Return of the Sith (Prequels/SWTOR-ish) 1 (Patreon)

The stars were vast and unfeeling above Republic Ensign Trask Alde as he stood watch at the station. He was an insignificant speck of a human, hardly noticeable against the backdrop of the deep black of space. He was there to protect an station on the fringe of Republic space in orbit around a red world that he wasn't even sure had a name, a forgotten corner of the galaxy so close to the edge that it was almost forgotten.

Trask had been there a month, and he was starting to think it would stretch on for an eternity. Nothing ever seemed to happen. He was there to guard against any possible Separatist incursion, but the chances of that seemed ever more unlikely with every day that passed. He had heard stories of battles fought on the other side of the galaxy, but here he was, far away from the action, stuck far away from anything even approaching excitement.

But then one day, something unexpected happened.

It started with a distant blaring of alarms. Soon the vibrations of distant engines rippled through the station, a low rumble that made Trask's feet shake. He could feel something was coming, something tremendous, and he knew without a doubt that the Separatists had found them. There was no time to lose.

He quickly rushed to the nearest control tower and found himself face to face with a dozen officers, all wearing their helmets and preparing for the worst.

"Ensign Alde. Get to your post. We've got a fleet approaching," the sergeant barked.

Trask moved quickly, taking up position and readying his weapon. As he did, he noticed the strange shapes of the ships ahead. They bore a vague resemblance to the new ships that came with the clones at the outbreak of the war. They were sleek, wedge shaped, with an opening in the front almost like a tuning fork.

He had no time to ponder the strange design, however. He had a job to do. He watched as the ships drew ever closer, studying the strange vessels, all the while knowing that his life hung in the balance.

The Republic forces were outnumbered and outgunned, but they had one advantage: the element of surprise.

Trask knew that his own life, and that of the station, depended on them taking full advantage of that surprise. He held his breath as he watched the strange ships draw ever closer, the seconds ticking by like hours.

At last, the mysterious fleet had reached the station. Trask could feel the tension in the air as everyone waited for the attack to begin. He readied himself for the fight of his life.

Somewhere else in the station, a loud boom sounded as the generators erupted into an inferno. All of a sudden, the entire orbital outpost was suddenly without power. The emergency lights kicked in shortly after, but the emergency power wasn't designed to be used for long periods of time, and they all knew that they had no time to waste.

As Trask's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw a silhouette of a figure making its way through the corridors. He couldn't tell if it was friend or foe, so he held his breath and aimed his weapon, ready to defend his post at all costs.

But then he recognized the figure. It was one of the officers he had seen earlier. She was limping and her armor was severely damaged, but she was still alive.

"Ensign Alde, we need to retreat," she said in a hushed voice. Trask hesitated. Retreating wasn't in his blood, but the situation was dire.

"What about Master Krell?" he asked, referring to the four armed Jedi Master who had arrived on the station a few days ago.

"Unknown, but we can’t wait for him, we need to report back to the Republic,” she said in a firm voice.

He reluctantly nodded and followed the officer as she led him to the hangar. As they made their way through the dark corridors, they could hear the sounds of blaster fire and explosions growing closer. They knew they had to move quickly.

They reached the hangar just as the Separatist forces (part of Trask’s mind thought it was odd, he’d been told that the Separatist army was composed almost entirely of droids) broke through the last line of defense. Trask watched in horror as his fellow soldiers fell one by one, their bodies crumpling to the ground. Then, to his relief, blades of blue and green flew out, the besalisk jedi rushing forth to intercept the blaster fire being sent their way.

The officer quickly commandeered a ship, and Trask followed her inside. They took off just as the Separatist forces breached the hangar. They narrowly avoided a barrage of enemy fire and made a jump to hyperspace.

[hr][/hr]

In the center of the hanger stood Jedi Master Pong Krell, his two dual-bladed lightsabers ignited, one a pale blue and the other a vibrant green. He stood tall and proud, his lower pair of arms folded behind his back as he rejuvenated himself with the Force.

The attackers were dead, either from redirected blaster bolts, his lightsabers, a few he crushed against walls with waves of telekinetic power, and the last two he'd put away his sabers and killed them with his fists. It wasn't proper for a jedi, but he'd always relished the rush of combat, the thrill of danger, the vibrations running up his arm on impact. It was glorious.

A new ship entered the hanger, touching down gently before a ramp lowered in the back. The Jedi Master rolled his neck as two figures, from the feel of them in the Force they could only be Sith, descended down the ramp, into the hanger.

The two Sith approached Pong Krell, their own blades ignited, the first one heavily armored and masked, the second lightly armored, of a species he didn't recognize, their skin a deep red. The first Sith stepped forward, his single red blade raised. He spoke in a deep and raspy voice.

"Are you prepared to die, Jedi?"

Pong Krell didn’t answer, but his stance and the eager on his face spoke volumes. He remained still, his sabers poised to strike.

The Sith lords advanced, their lightsabers glowing in the darkened hanger. Pong Krell stood his ground, his green blade held high and his blue blade low, ready to parry any attack.

The first Sith charged forward, his red blade spinning in a blur. Pong Krell blocked the attack with his blue blade, sparks flying as their blades collided. He dodged the second Sith’s attack and spun, his green blade slicing through the air towards the heavily armored Sith. The Sith ducked, barely avoiding the attack, and the two of them exchanged blows.

The clashing of lightsabers filled the air as Pong Krell and the Sith battled fiercely. The green blade of Pong Krell darted and spun in a blinding flurry of motion, parrying each onslaught from the Sith with ease. With each exchange, the intensity of their blows increased, but Pong Krell’s superior skill and training allowed him to stay one step ahead.

They fought fiercely, neither giving an inch as they clashed blades. Pong Krell’s green blade darted and spun, parrying the Sith’s blows. The Sith increased the pressure, their blades striking with increasing intensity, but Pong Krell’s skill and training kept him one step ahead.

Suddenly, the Sith changed tactics, the first Sith switching his red blade to his left hand and sending a stream of lightning from his right. Pong Krell managed to interpose one of his blades in front of the stream, blocking it. The second Sith, the red skinned alien, ignited a second blade and rushed into the fight with a pair of dual blades.

The blades clashed and spun in a deadly dance, each fighter trying to gain the upper hand. Pong Krell fought with skill and courage, his dual double bladed sabers moving with a precision that belied their size. But the Sith were relentless, their blades moving in perfect unison, their attacks coordinated and swift.

The fight raged on, neither side giving an inch. The blades slashed and struck, the crackle of lightning and the hiss of the lightsabers filling the air. Pong Krell fought with a skill and ferocity that seemed to surprise even the Sith, but in the end, it was his strength of will that kept him standing. But only for so long.

Despite his best efforts, Pong Krell was starting to tire. The Sith were taking advantage of his slowing movements, landing blows that he could barely deflect. He knew he was in trouble when the red-skinned Sith landed a blow on his left arm, causing him to lose grip on one of his lightsabers.

The Sith saw their opening and pressed their attack. Pong Krell tried to stay on the defensive, but it was no use. The Sith were too powerful. The heavily armored Sith delivered a crushing blow to the Jedi's midsection, causing him to double over in pain even as the sheer Force imbued strength behind the blow send him flying.

His back slammed into one of the pillars, the metal denting and buckling. Pong Krell groaned in pain, his vision blurring as he tried to stand. The Sith approached him, their lightsabers poised for the killing blow.

But Pong Krell was not one to give up easily, even in the face of certain death. Summoning the last of his strength, he pushed himself up and took a deep breath. A wave of energy surged from him, knocking the Sith back several feet.

Pong Krell took the opportunity to ignite both his lightsabers, the green and blue blades humming fiercely in his hands. He charged forward, his blades flashing in the dim light of the hanger.

The Sith were caught off guard, but quickly regained their composure. They met Pong Krell’s onslaught with a furious barrage of their own, their lightsabers flashing in a deadly dance.

Blows were exchanged at lightning speed, the air filled with the clash of lightsabers and the hiss of their blades. Pong Krell fought with a skill born of years of training, his movements fluid and precise. But his opponents were no slouches either, and they matched him blow for blow.

The fight raged on, neither side gaining the upper hand. But gradually, Pong Krell began to wear down. His movements became slower, less precise. The Sith saw their chance and pressed their attack.

Pong Krell fought on, his strength failing him but his will still strong. He parried and dodged, his lightsabers flashing in the air. But it was no use. The Sith were too powerful, too skilled.

Finally, the Sith with twin sabers landed a decisive blow, spinning his blade from a standard to reverse grip just before it was about to meet his own, the unexpected move severing his hand at the wrist. As he winced at the sudden rush of pain, the second blade flickered off for just a brief moment, bypassing the block before it reignited inside his guard.

Pong Krell tried to dodge, but he was too slow. The Sith's blades sliced through his body, tearing through flesh and bone.

Pong Krell fell to the ground, his lightsaber clattering to the floor. The Sith lords stood over him, their weapons still humming with deadly energy. For a moment, they simply gazed down at the fallen Jedi, savoring their victory. Then, with a final flick of their wrists, they extinguished their lightsabers and turned to leave.

"You fought well, Apprentice," the armored Sith praised the other, coming to a stop at the entrance to the hanger, looking over the red planet below them.

"One ship did manage to escape, Master," the apprentice said, turning to stare out over the planet, a rush of emotions flowing through him as he took in the view.

"Indeed, but such an event was planned for. It matters not," the Master said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "What does matter, is that after three and a half thousand years... Korriban is ours again."

The armored Sith turned to face his apprentice, pulling out his lightsaber and igniting it. Lowering it onto each of his apprentice's shoulders, he continued, "Zuyas Kraujas, for being the first of the Empire to slay a Jedi in over twelve hundred years, I pronounce your time as a Sith Apprentice to be over. Stand tall, as a Lord of the Sith Empire."