Chapter 208 – Shadows Over Devaron
Dagon stood silently at the edge of the command platform aboard the Terminus, his gaze fixed on the rotating hologram of Devaron. The projection cast shifting light across his face as streams of data scrolled beside it, each line analyzed, categorized, and stored. He had already memorized most of it, but repetition sharpened precision. Devaron was a peculiar world—its people divided not just by culture, but biology. The males, red-skinned and horned, wore pride like armor, while the fur-covered females ruled with an iron will, dominating politics and societal structure. A duality of power, imbalance stabilized by tradition. Interesting. More importantly, the planet's neutrality made it dangerous. Neutral worlds were battlegrounds in disguise, places where both the Republic and the Confederacy fought quietly, through influence, bribery, and shadows rather than fleets and open war.
Dagon exhaled slowly, recalling fragmented memories from another life and another timeline. In that version of events, the assassin Aurra Sing had operated here, a ghost in the system, killing without pattern, without failure. But that timeline had already been broken. Jablim had fallen differently. Boz Pity had not become a slaughterhouse. Muunilinst had been taken with surgical precision instead of drawn-out devastation. The future was no longer fixed. That meant Aurra Sing was no longer predictable either.
"Ragnos," Dagon said calmly, "enter the coordinates. Silent approach. No broadcast signatures."
The Zabrak captain nodded immediately, fingers moving across the console as the fleet adjusted its trajectory. Behind Dagon, Ethan processed additional intelligence streams, his mechanical voice cutting through the quiet. "Devaron's current senator maintains favorable relations with several Jedi, but not exclusively aligned. Probability of political instability: moderate. Recommendation: minimal exposure."
"Agreed," Dagon replied. "No unnecessary attention. This operation doesn't exist."
The Terminus was more than a flagship—it was a moving fortress, a weapon, and a command center housing Dagon's personal war machine. Ten thousand elite troops, hand-selected and enhanced through proximity to his battle meditation, no longer required traditional coordination melds. They moved as one instinctively—pilots, marines, commandos—all clad in armor inspired by ancient Sith designs, refined and reforged into something new. Something his.
As the fleet dropped out of hyperspace into Devaron's orbit, the illusion of calm shattered instantly. Five Munificent-class frigate hung in defensive formation, their silhouettes unmistakable against the planet's atmosphere. For a fraction of a second, the bridge went still.
Then Dagon spoke one word.
"Fire."
The F-SPAR cannon unleashed its devastating beam, tearing through the lead frigate in a single, catastrophic strike. The ship split apart before alarms could even finish sounding. Turbolasers followed, hammering the remaining vessels with relentless precision, while ion cannons crippled their systems. Rhydonium missiles streaked forward like comets, detonating in brilliant bursts that consumed the remaining frigates in seconds. It wasn't a battle. It was execution.
"Orbital resistance eliminated," Ragnos reported.
Dagon didn't respond immediately. His eyes were distant, focused inward.
"I feel her," he said quietly. "She's on the surface."
Blam stepped forward, already anticipating the next command. "Orders, sir?"
"Deploy ground forces. Standard formation. I want pressure, not chaos."
Within moments, dropships launched. Three Raven transports descended first, each carrying modified TX-130 Saber tanks. Behind them followed squadrons of TIE Whisper fighters and SCUURG bombers, their engines screaming as they cut through the atmosphere. Five LAAT/i gunships trailed them, each loaded with AT-XT walkers ready for rapid deployment. It was overwhelming force—but controlled, deliberate.
---
Miles below, in the shadowed halls of a sprawling estate, Aurra Sing sat in silence, her pale eyes fixed on the glowing datapad before her. Information scrolled rapidly, identities forming and dissolving as the system processed incoming guests. Her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, impatience barely concealed beneath her calm exterior.
The first image resolved—a blue Twi'lek woman draped in revealing luxury.
"Identification successful. Tuula Donite."
Aurra's lip curled slightly. "Pathetic."
Next came an older man, worn but composed.
"Miles Croft."
She dismissed him just as quickly.
Then the final figure appeared—a cloaked woman, face hidden, presence… different.
"Identification successful. Saba."
Aurra leaned forward slightly, interest sparking in her eyes.
"A servant?" she murmured. "No… something else."
Before she could analyze further—
The mansion shook.
A distant explosion rolled through the structure, followed by another, closer this time. The datapad flickered.
Aurra stood slowly, her expression sharpening.
"That," she said quietly, "is not normal."
Outside, the sky burned.
And somewhere above—
Dagon Marek had arrived.