The hum of lightsabers and the sharp reports of blaster fire echoed through the nearly empty chamber.
The Shadow Guard had engaged the assassin-dancers from Mi-Ha Hutt's inner circle.
Reynar, like his comrades, showed no mercy to the enemy, destroying anyone who was in any way an opponent.
He used combat techniques based on variations of the Soresu style — a precise and economical form of lightsaber combat designed to achieve maximum results with minimal movement, while supplementing it with Force pushes and strikes.
This style, among other things, also allowed him to block the numerous blaster bolts the enemy was firing at the attacking Dominion forces.
While fighting, he briefly lost himself in the moment, thinking that even the spacious throne room had become a cramped closet once the Shadow Guards started operating.
Two squads were storming Mi-Ha Hutt's fortress, with several fighters in reserve and support.
Orra Sing was in support and reserve, stationed somewhere outside the monastery's perimeter.
The strike group consisted of Darth Maul, Stryn, the Jensaarai defender Fodeum Sabre De'Luz and a pair of his students, as well as a couple of squads of Death Commandos from the Noghri people, who had already helped them clear out the previous enemy lair.
Including Noghri traitors serving the Zann Consortium of their own free will.
The third and final squad — the diversionary squad — included himself, Agent Bravo-One, Vex, and the Shadow Guard's recent acquisition — the Zabrak female Maris Brood.
Formally, the latter was considered Reynar's student, but they hadn't actually started any training.
It was already enough that Vex and Maris had developed certain friction over the Zabrak's frivolous nature, who, for some unknown reason, had decided to establish a relationship with her mentor in the form of friendly (though it looked quite the opposite) flirtation.
The former Inquisitor solved this problem very simply.
With a duel.
During which he not only won but also humiliated his future student, inflicting several non-lethal cuts on her, then beating her with just his fists.
After spending some time in bacta, Brood, of course, hadn't gotten rid of her recklessness, but she no longer bothered Reynar with her insufferably stupid antics that she passed off as flirtation.
Without the slightest twinge of conscience, Reynar diagonally cleaved a dancer with an orange skin tone, noting at the edge of his mind that she was wearing exactly the outfit Vex had been nagging him about with requests: "I want one too, but in red!"
"Not meant to be," Obscuro thought, noting that the outfit had fallen apart along with the opponent's body.
Yes, the idea of placing his headquarters in the old monastery of the B'omarr Monks was not the wisest of Mi-Ha Hutt's moves.
At least because, as it turned out, it was a fairly standard structure.
And somehow Grand Admiral Thrawn had obtained blueprints of this building, including the underground passage through which the diversionary squad had infiltrated the monastery.
B'omarr Monastery.
And after all, no one had fully believed that Mi-Ha Hutt had actually set up his lair analogous to the late Jabba the Hutt.
Just imagine...
Setting up numerous false leads pointing to several planets in the Tion Union at once, but settling on an uninhabited planet, in the only notable structure.
And indeed, in the entire sector, you couldn't find a second such monastery.
Truly, the Hutt's ego and their desire to position themselves as the most powerful sentients in the galaxy had played a vile trick on Mi-Ha Hutt.
Not only had the diversionary and strike groups landed on the planet and, right under the Hutt's nose, opened the old catacombs and managed to attack the monastery from within, but an elite group of pilots on TIE Defenders, assigned by Thrawn to cover the operation, had also raised havoc on the surface, distracting the guards from the fighting inside the monastery.
"Oh, to hell with you all!" Reynar heard his girlfriend's angry exclamation as she controlled the entrance to the throne room and fired at the enemy who had decided to attack the saboteurs. "Where do you think you're going⁈"
However, he didn't sense that his girlfriend was wounded or in any danger, so he didn't even intend to stop his massacre.
The Twi'lek was irritated.
And from experience, Reynar could guess who was the restless source of it.
But he almost immediately received confirmation of what had caused Vex's extremely negative reaction.
Maris Brood, covering his back, with a wild scream (and why do that at all?) rushed forward, leaving him open to an attack from behind.
Brood, executing a flip in midair, drove both of her guard's shoto into the torso of a dancer who had, out of nowhere, produced a heavy disintegrator rifle.
The short crimson lightsaber blades pierced the opponent in the collarbone area, passed through the body, damaging a maximum of vital organs.
Brood, pulling out her weapons, continued her advance through the bodyguards of the Hutt who was trying to flee.
Agent Bravo-One was already trying to chase him, firing from his kinetic pistol with a "silencer" straight into the gaping maw of the nearest Zanibar.
A substantial chunk of skull and spine was blasted out of the blue-skinned scoundrel's head.
And not a single sound was made.
Reynar considered whether he should acquire such a weapon, as the agent had visually demonstrated the advantage of this type of kinetic armament.
Take, for example, the fact that, according to Bravo-One, if the shield around the Hutt hadn't been lowered when he decided to hold the head of his dead ally in his hands, the agent could have simply blown apart the panel on the end of the Hutt's dais and damaged the generator.
And not every blaster or plasma torch could get through two centimeters of dura steel in a single pass.
One way or another, the original plan — for Vex and Brood to cover their backs, Reynar to work against the Hutt's guards, and Inek to support him and capture the fat bastard — had started to fall apart.
Reynar knew Maris's fencing level perfectly well, which is why he had assigned her to support.
But the willful student decided she knew better.
And she wasn't at all bothered that Vex, left alone, might not be able to hold back the "influx of all comers" who wanted to exterminate the invaders.
And that meant the squad could be wiped out — at worst.
At best — they would have to reconsider their tactics to protect the rear and prevent the worst possible outcome.
To top it all off, the Zabrak completely failed to notice that a Zanibar was aiming at her with a heavy, archaic-looking weapon, whose emitter was glowing yellow-green.
No need to guess what that was.
A Geonosian sonic blaster.
A Geonosian sonic blaster.
A weapon perfectly suited for taking down overzealous Jedi and similar Force-sensitive sentients.
And not only them.
Such weapons cost exorbitant sums on the black market because of the isolationism preached by the inhabitants of the planet Geonosis.
They were often used against Jedi during the Clone Wars — and quite effectively.
A Force-sensitive sentient can predict and defend against almost any type of damaging element.
Plasma, blaster bolts, kinetics, melee weapons — all of these can, with varying probability, be deflected by a lightsaber or the sentient's Force ability.
But it's impossible to defend against a sound wave.
At least Reynar didn't know how.
So he reached out to the Zanibar with the Force.
Not to take the sonic blaster from him — Reynar didn't tear the weapon away.
He directed a stream of the Force at the enemy so that it would splatter him against the wall.
With a crash and crack, part of the doorway from which the sentient-eater intended to fire was ripped out and slammed into the wall behind the blue-skinned mercenary.
The stone cracked, shattering the Zanibar's flesh and skin, leaving not only bloody splatters on the wall behind him but also a web of cracks.
Reynar barely dodged a strike from an electric spear, which, though not as deadly as the sonic blaster, could definitely give him a nasty jolt and disrupt the concentration of the former Imperial Inquisitor.
Compared to his own, the combat skills and training of Mi-Ha Hutt's bodyguard were mediocre.
But this very thing — excessive disregard for the enemy's abilities — had time and again caused the deaths of numerous Force-sensitive sentients serving the Old Republic in the Jedi Order or the Galactic Empire — among the Inquisitors.
Nevertheless, the bodyguards were persistent in their attacks, and with three of them now, Reynar had to defend himself, occasionally using quick movements, switching to the more aggressive Ataru style to prevent them from exploiting their numerical advantage.
As he expected, the spears of the Twi'lek bodyguards were coated with a substance that prevented the spears from being cut by the Shadow Guard's lightsaber blade.
This also didn't add to the cheerfulness.
So Reynar, having felt the advantages of the enemy's weapon through two parries and counterattacks, switched to Force abilities.
There was no point in prolonging the duel — the already swift Mi-Ha Hutt had left his lounge-throne and was hurrying toward the exit, paying no attention to the Dominion agent chasing at his heels.
Bravo-One wasn't having an easy time either — he had already lost his slugthrower, and his blaster had been knocked aside during a scuffle with a pair of Zanibars.
Both blue-skinned creatures had drawn their huge cleavers, intending to butcher the agent right there.
All Bravo-One could oppose them with was a pair of combat knives made of obsidian.
Incredibly sharp and strong enough to withstand blows from metal weapons.
But attack speed suffered.
And that was surely giving the Hutt time to escape.
"Hutt-spawn Marris," Reynar cursed quietly, seeing that his students were also trying to push him aside with electric spears.
Calling on the Force, the former Inquisitor stopped holding back his rage entirely.
He dodged one lunge aimed at his torso, then caught the metal shaft with his free hand, and with the other, drove the only active crimson blade of his lightsaber pike into the upper chest of the Hutt's bodyguard.
He hadn't even finished killing one when he felt a second spear about to discharge into his back.
And at that point, he had almost no way to twist out of it.
So, jumping on one leg, he slammed the other into the bodyguard's face with full force.
Hearing the crunch of cervical vertebrae, he took the discharge from the third bodyguard anyway and screamed in pain.
His muscles, contracting in convulsions, nearly unclenched the fingers gripping the metal hilt of the lightsaber blade.
Electricity coursed through his body, invigorating him no less than the Dark Side of the Force.
The former Inquisitor, with a single movement of his palm, snapped the opponent's neck, then, grabbing her with telekinesis, hurled her toward the Zanibars surrounding Maris Brood.
Damn them all to burning hell!
These carnivorous creatures had managed to hack off a bit of flesh from the Zabrak's thigh with their cleavers.
The girl howled like a hurricane wind.
A palpable wave of the Dark Side washed over.
Despite the improvised projectile taking down a couple of the carnivorous humanoids, they didn't abandon their intention to kill Reynar's student and kept pressing forward.
And they didn't care that the Zabrak, mad with rage, was literally mowing them down like a combine harvester.
They kept coming, dying, but still managed to inflict another wound on the girl every now and then.
It might not have been visible to the eye, but Maris was weakening.
Her movements became less swift, and the number of wounds on her body increased.
Her frivolous outfit played a cruel trick — it didn't restrict her mobility at the start of the fight, but at the same time provided no armor.
In that regard, Reynar had it far easier and better — he ignored melee weapons.
Strong armor protected him, and the former Inquisitor didn't allow any more thrusts into the joints of the armor elements.
But he spun like a top, destroying any enemy he could reach with any of his blades.
The enemy was simply overwhelming them with "meat," buying time for Mi-Ha Hutt's escape.
One quick glance was enough to understand — Agent Bravo-One had left the throne room.
Leaving behind only a pile of corpses.
Now only three of them remained here, but the enemies — no longer the graceful Twi'leks, but the carnivorous, utterly self-preservation-indifferent Zanibars — numbered several dozen.
They kept trying to land blows with their cleavers, obviously intending to bleed and exhaust their victims so they could finish them off later in their disgusting rituals.
Reynar killed them by the dozen, cutting through the crowd of bodies toward Brood, who was now covered head to toe in her own blood.
Reynar realized that she would eventually run out of steam if he allowed this battle of attrition to continue any longer.
So Obscuro decided to use Juyo, the fifth of the seven recognized forms of lightsaber combat.
Focusing his main efforts, during a counterattack, exclusively on the physically weaker opponents, he opened himself to the Dark Side and unleashed a series of furious strikes on the Zanibars surrounding him, forcing them into a prudent retreat.
But the blue-skinned carnivorous humanoids were in no hurry to save their lives.
Reynar carved them up like a butcher in a slaughterhouse.
He severed arms, legs, cut bodies and heads.
He crushed them with the Force, turning the opponents standing before him into streams of bloody splatter and once-humanoid mincemeat.
He fed on their pain and suffering, their death throes, and the feelings of doom flashing through their thick skulls before Obscuro ended their pathetic lives.
Noticing Brood had fallen to her knees, the former Inquisitor released the rage pent up inside him.
The released Force, like a coiling spring, spread out before him in a telekinetic wave, grinding the enemy into bloody paste filled with scraps of clothing, armor, and weapons.
In an instant, the only ones left standing were him and a couple dozen or so Zanibars torn to shreds, of which only the parts below the waist remained intact.
His body burned from the magma of the Dark Side spreading through him, which he turned into his fuel.
Reynar clenched his free hand's fist, and the heads of five Zanibars who had just run into the throne room simply exploded like overripe fruit squeezed by a merciless giant hand.
Brood, coming to her senses, was drenched in a stream of bone-and-tooth shrapnel mixed with the blood and brains of the dead.
Bloody shreds were visible in her black hair, and the fire of the Dark Side burned in her eyes.
The girl raged, throwing herself at another group of enemies who had entered through a secondary exit.
A moment — and their heads flew in one direction, while their bodies, cut in half at the waist, flew in the opposite.
Reynar sensed this only through the Force, because at that moment, his eyes and body were elsewhere.
Vex was injured, and he hadn't felt it.
Embedded in the girl's thigh, just above the armored hip element of her suit, was the hilt of an enemy knife, blood gushing from beneath it.
"Femoral artery," Reynar identified instantly, smashing his fist into the protruding jaw of the nearest Zanibar who had lunged at the girl, still in shock from the pain.
His intentions of flaying the Shadow Guard's beloved alive drowned in his own blood.
A slash of the lightsaber blade—and five soldiers were carved into pieces.
The hilt angled upward, his wrist twisted to grip it, and he delivered another sliding, cleaving strike.
Djem So relied on overwhelming the enemy through the sheer physical power of its user.
Reynar didn't even notice when his combat style had shifted back to the Soresu he'd been actively studying.
He burst into the corridor, deflected blaster bolts from several rifles, then, without holding back, lashed out with two branching, high-energy Force Lightning strikes at the squads converging on the throne room.
Thanks to his helmet and closed-loop breathing system, he couldn't smell anything, but his brain helpfully filled in the details anyway.
The sharp tang of ozone.
The stench of burning flesh and melting fabric.
A battle cry pierced his ears, rising into a howl.
An instant later, this aria of suffering flooded the low vaults of the corridor, echoing in every direction.
Reynar exulted, feeling the pain, despair, and agony in the enemies' minds feed him, strengthening him with each passing second.
The accumulated fatigue vanished, and his muscles, as if infused with fire and energy, granted his body incredible speed.
With it, he effortlessly carved apart the moaning, charred Zanibar from both squads.
But more were already rushing toward him.
A new opponent lunged, swinging a cleaver, but immediately recoiled, left without an arm.
A slash of the lightsaber blade proved far more dangerous in this fight than a horde of beasts.
Reynar surged forward to deliver a killing blow to the faltering enemy, but his lunge was abruptly halted by Vex's moan.
He shoved the enemy back with the Force, ignoring his hysterical shriek, which was cut short by a crunch and the sound of innards splattering against the wall.
He managed a backflip, landing on his feet again, right beside the Twi'lek.
A short pulse of the Force, and he knew the girl was slipping into unconsciousness.
Too exhausted, too much blood lost.
The Shadow Guard, losing control of himself, grabbed Maris Brood with the Force and yanked her across the entire hall toward him.
"Take care of her!" the Guard snarled, managing to be surprised that his formal apprentice had instantly shed her warlike demeanor and begun emanating waves of fear and confusion.
But she obeyed the order, starting to administer first aid from a portable medkit.
Bacta, stimulants, knife extraction, and a tight tourniquet on the artery with specialized materials.
Reynar registered all this in the back of his mind while cutting through the next waves of enemies rushing toward them.
The Dark Side called to him, whispering about the incredible strength and power he would gain if he just stopped holding back and let his inner beast break free.
Reynar was already familiar with these temptations and the cunning methods of seduction that invaded the mind the moment a Force-sensitive being crossed an invisible red line.
And in the past, he would undoubtedly have done it, surrendering himself to the abyss of the Dark Side.
But not today.
Never in the future.
"What is this?" one of the blue-skinned carnivorous monsters shrieked, leading his squad into the slaughter.
"I am the Shadow Guard," he snarled into the face of the Zanibar he'd closed in on, taking a point-blank blaster shot from him.
The armor held, absorbing the energy charge into the chest plate.
But the Zanibar didn't.
He crushed one's skull with a blow from his armored fist, brains wrapping around his fingers.
He cleaved the nearest comrade from crown to waist with his lightsaber.
He tore a third apart with the Force.
The fourth and fifth lost their heads the moment the crimson blade was aimed their way.
Reynar felt fighters from the other end of the corridor running toward him and his wounded apprentice, his beloved.
Realizing time was running out, Obscuro decided to change his combat tactics again in the now-cramped corridor.
He unleashed a powerful wave of Force, knocking the emerging enemies off their feet, sending them flying.
Ignoring how his actions were decorating the monastery walls with the brains and innards of enemies who couldn't withstand the Force's pressure on one side and the duracrete's resistance on the other, Reynar pounced on another enemy squad.
He positioned his blade, and a blaster rifle bolt ricocheted, heading back to where it came from.
His body literally burned with a rage that could incinerate stars and warm the vacuum.
But he was used to drawing his power from the ever-increasing emotional fury of the Dark Side.
He shoved a group of enemies with the Force, sending them scattering down the corridor like balls.
Though they didn't bounce off the walls.
Reynar darted between the two ends of the same corridor like an angel from Iego, as spacers spoke of.
But for the stubborn Zanibar's misfortune, they were unlucky with religion.
An Angel of Death had come to their lair.
And today, he was collecting the tribute himself.
* * *
Fodeum, moving with incredible speed on pure reflex, began to rise, proving he wasn't some arrogant aristocrat throwing a tantrum over a broken nose, instantly understanding what had happened a second ago.
He'd been hit by a concussion grenade.
Part of the energy was absorbed by the Force shield he'd raised, but the rest was enough to send him flying.
His head rang from the impact, his sword (how many times now?!) was gone somewhere, but the Jensaarai defender felt the familiar energy of the crystals sealed within the weapon nearby.
As soon as he was on his feet, his lightsaber, flying around a corner, landed in the outstretched palm of his right hand, and ignited with a sharp hiss.
At the same time, the blaster bolts trailing the blade were parried, and those who fired them were dead.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to shoot at a being with a lightsaber?" he asked, landing in a single leap next to a pillar where a Zanibar was hiding, loading a grenade launcher.
Engrossed in the process, the blue-skinned humanoid didn't notice the young man in light armor, covered in shrapnel scars from exploded shells, appear beside him.
One motion of the lightsaber—and the decapitated corpse would never give anyone an exciting, albeit short and painfully conclusive, aerial journey.
Fodeum switched the weapon to his other hand, parrying several bolts at once and sending them back at the enemies.
They ducked into a doorway, but it didn't save them from Darth Maul, who was suddenly there.
The raging Zabrak kicked with his mechanical leg, shattering a thin wall, along with a couple of Zanibar.
He grabbed another from behind the ruined cover with his hand, and then, with undisguised pleasure on his tattooed face, slammed his face into the floor.
A sound of cracking bone came from the Zabrak's throat, a triumphant howl, and he landed in a single leap beside his next target.
"Master!" Fodeum heard Gantoris's voice. "Are their operations always like this?"
The tall, powerfully built man handled his recently assembled lightsaber quite well, deflecting enemy fire.
"I don't know," Fodeum sent a mercenary who'd peeked out from cover flying with the Force. "It's my first time working with the Shadow Guard. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat the experience."
A wild, almost animalistic cry tore through the air, chilling the insides and making ears ache.
Like a meteor, Magash Drashi appeared, snarling, her yellow-glowing eyes full of excitement and pleasure from the carnage.
"Best practical lesson since the clan feuds on Dathomir!" she shouted, bounding across the hall toward a squad of Weequay emerging from an inner passage. "Master! You're the best!"
Distracted by Stryn, who was calmly dismantling a battle droid, they didn't notice the Dathomirian charging them.
A couple of seconds later, only chunks of flesh, cauterized at the cut points, remained of the squad.
"I can't disagree with her, Master!" Gantoris said, seizing a moment to send an enemy droid crashing into a pile of scrap metal with a Force Push, smearing a couple of enemy fighters along the way. "My swordsmanship skills are improving by the second!"
I've created monsters! Fodeum thought, watching the mask of sadistic pleasure distort Gantoris's face with each new death he caused.
Thrawn's Hutts! He said we were needed for support! But he didn't mention his tame beasts would start a massacre here! the Jensaarai defender thought, landing beside his student.
A quick cuff to the back of the head, a blind parry of a blaster bolt, a stern look into Gantoris's clearing eyes.
"Sorry, Master," the man said, looking guilty. "Control of emotions and desires. I remember."
"Uh-huh," Fodeum grunted sternly. "He remembers. Do you have the memory of a Gungan? Three seconds, and then hello, brave new world?"
"My fault, Master," Gantoris rumbled.
But the Dark Side, which had sunk its claws into his mind, was slowly receding.
The man raised mental barriers, as Fodeum had taught him, slowly restoring clarity to his thoughts.
Good, he'd manage.
Gantoris was, in principle, the most level-headed of his students, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.
But his desires were unbridled.
Always wanting more.
More power, more knowledge, striving to be the best.
He'd already spent considerable time explaining why he couldn't just be given the full extent of Fodeum's own knowledge.
Gantoris accepted the arguments, suppressed his pride, but clearly did so reluctantly.
After all, he wasn't a little child and was fully aware that he didn't have half a lifetime to study the Force leisurely, as the Jedi did.
Not that they'd particularly excelled at it anyway.
But things were far more complicated with Drashi.
The girl, by her very origin, had a deeper and more profound encounter with the Dark Side of the Force.
According to her stories, she had once dreamed of learning the Jedi arts, but fell into the hands of Silri's dark servants, who had thoroughly perverted her with their dark arts.
Now she reveled in the Dark Side and the destruction, the killings, it could cause.
Fodeum desperately tried to stabilize the girl, guiding her toward the Jensaarai path, but clearly understood that his own efforts alone wouldn't be enough.
The battle in Mi-Ha Hutt's palace clearly demonstrated to him that as a teacher, he was not yet able to fully control his students' development and shield them from the Dark Side's temptations.
But that didn't mean he had to give up and let the situation slide, accepting the inevitable.
"Ow!" Magash yelped as Fodeum unceremoniously grabbed the Dathomirian by the scruff of the neck and yanked her aside, preventing her from taking a plasma rifle bolt to the temple. "Master!"
"Control!" De'Luz roared in her face, simultaneously Force-pulling an enemy sniper who'd taken a position on an upper balcony. "Don't give in to the Dark Side!"
"So they get to?!" the Dathomirian's eyes flashed with indignation, pointing at Darth Maul, who had plowed into a crowd of enemies and turned them into finely minced meat in seconds.
"Them, yes," Fodeum admitted reluctantly.
"Why is that fair, Master?" Magash whined resentfully, her tattooed face twisting.
"Because they're lost causes!" the Jensaarai said angrily, watching Stryn twitch his hand and tear apart a dozen burly Wookiees laden with heavy weapons.
"But they're powerful!" Dashi argued.
"I'll show you power!" Fodeum snapped, kicking his negligent student. "I'll show you!"
"Don't, Master!" she shrieked, instantly rejecting the madness of rage. "I remember what happened on that ship! Don't!"
* * *
Uncontrollable chaos reigned in the inner courtyard of the B'omarr Monastery, intensifying with every passing minute.
A squadron of TIE Defenders, with each new pass, rained a torrent of laser fire down on the defenders, frequently backing it up with rocket strikes against enemy armored vehicles or droids crawling out of sturdy hangars.
Numerous alarm signals echoed through the complex, layering over each other—a different siren blared on every level and in every bulging structure.
Men and women dashed frantically between the buildings, trying to reach their combat posts before the expected full-scale invasion of Mi-Ha Hutt's headquarters began.
Aurra Sing made a slight adjustment to the magnification of the electronic scope on her favorite Nightsting rifle.
The precise targeting system blurred for a moment, then seemed to gnaw through the space separating her from the target, projecting the head of a cunning Nautolan before Aurra's eye. He was trying to reach an undamaged hangar and seize a luxurious Belbullab-22 starfighter.
Anyone who had been through the crucible of the Clone Wars would surely know all the advantages of this heavy single-pilot starfighter.
Fast, armed with two triple cannons, with a week's worth of autonomy, this fighter type hadn't seen widespread use among the Separatists.
Which was a real shame.
In terms of firepower, the Belbullab-22 could be compared to the Republic's Alpha-3 Nimbus-class light interceptor, also known as the V-wing. The Republic craft was just as fast but significantly more maneuverable than its Separatist competitor. The Belbullab-22, in turn, surpassed the Nimbus in armor strength and shield power.
Its drawbacks were always considered to be the craft's overall heavy mass and poor maneuverability, as well as the cockpit's unfortunate placement, according to some critics.
The weak cockpit protection forced the pilot to constantly watch the rear hemisphere, as one well-aimed shot, even with shields up, was enough to kill the pilot.
However, this didn't prevent the creation of two modifications based on the "twenty-second": the "twenty-third," an assault variant, and the "twenty-fourth," a dedicated bomber.
The Belbullab-22 Heavy Starfighter.
The most famous fighter of this series was the Soulless One—the personal starfighter of the late cyborg General Grievous.
It differed from the production model primarily by its three triple-laser cannons and the inclusion of a missile launcher.
Besides the external differences, Aurra also knew that the Soulless One was equipped with a more powerful shield generator, an upgraded hyperdrive, and a powerful holonet transceiver with an effective signal encryption system.
The maneuverability problems of the production models were solved by installing improved maneuvering thrusters with vectorable thrust in the forward section of the hull.
Grievous had also seen to the Soulless One's armor.
The fighter's already strong armor was further reinforced with plates of imperium—a very expensive, high-strength alloy occasionally used in the construction of warships and some equipment capable of withstanding high temperatures for extended periods.
But Grievous chose this alloy not only for its strength, but also because the Lig swords, the traditional weapons of his people, the Kaleesh, were forged from it before he became a cyborg.
And all these upgrades were done by private contractors for enormous sums.
Many of its systems still have no equals in the galaxy—at least among the production models of this series, which continued to be manufactured even after the Clone Wars ended, and the relatively expensive custom orders still found on the market.
Aurra knew all this perfectly well, having hunted the late general's ship for a long time on a commission from a crime lord.
Her search ended with information that the Soulless One had been acquired by the Empire, and the trail led to Nima—may more worms crawl into his mouth in his grave and make a nest there.
Sing slowly exhaled, and an invisible blaster bolt drilled a hole in the cunning Nautolan's skull, a hole not accounted for by his species' anatomy.
The difference between the Nightsting and the rifles she usually used was the visual invisibility of the bolt, thanks to a high degree of tibanna refinement.
Yes, it didn't eliminate the sound of the shot, but when chaos reigns all around, why not?
Aurra was providing cover, surrounded by spare power cells and a large supply of gas cartridges.
From a distance of three hundred meters, perched on the ridge of a higher mountain, she had prepared her position at Mi-Ha Hutt's guard observation post.
After first letting the Noghri silently eliminate both of the sluggish guards.
And now, while the pair of black-skinned Death Commandos covered her rear, the enemy before her was laid out like on a palm.
Which she was shamelessly exploiting, picking off anyone who tried to escape.
Or, capture the Soulless One.
The woman had no doubt that this was the same Belbullab-22 she had hunted for years.
She had studied her target too thoroughly during that unfinished mission so many years ago.
And she had no intention of finishing it now.
But the Shadow Guard couldn't afford to pass up the chance to acquire her own interstellar fighter practically for free.
Especially since covering her comrades and eliminating those trying to capture the fighter went hand in hand.
Aurra swapped the empty cartridge and power cell for new ones in a second, then drilled a hole in the unprotected "head" of a crab droid that had tried to shoot at one of the Noghri who were carving up Hutt's fighters in the outer courtyard.
Inside, the Shadow Guard and the trio of Jensaarai were working, along with the Imperial agent Bravo-One.
One group was striking at the heart of the enemy faction; the others were drawing attention.
The cover team was preventing the enemy's numerous forces from using their considerable arsenal of battle droids and deploying air support to level the attackers.
Aurra swept her gaze across the monastery's outer courtyard once more.
The panic was only intensifying, fueled by the Hutt faction's heavy losses.
Everyone was rushing as fast as they could to reach where they were supposed to be according to their combat duty roster.
Or simply trying to flee the place where inevitable death was overtaking them.
Aurra targeted a pair of Rodians armed with heavy repeaters and blew them to molecules by shooting their power packs.
She destroyed another enemy group by similarly damaging the thermal detonators on one of their belts.
One of the walls collapsed with a crack and a roar, spewing clouds of dust and mangled mercenary bodies.
Aurra instantly zeroed in on the presumed source of the trouble.
But she only saw Obscuro carrying a limp Twi'lek in his arms.
Both the girl and her man were covered in blood from head to toe.
Several pieces of Vex's armor had been torn off, revealing blood-soaked bandages.
They were being covered by the boisterous Zabrak female, Maris Brood.
A ridiculous creature with hair and horns, never having figured out who she was or what she wanted beyond surviving behind a stronger fighter.
But that was the least of Aurra's concerns.
Reynar wasn't answering direct calls on the comm, stubbornly cutting straight across the center of the courtyard toward a shuttle that looked battered by life and unskilled repairmen.
Vex showed no signs of life, but Aurra, even with her weak Force control, could tell she was still alive.
But on the threshold of death.
Well, that made it clear.
Reynar was trying to save his girlfriend—this shuttle model clearly had a medical droid.
And, basically, she could get back to her own work, especially since the dim-witted Zabrak was doing a fine job protecting her master from stray shots.
And Reynar himself was crushing the enemy with the Force, not just destroying individual soldiers, but literally mixing them with pieces of the structures.
Which was slowing him down.
Aurra could continue the cleanup without much guilt—and she knew perfectly well that the Twi'lek would die before Reynar, at this pace, reached the medic.
If it was even functional.
And then she could easily gain the attention of the former Inquisitor, as she wished, to satisfy her ego...
Sighing, Aurra reached for her comm:
"Noghri, neutralize all targets in Obscuro's vicinity," she ordered. "Send someone to the shuttle; have the medical droid prepped to save the lady of verbal sparring."
"Ma'am?" a questioning meow came back. "Our orders are to eliminate hostiles elsewhere."
"I'm talking about Vex," Sing clarified, pressing her eye to the scope and eliminating a pair of snipers on a nearby building with precise shots, who had decided to shoot Obscuro in the back. "Consider this a change of orders from me. The responsibility falls on me."
"Understood."
Ego, ego...
Who needed self-esteem when you were despised and barely even acknowledged in the close-knit Shadow Guard team?
She had already made plenty of mistakes.
Let Obscuro and that little sharp-tongued brat at least stay together a little longer before the universe, in its usual manner, kicked them in the gut.
Aurra had poor control over the Force.
But visions of possible futures came to her.
Whether she wanted them or not.
And, to be honest, she didn't want to live in that kind of future.
Not at all.
* * *
A piercing whistle cut through the air.
"Blast it," Oland breathed out. "We're in their kill zone."
The lone Star Destroyer had pivoted, presenting its upper hemisphere to the enemy ships pressing in from three sides.
They were blocking the three most viable vectors for a potential jump out of the system.
"As is our enemy, Captain," Thrawn continued in an icy voice. "No cause for alarm."
The commander of the Marut looked at the Grand Admiral with interest.
"You think so?"
Thrawn silenced him with a gesture.
"Order the duty pair of fighters to prepare to attack the enemy ships," the Grand Admiral ordered. "The rest of the machines are to be ready to launch on my command. For now, concentrate the tower artillery fire on the frigate designated as target number seven."
Oland obeyed.
The Marut had been positioned perpendicular to the trajectory of all three attacking groups.
At the same time, by presenting its upper hemisphere to the enemy, protecting the hangar and the aviation — which was, in fact, the entire point of the Marg Sab maneuver — the ship could fire from all ten twin turret mounts located along the Star Destroyer's flanks.
Fortunately, the designers had placed them on the upper hull rather than tucking them into barbette batteries, as was the case with the broadside armament.
So the Marut unleashed a full twenty turbolaser shots at the selected target, which came as an unpleasant surprise for the designated enemy vessel.
"Fortunately, our opponent is arrogant enough to continue his advance," Thrawn commented. "Order the fighters to attack target number one when ready."
The enemy ship that had pushed farthest ahead.
"Yes, sir!"
The reply came automatically, as befitted a well-drilled officer.
On the tactical monitor, two dots marked in friendly green were advancing from the safety line onto the enemy intercept vector.
The pilots attacked the nearest starship, evaded the fire of the enemy's sluggish turbolasers, hosed its deflectors with laser cannon fire, then flashed past its nozzles and began to turn.
At that moment, one of the markers vanished.
A TIE fighter had been hit by the artillery of the vessel adjacent to the first target.
Nothing more than a fluke, since all the enemy starships were firing at the fighters.
Though without any particular system.
Just a massed barrage, nothing more.
"Interesting," Thrawn said, leaning back in his chair. "This will be simple. Captain, recall the surviving fighter. Order the starboard turbolaser batteries charged, as well as the forward ones. Hmm... the enemy is accelerating. Yes, add the ion cannons as well."
"Yes, sir!" Oland responded, but at the same time he looked at the Grand Admiral with disbelief.
The order was being carried out, but to what end?
He turned back to the displays.
The disposition hadn't changed.
Except that the enemy fleet had substantially closed on the Marut, and any moment now, missile launchers would join the artillery.
Then the deflectors would be in real trouble.
And the crew, even more so.
But if they'd decided to die, what was the point of panicking?
"Port maneuvering thrusters and starboard main engines, prepare for operation," Thrawn said unhurriedly. "Fighters — clear the hangar and form claws for an attack on target number seven along the starboard and port vectors."
Oland relayed the order.
"Sir, this is nothing but the classic closed Marg Sab maneuver. They won't fall for such a simple trap."
"On the contrary," Thrawn corrected coldly. "They will not only fall for it, but they will be completely destroyed. Watch, Captain. And learn. Since you've already gone from commander to spectator."
Stung, Oland compressed his lips, giving Thrawn a heavy look.
Thrawn simply ignored him.
"Both squadrons are in position, sir!" the watch officer reported.
"Distance to the enemy?"
"Fifty-five units and closing!"
"Missiles launched?"
"Affirmative, Grand Admiral."
"Well then, let's begin. Suppressive fire from all turbolasers on target number seven. Fighters — attack. Break off when you reach point five-two-zero and split into pairs for further instructions."
The fighters, having launched, quickly pulled away from the Marut, then turned as fast as their design allowed and sprayed outward in the indicated directions like droplets from some exotic fountain.
The enemy had time to anticipate the fighter maneuver and...
Opened fire on them with turbolasers and missile launchers.
Oland blinked once, then again.
"The Emperor's black bones!" he swore. "What are they doing?"
"Reacting to a more dangerous threat than a Star Destroyer, Captain," Thrawn replied. "You see, our opponent is commanded by an Ithorian."
"What makes you say that?" Oland asked in surprise.
"Order the emergency starboard engines activated," Thrawn directed. "Their behavior."
The Marut's commander issued the order, slowly turning over the Grand Admiral's words and preparatory commands in his head...
"You figured it out because their whole fleet fired on our fighters?" Oland clarified.
"Precisely, Captain," the Grand Admiral replied. "Ithorians are a fairly peaceful people by nature, but there are more aggressive members among them. One of them is commanding our opponents right now."
"And is there a more convincing argument?"
Meanwhile, the Marut was already restoring its original position, turning its starboard side toward the approaching enemy.
"Attitude restored!"
"Compensate for inertia," Thrawn ordered.
So the Grand Admiral intended to hold the Marut in that position for some time.
But... why?
"Ithorians are psychological pacifists," the Grand Admiral continued his lecture. "But when faced with an unknown threat — one that is more dangerous, faster, and less understandable to them — they strive to eliminate it by any means available. Right now, we are observing the Ithorian commander, who clearly understands that nimble fighters can harm his starships in ways a Star Destroyer cannot, engaging our aviation to minimize the threat to his vessels. Specifically, look," Thrawn pointed at the shifting enemy firing sector from the flanks toward the stern. "Our fighters are approaching the enemy's engines, have broken formation, and are now attacking as they can. The enemy is completely absorbed by this new, closer threat. Therefore, we can operate under nearly ideal range conditions. If you please — fire starboard broadside. Same target, number seven."
The turbolasers spat silently with green fire, and the ion cannons with white-blue.
The enemy, busily blazing away at the TIE fighters, seemed to have genuinely forgotten about the Marut.
And they paid dearly for it when the Star Destroyer's third broadside turned the Interceptor IV into a blazing star.
Debris sprayed out, blanketing the nearest enemy frigates with mixed-caliber shrapnel, causing one to begin an uncontrolled list to starboard, forcing the adjacent starship to maneuver as well...
The enemy formation — the three enemy detachments had only just merged into a single mass — dissolved into chaos when target number one, hit by the turbolaser-ion salvo, exploded.
Enemy ships broke formation, trying to avoid colliding with each other.
"An interesting fact of Ithorian psychology, Captain," Thrawn continued. "Shift fire to target number two. Then the third and eleventh frigates. Ithorians, due to unconscious cowardice, tend to stay close together to intimidate the enemy with greater numbers. That is precisely why our opponent made a tactical miscalculation and combined his detachments. And in doing so, he tied his own hands, losing operational room to maneuver."
Targets two, three, and eleven.
Those were the frigates on the flanks of the enemy formation.
If Thrawn intended to destroy them, then...
"You want to crush them!" Oland realized. "Make them afraid to maneuver out of the formation for fear of getting hit by debris."
"The Interceptor IV is a refitted Action-class freighter of the same model line," Thrawn explained calmly. "Armor is mediocre, but debris is dangerous to this ship due to the risk of hull damage. No surprise that the enemy commanders understand the gravity of their situation. Now, the second and third frigates are destroyed. The eleventh has lost its shields and... Yes, it's been hit as well. Targets twenty and twenty-one — we need to deny them the shortest approach vector. Begin a ninety-degree starboard turn. There's no longer any point in pretending we're executing the Marg Sab maneuver. We need maximum firepower."
Five frigates out of twenty-seven in just three minutes!
Oland relayed the order for the new targets, and two enemy frigates that had pushed ahead, though they spat back with turbolaser fire and missiles, received a wall of energy fire in return.
One ship, as if hit by a sledgehammer in the bow, slowed and exploded; the second, attempting to maneuver, exposed its engines to an ion salvo and lost the ability to correct its course.
Two nearby interceptors immediately pounced on it, riddling the vessel with laser cannon fire, gutting it from the stern.
"A third feature of Ithorian psychology, Captain," Thrawn said, pointing at the chaos reigning among the remnants of the enemy fleet. "Ithorians can plan an attack. But the stiffer the resistance, the faster they panic. Give the order to the engine room — we need maximum speed to close the distance."
"To close the distance, sir?" Oland repeated.
"Yes, Captain," Thrawn confirmed. "We've broken their ships on every side except the path they came from. Another ten to fifteen minutes, and one of them will figure out where to find salvation. In that time, we'll destroy the majority of their fleet. But I take it you have no intention of letting even one of them go?"
"That's correct, Grand Admiral," Oland looked at Thrawn with respect as a marker for the tenth destroyed enemy frigate appeared on the tactical screen. "They came here and locked the Marut in this system to grind us to dust. I and my crew believe we should do the same to them. Here and now."
Oland shook his head, dismissing the unworthy thoughts from half an hour ago.
A traitor?
Like hell!
This alien was more talented than most of the Imperial Starfleet officers the Marut's commander had ever known.
In eleven minutes of battle, using a green crew, he had already destroyed twelve enemy ships!
Thirteen!
Well, now it was clear why there was no news of combat operations taking place on Dominion territory.
Could what the agent had provided him be the truth?
Yes, they were conjectures.
Yes, inferences.
But they had come from a humanoid who, from a single enemy reaction, had been able to decipher their weak points and turn an apparent rout into his victory.
And that it would be a victory, Captain Oland had no doubt.
"Sir, I and my crew are ready to follow you," the Marut's commander said, fully aware of the consequences. "I apologize for the distrust I expressed, Grand Admiral. I am ready to swear allegiance to the Dominion now, sir."
"Fine words and a fine sentiment, Captain," Thrawn nodded, looking him straight in the eye. "But first, our wager will conclude, and afterward — we will discuss the future fate of the Marut's crew."
"Yes, sir," Oland said, slightly deflated, realizing the rashness of his impulsive action. "The Ithorian has locked us in here..."
After all, the escape vectors were still blocked by his ships, which were beginning to retreat.
"In thirty-five minutes, the last opponent will regret that mistake," the Grand Admiral assured him. "A new order, Captain Oland. The fighters are to regroup into squadrons. Attack one of the enemy detachments. The Marut will handle the largest one."
Meaning the central one.
"Yes, sir," the Star Destroyer's commander reported.
"The Ithorian commander thought we were trapped by his forces in the Janimere system," Thrawn said distantly, watching the nozzles of the retreating, battered enemy fleet. "In reality, it was they who were, and continue to be, trapped here with us, near Janimere."