward, tone lowering. "To my main point. I've received intelligence that an Imperial fleet patrolling Druckenwell has been reassigned, moving towards hutt space. Speculation is rampant, the hutts themselves aren't too happy, but I think we both know where they're going. You'll be neck deep in enemy ships early next week, which gives you five more days on Quesh."

"Numbers?"

The general shrugged. "Estimated around forty destroyers and greater, which is more than you. I'm no admiral, though I've served with plenty, but in my professional opinion I'd suggest not being there when they arrive. Not only do you lack the numbers, but allies as well. Supplies are one thing, shipyards willing to repair that many ships another."

"The fun never ends." Morgan sighed, tapping his fingers. "Thanks for the warning, in any case. See you around, general Gonn."

"Lord Caro."

The holo disconnected, leaving him in a darkened room, and he took a moment to center himself. The Ravager first, supplies second. Some training would do in the meanwhile, both for himself and his apprentices, and they'd be gone in seventy two hours. Yes, that would work. Assuming nothing went wrong.

Which it never did.

They were still preparing to assault Baras's facility, his freeing of the slaves didn't help the planning, so he was in that awkward spot where time was of the issue yet no plan was finalized. Best, he always found, to fill that with something productive. Otherwise he'd just do nothing and be annoyed about it.

So he located his apprentices, finding all three helpfully training together. Jaesa was getting beaten into a corner as he arrived, Alyssa and Inara's teamwork far too synchronised for her to handle. It really was impressive, the bond they created. Shared defences, attacks and short-term premonitions really did make them terrifyingly effective.

And Jaesa, as she had already confessed, had spent most of her time mastering her ability. Not a waste, certainly, but neither was it good for her long term survival. There were plenty of people that would just love to put an embedded slave collar in her neck, have themselves their very own pet spy-detector.

"My Lord." Inara said, stretching. A bruise was already fading, though he hadn't seen anything land. Must have been before he got here. "How may we be of assistance."

"Field trip. Pack your gear and assemble in docking bay two, you have ten minutes."

Jaesa stood, a cut on her cheek closing. "Parameters?"

"Standard, but this is Quesh. I hope you've done your homework."

They scrambled out, ten minutes being not so generous, and he smiled. Getting along better, it seemed. Very good.

Now, what kind of exercise? He had a few options, the general most certainly hadn't lied when he said Quesh was a shithole, but in truth any that didn't contain jedi or sith wouldn't push them much. One, maybe, if the enemy was prepared. All three? Short of an army they'd be done in minutes.

Restrictions, then. Splitting up Alyssa and Inara was easy enough, forcing them to fix weaknesses they might otherwise overlook, and Jaesa was fine working on her own. No lightsabers, maybe. Hand to hand combat wasn't his specialty, though he was trained enough to be competent, but that wasn't an excuse not to practise. Non-lethal takedowns could come in very useful.

Problem solving would be the main lesson. To accomplish a goal that wasn't killing everything that moved. Rescue? He didn't have a specific target, but there was a small-ish gladiator ring operating close by. The moff's people had been more than amenable in providing their problem lists.

Not that the Empire condemned gladiatorial matches, of course. Just that this one didn't pay taxes. So, free the gladiators, who might resist, and kill the organisers. Subdue the clients without harming them, much, and do it all without any of the slaves getting killed.

Good enough.

Collecting his apprentices, and taking a small stealthy shuttle in the process, Morgan filled them in. They weren't thrilled, Alyssa and Inara because they were splitting up and Jaesa because of the restrictions, but they bowed to his wishes. He had the aircraft sat down five clicks from their objective, standing as the pilot gave the all clear.

"Here we are, then. I will be waiting, and not interfering, but this should be accomplished without issue for those of your capabilities. Find me a piece of proof, deliver it and the freed slaves, and I'll judge who did best based on that and their stories. Do try not to fail."

Jaesa was the first to go, mumbling an acknowledgement before speeding off. Alyssa and Inara bowed, their fellow apprentice slowing to allow them to catch up, and he leaned back against the craft as they disappeared.

"Is this normal, sir?"

"Pardon?" He looked, finding the only soldier present to have joined him. Jenna tried hard to look casual, he found it an admirable effort, and was munching on an energy bar. She really was turning into his personal pilot. "Is what normal?"

"Training sith like this. No one really knows what happens on Korriban, and the men stationed there don't gossip."

Morgan shrugged. "First time being a teacher, so I suppose this is both normal and not for me. Different from Korriban, though. While it's true acolytes get sent out to do tasks and fetch items, usually functioning as proof, I like my apprentices to be trained before doing so."

"Right. And the target? It was my understanding the Empire approved of, and depended on, slavery."

"What's the difference between a slave and a low-cost droid?" He asked instead, raising an eyebrow. "And you seem much more relaxed than last we spoke, not that I'm complaining."

"Figured the rumours were true, took a chance. Glad to see I wasn't wrong. The difference is adaptability?"

He tilted his head side to side. "An interesting answer. Droids can be programmed to do much, solve problems and create solutions, while working without pause or failure for years. So why use comparatively weak, food-and-sleep needing people?"

"They enjoy seeing them suffer?" She said, tone going for humour. It dropped when he didn't laugh. "Apologies, sir. Rebellions? Wide spread use of Artificial Intelligence has led to uprisings in the past."

"Yet fleshy slaves rebel just as readily. They need training, try to run, and sabotage their work. I will grant that droids revolt in a much more organised fashion, but that could be migrated with proper care."

Jenna opened her mouth, closing it again. She looked to the spot his apprentices had disappeared, frowning. "How many people die on Korriban, sir?"

"I was trained in a class of one hundred. Thirty six of us walked out alive." A dry grin stretched over his face, making her swallow. "The intended quota was one."

Her voice wasn't horrified, exactly, but it was quiet. Somber. "Bodies. They need Force-sensitive people to ship to Korriban, so they let slaves breed and occasionally check them over. Every birth a roll of the dice, every conquered planet growing the odds."

"That is my theory." Morgan nodded. "Much better methods exist, of course, but those would require time. Compassion. Both in short supply among those that rule the Empire. So slaves they have, no thought given to those that suffer. Hell, the hutts probably sell those they find too, or train them for themselves. Does that explain my choice of target? Why I might dislike the practice?"

"It does, sir." She said, stepping back towards the cockpit. "And granting you eager recruits in the process."

"I claim to be better, not a saint. And every soul has a choice, for I never punish those that don't sign up with me. Or choose to leave, for that matter."

Jenna didn't quite seem to know what to say to that, settling for straightening her posture and leaving him be, and Morgan shrugged. It was something he'd been thinking about, especially after that unfortunate incident with Jirr, but he was by no means an expert.

He was good at killing, fighting with a lightsaber and fleshcrafting, not philosophy. His style was a bit brutal, especially after his healing had increased to the point of mid-combat regeneration, but he liked to think he possessed some amount of skill.

Volryder had agreed, though also noted how skill often included speed, strength and stamina. No matter how good someone was with the saber, being quick mattered. A confusing word, in essence, and one he didn't bother himself with overly much. As long as his enemies died, he lived and wounds healed, people could complain about his lack of fancy manoeuvres all they wanted.

Usually right up until he shoved a lightsaber through their gut. Then they tended to stop.

He sank into light meditation as he waited for his apprentices, more than happy to take the time to sound out his soul. It hadn't changed, thankfully, but being sunk partway into the Force was strange. Unusual. A barrier existed, normally, one he hadn't really noticed until it was gone. Until he'd tested some of his men, seeing it intact.

His soul was strong enough, for lack of a better word, to avoid drifting apart. To remain whole and centred as it blazed into the Force, and it was almost ironic that made his flesh more resistant. The closer he was to an Other, the more the Force bled away. If he took the plunge and pushed the last shred of barrier down, removing all innate protections and separation, he'd probably become one.

One with a body, though he had no idea what would happen to it, but an Other all the same. A being that was one with the Force, and very hard to effect because of it. Easy to smash someone wielding stones, much harder to kill a being made of stone.

Hell, it hadn't even been that hard. Not that he was eager to compare notes.

But he had no real idea what would happen. Would his body wither, no longer tethered to his soul? Maybe he could manipulate it with fleshcrafting, puppet it from beyond, but would it be the same? Morgan didn't know, and he was in no hurry to find out.

For the same reasons he avoided near all sith sorcery, really, because they tended to have horrific side effects. Fleshcrafting was an exception, though only because of expert instruction. Probing Teachers' holocron revealed many methods of practice, quick and efficient and oh so rewarding, that came with the removal of ethics.

Sacrifices to study the nature of death, tracing their biology until the brain went cold. Rapid mutation to examine the nervous system, condensing months of careful observation into hours. Grafting two brains onto a single host body, or condensing bone in others to remove the danger of experimentation.

Many examples were found, and Teacher had correctly assumed he'd be interested in none of them. Forcefully growing his reserves, perhaps the only benefit he could have been swayed on, was another matter entirely. The man hadn't brought that up because of ethics, far from it. Rituals such as those either killed the subject, succeeded with unexpected and often crippling side effects, or succeeded and caused a massive shift in self.

A sharp mind was far more useful than raw reservoirs, the ability to trust better than a quick route to power. His own way had been risky, but at least they guaranteed he'd still be him if he died.

Morgan pushed off, finding near an hour had passed. Meditation was ever so keen to warp one's sense of time, but it was good for killing it. Jaesa walked out of the forest first, seemingly no worse for wear. A group of some eighteen men and women followed, almost corralled by Alyssa and Inara as they escorted them.

From the snarling expressions, hostile postures and aggressive moods, he had no doubt it had been necessary.

"Who's you?" One of the women demanded, stepping forward. Jaesa moved after her, probably to restrain her before she got herself killed, but Morgan waved her off. "Are you the fucker in charge? These cunts didn't tell us shit."

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. "I'd take care of how you speak to those stronger than you. I'm not one to take offence, but then I am far from the norm. Might find yourself insulting someone capable of killing you."

"With armour like that?" She barked out a laugh, half of her fellow gladiators rallying behind her. The others didn't, more cautious, though no less dangerous for it. "Looks brand new. Rich kid, never so much as had it scratched. No, I think we'll be taking that shuttle."

A hand went to his chin, Morgan contemplating that. "Am I rich? People usually just give me stuff when I need or ask for something. I suppose that's a kind of rich. Bad read on the rest, though. Not a great judge of character."

He pushed his presence out, using pressure in favour of terror. He mostly focussed on the woman, though sent a liberal nudge to the rest of them, and her eyes widened. Tried to go for her blade before he froze her in place, eyes looking around wildly. Another two tried to surge forward, finding themselves kicked down by Jaesa, and Morgan sighed.

"You've lived hard lives, I don't need my apprentice to tell me that, and I really am not one to take offence. Attempting to steal from me, on the other hand, isn't something I let slide. Having said that, stupidity born from ignorance should be given a chance, if only one, so here is yours. I'm going to let you go, and you're going to start over. Ready?"

The woman staggered, finding the pressure she'd been struggling against gone, and snarled. Then thought better of it, risking a look at her fellows. They'd slowly drawn their weapons, offering them handle first, and her shoulders slumped. "You're the boss."

"Marvellous. You'll be taken to processing with the Enosis, I'd heartily recommend against causing a stir, and afterwards you're free to go. No doubt each of you will be given the option to join, one you are free to make yourself, but it is just an offer. If not, you'll be taken to Republic space and set free. I don't doubt men and women of your experience will find paying work easily enough."

Inara walked up as they nodded, presenting a golden key. Morgan took it, deforming it with a squeeze, and let it drop. "Our token, my Lord."

"Very good. Let's go over the mission, shall we?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"So this is the beating heart of the Dark Council's power, all but within our grasp." Soft Voice thrummed, motioning towards it grandly. "We shall soon rule the land, my good friends. Rule it absolute."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "This is just one operation of Baras, one that's been here for not all that long."

"We're not friends." Lana answered, hand fingering her lightsaber. "Don't be presumptuous."

"Bah. This is a grand moment, the three of us united at last, and I shall not temper my good mood with your realism and technicalities. We stand together, a force not seen for a century at least, and all shall crumble before us."

Lana sighed, turning towards Morgan. "Has he always been like this?"

"Not really, actually. I think he's gotten lonely."

Soft Voice turned away, sniffing. "Have it your way. Far be it for me to liven up this alliance, what with both of you brooding. No one stipulated sith Lords had to be humourless."

"I was in thought." Morgan denied, shaking his head. "Only Lana was brooding. She's very good at it, too. My compliments."

She rolled her eyes, moving forward. "Don't make me regret this. Are you two going to stare or actually do something?"

Do something, in this case, was to act against the severely outmatched and terrified defending force. The Enosis, at first, had planned to assault this place properly. Artillery, sith infiltrators, thousands of men and dozens of heavy vehicles. A proper army to ground this place into dust.

Then he'd dropped fifty thousand refugees in their lap, which caused another two simmering uprisings to act, and most everyone was busy. Good busy, seeing as Soft Voice had more than eagerly snapped up the recruits, but busy all the same. Even the Reborn, as much as major Elarius had insisted they could be spared, had their hands full.

Leaving, in essence, just them. Well, them and four squads of sith specialists. Those few who could both keep up in speed, durability and staying-power, while also being trained in useful skills. Slicing, scouting, healing and more, though healing was somewhat redundant with him here.

Still, a smaller army could move with swiftness unmatched, while three Lords added concentrated power few could overcome. A mobile, highly punishing unit capable of breaching any target.

Which Baras, seemingly, hadn't planned for.

No guard could resist them, what few sith there were more than happy to run away, but the facility was grand. Floor after floor of tight hallways and trapped rooms, personnel vanishing down hidden tunnels and escape hatches. Not so many, maybe a hundred or so souls, but since they moved deeper and deeper while resisting them they seemed many. Yet no one ran with their target, Morgan could feel it pulsing in the Force, and he found that strange.

Surely it would be better to at least attempt an escape?

"Anyone find it strange they haven't made a run for it yet?" He asked, leaning to the side to avoid a slug. "I mean, shouldn't they at least try? Also, does this place seem like it was made to resist infiltration, not regular assault?"

Soft Voice shrugged. "Yes, it would be futile and yes. Our original plan, before someone decided he wanted to be a messiah, would have made running impossible. We have some experience with slippery targets, believe it or not. And even now we can track it easily enough. I'm sure there's a good reason why they haven't."

"Baras is paranoid, yes?" Lana asked, folding a reinforced door with her mind. "Maybe he put safeguards in place so his minions wouldn't steal it."

The devaronian hummed. "He is a Darth. Never known one to be all that trusting, though admittedly I've only spoken to three. Still, that would be going far even for one of them. Operational security I understand, but never handing over responsibility is a crippling shackle."

"Don't let the Dark Council hear you talk like that." Morgan said, doing a horrible attempt at seeming afraid. "They might get angry with us. You know, since they aren't yet. Also, three? Lachris is one, we both met her on Balmorra, and I suppose you've met Marr. Who else?"

"Never met Marr, actually. Got my orders from his admirals. Lachris was one, yes. Hexid another, Shaar the last. Apprenticed to Vowrawn, that last one, though it was all a bit hush-hush. I think Marr and the man tried to get an alliance going, or the Dark Council equivalent, but I don't believe it ever really went anywhere. Still met the woman, though. Bad flirt, and I don't mean she did it too much. Too used to people just going with it and got out of practice."

Morgan frowned, half his attention on massacring a room full of soldiers with his knives. "I thought you said only Dark Council members and their direct apprentices were Darths? I don't remember Hexid being one. Independent type, right? Enjoys feasts and decadence and all that?"

"That's the one. Tried to seduce me, which should come as a surprise to no one. Barely got out of there alive. As to why she's a Darth? There's exceptions to every rule, and she still serves the Council. Kinda sorta like the reserve Lords, though not at all the same. There's a few of them around."

"Descriptive." Lana muttered, tilting her head. She cracked the walls of the hallway they were about to enter, revealing the many, many explosives buried in them. Seems she learned from their blunder on Taris. "Anyone got any ideas on how to get past that?"

Soft Voice nodded, summoning the corpse of a specialist they'd killed. He took the woman's belt, rapidly priming the nine grenades before flinging the whole thing down the corridor. "I'd suggest we get back."

Morgan turned just before the whole thing exploded, anchoring himself to the floor to avoid being thrown by the shockwave. Soft Voice had braced himself, the giant more than able to weather it even without special Force techniques, and Lana stepped behind the man. When it died down there was a large hole connecting the rooms instead of a hallway, some two dozen droids and men picking themselves up on the other side.

"I prevented an ambush." Soft Voice said, tone smug. Lana took care of them as the devaronian turned. "Me. I took care of it. Also, lieutenant, get back to base. Doesn't seem like you or your men's talents will be needed."

The woman saluted and withdrew, her people following as Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Yes you did. Good job?"

"Thank you." The man replied, jumping over the gap. Morgan followed. "Common courtesy is severely lacking in the youth today."

"We're the same age. Actually, are we? How old are you? Why have I never asked that question before?"

"Some lingering note of respect, I'd imagine. And all you need to know is that I am your senior."

Morgan sniffed. "Yet it was you who swore yourself to my service. Funny how that works."

"Irrelevant. Come, I think Lana is waiting on us."

She was, rolling her eyes as they continued. "You'd think you two would treat this a little more seriously. This is a Dark Council member's operation we're assaulting, you know?"

"Meh." Morgan replied, flicking his fingers. A hiding spot filled with non-military personnel opened, slowly raising their hands as he waved them away. "Not like he's going to admit what he has in here. You think anyone, let alone Marr, is going to let him keep something capable of breaking even their own members? Baras would be torn apart, Voice of the Emperor or not."

Lana slowed, looking at him. "Right, you mentioned that. He isn't, you know, actually that, right? Because I'm telling you right now, we're all dead if he is."

"Faking. The real one is on Voss somewhere, but I'm in no particular hurry to get that one out. Baras is a problem, that one is the end."

"Don't describe Dark Council members as a problem." Soft Voice scolded, the corner of his mouth twitching. "That's treason. Pretty bad treason, actually. I think you get disintegrated for that."

"There's multiple levels of treason?"

"Focus." Lana snapped, pointing. "I think we're getting close. Come, before I decide letting the man keep something like the Ravager is the lesser evil."

Soft Voice nodded, suitably chastised, and turned back to Morgan the moment she was out of earshot. "Bluffing. She has had bad experiences with mind control and hates it because of that. Also likes being here, bantering and all, more than she will admit. Socialising like this, with people of her own strength, is good for her."

"Thank you, doctor. How many sessions until she's healed?" Morgan sped up, making the devaronian follow, and shot him a look. "Sometimes I forget you have brains under all that muscle."

The man seemed actually insulted, if briefly so, and declined to answer. He shrugged, moving on, and found Lana waiting for them next to another vault door. One that, if his detection could be believed, housed the artefact they were looking for. Quite small, too. She turned to them, posture tense.

"I expected someone to guard this. A Lord, perhaps, or some prototype battle-droid. Maybe a last pocket of fierce resistance. I don't trust it."

Morgan looked it over, waving behind him. "Like I said, I think this place was mostly built to deal with stealth, jedi infiltrators and the like, not three Lords merrily forcing their way inside. Stationing a guard that strong on a permanent basis would be a waste of resources."

"That." Soft Voice said. "And the man is a spymaster. This place is built all wrong to resist a traditional siege, fortifications or no. Too few soldiers, too many escape tunnels. Great for fleeing, also great for smuggling an army inside. Probably hired, or forced, someone to build it. They weren't very good. Or being spiteful."

The devaronian braced himself, lightsaber in hand, and dug it into the door. The first foot or so went quickly, slowing only briefly, before it came to an awkward halt. He tried again on a different spot, encountering the same problem, then moved over to the wall. After twenty or so feet the weapon went straight through.

Morgan grunted as Soft Voice returned, deactivating his weapon. "Small room, probably shielded with lightsaber resistant material all the way around. Not that thick, not from the feedback I felt, but enough melting through would be a chore. That and all the duresteel, which doesn't help. Brute force?"

"You and Lana." Morgan agreed. "I don't have the reserves, not to rip through a door that thick."

She shook her head, shooting a look at Soft Voice. The devaronian nodded, closing his eyes, and Lana followed suit. They spent a minute sounding eachother out, his friend clearly the superior when it came to cooperation, before they both snapped their eyes to the door.

Power swelled as the attack slammed against metal, a deep dent appearing with a tortuous groan, and a second's pause let peace return. Then they did it again, making the walls shake, and once more until the door blew inward. Morgan shook his head.

Ten times the amount of power he could call, if shared, and they barely looked winded. He really was falling behind on reserves. If not for his soul-fusing, he'd feel inadequate. "Should we strip the Beskar?"

"We don't know that it is Beskar." Lana corrected, taking a moment. "And we don't have the time. Going through that much high-grade durasteel would take hours, assuming we had the men and equipment to start right this second, and we'd never finish before-"

A shift in the Force and he knew a self-destroy protocol had just been activated. The fact it hadn't gone off immediately did point to the theory this place had been designed by someone else, Baras would never be that compassionate, and it also meant they were on a time limit.

"That. Before that. Your crime-lover can dig through the wreckage later."

He followed them, knowing he'd probably survive being caved in. Not if it was a high enough yield, maybe, but it hadn't felt like that. Dangerous, sure, but not immediately lethal. "Did you just imply Vette loves crime or that I'm committing a crime by being her lover? Because I'll have you know, I'm at least eighty percent sure she's over eighteen. Twenty one? She's old enough, is what I'm saying. Someone else I don't know the exact age of, though. Distressing."

"Stop talking." Soft Voice suggested, following him inside. A mostly empty room with nothing but the Ravager, an operating table, and the device holding the Ravager greeted them. Because, damn the man, Baras hadn't just left it lying around. "That might be a problem."

Lana inspected it, frowning. "I think I know why they didn't run with it. The Enosis is blocking all communication in and out of Quesh, right?"

"So we are." The devaronian confirmed. "Half an hour before we started and until we finished the mission. Remote controlled release? That sure looks like Beskar. Wonder how he got his hands on so much?"

"Probably stole it. There's ways past communication blockers, though. No way did they skimp on proper equipment, not in a facility this big."

Soft Voice shrugged. "I'll reuse my defence of the man being a spymaster. Local jammers function very differently than big, military grade suppressors. Then again, maybe he's busy. Or, you know, very far away. Must have been a pain to set this up. Anyway, shall we commence the crushing?"

Morgan stepped forward, energy coursing through his veins as he gripped the frame. The fact it didn't shatter immediately was proof enough of its durability, making him notch it up a level, and his muscle's started tearing just after the metal did. The Beskar didn't even break, really. Just bent, but that was fine. He grabbed the Ragaver from its resting place, dropping it when something immediately tried to latch onto his mind.

"Don't touch that." He warned, suppressing a shudder. Normal mental probes had a flavour, usually, depending on who the attacker was. A way to trace them back to their source. The only way he could describe that thing was soulless, though he wouldn't be surprised if it took them instead. "I'm destroying that right this second. Also, if either of you feel strange, tell me. We're not doing the I-might-be-compromised dance."

Soft Voice chuckled as lightsaber met artefact, cutting it into two pieces then four. Then more still, plasma turning them to slag when small enough. "It was very shiny. I feel we have, what? A hundred more seconds before this place blows? Quite generous."

"Probably more of a scare tactic for infiltrators. Big, blaring alarms they are used to, but feeling your own death coming ever closer? This place was built to stop thieves, be they sith or jedi."

Morgan inspected the broken piece of evil, because he found that to be exactly what it was, and almost couldn't believe he hadn't felt the sheer menace back when he retrieved it. "I'm taking the scraps to be properly burned. To confirm, can either of you feel any residual presence?"

They shook their heads, taking a second to feel it out, and he scooped it up. Soft Voice handed him a pouch, the useful bastard seemed far to smug when he did, and they made their way back.

Their progress was fast, apparently everyone else had gotten warnings too, and when they got outside he looked back. Twenty seconds to spare, by his count, and he shook his head. Judging speed was relative, he knew that, but it still amazed him how fast high level Force users could move.

"Let's go." He said, shaking it off. No time like the present to get this done properly, though he was pleasantly surprised by how well it went. "I want this scrap flown into the sun. I'm sure someone can spare a missi-"

A Force-poke distracted him, he could call it nothing else, and he scrambled to thicken his defences as it fell apart against his skin. The split second of warning it gave saved his life, a surge of power thousands of times stronger enveloping him whole.

Shadow beyond shape replaced reality as he blinked, but unlike when he had been an acolyte, he could see past it. Through it. The shapeshifter of Nar Shaddaa looked at him, frowning as the pressure shifted. What few Others hanging about Morgan's presence in the Force hesitated, all but one scrambling away as the thing looked at them, and its frown deepened as one stayed. Curled around his soul protectively, though it helped little.

Morgan tried to speak, finding no air to form words with, and sent out a blanket wave of calm. Memories of communication and discussion, silently thanking Hunter for the practice, and the thing replied with the same.

Barrier. Blocked. Illusion. Unresponsive. Insult. Lesser. Punish. Curiosity. Understanding. Doubt. Curiosity. Communication. Location.

He blinked again, finding himself back in the physical world. Lana had her eyes half closed, waving her hand as the Force calmed around them. Soft Voice picked him up, he hadn't even noticed he was on the floor, and looked him over. "What happened?"

"I." He coughed, spending a moment to send a soothing wave of healing through his throat. Apparently trying to speak had done something nasty. "I think I've just been summoned."

Afterword

Discord (two chapters ahead) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]