### **Chapter 207 – Storm Through Steel**
Dagon's POV**
The docking clamps locked with a heavy metallic *thud* that echoed through the hull of the enemy cruiser.
A moment later, silence.
Not the calm kind.
The kind that comes just before violence.
I stood at the front of the boarding ramp, helmetless, cloak hanging still despite the hum of pressurized seals equalizing between ships. Behind me, the girls waited—Ahsoka, Visenya, Kayla, Flare, Stella—alongside a column of clone marines, their armor marked by the Thirteenth Legion's sigil.
Blaster fire flickered faintly on the far side of the bulkhead.
The enemy knew we were here.
Good.
I turned slightly, my voice calm.
"Watch closely."
Their attention sharpened instantly.
"What you're about to see… is not standard Jedi combat."
Ahsoka's eyes narrowed slightly.
Kayla crossed her arms.
Visenya simply nodded.
Flare observed silently.
Stella swallowed but didn't look away.
I rested my hand on my saber.
"This is survival."
---
The ramp dropped.
And the storm began.
---
The corridor ahead was packed—Zygerrian enforcers, hired mercenaries, pirates of a dozen species. Blasters raised. Panic barely contained beneath aggression.
They fired first.
They always did.
Red bolts screamed toward me—
—and never reached.
The Force surged.
Time slowed.
Not literally.
But enough.
I stepped forward.
---
**First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter**
---
I vanished.
To them, at least.
To me—
Everything was clear.
Every target.
Every angle.
Every movement.
I spun forward, blade igniting mid-motion, golden light erupting into existence as I entered their formation like a hurricane tearing through dry leaves.
The first line never understood what hit them.
My body twisted, feet barely touching the ground as momentum carried me through them. The saber carved wide, horizontal arcs—precise, controlled, lethal. The motion continuous, unbroken, like a cyclone of steel and light.
Blaster bolts deflected outward in spirals.
Armor split.
Weapons shattered.
Bodies fell.
Not one strike wasted.
Not one movement unnecessary.
The technique wasn't just speed.
It was flow.
Force-guided acceleration layered with rotational momentum—each turn feeding into the next, building velocity until stopping became harder than continuing.
So I didn't stop.
---
### **Ahsoka's POV**
She had trained.
She had fought.
She had seen battle.
But this—
This was something else.
Dagon didn't fight like a Jedi.
He didn't even fight like a warrior.
He moved like a force of nature.
"Ahsoka… what *is that*?" Stella whispered beside her, voice barely audible.
Ahsoka didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
She watched as he tore through the corridor—not wildly, not recklessly—but with terrifying precision. Every spin, every step, every strike had purpose.
There was no hesitation.
No doubt.
Just execution.
"He's not holding back…" Kayla muttered, eyes narrowed.
"No," Flare said quietly. "He is controlling everything."
That was the frightening part.
---
### **Dagon's POV**
They tried to regroup.
They always tried.
But panic spreads faster than discipline.
I felt it ripple through them.
Fear.
Confusion.
Desperation.
Good.
I accelerated.
The cyclone widened.
Another wave collapsed under the pressure—mercenaries firing wildly, their bolts intercepted or redirected into their own ranks.
A Zygerrian lunged at me from the side—
I pivoted mid-spin, saber cutting clean through his weapon, then through him.
Momentum never broke.
Forward.
Always forward.
---
By the time I reached the central junction—
There was no resistance left.
Only bodies.
Over two hundred.
And I hadn't even slowed down.
---
### **Visenya's POV**
She stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning the aftermath.
It wasn't chaos.
That was the unsettling part.
It was… ordered destruction.
Every body fell in a pattern.
Every strike had a place.
"This isn't rage…" she whispered.
Kayla glanced at her.
"No. It's worse."
Flare nodded slightly.
"It's discipline taken to an extreme."
---
### **Dagon's POV**
The captain's chamber door stood ahead.
Sealed.
Reinforced.
Irrelevant.
I raised my hand.
The Force crushed inward.
Metal groaned—
—and then imploded.
The door tore open.
---
Inside—
She stood waiting.
Zygerrian.
Female.
Confident.
Or pretending to be.
Our eyes met.
And something in me…
Shifted.
---
### **Dagon's POV (Cold)**
Zygerrians.
Slave traders.
Believed suffering was natural.
Necessary.
Right.
For a moment—
I didn't see her.
I saw something else.
A memory.
A different war.
Human cultists serving machines.
Believing in extermination.
In domination.
In control.
Different galaxy.
Same mindset.
---
I stepped forward slowly.
"Where is your base of operations?"
My voice was calm.
Too calm.
She smirked slightly, despite everything.
"I don't talk to Jedi."
Wrong answer.
---
The Force answered for me.
Lightning.
Not wild.
Not uncontrolled.
Focused.
A precise arc of blue-white energy struck her, forcing a scream from her throat as her body convulsed under the controlled current.
"Talk," I said quietly.
Or suffer more.
---
She gasped, trying to recover.
"You will—"
The lightning intensified slightly.
Not enough to kill.
Enough to break resistance.
Her scream cut short.
Her body collapsed.
Unconscious.
---
I exhaled slowly.
"...Never mind."
I turned slightly.
"Ethan."
The droid stepped forward instantly.
"On it."
He moved to the console, interfacing directly, slicing through encrypted systems with mechanical precision.
Data streams flickered across the displays.
Coordinates.
Routes.
Hidden nodes.
---
Moments later—
"Base located," Ethan said. "Transmitting to fleet."
---
The door behind me opened.
Bootsteps.
Clones.
"Sir," said Bucket—a reprogrammed OOM-1 command droid, now part of my command staff—stepping forward alongside Alpha-class troopers and marines.
"All enemy forces have been neutralized or captured."
He paused.
"The convoy was scheduled for delivery to a staging base in the Tenth Sector."
---
I nodded once.
Everything aligned.
"Good."
---
### **Bridge – Terminus**
The stars stretched briefly as we returned to the flagship.
Inside—
Everything moved quickly.
Orders flowed.
Ships repositioned.
The convoy—six GR-75 transports and three Pelta-class frigates—held formation, damaged but intact.
Survivors.
Saved.
For now.
---
### **Dagon's POV**
I stood at the command platform.
Decision already made.
"Prepare the fleet."
Ragnos turned slightly.
"Yes, General?"
I didn't hesitate.
"I'm taking the Terminus."
A pause.
"To eliminate the enemy base."
Silence followed.
Then—
Understanding.
---
I turned to them.
Ahsoka.
Visenya.
Kayla.
Flare.
Stella.
"This is where we split."
Ahsoka frowned slightly.
"What?"
"You'll escort the convoy."
Kayla immediately shook her head.
"No."
"This isn't a suggestion," I said calmly.
Flare stepped forward slightly.
"You intend to engage a fortified enemy base alone?"
"Yes."
Visenya's voice was softer.
"You're sending us away."
"I'm assigning you a mission."
Stella looked between them, anxious.
"But—"
I raised a hand slightly.
"The convoy needs protection. They're vulnerable."
That part was true.
But not the whole truth.
---
Ahsoka stepped closer.
Her voice quieter now.
"You're doing it again."
I didn't respond.
"You're pushing us away."
Still silence.
---
I met her gaze.
"This is war."
A pause.
"And this target requires full commitment."
Kayla scoffed.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
---
The tension lingered.
Unresolved.
Heavy.
---
Finally—
Ahsoka exhaled slowly.
"…Fine."
But her tone said otherwise.
---
I nodded once.
"Ragnos. Prepare jump coordinates."
The bridge hummed as hyperspace calculations began.
Two paths.
Two missions.
One war.
---
### **Dagon's POV (End)**
As the fleet prepared to split—
I looked forward.
At the coordinates Ethan had pulled.
At the enemy base.
At what needed to be done.
---
Zygerrians.
Slavers.
Systems built on suffering.