|
The Indomitable Will
| |
| Castor_Vax | Date: Sunday, 09 Aug 2015, 0:41 AM | Message # 1 |
 Trainee
Group: Users
Messages: 6
Status: Offline
| Kirdo III was a planet of no real consequence; a place of little worth or value and, had it not sat as the Tamarin Sector's endpoint of the Sanrafsix Corridor, it was likely not even the smugglers would have cared. It was also the reason it was home to a partially constructed Deep Space Manufacturing Facility that had been under construction with a moderate amount of secrecy; if it hadn't been for freighter pilots and Vax's bribed contacts at Kuat, who he often tapped for information, he likely would never have even known it was here. However, secrecy only went so far, and it was often a double edged sword. What, necessarily the factory was for, he couldn't say; in truth, he didn't quite care. What he had cared about, however, was striking before the half-completed station's weaponry was online; striking before the two squadrons of TIEs stationed there were reinforced by something heavier; something he and the Castigators couldn't take on.
Castor never could resist a challenge. Or a taunt.
It was largely the taunt that drew him there, and to where he currently was, on the highest viewing platform of the station's central axis, locked saber-to-saber with a whip-thin, dark-cloaked man whose eyes promised death. Kraven, the man had called himself, nearly two years prior when they'd first met, and since then, they'd danced this dance several times, with one or the other forced into retreat, or fleeing. Not this time, Castor promised himself. Around him, the Castigators were in mortal combat with their stormtrooper counterparts. Blaster fire ricocheted here and there, the whine almost deafening, punctuated by the cries of the wounded and the death-rattles of those who wouldn't make it. It had been a trap; Vax and the Castigators had known that upon reaching the station and overcoming its meager space defenders. Vax had known it before they arrived, had felt Kraven taunting him through the Force. After this long, both men knew each others' patterns far too well. A target like this? Kraven knew Vax would never pass it up, and Vax? He'd know Kraven would be there, waiting for him; an almost supernatural bond between two enemies that clashed so frequently.
The cries of "Stormies!" Had gone up almost instantly once the Long Ugly had discharged its cargo of men, and the trail from the docking bay to the central spar was littered with dead from both sides. The edge the Castigators had was having more to fight for, and that this was life or death. The stormtroopers fought for their rigid code, but numbers were wearing the Castigators down. This feint, this push towards the top of the control room, had been Vax's call, leaving a small detachment of men to wire the station's power core with explosives, independent of the main group. What Vax wanted was Kraven, despite the knowledge that such steps took him towards the dark side. Dark times called for equally dark measures, and if it meant depriving the Empire of one of their Jedi hunters, then Vax considered the cost well worth the gain.
"Your men are dying Castor," Kraven fairly spat into his face; the spittle sizzling briefly where it contacted the lightsaber blades, both men pushing hard against the other. Like Castor, Kraven favored Djem So; it was a form Castor had continually seen Kraven utilize in all of their encounters. Of course, Castor had never varied his style, but it led him to believe that his opponent had no other style to fall back upon. A risky bet, but one that the Jedi was willing to put his life upon.
"Your men are dying too," Vax shot back. "Your station is dying." The rumble under their feet spoke of the attacking turbolaser blasts that struck the exterior, chewing their way inwards. There had been no time for reinforcements to be called, by the Imperials; Vax was wise enough to have struck at their comm station from the exterior, eliminating the possibility in the opening salvos. Kraven snarled and pushed back against him, shoving Vax away with the strength of the Force and anger. Twirling his yellow-hued saber, Castor dropped into a mid-guard stance, keeping his saber crossed over his chest. "How's the dark side treating you?" He taunted his opponent. "Doesn't seem like its helping much." In truth, Vax himself was skirting dangerously close to the same, allowing his anger to lend more power to his blows, driving the younger man back at times. "Even if you manage to kill me, I don't think Vader is going to be too happy with you, Kraven. The Empire doesn't like to lose stations to Jedi, you know."
Growling, Kraven attacked and Castor met him halfway, red and yellow blades meeting and separating, strobing light on the walls and about them, showering the area with sparks. Back and forth they fought, one or the other giving a few meters, or pushing the advantage for a few before coming to a halt. Kraven had the advantage of age, and a good command of the dark side, but Vax had years decades of combat experience and his own knowledge of the Force, as well as being a weapon master. All in all, it was an even match. It was a match that couldn't last, or they'd both die in the ruins of the station, and the men and women of the Castigators who'd come with Vax would die too.
He had to make an end.
Switching to a one-handed grip, he used his left to pull out the collapsed San-Ni staff; something that brought a sneer to Kraven's lips as he pressed the advantage with both hands, executing sweeping Falling Avalanche assaults that Vax was barely able to parry with his one-handed grip. Falling back before the assault, he allowed his defense to start faltering. "You-" Kraven said, "Can't-" Another overhead slash, powered by the dark side, "Even extend that weapon!" Each blow was punctuated by assaults, relentless, coming stronger. Kraven was correct; it normally took two hands to twist and pull the San-Ni open, but Vax had no intention of attacking with it. He was waiting for his opening, reading the Force. Behind him, he was aware of the upwards-curving wall rapidly approaching. He was running out of room and tiring; Kraven could see it through the Force, and the Inquisitor's manic grin spoke of a quick death. There would be no forced conversion for Vax, here; only an unmarked grave and a lightsaber taken as a trophy. Vax stumbled under the next assault, his body half-turning to the left, bringing his lightsaber out of line. He dropped to one knee, seeing Kraven out of his peripheral vision, raising his weapon for the killing stroke.
Now.
Vax pulled and twisted with Force, popping open the first link on the San-Ni staff, raising it just above his left shoulder and rotating his torso. The Force guided his hand and he felt Kraven's lightsaber strike directly against the power coupling, blocking the blade, even as the kinetic force drove the weapon low enough to scorch Vax's shoulder plate armor. In his right hand, the lightsaber reversed and pushed backwards, behind him, at a target he could no longer see. There was no resistance to let him know if he struck, but he could feel it through the Force even as Kraven's strangled gasp reached his ears. The pressure of the lightsaber eased up against the San-Ni, then faded as the weapon dropped from Kraven's weakening fingers, extinguishing. Vax thumbed his own weapon off, then stood with effort, turning to face his opponent at last.
Kraven had dropped to his knees, a shocked look on his face. He couldn't understand, Vax sensed, how he'd lost. The hole in his chest, cauterized and dead center, was a killing wound. "I'd wish you better luck next time," Vax said without inflection, "But there won't be a next time." Raising his boot, he shoved Kraven onto his back. The man was dead before he struck the ground. Pausing for a moment, he looked down at his old enemy. It would be strange, not having Kraven hound him. As he began to move away, his foot struck the lightsaber Kraven had constructed. For a moment, Vax paused, looking down at it. Then, without a second thought, he used the Force to float it to his hand and clipped it onto his belt. It could come in handy one day. It wasn't a trophy. It wasn't. Or so he told himself.
The Castigators beat a hasty retreat from the dying station, recovering their dead and wounded, or as many as they could, before they left; taking the opportunity as well to scavenge dropped stormtrooper weapons or parts of armor. For their outfit, everything helped. Once on their vessels, they departed the dying station, consumed by explosions that wracked its parts.
Hyperspace.
Escape.
On his cruiser, Justice Talon, Vax finally dropped into a meditation, letting the feel of hyperspace soothe him. He did not think again of the lightsaber he'd taken, but in the course of his meditation, he stroked the weapon's hilt unconsciously.
Castor Vax
Jedi Knight
|
| |
|
|
| Lyman_Sturn | Date: Thursday, 13 Aug 2015, 8:46 PM | Message # 2 |
 Trainee
Group: Users
Messages: 7
Status: Offline
|
* * *
Three ships hovered noiselessly in space around the wreck of the space station. Hours had passed since its destruction. Those unfortunate enough to have been aboard had long since perished, man and fire having battled one another for air—a fight both were destined to lose—in those final, chaotic moments. The lifeless bodies of the crew and the scorched debris from the station were a silent testament to what had happened here. And already, some of the debris had begun its fateful descent into the atmosphere of Kirdo III.
"What a waste," said Captain Romes, as much to himself as to anyone in particular, his words interrupting the funereal silence on the bridge of the Malefic.
"Yes, I suppose," remarked the tall, bearded man who stood beside him, his arms crossed indifferently over his chest. Lyman Sturn watched the holofeed of the recovery operations with a rather more clinical eye than Romes, looking for something quite specific.
Three ships, hovering over the wreck as vultures would a dead, rotting carcass. In fact, each was there for a different reason. The Malefic, of course. The Imperial MedStar-class frigate Beneficent, sent to recover the bodies of the crew. And a Squib needle ship, the Harvest Moon, which had come for the far less noble purpose of collecting the debris to sell for scrap. The Squib, it seemed, had beaten the Ugors this time; one or the other of them could be depended on to show up on these occasions, waiting on the periphery for Imperial ships to leave before collecting their "prize."
Sturn didn't care what they did. Neither did the dead. But in this instance, the Squib had in fact been rather useful to him. Captain Romes hadn't concealed his surprise when, an hour ago, Sturn had ordered him to lock tractor beams on the needle ship. The Squib captain had protested, of course, that he'd done nothing wrong. (Not yet, at least.) But as was customary to the Squib race, he had been amenable to a trade: his life, in exchange for the use of his ship.
And so the needle ship had done Sturn's bidding, its many tractor beams pulling apart the wreckage for his scrutiny. The Squib were quite good at this, Sturn observed as he and Romes watched the holofeed. The anguished expressions on the faces of the dead were no doubt disturbing to the bridge crew of the Malefic, who pretended they weren't watching out of the corner of their eyes. Each of them to a man was no doubt reminded that only a pane of transparisteel separated them from the same fate. This didn't trouble Sturn; the Clone Wars had taught him how close any and everyone was to death at any time, in any place.
"There," Sturn said abruptly.
"Hold there, please," Captain Romes relayed to the Squibs, as if they had a choice.
The holofeed centered on the body of a whip-thin, dark-cloaked man, a shocked look on his lifeless face. Kraven was indeed dead. No more and no less dead than the rest of them. No one would mourn his loss, least of all Sturn. He'd found Kraven to be insufferable, even for an Inquisitor. Kraven had been violence-prone and had a flare for the theatrical—but bad theater, like The Trickery of Vosdia Nooma. Kraven had lived by the lightsaber and died by it too, as the wound to his chest made quite apparent. Romes looked away in disgust.
"You are in the business of death, Captain. This bothers you?" Sturn asked. He didn't look at Romes. There was no reason to, his eyes having atrophied from years of sensory-deprivation and his use of the Dark Side. He saw Romes as he saw the holofeed—through the Force.
"I kill, but I don't enjoy it, Inquisitor," Romes answered at once.
"Good man," Sturn said. Nigel Romes was indeed a better man than his predecessor, Captain Graves. He had lusted for rebel blood, as did Kraven. They had met similar ends. Sturn had no patience for their kind. "That will do," Sturn said, waving dismissively at the holofeed. "Inform the Squib... gentleman that we're no longer in need of his services, and he may depart. Destroy the wreck, then plot us a course for—"
"The Beneficent has requested permission to recover the bodies, Sir."
"Destroy the wreck, Captain," Sturn repeated himself, the last time he intended to do so. "It is a menace to navigation."
"Yes, Sir. But the Squibs won't like it, either."
"Let them stay with the wreck if they wish," Sturn shrugged, turning to leave the bridge, "They will share its fate."
Sturn couldn't be bothered with the Squibs now, nor the Beneficent, nor even with the fact of Kraven's death. It was the Jedi who interested him now. Castor Vax had killed an Inquisitor, and so had endeared himself somewhat to Sturn. Vax had potential—potential that Sturn would exploit, or, should he fail to do so, extinguish.
Knowledge, as ever, was power. And so Sturn's next stop would naturally be the Jedi Archives.
Inquisitor Lyman Sturn
Former Jedi Master
|
| |
|
|
|
